Four and a half miles out to sea, separated from Cape Clear, the most south-westerly point of Ireland, by a treacherous channel, rises the jagged, formidable shape of the Fastnet. To mariners the rock, with its brilliant shaft of light by night, has developed into more than a mere beacon. It is the first and last light of the Old World on the eastward and westward passages across the Atlantic. All passing vessels are “spoken” from this point to London, New York, and elsewhere.

It was in the early fifties of the past century that the engineer conceived the idea of planting a light upon this lonely crag. Maritime interests had agitated for a beacon for many years previously, since, although a warning gleam was thrown from the station on Cape Clear, this ray often was invisible, or partially obscured, owing to the wreaths of cloud and mist which draped the summit of the headland. The builder was Mr. George Halpin, engineer to the Port of Dublin Corporation, which was responsible at that time for the illumination of the shores of Ireland.

His task was not to be despised. The Fastnet itself is merely a pinnacle, rising precipitously to a height of about 100 feet above low-water, but it is the centre of many dangers. It is flanked on all sides by needle-points and ridges; the currents run strongly, and the tides are wicked, rendering approach uncertain even in the smoothest weather.

The indefatigable engineer attacked his task boldly. He chose the highest point of the rock as the site for his tower, which was a cast-iron cylindrical building, 91 feet in height. The lantern was equipped with a revolving apparatus which threw a flash of 38,000 candle-power for fifteen seconds once every two minutes from an elevation of 148 feet, rotation being obtained through a belt and a weight-driven clock. Its erection was a tedious undertaking; although a start was made in 1848, it was not until January 1, 1854, that the light first cast its welcome rays over the wastes of the Atlantic, by which time £20,000, or $100,000, had been spent upon the undertaking.

For ten years Halpin’s work successfully defied the elements, although at times the keepers grew somewhat apprehensive concerning its stability. Time after time, during heavy gales, it seemed as if it must succumb to the storm. The waves curled up the cliff and struck the tower with staggering force, causing it to tremble like a leaf. On one occasion a cup of coffee standing upon the table was thrown to the floor. While the shaft defied the most severe poundings, the cliff itself gave way, and large masses of rock on which the tower stood were carried away. One huge chunk, weighing some 3 tons, was detached, and, as it slipped down, was picked up by the next incoming wave, to be hurled with terrific force against the tower, but without inflicting any marked damage. On another occasion a cask containing 60 gallons of fresh water, which the keepers had made fast to the railing of the gallery surrounding the lantern, 133 feet above the water, was wrenched free by a wave which dashed over the rock, and was swept away as if it were an empty tin. The keepers’ anxiety under these circumstances may be understood.

At last, in April, 1865, the consulting engineer to the Corporation visited the lighthouse in company with Mr. George Stevenson, the famous Scottish lighthouse builder, to examine the rock thoroughly. The latter suggested certain recommendations to insure the stability of the tower; but when the sanction of the Brethren of Trinity House was sought, they deferred a decision until their own engineer had visited the works, although they appreciated Mr. Stevenson’s advice.

Some of the recommendations advanced by Mr. Stevenson were followed subsequently, and this reluctant recognition of his knowledge brought its reward. The authorities—now the Commissioners of Irish Lights—had a fright in 1881. The storms of that winter were among the heaviest that have ever assailed the British Islands. The Calf Rock light, which was a similar tower to the Fastnet, and which had been strengthened upon identical lines, came to grief. The tower was broken off at the point where the reinforcement ceased. This disaster naturally aroused many misgivings concerning the luck of the Fastnet. Had it shared a similar fate during the same gale? To their intense relief, the Commissioners found that it had issued from the conflict with no more injuries than a few broken panes of glass.

The tower withstood the attacks of wind and wave successfully until 1891, when the Commissioners came to the conclusion that it was time the Fastnet light was improved, to meet the requirements of the busier mercantile traffic passing the point. Accordingly, Mr. William Douglass, the engineer to the Commissioners, recommended a new tower, fitted with the latest form of illumination, so as to bring it into line with the other leading lights of the world. He advocated a tower of masonry with the focal plane at an elevation of 159 feet; the shaft, 147 feet high, springing from a position 6 inches below high-water, with a diameter at the base of 42 feet. The cost of the light was estimated at £70,000 or $350,000.

One cannot help admiring the daring of the engineer, since he declined to be assisted by the rock summit in his purpose. Instead he preferred the ledge of a chasm on the hardest part of the rock below high-tide, and directly exposed to the full force of the sea. He maintained that such a tower, planted on this shelf, would receive the force of the heaviest seas before they rose to their full height; also by building the base of the tower in the form of steps, as in the case of a breakwater, an excellent buffer would be offered to the rollers.

The new design came at an opportune moment. Another inspection of the existing tower by Mr. C.W. Scott, the present engineer-in-chief to the Commissioners, revealed a parlous state of affairs. Halpin’s building was on the verge of collapse. Many of the plates in the upper stories had worked loose under the poundings inflicted by the seas, and in many instances the bolts holding the fabric together were sheared. Repairs had to be made hastily to enable the old tower to hold out until the new lighthouse was erected.

Before the work was commenced, the designer, as a result of further investigation, decided to increase the diameter of his tower to 52 feet at the base. The lowest courses did not comprise complete rings of masonry, but were anchored at the points where the circle was broken into the face of the cliff, so as to form an integral part thereof, as it were. The depth of this partial ringwork is 26 feet, at which level the first complete ring of masonry was laid. Thenceforward the tower is solid throughout its thickness for a further height of 30 feet, except for a central circular space forming the water-tank, which holds 3,250 gallons of water. From this point the masonry structure rises gracefully to a height of 88¹/₈ feet to the lantern gallery. The lighthouse is divided into eight floors, affording living-rooms for the keepers, storerooms for oil, fog-signals, provisions, coal, etc.

The lighthouse, the landing-stage, and other appurtenances, are executed in Cornish granite throughout. The blocks were fashioned from picked stone of fine, close, hard grain, and ranged up to 4 and 5 tons in weight. The method of construction followed the approved lines of to-day, in which each stone is dovetailed into its neighbour, above, below, and on either side. As the stones were cut and fitted in the Cornish quarries, they were set up and fitted course by course. Then, when they had met the approbation of the engineer deputed for this duty, they were numbered and given other identification marks, so that upon reaching the base at Rock Island, upon the Irish mainland, within easy reach of the Fastnet, they could be despatched in rotation to the site, to be set in position. It was in August, 1896, that the first little squad of labourers landed on the Fastnet, under the superintendence of James Kavanagh, a first-class all-round mason—one of those men who occupy a unique position when emergency calls. He was just the type of foreman that the task demanded, careful, daring, a hard worker, zealous, dauntless. Once he had landed on the rock to prepare the foundations, he seldom left it; and, what is more, every stone constituting the tower was well and truly laid by his own hand. It was indeed unfortunate that Kavanagh, after his momentous round of toil was over, should be stricken down with apoplexy, to which he succumbed, after virtually years of imprisonment upon an ill-famed rock, facing discomforts and privations of all descriptions, and seizing every opportunity to drive the task forward. It was as if Nature, baffled in her efforts to circumvent the work of human ingenuity, had taken revenge upon the man who had laboured mightily to complete her subjection.

Kavanagh took with him upon the rock a small boiler and steam-winch, which he set up without delay, to land both workmen and necessaries. He lost no time in cutting away at the toe of the cliff, to admit the first partial ring of stones. It was a ding-dong battle between the masons and the sea for the first few rounds. The men toiled heroically with their chisels between the coming of the rollers, with one eye on the water and the other on a handy life-line, which they grabbed when the Atlantic endeavoured to steal a march upon them. On some days splendid progress was made; on others the masons never drove the chisels once into the rock-face.

Landing was an exciting experience in itself. The tender, naturally, could not draw right in, owing to the swell and other dangers. She stood off a little way, and there anchored. When men were coming to or going from the rock, the rope was run out from the derrick. To this was attached a kind of double stirrup, not unlike a child’s swing. The men took up their position, two at a time, on these stirrups, standing face to face. At the command, “Lower away!” or “Heave ho!” the derrick winch commenced to grunt and rattle, and the men were whisked into mid-air, clutching tightly to their frail, cramped hold, and steadied in their aerial journey by another rope extending to the rowing-boat below. It was an exciting trip while it lasted, and at first glimpse appeared to be dangerous, so much so that on one or two occasions the courage of raw hands broke down at the last moment, and they hesitated to trust themselves to such a flimsy-looking vehicle.

Bringing the stones ashore was even more difficult. It was imperative that the edges and corners of the blocks should be protected from blows which might chip and scar them, thereby impairing their true fit, and possibly allowing the sea to get a purchase in its efforts to destroy. Accordingly, the blocks were packed in skeleton crates, with substantial wooden battens completely protecting the vital parts. It was impossible to swing them singly direct through the air from steamer to rock, and it was inadvisable to transfer them first to a rowing-boat; so an ingenious alternative method was perfected. The tender was brought as near the rock as possible, and the derrick boom was swung out, so that a hook carried at the end of the rope could be attached to the stone, which rested on rollers upon the tender’s deck leading to an open doorway in the taffrail. When the rope was secured, the word was given to haul in the derrick rope slowly and gently. This brought the stone gradually to the vessel’s side, when it was permitted to fall into the water where it could suffer no injury. The derrick rope meanwhile was wound in, and the stone, still submerged, at last brought to rest against the side of the tower.

A vertical series of wooden battens had been attached to the outside of the building, so as to form a slide up which the blocks could be hauled to the required level. Of course, as the tower increased in height, the latter part of the operation had to be varied, owing to the concave curve of the structure. Then the stone had to complete its final stage through the air, being steadied in its ascent by a rope held below to prevent it swinging and coming to grief against the completed part of the shaft. In this manner 2,074 stones, representing a dead-weight of 4,633 tons, were landed and set in position.

Work was painfully slow and tedious at times, owing to adverse weather. Although the men on the rock were condemned inevitably to periods of idleness, they were made as comfortable as conditions would permit, so as to remove any longing on their part to return to the mainland for a change. This was a necessary precaution. Although the men might leave the rock in perfectly calm weather, the Atlantic is so fickle that an interval of two or three hours was quite sufficient to permit the wind to freshen, and the swell to grow restive, to such a degree as to render a return to the rock impossible for several days. Owing to the cramped nature of the quarters on the rock, elaborate care had to be exercised to protect the men from the ravages of disease. The toilers had to board themselves, and the authorities demanded that each man should maintain a fortnight’s reserve supply of provisions upon the rock to tide him over a spell of bad weather. This rule was enforced very rigidly, any infringement of it being attended with instant dismissal. For emergency purposes the Commissioners maintained a small stock of salt beef, pork, tinned meats, tea, sugar, milk, biscuits, and so forth, on the rock, from which the men could replenish their larders. The foreman acted as a kind of medical officer of health, as well as fulfilling his other duties. He was supplied with a ship’s medicine-chest, plenty of bandages, liniment, and antiseptics, in case of accident. At five o’clock every morning the men were compelled to tumble out of their bunks, to indulge in a thorough wash, to turn their bedding into the air when the weather was agreeable, and to wash out their quarters. The strictest supervision was maintained over matters pertaining to sanitation, and, thanks to these elaborate precautions, cases of sickness were very few.

Extreme care was observed in the building operations, so that no workman might be exposed to any unnecessary risks, although the task at times bristled with unavoidable perils. As a matter of fact, the whole enterprise was attended by only three accidents on the rock. One man was cutting a tram-rail, when a piece of steel flew into one eye, completely blinding it. Another suffered a similar calamity from a chip of stone while quarrying. The third man met misfortune while at work at the windlass of the derrick. As a breaker rolled in, his companion dropped his handle, with the result that the other workman was knocked down and had one leg broken. There was a true Hibernian flavour about this last-named accident, in keeping with the setting in which it occurred. The man was incapacitated for some months, and then brought an action for compensation, claiming that he had been rendered unfit for any further manual labour. The sympathetic court solaced him with an award of £350, or $1,750. The amazement and disgust of the engineer may be imagined when, three months after the action, he suddenly espied the supposedly totally incapacitated workman assisting in the transference of coal from a barge to the tender!

As the tower grew above the existing building, which it was to exceed in height, it obscured the light thrown from the latter in a certain direction. At this juncture, accordingly, a temporary scaffolding was erected upon the summit of the new shaft, on which were rigged two ordinary lightship lights, and these were kept going until the new lantern was completed. The last stone was set on June 3, 1903, after some four years’ labour.

During the winter everything was brought virtually to a standstill, owing to the succession of gales, but the men on the rock never missed an opportunity to advance the undertaking. Kavanagh, the foreman, absolutely refused to go ashore so long as any work could be completed. Often he remained on the Fastnet the whole year round, and never was away for more than two months in the year, when work was impossible. Other workmen, when they had lived down the first feelings of loneliness, became imbued with the same spirit, and appeared loth to forsake the scene of their labours even for a day or two. When the men settled down to their toil, it was very seldom that a wish was expressed to be taken ashore more than once in three months.

The lantern was undertaken directly the stonework was completed. The landing of this apparatus was an exciting task, for, the season being advanced, it was decided to run unusual risks, lest the rock should become unapproachable. It was accomplished successfully, and the various parts were stored on the rock in what was considered a safe place. The weather looked fine and gave no signs of breaking; yet two hours after all had been inspected and secured for the night a terrific gale sprang up, and the rock was enveloped in water, which dashed right over it. The waves caught some of the lantern apparatus and smashed it; other parts were carried away and never seen again. This was an unexpected catastrophe. The remaining damaged parts of the apparatus were sent back to Birmingham to be overhauled and the missing portions replaced.

As there was no possibility of being able to complete the lantern that winter, and the authorities did not like to entrust the marking of the rock solely to the temporary lightship lights—the lantern of the Halpin tower had been taken down meanwhile—it was thereupon decided to erect the dismantled old lamp in the new tower for the time being.

The next summer the new apparatus was got on to the rock and erected safely. The light is of the dioptric type, derived from a series of incandescent burners, giving a total power of 1,200 candles. This part of the installation is the invention of the chief engineer to the Commissioners, Mr. C.W. Scott, and it has proved to be one of the most perfect and economical devices of this type yet submitted to practical operations. The oil is vaporized by being passed through a spraying device under pressure, similar to the forced carburation in automobile practice, and the gas is fed to the Bunsen burners. The lenses, together with their revolving apparatus, weigh 13,440 pounds, and rotate upon a bed of mercury under the fall of a weight of 290 pounds, which descends 40 feet per hour, this being sufficient to secure three complete revolutions per minute. In case the incandescent gas installation should break down from any cause, a four-wick oil-burner is held in reserve, and can be brought into action instantly. The power of the rays thrown from the 1,200 candle-power burners is intensified by the lenses to some 750,000 candle-power, of extremely white brilliancy, recalling the beam thrown by an electric searchlight. The flash, of three-twenty-fifths of a second’s duration, recurs every five seconds, and on a clear night the light is readily distinguishable from a distance of twenty miles, while its reflection in the sky may be observed from a considerably greater distance.

The erection of this lighthouse was not without one humorous incident. While the lantern apparatus was being set in position, a plumber was sent to the rock. He spent one day and night there, a period that proved to be more than enough for him. The murmuring of the waves lost all their musical glamour for him when he was imprisoned on a wild, isolated, wind-and-wave-swept eyrie. He did not get a wink of sleep, and was scared nearly out of his wits. When morning broke, and the men were turned out of their bunks, the plumber expressed his fixed determination to return to the shore at once. His companions laughed at his fears, ridiculed his anxieties, coaxed and upbraided him in turn. It was of no avail. He would not do another stroke of work. Realizing the hopelessness of such a workman, the engineer in charge signalled the mainland for assistance. The steamer could not put out, but the lifeboat, not understanding the import of such an unusual call, made the dangerous pull to the rock, to ascertain what was the matter. When they found that it was to take off a scared workman, their feelings may be imagined. The demoralized plumber was bundled into the lifeboat and rowed back to shore. The blood did not return to his face, nor did he collect his scattered wits, until he planted his two feet firmly on the mainland, when he very vehemently and picturesquely expressed his determination never to accept a job in such a forsaken place again.

The old tower was reduced to the level of its solid base, and converted into an oil-store. The finishing touches were applied to the new tower, and on June 27, 1906, the scintillating and penetrating ray of the present Fastnet was shown for the first time. It is a magnificent light, and, being the latest expression of British lighthouse engineering upon a large scale, compels more than passing interest. The light is fully in keeping with the importance of the spot it marks, and the £84,000, or $420,000, which it cost has been laid out to excellent purpose. The light and fog-signal station is tended by six keepers, four being on the rock simultaneously, and two ashore. The latter constitute the relief, which is made twice a month if the weather permits, the service being one month on the rock, followed by a fortnight on shore. One keeper has day duty, maintaining a lookout for fog and to signal passing ships; two are on duty at night, the one having charge of the light and its operation, while his comrade devotes his attention to signalling ships and watching the weather. When a mist creeps over the light, the fourth keeper is called up to manipulate the explosive fog-signal. The lighthouse, being an important landfall, is a signalling-station for Lloyd’s, and is also fitted with wireless telegraphy, wherewith the movements of outgoing and incoming vessels are reported to the mainland for notification to all parts of the world.