Kitabı oku: «The Story of the Rock», sayfa 4
Chapter Six.
The End of Rudyerd’s Lighthouse
Thirty-Four years passed away, and still Rudyerd’s lighthouse stood firm as the rock on which it was founded. True, during that period it had to undergo occasional repairs, because the timber uprights at the base, where exposed to the full violence of the waves, had become weather-worn, and required renewing in part; but this was only equivalent to a ship being overhauled and having some of her planks renewed. The main fabric of the lighthouse remained as sound and steadfast at the end of that long period as it was at the beginning, and it would in all probability have remained on the Eddystone Rock till the present day, had not a foe assailed it, whose nature was very different indeed from that with which it had been built to contend.
The lighthouse was at this time in charge of Teddy Maroon: not the Teddy who had bewailed his fate so disconsolately in the French prison in days gone by, but his youngest son, who was now getting to be an elderly man. We may, however, relieve the mind of the sympathetic reader, by saying that Teddy, senior, was not dead. He was still alive and hearty; though bent nearly double with extreme age; and dwelt on the borders of one of the Irish bogs, at the head of an extensive colony of Maroons.
One night Teddy the younger ascended to the lantern to trim the candles; he snuffed them all round and returned to the kitchen to have a pipe, his two mates being a-bed at the time. No one now knows how the thing happened, but certain it is that Teddy either dropped some of the burning snuff on the floor, or in some other way introduced more light into his lantern that night than it had ever been meant to contain, so that while he and his mates were smoking comfortably below, the lighthouse was smoking quietly, but ominously, above.
On shore, late that night, an elderly gentleman stood looking out of the window of a charmingly situated cottage in the village of Cawsand Bay, near Plymouth, which commanded a magnificent prospect of the channel.
“Father,” he said, turning to a very old man seated beside the fire, who, although shrunken and wrinkled and bald, was ruddy in complexion, and evidently in the enjoyment of a green old age, “Father, the lighthouse is beautifully bright to-night; shall I help you to the window to look at it?”
“Yes, Tommy: I’m fond o’ the old light. It minds me of days gone by, when you and I were young, Martha.”
The old man gave a chuckle as he looked across the hearthstone, where, in a chair similar to his own, sat a very stout and very deaf and very old lady, smoothing the head of her grandchild, a little girl, who was the youngest of a family of ten.
Old Martha did not hear John Potter’s remark, but she saw his kindly smile, and nodded her head with much gravity in reply. Martha had grown intellectually slow when she partially lost her hearing, and although she was not sad she had evidently become solemn. An English Dictionary and the Bible were the only books that Martha would look at now. She did not use the former as a help to the understanding of the latter. No one knew why she was so partial to the dictionary; but as she not unfrequently had it on her knee upside down while poring over it, her grandchild, little Nora, took up the idea that she had resolved to devote the latter days of her life to learning to read backwards! Perhaps the fact that the dictionary had once belonged to her son James who was wrecked and drowned on the Norfolk coast, may have had something to do with it.
With the aid of his son’s arm and a stick old John managed to hobble to the window.
“It is very bright. Why, Tommy,” he exclaimed, with a start, “it’s too bright: the lighthouse must be on fire!”
At that moment, “Tommy’s” wife, now “fat, fair, and fifty” (or thereabouts), entered the room hurriedly, exclaiming, “Oh, Tom, what can be the matter with the lighthouse, I never saw it so bright before?”
Tom, who had hastily placed his father in a chair, so that he could see the Eddystone, seized his hat, and exclaiming, “I’ll go and see, my dear,” ran out and proceeded to the shore.
“What’s the matter?” cried Mrs Potter in a querulous voice, when little Nora rushed from her side.
Nora, senior, went to her at once, and, bending down, said, in a musical voice that retained much of its clearness and all its former sweetness: “I fear that the lighthouse is on fire, grandma!”
Mrs Potter gazed straight before her with vacant solemnity, and Nora, supposing that she had not heard, repeated the information.
Still Mrs Potter made no reply; but, after a few moments, she turned her eyes on her daughter-in-law with owlish gravity, and said; “I knew it! I said long ago to your father, my dear, I had a settled conviction that that lighthouse would come to a bad end.”
It did indeed appear as though old Martha’s prophecy were about to come true!
Out at the lighthouse Teddy Maroon, having finished his pipe, went up to the lantern to trim the candles again. He had no sooner opened the hatch of the lantern than a dense cloud of smoke burst out. He shouted to his comrades, one of whom, Henry Hall, was old and not fit for much violent exertion; the other, James Wilkie, was a young man, but a heavy sleeper. They could not be roused as quickly as the occasion demanded. Teddy ran to the store-room for a leathern bucket, but before he could descend to the rock, fill it and re-ascend, the flames had got a firm hold of the cupola. He dashed the water into the lantern just as his horrified comrades appeared.
“Fetch bucketfulls as fast as ye can. Och, be smart, boys, if iver ye was,” he shouted, while perspiration streamed down his face. Pulling off his coat, while his mates ran down for water, Teddy dashed wildly into the lantern, and, holding the coat by its arms, laid about him violently, but smoke and fire drove him but almost immediately. The buckets were long of coming, and when they did arrive, their contents were as nothing on the glowing cupola. Then Teddy went out on the balcony and endeavoured to throw the water up, but the height was too great. While he was doing this, Wilkie ran down for more water, but Hall stood gazing upwards, open-mouthed with horror, at the raging flames. At that moment the leaden covering of the roof melted, and rushed down on Hall’s head and shoulders. He fell, with a loud shriek. While Teddy tried to drag him down to the room below, he exclaimed that some of the melted lead had gone down his throat! He was terribly burned about the neck, but his comrades had to leave him in his bed while they strove wildly to check the flames. It was all in vain. The wood-work around the lantern, from years of exposure to the heat of twenty-four large candles burning at once, had become like tinder, and the fire became so fierce that the timber courses composing the top of the column soon caught. Then the keepers saw that any further efforts would be useless. The great exertions made to carry up even a few bucketsfull of water soon exhausted their strength, and they were driven from room to room as the fire descended. At last the heat and smoke became so intense that they were driven out of the lighthouse altogether, and sought shelter in a cavern or hollow under the ladder, on the east side of the rock. Fortunately it was low water at the time, and the weather was calm. Had it been otherwise, the rock would have been no place of refuge.
Meanwhile Mr Thomas Potter (our old friend Tommy—now, as we have said an elderly gentleman) went off in a large boat with a crew of stout fishermen from Cawsand Bay, having a smaller boat in tow. When they reached the rock, a terrific spectacle was witnessed. The lighthouse was enveloped in flames nearly to the bottom, for the outside planking, being caulked and covered with pitch, was very inflammable. The top glowed against the dark sky and looked in the midst of the smoke like a fiery meteor. The Eddystone Rock was suffused with a dull red light, as if it were becoming red hot, and the surf round it appeared to hiss against the fire, while in the dark shadow of the cave the three lighthouse keepers were seen cowering in terror,—as they well might, seeing that melted lead and flaming masses of wood and other substances were falling thickly round them.
To get them out of their dangerous position was a matter of extreme difficulty, because, although there was little or no wind, the swell caused a surf on the rock which absolutely forbade the attempt to land. In this emergency they fell upon a plan which seemed to afford some hope of success. They anchored the large boat to the westward, and veered down towards the rock as far as they dared venture. Then three men went into the small boat, which was eased off and sent farther in by means of a rope. When as near as it was possible to approach, a coil of rope was thrown to the rock. It was caught by Teddy Maroon, and although in extreme danger and anxiety, the men in the boat could not help giving vent to a ringing cheer. Teddy at once tied the end of the rope round the waist of old Henry Hall, and half persuaded, half forced him into the surf, through which he was hauled into the boat in safety. Wilkie went next, and Teddy followed. Thus they were rescued, put on board the large boat, and carried on shore; but no sooner did the keel grate on the sand, than Wilkie, who had never spoken a word, and who appeared half stupefied, bounded on shore and ran off at full speed. It is a curious fact, which no one has ever been able to account for, that this man was never more heard of! As it is quite certain that he did not cause the fire, and also that he did his utmost to subdue it, the only conclusion that could be come to was, that the excitement and terror had driven him mad. At all events that was the last of him.
Another curious fact connected with the fire is, that Henry Hall actually did swallow a quantity of melted lead. He lingered for twelve days after the accident, and then died. Afterwards his body was opened, and an oval lump of lead, which weighed upwards of seven ounces, was found in his stomach. This extraordinary fact is authenticated by the credible testimony of a respectable medical man and several eye-witnesses.
Meanwhile, the lighthouse continued to burn, despite the most strenuous efforts made to save it. Had a storm arisen, the seas would speedily have quenched the fire, but unfortunately the weather continued fine and comparatively calm for several days, while the wind was just strong enough to fan the fury of the flames, and at the same time to cause a surf sufficiently high to render a landing on the rock impossible. But, indeed, even if this had been effected, the efforts that could have been made with the small fire-engines at that time in use, would have been utterly useless. The fire gradually descended to the different courses of solid timber, the well-hole of the staircase assisting the draught, and the outside timbers and inside mast, or wooden core, forming a double connecting link whereby the devouring element was carried to the very bottom of the building, with a heat so intense that the courses of Cornish moor-stone were made red hot.
Admiral West, with part of the fleet, happened to be at that time in Plymouth Sound. He at once sent a sloop with a fire-engine to the rock. They attempted to land in a boat, but could not. So violent was the surf, that the boat was at one time thrown bodily upon the rock by one wave and swept off again by the next. The escape on this occasion was almost miraculous, the men therefore did not venture to make another attempt, but contented themselves with endeavouring to work the engine from the boat, in doing which they broke it, and thus all hope of doing anything further was gone. But indeed the engine they had would have availed nothing, even though it had been twice as powerful, against such a mighty conflagration. As well might they have tried to extinguish Vesuvius with a tea-kettle!
For four days and nights did that massive pillar of fire burn. At last it fell in ruins before the most irresistible element with which man or matter has to contend, after having braved the fury of the winds and waves for nearly half a century.
Thus perished the second lighthouse that was built on the Eddystone Rock, in December of the year 1755, and thus, once again, were those black reefs left unguarded. Once more that dread of mariners, ancient and modern, became a trap on the south coast of England—a trap now rendered doubly dangerous by the fact that, for so long a period, ships had been accustomed to make for it instead of avoiding it, in the full expectation of receiving timely warning from its friendly light.
Chapter Seven.
Old Friends In New Circumstances
We open the story of the third, and still existing, lighthouse on the Eddystone with the re-introduction of Teddy Maroon—that Teddy who acted so prominent a part at the burning of Rudyerd’s tower in December 1755.
Men’s activities seem to have been quickened at this period of time, for only about six months were allowed to elapse between the destruction of the old and the commencement of operations for the new lighthouse.
It was a calm evening in the autumn 1756 when Teddy Maroon, smoking a little black pipe, sauntered towards the residence of old John Potter. On reaching the door he extinguished the little pipe by the summary process of thrusting the point of his blunt forefinger into the bowl, and deposited it hot in his vest pocket. His tap was answered by a small servant girl, with a very red and ragged head of hair, who ushered him into the presence of the aged couple. They were seated in the two chairs—one on each side of the fireplace—which they might almost be said to inhabit. Little Nora was stirring a few embers of coal into a cheery flame, for she knew the old people loved the sight of the fire even in summer. On a chair beside old Martha lay the open Bible, from which Nora had been reading, and on old Martha’s knee was the valued dictionary, upside down as usual.
“Glad to see you, lad,” said old John, with a pleasant smile as he extended his hand; “it does us good to see you; it minds us so of old times.”
“Ah, then, I’ve got to tell ’ee what’ll mind you more of owld times than the mere sight o’ me face,” said Teddy, as he patted old Martha on the shoulder and sat down beside her. “How are ’ee, owld ooman?”
“Ay,” replied Martha in a tremulous voice, “you’re uncommon like your father—as like as two peas.”
“Faix, av ye saw the dear owld gintleman now,” said Teddy with a laugh, “ye’d think there was a difference. Hows’ever, its o’ no use repaitin’ me question, for any man could see that you’re in the best o’ health—you’re bloomin’ like a cabbage rose.”
The latter part of this complimentary speech was shouted into old Martha’s ear, and she responded by shaking her head and desiring the flatterer to “go along.”
“Well, John,” said the visitor, turning to his father’s old friend, “you’ll be glad to hear that I’ve been engaged to work at the new lighthouse, an’, moreover we’ve got fairly begun.”
“You don’t say so,” cried John Potter, with some of the old fire sparkling in his eyes; “well, now, that is pleasant noos. Why, it makes me a’most wish to be young again. Of course I heard that they’ve bin hard at the preparations for a good while; but few people comes to see me now; they think I’m too old to be interested in anything; I suppose; an’ I didn’t know that it was fairly begun, or that you were on the work: I’d like to hear what your old father would say to it, Teddy.”
“I don’t know what he’d say to it,” responded the Irishman, “but I know what he threatens to do, for I wrote him the other day tellin’ him all about it, an’ he bade my sister Kathleen write back that he’s more nor half a mind to come and superintend the operations.”
“What is it all about, Nora?” demanded old Martha, who had been gazing intently at her husband’s countenance during the conversation.
Nora put her pretty lips to her grandmother’s ear and gave the desired information, whereupon the old lady looked solemnly at her spouse, and laying her hand on the dictionary, said, with strong though quivering emphasis: “now, John, mark my words, I ’ave a settled conviction that that light’ouse will come to a bad end. It’s sure to be burnt or blow’d over.”
Having given vent to which prophecy, she relapsed into herself and appeared to ruminate on it with peculiar satisfaction.
“And what’s the name of the architect?” demanded John.
“Smeaton,” replied Teddy Maroon.
“Never heerd of ’im before,” returned John.
“No more did I,” said Teddy.
The two friends appeared to find food for meditation in this point of ignorance, for they fell into a state of silence for a few minutes, which was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Mr Thomas Potter. He looked a little wearied as he sat down beside his mother, whose face lighted up with an expression of intense delight as she said, “Come away, Tommy, where have you been, my boy?”
“I’ve been out on the sea, mother, after mischief as usual,” replied Tommy, whose bald head and wrinkled brow repudiated, while his open hearty smile appeared to justify, the juvenile name.
“What! they ’aven’t engaged you on the noo light’ouse, ’ave they?” said old Martha, in horror.
“No, no, mother, don’t fear that,” said her son, hastening to relieve her mind, “but you know the new engineer is gathering information from all quarters, and he naturally applied to me, because I am of his own profession and have known and studied the rock since I was a little boy.”
“Know’d an’ studied it,” exclaimed Martha with more than her wonted vigour, “ay, an’ if you’d said you’d a’most broke your old mother’s heart with it, you’d ’ave said no more than the truth, Tommy. It’s a wonder as that rock hasn’t brought me to a prematoor grave. However, it ain’t likely to do so now, an’ I’m glad they have not inveigled you into it, my boy; for it’s an awful place for wettin’ of your feet an’ dirt’in’ of your hands and pinafores, an’—”
The old lady, relapsing here into early reminiscences, once more retired within herself, while. Teddy Maroon and John Potter, mentioning their ignorance as to the architect who had undertaken the great work, demanded of “Mister Thomas” if he could enlighten them.
“Of course I can,” he replied, “for he is well known to his friends as a most able man, and will become better known to the world, if I may venture to prophesy, as the builder of what is sure to be the most famous lighthouse on the English coast. His name is Smeaton, and he is not an engineer.”
“Not an engineer?” echoed Teddy and old John, in surprise.
“No, he’s a mathematical instrument maker.”
“Well now,” said John Potter, gazing meditatively into the fireplace where Nora had evoked a tiny flame, “that is strange. This Eddystun Rock seems to have what I may call a pecooliar destiny. The builder of the first light’ouse was a country gentleman; of the second, a silk-mercer; and now, as you say, the third is to be put up by a maker o’ mathymatical instruments. I only hope,” continued John, shaking his head gravely at the fireplace, “that he won’t make a mess of it like the others did.”
“Come now, father,” returned his son, “don’t say that the others made a mess of it. We must remember that Winstanley began his building in what we may call total darkness. No other man before him had attempted such a work, so that he had no predecessor whose good points he might imitate, or whose failures he might avoid. Many a trained engineer might have made a worse mess of it, and, to my mind, it says much for poor Winstanley’s capacity, all things considered, that his lighthouse stood so long as the six or seven years of its building. Then as to Rudyerd’s one, it was in reality a great success. It stood firm for nigh fifty years, and, but for the fire, might have stood for any number of years to come. It cannot be justly said that he made a mess of it. As well might you say that the builders of a first-rate ship made a mess of it because someone set her alight after she had sailed the ocean for half a century.”
“True, Tommy, true,” said old John, nodding acquiescence emphatically. On seeing this, old Martha, knowing nothing about the matter because of her deafness, nodded emphatically also, and said, “that’s so, Tommy, I always ’ad a settled conviction that you was right, except,” she added, as if to guard herself, “except w’en you was after mischief.”
“Well, but Tommy,” continued old John, “you was agoin’ to tell us somethin’ about this Mister Smeaton. What sort of a man is he?”
“As far as I can judge, on short acquaintance,” replied Potter, “he seems to be a man who has got a mind and a will of his own, and looks like one who won’t be turned out of his straight course by trifles. His name is John, which is a good bible name, besides being yours, father, and he comes from Leeds, a highly respectable place, which has produced men of note before now. His age is thirty-two, which is about the most vigorous period of a man’s life, and he has come to his present business in spite of all opposition, a fact which is favourable to the prospects of the lighthouse. In short he’s a natural genius, and a born engineer. His father, an attorney, wished him to follow his own profession, but it was soon clear that that was out of the question, for the boy’s whole soul was steeped from earliest childhood in mechanics.”
“I once knew a boy,” said John Potter, with a smile, “whose whole soul was steeped in the same thing!”
“And in mischief,” added old Martha, suddenly, much to every one’s surprise. The old woman’s deafness was indeed of a strangely intermittent type!
“Well,” continued Potter, with a laugh and a nod to his mother, “no doubt Smeaton had a spice of mischief in him among other qualities, for it is said of him that when quite a little fellow he made a force pump, with which he emptied his father’s fish-pond of water, to the detriment, not to say consternation, of the fish. The upshot of it all was that the lad was apprenticed to a maker of mathematical instruments, and soon proved himself to be an inventive genius of considerable power. Ere long he commenced business on his own account, and has now undertaken the task of building the third lighthouse on the Eddystone. I was in London lately, and saw the beautiful models of the intended structure which Smeaton has made with his own hands, and it seems to me that he’s just the man to do the work.”
At the mention of models, old John Potter’s eyes lighted up, for it brought the memory of former days vividly before him.
“He means to build it of stone,” said the son.
“Stone, say ’ee? that’s right, Tommy, that’s right,” said old John, with a nod of strong approval, “I’ve always thought that the weak point in the old light’ouses was want of weight. On such a slope of a foundation, you know, it requires great weight to prevent the seas washin’ a lighthouse clean away.”
“I’ve thought the same thing, father, but what you and I only thought of Smeaton has stated, and intends to act upon. He means to build a tower so solid that it will defy the utmost fury of winds and waves. He is going to cut the sloping foundation into a series of steps or shelves, which will prevent the possibility of slipping. The shape of the building is to be something like the trunk of an oak tree, with a wider base than the lighthouse of Rudyerd. The first twenty feet or so of it is to be built solid; each stone to be made in the shape of a dovetail, and all the stones circling round a central key to which they will cling, as well as to each other, besides being held by bolts and cement, so that the lower part of the building will be as firm as the rock on which it stands. But I daresay, father,” continued his son, with a glance at Teddy Maroon, “our friend here, being engaged on the work, has told you all about this already.”
“Not I,” said Maroon, quickly, “I’ve bin too busy to come here until to-day, and though I’ve got me own notions o’ what Mr Smeaton intends, by obsarvin’ what’s goin’ on, I han’t guessed the quarter o’ what you’ve towld me, sur. Howsever, I can spake to what’s bin already done. You must know,” said Teddy, with a great affectation of being particular, “Mr Smeaton has wisely secured his workmen by howldin’ out pleasant prospects to ’em. In the first place, we’ve got good regular wages, an’ additional pay whin we’re on the Rock. In the second place, extra work on shore is paid for over an’ above the fixed wages. In the third place, each man has got his appinted dooty, an’s kep close at it. In the fourth place, the rules is uncommon stringent, and instant dismissal follers the breakin’ of ’em. In the fifth place—”
“Never mind the fifth place, Teddy,” interrupted old John, “like yer father, ye was ever too fond o’ waggin’ yer tongue. Just tell us straight off, if ye can, what’s been already done at the Rock.”
“Well, well,” said Maroon, with a deprecatory smile, “owld father an’ me’s always bin misonderstud more or less; but no matter. Av coorse we’ve had the usual difficulties to fight agin, for the owld Eddystone Rock ain’t agoin’ to change its natur to please nobody. As me father described it in his day, so I finds it in mine. On most of our first visits we got wet skins; but little or no work done, for though it might be ever so calm here at Plymouth, it always seemed to be blowin’ a private gale out at the Rock—leastwise, av it warn’t blowin’, there was swell enough most days to make the landin’ troublesome. So we got wan hour’s work at wan time, an’ two hours, or may be three, at another, off an’ on. As the saison advanced we got on better, sometimes got five and six hours on the Rock right on ind, and whin the tide sarved we wint at it by torch-light. Wan week we got no less than sixty-four an’ a half hours on it, an’ we was all in great sperrits intirely over that, for you see, mister Potter, we’re all picked men an’ takes a pride in the work—to say nothin’ of havin’ a good master. Av coorse we’ve had the usual botherations wid the sharp rocks cuttin’ the cable of our attendin’-sloop, an’ gales suddinly gettin’ up whin we was at the Rock wantin’ to land, as well as suddinly goin’ down whin we wasn’t at the Rock, so that we missed our chances. But such sorrows was what we expicted, more or less. The wust disappointment we’ve had has bin wi’ the noo store-ship, the Neptune Buss. I wish it was the Neptune bu’st, I do, for it’s wus than a tub, an’ gives us more trouble than it’s all worth. Now the saison’s drawin’ to a close, it’s clear that we’ll do no more this year than cut the foundations.”
