At first sight it seems somewhat remarkable—some might feel disposed to challenge the assertion—that so small a country as Scotland should stand pre-eminent among the nations of the world as being that possessed of the greatest number of imposing sea-rock lights. But such is the case. Moreover, North Britain offers some of the finest and most impressive specimens of the lighthouse builder’s resource and skill to be found in any part of the globe.

When the responsibility for lighting the Scottish coasts was handed over to the Commissioners for Northern Lighthouses, one of their first tasks was the adequate illumination of the wave-swept Inchcape or Bell Rock, which lies some twelve miles off the Scottish mainland in the busy portal of the Firth of Tay. At that time this sinister menace to navigation was not marked in any way whatever, and apparently had remained in this unprotected condition ever since the notorious pirate, Ralph the Rover, cut away the buoy-bell which had been placed upon it by the Abbot of Aberbrothock, as narrated in Southey’s famous ballad.

The rock, or rather reef—inasmuch as it measures 2,000 feet from end to end, and lies athwart the fairway—is submerged completely to a depth of 16 feet at high spring-tides, while at lowest water only some 4 feet of its crest are laid bare here and there. This is not all. The ledge is the summit of a dangerous, slowly-rising submarine hillock, where, for a distance of about 100 yards on either side, the lead sounds only 3 fathoms. Wrecks were so numerous and terrible at this spot that the protection of the seafaring community became imperative, and the newly-appointed guardians of the Scottish coast lost no time in justifying the trust reposed in them, but erected a first-class light. The Eddystone had been conquered, and, although the conditions were dissimilar and the enterprise bolder, no tangible reason against its imitation was advanced.

The engineer John Rennie was entrusted with the work, while Robert Stevenson was appointed as his assistant. The rock was surveyed, and a tower similar in its broad lines to that evolved by Smeaton for the Eddystone was elaborated, and the authority for its construction given in the year 1806.

Work upon the rock in the earliest stages was confined to the calmest days of the summer season, when the tides were lowest, the water was smoothest, and the wind in its calmest mood. Under such conditions the men were able to stay on the site for about five hours. The engineer hoped against hope that the elements would be kind to him, and that he would be able to complete the preliminary work upon the rock in one season.

The constructional plans were prepared carefully, so that advantage might be taken of every promising opportunity. One distinct drawback was the necessity to establish a depot some distance from the erecting site. Those were the days before steam navigation, and the capricious sailing craft offered the only means of maintaining communication between rock and shore, and for the conveyance of men and material to and fro. The year 1807 was devoted to the construction of vessels for the work, and to the establishment of workshops with machinery and other facilities at Arbroath, the nearest suitable point on the mainland to the rock. A temporary beacon was placed on the reef, while adjacent to the site selected for the tower a smith’s forge was made fast, so as to withstand the dragging motion of the waves when the rock was submerged. The men were housed on the Smeaton, which during the spells of work on the rock rode at anchor a short distance away in deep water. The arrangements stipulated that three boats, which were employed to bring the men from the vessel to the rock, should always be moored at the landing-place, so that, in the event of the weather changing for the worse, the masons, forced to cease work suddenly, might regain the Smeaton safely in one trip, the three boats being able to convey thirty men, which constituted the average complement on the rock.

While the preparations were proceeding ashore, a little body of workers toiled, whenever possible, at clearing the face of the rock and carrying out the requisite excavation work. While this was in progress a disaster was averted very narrowly, which would have jeopardized the completion of the tower, owing to the superstitious natures of the men engaged. On September 2, 1807, the Smeaton, as usual, had brought out some thirty masons, had landed them safely on the rock, and was riding at anchor.

Suddenly the wind freshened, and the engineer on the rock grew apprehensive of the Smeaton dragging her cables. A party at once put off from the rock in one of the three boats and regained the ship, but were scarcely aboard when the cables parted, and the vessel, caught by the wind and tide, made off. Before the men regained control of her she had drifted some three miles to leeward. Meantime on the rock the situation was growing serious. Only Mr. Stevenson, who was supervising operations on the spot, and the landing-master were aware of its gravity. The masons were so busy hewing, boring and chiselling, that they had not noticed the Smeaton’s drift. But the engineer, observing the flowing of the tide, realized that the rock must be submerged before the ship could be brought up again. He racked his brains to find some means of getting his gang of men off safely in the nick of time, but it was a searching problem to solve with only two boats, which, at the utmost, could carry twenty-four persons. To make matters worse, one of those mists which are so peculiar to the Scottish coast began to settle down, blotting everything from sight.

The water rose higher. The men toiling on the lowest levels receded higher and higher before the advancing tide, though still too deeply occupied in their labours to bestow a thought upon the Smeaton. At last the smith’s forge was quenched, and this was the general signal to the men to prepare to leave the rock. Tools were collected, and the party strode towards the landing-stage to enter the boats. Conceive their consternation when they saw that one boat was missing! When they glanced over the water the Smeaton was not riding in her usual place—in fact, was nowhere to be seen! One and all gathered around the engineer to learn the reason for this remarkable breach in the arrangements for their safety, and yet all were too dumbfounded to question or protest. As for the luckless engineer, he was at his wits’ end and could not offer a word of explanation to the inquiring looks that besieged him. One and all, as the water lapped their feet, realized the hopelessness of the position. Suddenly, when they were beginning to despair, one of the men described the phantom form of a vessel making for the rock. “A boat!” he shouted in exultation. Sure enough the shadow matured into the familiar form of the Tay pilot-boat, the master of which, observing the workmen on the rock, the rising tide, and the absence of the Smeaton, had realized that something must have gone wrong, and approached the rock to make inquiries. He came up at the critical moment. The men were drenched, and, their feelings having been strung to a high pitch with anxiety, they nearly collapsed at the arrival of this unexpected assistance. The pilot-boat, after taking off the men, awaited the return of the Smeaton, which took them on board about midnight.

This narrow escape so terrified the men that on the following day the engineer found only eight of his staff of thirty-two, who were willing to venture upon the rock again. When this gang returned in the evening, their safety appeared to restore courage to their companions, so that next day all expressed their readiness to resume their tasks.

The fitful character of the work did not leave its mark so distinctly as might be supposed. Whenever there was a chance, the men worked with an amazing will and zeal; and although the first stone of the tower was not laid until July 10, 1808, three courses of masonry were completed when the undertaking was suspended at the end of November for the winter. The succeeding season’s toil saw the addition of about 27 feet more of the tower, which was finally completed by the close of 1810. The building was 120 feet in height, and the light was shown for the first time on February 1, 1811.

In view of the difficulties which had to be surmounted, this “ruddy gem of changeful light,” as it is described by Sir Walter Scott, was not particularly costly. By the time it was brought into commission, £61,330, or $306,650, had been expended. In 1902, after nearly a century’s service, the tower was provided with a new light-room, so as to bring it into conformity with modern practice.

While the Bell Rock tower stands as a monument to the engineering ability of Robert Stevenson, the Skerryvore, on the western coast, is a striking tribute to the genius of his son, Alan. For forty years or more previous to 1844 one ship at least had been caught and shattered every year on this tumbled mass of gneiss. From the navigator’s point of view, the danger of this spot lay chiefly in the fact that it was so widely scattered. The ridge runs like a broken backbone for a distance of some eight miles in a west-south-westerly direction, and it is flanked on each side by isolated rocks which jut from a badly-broken sea-bed. The whole mass lies some distance out to sea, being ten miles south-west of Tyree and twenty-four miles west of Iona. In rough weather the whole of the rocks are covered, and the waves, beating heavily on the mass, convert the scene into one of indescribable tumult.

The Commissioners of Northern Lights acknowledged the urgent need of a light upon this ridge, but it was realized that its erection would represent the most daring feat of lighthouse engineering that had been attempted up to this time. There was only one point where a tower could be placed, and this was so exposed that the safe handling of the men and materials constituted a grave responsibility. The rock has to withstand the full impetus of the Atlantic waves, gathered in their 3,000 miles’ roll, and investigations revealed the fact that they bear down upon the Skerryvore with a force equal to some 3 tons per square foot. It was apparent that any masonry tower must be of prodigious strength to resist such a battering, while at the same time a lofty stack was imperative, because the light not only would have to mount guard over the rock upon which it stood, but also over a vast stretch of dangerous water on either side.

After he had completed the Bell Rock light, Robert Stevenson attacked the problem of the Skerryvore. In order to realize the magnitude of the undertaking, some of the Commissioners accompanied the engineer, but the experience of pulling out into the open Atlantic on a day when it was slightly ruffled somewhat shook their determination to investigate the reef from close quarters. Sir Walter Scott was a member of the party, and he has described the journey very graphically. Before they had gone far the Commissioners on board expressed their willingness to leave the matter entirely in the hands of their engineer. With grim Scottish humour, however, Robert Stevenson insisted that the rock should be gained, so that the Commissioners might be able to grasp the problem at first hand.

But after all nothing was done. The difficulties surrounding the work were only too apparent to the officials. They agreed that the expense must be prodigious and that the risks to the workmen would be grave.

In 1834 a second expedition was despatched to the reef under Alan Stevenson, who had accompanied his father on the previous occasion, and who now occupied the engineering chair. He surveyed the reef thoroughly, traversing the dangerous channels around the isolated humps, of which no less than 130 were counted, at great risk to himself and his companions. However, he achieved his object. He discovered the best site for the tower and returned home to prepare his plans.

His proposals, for those days, certainly were startling. He decided to follow generally the principles of design, which had been laid down by his father in regard to the Bell Rock. But he planned something bigger and more daring. He maintained that a tower 130 feet high, with a base diameter of 42 feet, tapering in a curve to 16 feet at the top, was absolutely necessary. It was the loftiest and weightiest work of its character that had ever been contemplated up to this time, while the peculiar situation of the reef demanded pioneering work in all directions.

The confidence of the Commissioners in the ability of their engineer was so complete that he received the official sanction to begin, and in 1838 the undertaking was commenced. The engineer immediately formulated his plans of campaign for a stiff struggle with Nature. One of the greatest difficulties was the necessity to transport men, supplies and material over a long distance, as the Scottish coast in this vicinity is wild and sparsely populated. He established his base on the neighbouring island of Tyree, where barracks for the workmen, and yards for the preparation of the material, were erected, while another colony was established on the Isle of Mull for the quarrying of the granite. A tiny pier or jetty had to be built at this point to facilitate the shipment of the stone, and at Tyree a small harbour had to be completed to receive the vessel which was built specially for transportation purposes between the base and the rock.

Another preliminary was the provision of accommodation for the masons upon the reef. The Atlantic swell, which rendered landing on the ridge precarious and hazardous, did not permit the men to be housed upon a floating home, as had been the practice in the early days of the Bell Rock tower. In order to permit the work to go forward as uninterruptedly as the sea would permit, a peculiar barrack was erected. It was a house on stilts, the legs being sunk firmly into the rock, with the living-quarters perched some 40 feet up in the air. The skeleton type of structure was selected because it did not impede the natural movement of the waves. It was an ingenious idea, and fulfilled the purpose of its designer admirably, while the men became accustomed to their strange home after a time. For two years it withstood the seas without incident, and the engineer and men came to regard the eyrie as safe as a house on shore. But one night the little colony received a shock. The angry Atlantic got one or two of its trip-hammer blows well home, and smashed the structure to fragments. Fortunately, at the time it was untenanted.

The workmen, who were on shore waiting to go out to the rock to resume their toil, were downcast at this unexpected disaster, but the engineer was not at all ruffled. He promptly sent to Glasgow for further material, and lost no time in rebuilding the quaint barrack upon new and stronger lines. This erection defied the waves successfully until its demolition after the Skerryvore was finished.

Residence in this tower was eerie. The men climbed the ladder and entered a small room, which served the purposes of kitchen, dining-room, and parlour. It was barely 12 feet across—quarters somewhat cramped for thirty men. When a storm was raging, the waves, as they combed over the rock, shook the legs violently and scurried under the floor in seething foam. Now and again a roller, rising higher than its fellows, broke upon the rock and sent a mass of water against the flooring to hammer at the door. Above the living-room were the sleeping-quarters, high and dry, save when a shower of spray fell upon the roof and walls like heavy hail, and occasionally percolated the joints of the woodwork. The men, however, were not perturbed. Sleeping, even under such conditions, was far preferable to doubtful rest in a bunk upon an attendant vessel, rolling and pitching with the motion of the sea. They had had a surfeit of such experience during the first season’s work, while the barrack was under erection.

Yet the men could not grumble. The engineer responsible for the work shared their privations and discomforts, for Alan Stevenson clung to the rock night and day while work was in progress, and he has given a very vivid impression of life in this quaint home on legs. He relates how he “spent many a weary day and night—at those times when the sea prevented anyone going down to the rock—anxiously looking for supplies from the shore, and earnestly looking for a change of weather favourable for prosecuting the works. For miles around nothing could be seen but white foaming breakers, and nothing heard but howling winds and lashing waves. At such seasons much of our time was spent in bed, for there alone we had effectual shelter from the winds and spray, which searched every cranny in the walls of the barrack. Our slumbers, too, were at times fearfully interrupted by the sudden pouring of the sea over the roof, the rocking of the house on its pillars, and the spurting of water through the seams of the doors and windows—symptoms which, to one suddenly aroused from sound sleep, recalled the appalling fate of the former barrack, which had been engulfed in the foam not 20 yards from our dwelling, and for a moment seemed to summon us to a similar fate.”

The work upon the rock was tedious and exasperating in the extreme. The gneiss was of maddening hardness and obstinacy—“four times as tough as Aberdeen granite” was the general opinion. The Atlantic, pounding the rock continuously through the centuries, had faced it smoother than could any mason with his tools, yet had not left it sufficiently sound to receive the foundations. In the external layer, which the masons laboured strenuously to remove with their puny tools, there were cracks and crevices here and there. The stubborn rock played havoc with the finest chisels and drills, and clearing had to be effected for the most part by the aid of gunpowder. This powerful agent, however, could only be used sparingly and with extreme skill, so that the rock-face might not be shivered or shattered too severely. Moreover, the men ran extreme risks, for the rock splintered like glass, and the flying chips were capable of doing as much damage, when thus impelled, as a bullet.

While the foundations were being prepared, and until the barrack was constructed, the men ran other terrible risks every morning and night in landing upon and leaving the polished surface of the reef. Five months during the summer was the working season, but even then many days and weeks were often lost owing to the swell being too great to permit the rowing-boat to come alongside. The engineer relates that the work was “a good lesson in the school of patience,” because the delays were frequent and galling, while every storm which got up and expended its rage upon the reef left its mark indelibly among the engineer’s stock-in-trade. Cranes and other material were swept away as if they were corks; lashings, no matter how strong, were snapped like pack-threads. Time after time the tender lying alongside had to weigh anchor hurriedly, and make a spirited run to its haven at Tyree.

When the barrack was erected, the situation was eased somewhat, but then the hours became long. Operations being confined to the summer months, the average working day was from four in the morning until nine in the evening—seventeen hours—with intervals for meals; but the men were not averse to the prolonged daily toil, inasmuch as cessation brought no welcome relaxations, but rather encouraged broodings over their isolated position, whereas occupation served to keep the mind engaged. Twice the men had severe frights during the night. On each occasion a violent storm sprang up after they had gone to bed, and one or two ugly breakers, getting their blows home, shook the eyrie with the force of an earthquake. Every man leaped out of his bunk, and one or two of the more timid, in their fright, hurried down the ladder and spent the remaining spell of darkness shivering and quaking on the completed trunk of the lighthouse, deeming it to be safer than the crazy-looking structure which served as their home.

Two years were occupied upon the foundations, the first stone being laid by the Duke of Argyll on July 7, 1840. This eminent personage evinced a deep interest in the work and the difficulties which had to be overcome, and as proprietor of the island of Tyree extended to the Commissioners free permission to quarry any granite they required from any part of his estate.

For a height of some 21 feet from the foundation level the tower is a solid trunk of masonry. Then come the entrance and water-tanks, followed by nine floors, comprising successively coal-store, workshop, storeroom, kitchen, two bedrooms, library, oil-store, and light-room, the whole occupying a height of 130 feet, crowned by the lantern. As a specimen of lighthouse engineering, the Skerryvore has become famous throughout the world. The stones forming the solid courses at the bottom are attached to one another so firmly and ingeniously as to secure the maximum of strength and solidity, the result being that nothing short of an earthquake could overthrow the stalk of masonry.

The erection of the superstructure was by no means free from danger and excitement. The working space both on the tower itself and around the base was severely cramped. The men at the latter point had to keep a vigilant eye upon those working above, since, despite the most elaborate precautions, falls of tools and other heavy bodies were by no means infrequent. Notwithstanding its perilous character, the undertaking was free from accident and fatality, and, although the men were compelled by force of circumstances to depend mostly upon salt foodstuffs, the little colony suffered very slightly from the ravages of dysentery.

Probably the worst experience was when the men on the rock were weather-bound for seven weeks during one season. The weather broke suddenly. Heavy seas and adverse winds raged so furiously that the steamboat dared not put out of its haven, but remained there with steam up, patiently waiting for a lull in the storm, during which they might succour the unfortunate men on the reef. The latter passed a dreary, pitiable time. Their provisions sank to a very low level, they ran short of fuel, their sodden clothing was worn to rags, and, what was far worse from their point of view, their tobacco became exhausted. The average working man will tolerate extreme discomfort and privation so long as the friendship of his pipe remains, but the denial of this companion comes as the last straw.

The lantern is of special design, and is one of the most powerful around the Scottish coasts. It is of the revolving class, reaching its brightest state once every minute, and may be seen from the deck of a vessel eighteen miles away. Six years were occupied in the completion of the work, and, as may be imagined, the final touches were welcomed with thankfulness by all those who had been concerned in the enterprise. The tower contains 4,308 tons of granite, and the total cost was £86,977, or $434,885, rendering it one of the costliest in the world. This sum, however, included the purchase of the steam-vessel which now attends the lighthouse, and the construction of the little harbour at Hynish.

The lighthouse-keepers live on the island of Tyree, where are provided substantial, spacious, single-floor, masonry dwellings with gardens attached. This is practically a small colony in itself, inasmuch as the accommodation includes, not only that for the keepers of the Skerryvore, but for the guardians of the Dhu-Heartach light as well.