In the matter of safeguarding its shores the French nation has displayed considerable enterprise, and its engineers have added some magnificent contributions to this field of engineering. The maintenance and welfare of these aids to navigation is placed in the hands of the Service des Phares, which is controlled by the Department of Bridges and Roads. The French scheme is the disposition of the lights along the shore in such a way that their ranges overlap on either side, so that, as one passes along the coast, before one ray is dropped the next is picked up. Electricity is employed extensively as the illuminant, so that the lights are of great power and twinkle like brilliant white stars on a clear night.

While the majority of these guides are erected on the mainland, others rise from islands lying off the coast, which, by their position in deep water, render navigation hazardous. The finest expressions of French lighthouse engineering are to be found along the rugged islet-dotted coast of the huge indentation in which lie the Channel Islands—the cruel coast of Brittany. It was off the western extremity of Brittany, which thrusts itself well out into the Atlantic Ocean, forming the point generally known as Ushant, that the Drummond Castle lost her way, to pull up with a fatal crash against one of the jagged reefs stretching to seaward. While this wreck was but one of many in these troubled waters, it sent a thrill round the world, owing to the terrible loss of life with which it was accompanied.

It is not surprising, therefore, that the French Government has endeavoured to remove the evil notoriety which this coast has reaped, and to render it as safe as the other stretches lying to the north and south. The conditions, however, are against the engineer, as the nose of the mainland projects well into the ocean, and receives the full brunt of its attacks when gales rage, so that a foothold is precarious.

When the question of lighting this inhospitable stretch of coast arose, the French authorities debated whether it would not be easier, cheaper, and more satisfactory, to place the lighthouses on the mainland at a sufficient altitude, and to fit them with adequately powerful lights to indicate the outlying reefs. The general opinion was in favour of such a practice. So when LÉonce Reynaud proposed to mark the Heaux de BrÉhat with a magnificent tower, there was considerable opposition. The critics maintained that it was a flagrant temptation of Fate to attempt the conquest of such an evil wave-swept rock, the head of which was barely visible above high-water, and was of such small dimensions that work would be possible for only a few hours daily and then by no more than a mere handful of men.

The engineer was confident that he could surmount all difficulties in construction, and that he would be able to erect a tower which would defy wind and wave, so he gained the day and received the requisite sanction to proceed with his undertaking. He had surveyed the rock and its surroundings thoroughly; had discovered the velocity of the currents, and their varying directions under all conditions of weather. They tore along at about nine and a half miles an hour, and this speed was augmented considerably in rough weather. He selected the site for the lighthouse about nine miles from the Isle of BrÉhat, where landing would have to be made at low-water, owing to the water rushing first from the island to the rock, and then in the opposite direction, according to the movements of the tides.

The Isle of BrÉhat was made the base for operations. It is freely indented, and one of the coves was found to form an excellent little harbour. A rough stone jetty was run out for a length of 170 feet, and while one fleet of boats was retained to convey material from the island to the rock, another was kept to bring supplies to the island for preparation, and the support of the men, whose quarters were established at this depot. Sixty men were employed on the work. They dressed the granite stones and prepared the woodwork as it arrived in the raw condition, ample workshops being provided for these purposes.

The face of the rock was cleaned off during the brief intervals when it was bared by the sea, and rough stones and masonry were laid in concrete and continued solidly to a point 13 feet above high-water. Around this confined platform quarters were built for the handful of men who stayed on the rock during the periods of calm weather, as too much time was lost in travelling to and from the island, while there were risks of landing being interrupted by the swell. A temporary light was also placed in position while constructional work was proceeding, to warn navigation. The facilities also included a small forge for the fashioning upon the spot of the iron dogs and bolts whereby the stones were clamped together, and this proved highly convenient, except for one thing: when the water was somewhat rough and playful, the waves, striking the rock, flew into the air, soused the forge, and extinguished the fire.

The preparations of the foundations proved exceedingly tedious. The rock is a very hard black porphyry, but the surface was so scarred with fissures and deep cracks that the whole of the upper surface had to be cleaned off, so as to remove all rotten and splintered rock in order to secure a firm, solid foundation. Then a circle 38 feet in diameter was marked off, and masons cut away all the rock around this line to a depth of about 20 inches and of sufficient width to take the stones—a trench, as it were. This work had to be executed during the short period of low-water, and a special schedule was prepared to insure the men concentrating the whole of their energies upon the task when opportunity offered. As the ebbing tide began to bare the space, the workmen were called, and they followed the receding water, never leaving the spot for meals, but toiling continuously until the returning tide drove them off. As a rule the men were sufficiently fleet to get clear untouched, although they delayed their retreat until the very last moment; but at other times the sea was a trifle quicker, and the men received an unexpected douche from a scurrying wave.

When this trench had been cleared out and the face levelled, the outer ring of stones was laid and secured firmly in position. The inner space of the rock was left in its roughly trimmed condition, and was then buried beneath cement and rock to the level of the outer ring of stones, forming a platform ready to receive the mass of the tower. The outer ring was the main consideration, and the work had to be finished in such a manner that a tight joint was made with the rock, to resist the penetration of the water. When the men were compelled to lay down their tools for the coming tide, they hastily applied a thick covering of quick-drying cement to the work completed, thereby protecting it against the disintegrating and percolating action of the sea.

Ere the work had started thoroughly, the engineer was faced with a trouble which he had not anticipated. The men were left to attend to their own desires in the way of provisions. This haphazard arrangement had the inevitable sequel. Some of the men were stricken down with scurvy, and the disease promised to secure a firm hold, when the engineer stepped in with a firm hand. He established a canteen, the contractor of which was compelled to maintain a supply of varied provisions for six months at least, lest the little colony should become isolated by rough weather. A regular varied bill of fare was imposed upon the workmen, who were compelled to purchase their requirements from the canteen. By this firm and timely action the disease was stamped out. The engineer also enforced other stringent regulations in the interests of health. The men were compelled to bathe once a week, and had to turn their sleeping-blankets into the open air every day; while the quarters had to be washed out and the walls given a dressing of limewash at frequent intervals.

When the visitor approaches the tower for the first time, he cannot fail to be impressed by its unusual design. It appears as if a former tower of great diameter had been decapitated, and another more slender building placed upon its butt. This is due to the ingenious idea adopted by Reynaud. The lower part of the tower rises like the trunk of a tree from the base, which is a solid plinth, to a height of 39 feet above highest spring-tides. At the top this lower tower is 28 feet in diameter, as compared with 38 feet at the base. Here the butt is levelled off, and from its surface rises the lighthouse proper, in the form of a slightly tapering cone, leaving a narrow gallery around the superimposed structure to serve as a “set-off” and landing or entrance platform.

In carrying out his work, Reynaud followed a principle quite divergent from the prevailing practice in lighthouse construction. He did not attach every stone irremovably to its neighbours, but merely made fast the masonry at varying points, where the mass of water might be expected to expend the greater part of its violence. The method he adopted is very simple. Keystones are introduced at selected points in each course, and these are driven up and held tight by granite plugs and wedges. The principle was assailed at the time as being deficient in strength, but no apprehensions ever have arisen concerning the safety of the tower, so that the engineer’s daring ingenuity has been completely justified.

Considering the isolation of the rock and its wind-swept position, it was built in a very short time. The whole of the year 1834 was devoted to the survey of the rock, close observations of the prevailing meteorological conditions, and the preparation of the design. The succeeding year was confined to the establishment of the workmen’s quarters, the cutting of the annular trench in the rock, and the setting of the masonry course. The erection of the superstructure occupied nearly four years, the work being completed and the light exhibited in 1859, according to the inscription. The tower is 159 feet in height, and the light has a range of eighteen miles. Since the Heaux de BrÉhat was conquered so successfully, French lighthouse engineering skill has been manifested actively around the ill-famed Brittany coast, which now is robbed of the greater part of its dangers. Reynaud’s work, however, did not bring complete safety to the waters from which it lifts its imposing form. Four miles off the self-same island is the plateau of Horaine. This is a chain of rocks, the greatest peril of which is that at high-tide nothing whatever of them is seen, and their existence is betrayed only by the agitated and broken waves rushing over them with fearful force. As the tide falls the water becomes more tormented, and is torn into flying foam, until, when it has almost ebbed, these jagged fangs may be seen projecting above the surf. Bearing in mind these terrible characteristics, it is not surprising that time after time vessels which had been driven out of their course by tempestuous weather, or had got lost in a dense fog, blundered into this death-trap and were lost.

The French Government was sorely puzzled as to how to overcome this danger. The engineers fought the elements valiantly for forty years in an effort to crown Horaine with a beacon, but time after time they were defeated. Landing on the reef is highly dangerous. The rocks are surrounded by surging, eddying currents, running at anything from six miles upwards per hour, while the slightest ruffle of wind is quite sufficient to stir up the water so as to fling it swirling over the rocks even at lowest tide. Once or twice, when a period of abnormal calm prevailed, the engineers struggled on to the rock and hurriedly built a substantial masonry beacon, but its life was always brief. The first two or three gales which pounded and roared over the chain invariably scattered the handiwork of man in all directions.

Then another expedient was attempted. A party landed upon the ridge, drove a hole into the solid rock, and there set a vertical iron girder 4 inches in thickness, trusting that it would hold fast and indicate the reef sufficiently during the day. But its life was short. A gale came along and snapped the post in twain, leaving a twisted, bent stump, some 36 inches long, remaining on the rock.

In 1890 another bold effort to subjugate the ridge was made. An hexagonal structure was designed, and it was determined to plant this on the rock by hook or by crook, and so firmly as to resist the most powerful hammerings to which it could be subjected by the waves. Six holes were bored into the rock surface to form the corners of the hexagon. But before commencing the work proper it was decided to insert an iron post, 6½ inches thick, into one of the holes, and to leave it to see what would happen. Time after time it was inspected, and was found to be safe and sound. Two years had slipped by, practically, since the post was planted, and it was still intact. The engineers thought they had triumphed, and were preparing their plans, when the news came that a heavy storm, which had swept the coast, had broken the pillar off flush with the rock.

This necessitated another change in the designs and the plan of campaign. After further discussion it was decided to proceed right away with a masonry tower, although the engineers were prepared for a mighty tussle. The surveys showed that, as the rock upon which the building was to be erected was covered by 10 feet of water during the highest spring-tides, work upon the foundations would be confined to the lowest neap-tides, when about 4 feet of the rock were exposed. But the tide sinks to the very low level desired infrequently—about four days in every month. Even then work would be possible for only about an hour per day—four hours per month! The prospect certainly was far from being attractive, especially as even to accomplish this meed of toil the calmest weather and smoothest sea were imperative, and it was scarcely to be expected that everything would be in favour of the engineers at one and the same time.

Another adverse feature was only too apparent. If unpropitious weather prevailed just after an hour or two’s work had been completed, the chances were a thousand to one that it would be swept away. But this was a contingency which had to be faced. The engineer could only do the utmost humanly possible to secure his work, and then must trust to luck.

With infinite difficulty a small corps of daring workmen and appliances of the simplest description, together with materials, were got out to the rock upon the first favourable day when there was a very low tide. An outer wall of bricks was built piecemeal, and the space within was filled with concrete. This stood, and so the engineer secured a level plinth upon which to place his tower. He selected an octagonal building, the angles of which touch the circumference of a circle 20 feet in diameter described on the rock. It was to be 50 feet in height, bringing the warning light about 40 feet above high-water. The beacon was to be a concrete monolithic structure at least for the greater part of its height, as the light was to be of the unattended class. Accordingly, the mould was formed by setting a cast-iron post, 18 inches in height, at each corner of the octagon, this support being anchored into the solid rock beneath. These posts contained grooves to admit sliding wooden uprights, which were to be firmly wedged, these joists being inclined to take the angle, or batter, proposed for the tower. Heavy transverse pieces of timber were laid between these posts, forming a capacious octagonal box, into which the concrete was poured. As the filling process behind the wooden wall advanced, angle pieces of steel were superimposed and bolted up.

The security of the structure occupied the sole attention of the engineer. When work had to cease, and the boat put off with the workmen after a spell of toil, the engineer would watch the rising tide and the waves sweeping over his structure, until at last it disappeared from sight. As the tide fell he followed the receding waters just as eagerly, and gave a sigh of relief when he saw that the tower was still withstanding the blind forces of Nature. In the early stages an effort to protect the work, when the men had to retreat before the rising tide, was made by covering it with a heavy piece of sailcloth, lashed down and weighted in position with huge masses of pig-iron. This served its purpose for a time, but finally the sea got the upper hand, tore the canvas from its lashings, and carried it away, together with the whole of its weights. Then a wooden protective device was employed, and this likewise held out until a particularly unfriendly September gale smashed it to matchwood, as well as damaging the concrete slightly here and there.

The men took their tools and materials with them on every visit, and, as the tower rose, the working spells between the tides became longer and longer, until, when a point above high-water was reached, work was continued throughout the day whenever the rock was approachable. A small wooden platform was erected on one side, on which the concrete was mixed, while on the other there was a little shelf with a small cistern, which was filled with water from the boats below, through the agency of a pump. A jury derrick was rigged up to lift the material and men to the working level. As the tower rose in height, the wooden mould had to be dismembered and re-erected upon the new level, this operation being repeated no less than forty times until the desired height was gained. Work was exasperatingly slow and intermittent, while it had to be suspended entirely for about six or seven months, as no one dared to venture near the rock in winter. Taken on the whole, it was one of the most anxious and difficult pieces of the work of this character which the French Government has ever undertaken, while the working area was so confined that less than a dozen men could toil simultaneously without getting in one another’s way.

Recently the Brittany coast has been further protected by another magnificent beacon, the Jument lighthouse, off Ushant. This awful spot has long been marked by a very powerful electric light at Creach, which may be seen over twenty miles away, and, together with its fellow on the opposite end of the island, may be said to guide the crowded shipping around this promontory very effectively. But foggy weather reduces the mariner to helplessness, as the sea for two miles round the island is studded with reefs, ridges and rocky humps of a very formidable character, so that vessels have to keep well beyond this zone. When the light is obscured, safe travelling is possible only by going very slowly and making liberal use of the lead, while the captain must keep a sharp eye upon the rapid currents which set inshore if he would not be thrown upon the rocks he is seeking sedulously to avoid.

The French Government, with its characteristic thoroughness, determined to secure the complete indication of the Ushant and all its dangers by a carefully-conceived and comprehensive chain of lights distributed over the dangerous area. The urgency of such a scheme is obvious when it is remembered that it is computed that 24,000 vessels of all classes pass Ushant in the course of the year. At the same time the sea’s harvest of vessels and lives off this rocky shore every year is appallingly heavy. The only handicap to the immediate completion of the Government’s humane project is the extreme difficulty of the work and its prodigious cost.

Fortunately, through the extreme generosity of a French traveller—M. Potron—it was rendered possible to commence the scheme. Upon his death, and according to the terms of his will, dated January 9, 1904, this gentleman left 400,000 francs—£16,000, or $80,000—for the erection of a lighthouse of the latest type and with the most powerful lighting apparatus off the coast washed by the open Atlantic, and even suggested that a site off Ushant would be found the most beneficial to humanity. After consultation between his executor, residuary legatee, and the Government, a rock known as La Jument, off the south of the Ile d’Ouessant (Ushant) was selected for the site of his monument. The lighthouse engineers advocated a tower 118 feet in height, with a light of the latest type and a modern fog-signalling apparatus. This proposal was accepted, and was sanctioned on November 18, 1904, by the parties concerned.

Headquarters were established in the Bay of Lampaul, on Ushant Island, which immediately faces the site, and by the end of 1904 the preparations were well advanced. A steamboat, a launch and a lifeboat were secured, the first-named for the purpose of maintaining communication with the mainland and to bring in supplies, together with suitable craft for transporting material and provisions to the rock. The situation of the ledge and its exposure to the worst weather rendered approach very difficult. The danger spot itself is completely covered at high-tide, and only projects 4 feet at low-water. So far as the foundations were concerned, work was only possible for a few hours at a time. During the closing months of 1904 seventeen landings were made and fifty-two hours in all spent upon the rock, while in the succeeding year the men landed fifty-nine times, to put in an aggregate of 206½ hours.

The current rushes round the reef with a velocity of some ten miles per hour, varying its direction according to the movements of the tides. Investigation proved the existence of a small space of water on one side where the boats could approach and moor safely in an eddy. The men were brought out in the steamer, which also towed the launch and the lifeboat. The latter was kept in readiness alongside the rock while the men were at work, in case of emergency. A sharp eye had to be kept upon the weather while the handful of men laboured hastily preparing the face of the rock, and at the first signs of a threatening sky or increased movement in the swell the steamer blew its siren, the men scrambled aboard, and were hurried back to the island.

The year 1906 was one of bad weather, rendering frequent approach impossible. During this season the men landed only thirty-nine times and toiled for 152 hours, while the sum of their achievement was the least throughout the whole seven years which the tower occupied in its erection. The building is solid for about 30 feet above the rock, and in 1908 the construction of the tower proper was commenced. The base is circular, with a diameter of 33¾ feet; but the tower itself is of octagonal form, with a diameter at the base of 28 feet, tapering slightly to the top. One notable feature in connection with the work was the utilization of electricity for the operation of the derrick, which was driven by a petrol motor coupled thereto. This was supplemented in times of pressure with another derrick, driven by current generated on the steamer, from which a cable trailed to the rock. Altogether 4,180 tons of masonry were transported to the rock and set in position. During the seven years the work was in progress, from the first landing to the final withdrawal of the workmen, 449 landings were made and 2,937 hours of work put in. The largest annual aggregate of labour was in 1911, when 70 landings were made and 400 hours turned to useful purpose. The tower, which is of imposing appearance, has six floors for the convenience of the keeper, stores, etc. The apartment immediately beneath the lantern contains the fog-signalling apparatus, which comprises a siren driven by air which is compressed for the purpose by means of a fourteen horse-power petrol motor. The signal is as follows: Three blasts of one and a half seconds’ duration with intervening intervals of one and a half seconds, followed by a silent period of fifty-two and a half seconds, one cycle thus being emitted every minute. The light, which is thrown from an elevation of 110¼ feet above high-water, throws groups of three red flashes at intervals of fifteen seconds, and has a maximum range of twenty miles in very clear weather.

In accordance with the terms of the donor’s will, the light is named after the rock upon which it stands, and therefore is known as the Jument of Ushant lighthouse. The benefactor’s second wish is also respected in the inscription wrought in the solid granite, which translated runs: “This lighthouse was built with the legacy of Charles EugÈne Potron, traveller, and member of the Geographical Society of Paris.” The sum set aside by this benefactor of humanity, however, did not defray the entire cost of the lighthouse. As a matter of fact, the total outlay on the undertaking was more than twice the sum left for the purpose, totalling 850,000 francs—£34,000, or $170,000. The Government decided that the munificence of its citizen offered the opportunity to carry out the first instalment of the scheme it had in view upon the most complete lines—hence the heavy disbursement. Nevertheless the origin of the Jument lighthouse is almost unprecedented in the annals of lighthouse engineering, and it probably ranks as the first important light which has been built in accordance with the terms, and with funds, left by a will.