Kitabı oku: «The Story of the Rock», sayfa 5

“An’ that’s not a bad season’s work, lad,” said old John. “Ain’t it not, Tommy?”

“Not bad, indeed, father, for there are always unusual and vexatious delays at the beginning of a great work; besides, some of the greatest difficulties in connexion with such buildings are encountered in the preparation of the foundations. I suppose Mr Smeaton means to dress the stones on shore, ready for laying?” continued Potter the younger, turning to Maroon, who had risen and was buttoning up his monkey-jacket.

“Why, yes sur, haven’t you bin down at the yard?”

“Not yet. I’ve only just arrived in town; and must be off again to-morrow. You can’t think how disappointed I am at being prevented by business from taking part in the building of the new lighthouse—”

“What’s that you say, Tommy?” interrupted old Martha, putting her hand to her ear and wrinkling her brow interrogatively.

“That I’m grieved, mother, at not being able to help in building the new lighthouse,” shouted her son, in a voice that might have split an ordinary ear.

Old Martha’s visage relaxed into a faint smile as she turned towards the fire and looked earnestly at it, as if for explanation or consolation.

“Ay ay,” she muttered, “it would have bin strange if you hadn’t wished that; you was always up to mischief, Tommy; always; or else wishin’ to be up to it, although you might know as well as I know myself, that if you did get leave to go hout to the Rock (which you’re for ever wantin’ to do), it would be wet feet an dirty pinafores mornin’, noon, an’ night, which it’s little you care for that, you bad boy, though it causes me no end of washin’ an’ dryin’,—ay ay!”

The old woman looked up in the smiling countenance of her stalwart son, and becoming apparently a little confused by reminiscences of the past and evidences of the present, retired within herself and relapsed into silence.

“Well, sur,” continued Teddy, “just give a look down if you can; it’s worth your while. Mr Smeaton means to have every stone cut in the yard here on shore, and to lay down each ‘course’ in the yard too, to be sure that it all fits, for we’ll have no time out at the Rock to correct mistakes or make alterations. It’ll be ‘sharp’s the word, boys, and look alive O!’ all through; ship the stones; off to the Rock; land ’em in hot haste; clap on the cement; down wi’ the blocks; work like blazes—or Irishmen, which is much the same thing; make all fast into the boats again; sailors shoutin’ ‘Look alive, me hearties! squall bearin’ down right abaft of the lee stuns’l gangway!’—or somethin’ like that; up sail, an’ hooroo! boys, for the land, weather permittin’; if not, out to say an’ take things aisy, or av ye can’t be aisy, be as aisy as ye can!”

“A pleasant prospect, truly,” said Mr T. Potter, laughing, as he shook the Irishman’s horny hand.

“Good-bye, John. Good-bye, Nora, me darlin’; Good-bye, owld ooman.”

“Hold your noise, lad,” said old Martha, looking gravely into her visitor’s face.

“That’s just what I manes to do, mavoorneen,” replied Teddy Maroon, with a pleasant nod, “for I’ll be off to the Rock to-morrow by day-break, weather permittin’, an’ it’s little help any noise from me would give to the waves that kape gallivantin’ wid the reefs out there like mad things, from Sunday to Saturday, all the year round.”

When the door shut on the noisy Irishman, it seemed as though one of the profound calms so much needed and desired out at the Eddystone Rock had settled down in old John Potter’s home—a calm which was not broken for some minutes thereafter except by old Martha muttering softly once or twice, while she gravely shook her head: “Hold your noise, Teddy, hold your noise, lad; you’re very like your father; hold your noise!”

Chapter Eight.
Experiences, Difficulties, and Dangers of the First Season

While the building of the new lighthouse was being thus calmly discussed on shore, out at the Eddystone the wild waves were lashing themselves into fierce fury, as if they had got wind of what was being done, and had hurried from all ends of the sea to interdict proceedings. In hurrying to the field of battle these wild waves indulged in a little of their favourite pastime. They caught up two unfortunate vessels—a large West Indiaman and a man-of-war’s tender—and bore them triumphantly towards the fatal Rock. It seemed as though the waves regarded these as representative vessels, and meant thus to cast the royal and the merchant navies on the Eddystone, by way, as it were, of throwing down the gauntlet to presumptuous Man.

For want of the famous light the vessels bore straight down upon the Rock, and the wild waves danced and laughed, and displayed their white teeth and their seething ire, as if in exultation at the thought of the shattered hulls and mangled corpses, which they hoped ere long to toss upon their crests.

Fortunately, Man was on the “look out!” The Buss was tugging at her moorings off the Rock, and some of the seamen and hands were perambulating the deck, wishing for settled weather, and trying to pierce the gloom by which they were surrounded. Suddenly the two vessels were seen approaching. The alarm was given. Those on board the doomed ships saw their danger when too late, and tried to sheer off the fatal spot, but their efforts were fruitless. The exulting waves hurried them irresistibly on. In this extremity the Eddystone men leaped into their yawl, pushed off, and succeeded in towing both vessels out of danger; at once demonstrating the courage of English hearts and the need there was for English hands to complete the work on which they were then engaged.

Next day Mr Smeaton came off to visit the Rock, and the news of the rescue served him for a text on which to preach a lay-sermon as to the need of every man exerting himself to the uttermost in a work which was so obviously a matter of life and death. It was, however, scarcely necessary to urge these men, for they were almost all willing. But not all; in nearly every flock there is a black sheep or so, that requires weeding out. There were two such sheep among the builders of the Eddystone. Being good at everything, Smeaton was a good weeder. He soon had them up by the roots and cast out. A foreman proved to be disorderly, and tried to make the men promise, “that if he should be discharged they would all follow him.” Smeaton at once assembled the men and gave orders that such of them as had any dependence on, or attachment to, the refractory foreman, should take up his tools and follow him. Only one did so—the rest stood firm.

At this time the weather was very unsettled, and the work progressed slowly. Once or twice it was still further retarded, by men who should have known better, in the following manner:

One evening one of the lighthouse boats was boarded by a cutter, the officer in charge of which proceeded to “impress” several of the men into the navy.

“It’s to be pressed we are,” murmured Teddy Maroon to one of his mates, in a vexed tone, “sure the tater-heads might know we’ve got an Admiralty protection.”

Whether the officer knew this or not, it was evident that he had overheard the remark, for, after selecting two of the best men, he turned, and, pointing to Maroon, said aloud:—

“Let that tater-head also jump on board. He’s not worth much, but the service is in want of powder-monkeys just now. Perhaps he’ll do. If not, I’ll send him back.”

Thus was the poor Irishman carried off with his two mates to fight the battles of his country! In a few days, however, they were all sent back, and the indiscreet officer who had impressed them got a reprimand for his pains. After the first season they had no further interruptions from this source.

Large mainsails were given them for their boats, with a lighthouse painted on each, and every man obtained besides a silver medal of exemption from impressment.

But this was only the commencement of poor Teddy’s “throubles” at that time. He had scarcely returned to his work when a new one overtook him. This was, however, in the way of business.

“Teddy, my fine fellow,” said Richardson, the foreman, as they stood on the deck of the Buss holding on to the mizzen shrouds, “it’s quite clear to me that with the wind dead against them like this, the relief boat with Hill’s company won’t be able to get off, and as we’re short of provisions, I mean to take the big yawl and go ashore with my gang. As the best men are always chosen for posts of danger, I shall leave you in charge of the Buss with two hands—Smart and Bowden;—both stanch fellows as you know.”

“I’m your servant, sir,” said Teddy, “only if the best men are wanted here, hadn’t you better stop yourself, an’ I’ll take the rest ashore?”

Richardson did not see his way to this, though he acknowledged the compliment, and that evening Teddy found himself in command of the despised Buss, with half a gale blowing, and, as he observed, “more where that came from.”

Teddy was right, “more” did come, and kept him and his mates idle prisoners for a week. Indeed the whole of that month had been so stormy that from the 16th to the 30th only twenty hours’ work had been done on the Rock.

During six days the three men stuck to their post, but at the end of that time Teddy called a council of war.

“Gintlemen,” said he, ”(for men in our pursition must be purlite to sich other), it’s our dooty to stick by this here tub so long’s it’s of any use to do so; but as she seems to be well able to look after herself, an’ our purvisions has come down to the last ounce, it’s my opinion—founded on profound meditations over me last pipe—that we’d better go ashore.”

To this speech John Bowden replied “I’m agreeable, for it’s not my dooty to starve myself.”

William Smart, however, intimated that he was “disagreeable.”

“Because,” said he, “its blowin’ great guns, an’ looks as if it meant to go on, which is not a state of weather suitable for goin’ over a dozen miles of sea in a small open boat, without even a mast or a rag of sail to bless herself with.”

“Pooh!” exclaimed Maroon, contemptuously; “a blanket’ll make the best of sails.”

“Ay,” added Bowden, “and an oar will do well enough for a mast—anyhow we’ll try, for most votes carry in all well-regulated meetin’s.”

This plan, although attended with considerable danger, was finally agreed to, and forthwith acted on.

That afternoon the men on shore observed a very Robinson-Crusoe-like boat coming in from the sea with an oar-mast and a blanket-sail, from which landed “Captain” Teddy Maroon and his two mates. The same evening, however, the wind moderated and shifted a little, so that the relief boat, with provisions and the gang of men whose turn it was to do duty in the store-ship, succeeded in getting off and reaching their Buss in safety.

The weather became so bad soon after this that Smeaton thought it wise to bring his operations for that season to a close. Accordingly, on the 7th November, he visited the Rock, which had been cut into a regular floor of successive terraces or steps, and was considerably larger in circumference than the foundation on which Rudyerd’s building had rested. On the 15th the Buss sailed into Plymouth, the men having run out of provisions, and having been unable to do anything on the Rock.

A great storm raged on the 22nd. On the previous day Smeaton had gone off in the Buss to attach a buoy to the mooring chains for that winter. The task was laborious, and when it was completed they found it impossible to return to Plymouth, owing to the miserable sailing qualities of their vessel. There was nothing for it but to cast loose and run before the wind. While doing so they snapt the painter of the yawl, and lost it.

Thus they were, as it were, cast adrift upon the sea with neither maps, charts, books, nor instruments to guide them. No alarm, however, was felt, the neighbouring headlands being bold, and all on board having previously been at Fowey, to which port Smeaton now gave orders to steer.

Wet and worn out with labour, he then went below to snatch a few hours’ repose. In the night he was awakened by a tremendous noise overhead. The men were rushing about the deck, and shouting wildly. He sprang up without dressing. A voice, exclaiming, “For God’s sake heave hard on that rope if you want to save yourselves!” saluted him as he gained the deck. Roaring wind, a deluge of rain, and pitch darkness held revel on the sea; but above the din was heard the dreaded sound of breakers close under their lee. The jib was split, the mainsail half-lowered, and the vessel running gunwale under. By vigorous and well-directed action, in which John Bowden proved himself to be one of those men who are towers of strength in emergencies, the head of the Buss was brought round, and the immediate danger averted, but they had no idea where they were, and when day broke on the 23rd they found themselves out of sight of land! Their last boat, also, had filled while towing astern, and had to be cut adrift. At noon, however; they sighted the Land’s End—the wind blowing hard from the nor’-east.

“No chance o’ making a British port in this wind with such a vessel, sir,” said John Bowden, touching his cap respectfully to Mr Smeaton.

“As well try to bate to win’ard in me grandmother’s wash-tub,” remarked Teddy Maroon, in a disrespectful tone.

Smeaton, agreeing with them, lay-to the whole of the 24th, and then, casting anchor, debated whether it were better to make for the coast of France or try to reach the Scilly Islands. Fortunately a change of wind on the 25th enabled them to weigh anchor and run back to Plymouth rejoicing; and vowing, as John Bowden said, never more to venture out to sea in a Buss! They reached the harbour at six in the morning, to the intense relief of their friends, who had given them up for lost.

Thus ended the first season—1756.

Chapter Nine.
Account of the War Continued

“Now then, my lads,” said Smeaton, on the 12th of June 1757, “we shall lay the foundation to-day, so let us go to work with a will.”

“Faix, then,” whispered Teddy Maroon to John Bowden, as they proceeded to the wharf, where the ready-cut stones were being put on board the Eddystone boat, “it’s little good we’ll do av we don’t go to work wid a will.”

“I believe you, my boy,” replied John, heartily. John Bowden said and did everything heartily. “An’ we won’t be long,” he continued, “about laying the first course, it’s such a small one.”

“Hallo!” shouted the man in charge of the boat, as they came in sight of it, “come along, lads; we’re all ready.”

According to directions they ran down, and jumped on board “with a will.” Smeaton took his place in the stern. They pushed off with a will; sailed and pulled out the fourteen miles with a will; jumped on the rock, landed the heavy stones, went immediately into action, cleaned the bed, and laid the first stone of the great work—all under the same vigorous impulse of the will. This was at eight in the morning. By the evening tide, the first “course,” which formed but a small segment of a circle, was fitted with the utmost despatch, bedded in mortar and trenailed down. Next day the second course was partly landed on the rock; the men still working with a will, for moments out there were more precious than hours or days in ordinary building,—but before they got the whole course landed, old Ocean also began to work with a will, and eventually proved himself stronger than his adversaries, by driving them, in a terrific storm, from the Rock!

They reached the Buss with difficulty, and lay there idle while the mad waves revelled round the rocks, and danced through their works deridingly. It seemed, however, as though they were only “in fun,” for, on returning to work after the gale abated, it was found that “no harm had been done.” As if, however, to check any premature felicitations, old Ocean again sent a sudden squall on the 18th, which drove the men once more off the rock, without allowing time to chain the stones landed, so that five of them were lost.

This was a serious disaster. The lost stones could only be replaced by new ones being cut from the distant quarries. Prompt in all emergencies, Smeaton hurried away and set two men to work on each stone, night and day; nevertheless, despite his utmost efforts, seconded by willing men, the incident caused the loss of more than a week.

Fogs now stepped in to aid and abet the winds and waves in their mad efforts to stop the work. Stop it! They little knew what indomitable spirits some men have got. As well might they have attempted to stop the course of time! They succeeded, however, in causing vexatious delays, and, in July, had the audacity to fling a wreck in the very teeth of the builders, as if to taunt them with the futility of their labours.

It happened thus: On the night of the 5th a vessel named the Charming Sally, about 130 tons burden, and hailing from Biddeford, came sailing over the main. A bright lookout was kept on board of her, of course, for the wind was moderately high, and the fog immoderately thick. The Sally progressed charmingly till midnight, when the look-out observed “something” right ahead. He thought the something looked like fishing-boats, and, being an unusually bright fellow, he resolved to wait until he should be quite sure before reporting what he saw. With a jovial swirl the waves bore the Charming Sally to her doom. “Rocks ahead!” roared the bright look-out, rather suddenly. “Rocks under her bottom,” thought the crew of seven hands, as they leaped on deck, and felt the out-lying reefs of the Eddystone playing pitch and toss with their keel. Dire was the confusion on board, and cruel were the blows dealt with ungallant and unceasing violence at the hull of the Charming Sally; and black, black as the night would have been the fate of the hapless seamen on that occasion if the builders of the Eddystone had not kept a brighter look-out on board their sheltering Buss. John Bowden had observed the vessel bearing down on the rocks, and gave a startling alarm. Without delay a boat was launched and pulled to the rescue. Meanwhile the vessel filled so fast that their boat floated on the deck before the crew could get into it, and the whole affair had occurred so suddenly that some of the men, when taken off, were only in their shirts. That night the rescued men were hospitably entertained in the Buss by the builders of the new lighthouse, and, soon after, the ribs of the Charming Sally were torn to pieces by the far-famed teeth of the Eddystone—another added to the countless thousands of wrecks which had been demonstrating the urgent need there was for a lighthouse there, since the earliest days of navigation.

Having enacted this pleasant little episode, the indefatigable builders set to work again to do battle with the winds and waves. That the battle was a fierce one is incidentally brought out by the fact that on the 8th of August the sea was said “for the first time” to have refrained from going over the works during a whole tide!

On the 11th of the same month the building was brought to a level with the highest point of the Rock. This was a noteworthy epoch, inasmuch as the first completely circular course was laid down, and the men had more space to move about.

Mr Smeaton, indeed, seems to have moved about too much. Possibly the hilarious state of his mind unduly affected his usually sedate body. At all events, from whatever cause, he chanced to tumble off the edge of the building, and fell on the rocks below, at the very feet of the amazed Teddy Maroon, who happened to be at work there at the time.

“Och, is it kilt ye are, sur?” demanded the Irishman.

“Not quite,” replied Smeaton, rising and carefully examining his thumb, which had been dislocated.

“Sure now it’s a sargeon ye should have bin,” said Teddy, as his commander jerked the thumb into its place as though it had been the disabled joint of a mathematical instrument, and quietly returned to his labours.

About this time also the great shears, by means of which the stones were raised to the top of the building, were overturned, and fell with a crash amongst the men; fortunately, however, no damage to life or limb resulted, though several narrow escapes were made. Being now on a good platform, they tried to work at night with the aid of links, but the enemy came down on them in the form of wind, and constantly blew the links out. The builders, determined not to be beaten, made a huge bonfire of their links. The enemy, growing furious, called up reinforcements of the waves, and not only drowned out the bonfire but drove the builders back to the shelter of their fortress, the Buss, and shut them up there for several days, while the waves, coming constantly up in great battalions, broke high over the re-erected shears, and did great damage to the machinery and works, but failed to move the sturdy root of the lighthouse which had now been fairly planted, though the attack was evidently made in force, this being the worst storm of the season. It lasted fifteen days.

On the 1st September the enemy retired for a little repose, and the builders, instantly sallying out, went to work again “with a will,” and secured eighteen days of uninterrupted progress. Then the ocean, as if refreshed, renewed the attack, and kept it up with such unceasing vigour that the builders drew off and retired into winter quarters on the 3rd of October, purposing to continue the war in the following spring.

During this campaign of 1757 the column of the lighthouse had risen four feet six inches above the highest point of the Eddystone Rock. Thus ended the second season, and the wearied but dauntless men returned to the work-yard on shore to carve the needful stones, and otherwise to prepare ammunition for the coming struggle.

Sitting one night that winter at John Potter’s fireside, smoking his pipe in company with John Bowden, Teddy Maroon expressed his belief that building lighthouses was about the hardest and the greatest work that man could undertake; that the men who did undertake such work ought not only to receive double pay while on duty, but also half pay for the remainder of their natural lives; that the thanks of the king, lords, and commons, inscribed on vellum, should be awarded to each man; and that gold medals should be struck commemorative of such great events,—all of which he said with great emphasis, discharging a sharp little puff of smoke between every two or three words, and winding up with a declaration that “them was his sentiments.”

To all this old John Potter gravely nodded assent, and old Martha—being quite deaf to sound as well as reason—shook her head so decidedly that her cap quivered again.

John Bowden ventured to differ. He—firing off little cloudlets of smoke between words, in emulation of his friend—gave it as his opinion that “war was wuss,” an opinion which he founded on the authority of his departed father, who had fought all through the Peninsular campaign, and who had been in the habit of entertaining his friends and family with such graphic accounts of storming breaches, bombarding fortresses, lopping off heads, arms, and legs, screwing bayonets into men’s gizzards and livers, and otherwise agonising human frames, and demolishing human handiwork, that the hair of his auditors’ heads would certainly have stood on end if that capillary proceeding had been at all possible.

But Teddy Maroon did not admit the force of his friend’s arguments. He allowed, indeed, that war was a great work, inasmuch as it was a great evil, whereas lighthouse-building was a great blessing; and he contended, that while the first was a cause of unmitigated misery, and productive of nothing better than widows, orphans, and national debts, the second was the source of immense happiness, and of salvation to life, limb, and property.

To this John Bowden objected, and Teddy Maroon retorted, whereupon a war of words began, which speedily waged so hot that the pipes of both combatants went out, and old John Potter found it necessary to assume the part of peace-maker, in which, being himself a keen debater, he failed, and there is no saying what might have been the result of it if old Martha had not brought the action to a summary close by telling her visitors in shrill tones to “hold their noise.” This they did after laughing heartily at the old woman’s fierce expression of countenance.

Before parting, however, they all agreed without deciding the question at issue—that lighthouse-building was truly a noble work.