Although the waters washing the Australian continent are not so thickly intersected with steamship lanes, and the mercantile traffic is not so dense there as in the seas of the Northern Hemisphere, yet, owing to the activity in emigration from Great Britain, as well as to the increasing prosperity of the various rising industries under the Southern Cross, they are becoming more crowded with each succeeding year. The efficient lighting of the coasts is an inevitable corollary of this expansion. Lighthouse engineering, however, is unavoidably expensive, especially when sea-rocks demand indication.

From time to time severe strictures are passed by European shipping interests upon the apparent lack of coastal lights in Australasian waters, and the various Government departments concerned with this responsibility are often accused of parsimony and neglect. Unfortunately, the greater number of these critics are apt to consider the situation through European glasses; to take the countries of the Old World and the United States as a basis for their arguments, and to ignore local conditions. It has taken a century or more for Europe and the United States to develop their respective organizations, and in the majority of instances there are ample funds from which expenses in this direction may be met, especially when passing shipping is mulcted a small sum in light-dues for the purpose. When the shipping is heavy, these levies are certain to represent in the aggregate a large sum every year.

From time to time New Zealand has been roundly assailed for its apparent negligence in the extension of its lighthouse system. It maintains thirty-four lighthouses and beacons, which represent a capital outlay of over £200,000, or $1,000,000. The total maintenance charges average about £16,500, or $82,000, per annum, while the dues collected from shipping for the maintenance of these aids to navigation approximate £38,000, or $190,000, per annum. The balance is not amazing, and certainly is not sufficient to warrant heavy expenditure towards new lights, as the installation of such warnings nowadays is highly expensive if they are to conform with modern requirements. If the demands of the critics were met, and a comprehensive scheme, such as is advised, were taken in hand, the shipowner would have to pay to meet the deficiency on the revenue account, and this individual complains that he is overtaxed already.

Those Australian States which possess what may be described as a normal coastline—that is, one fairly free from solitary rocks rising from the sea some distance from land—are fortunate, since the sea-rock light is notoriously costly. On the other hand, lights placed on the mainland, even of the most powerful type, may be completed for a small outlay, relatively speaking.

Such a fortunate condition exists in connection with New South Wales. Here and there off the mainland are small reefs and ridges, but, taken on the whole, all these danger spots are adequately covered, so that the State has not been faced with searching problems of a technical or financial character in this connection. The State boasts only two “rock” lighthouses, and these obstructions are large enough to be called “islands.” The one is South Solitary Island, off the coast north of Sydney; the other is Montague Island, to the south of the port. On the other hand, the mainland is very well patrolled, some thirty lights being scattered between Point Danger and Cape Howe, the respective northern and southern sea-limits of the country.

Although the light-keepers upon the rocks may consider themselves somewhat isolated, yet their plight is enviable as compared with that of some of their comrades in other parts of the world. At Montague Island the three keepers and their families are housed in comfortable cottages in close proximity to their ward, and they maintain a small farm, including a horse, goats, well-stocked gardens, and so forth. The keepers on South Solitary Island used to be able to vary the monotony of their daily or nightly round by indulgence in exciting sport. This assumed the form of rabbit trapping and hunting, as the island was overrun with these animals. One form of game must have become somewhat nauseating in time upon the menu of the keepers, but this diversion is now a thing of the past. A mysterious disease appeared among the rabbits, and its ravages were so devastating that within a short time Montague Island knew them no more.

The lighthouses of New South Wales deserve distinction in one direction. As specimens of architecture they are magnificent pieces of work, so that what the towers lack in romance they make up in attractiveness. The most imposing is the Macquarie tower, or Sydney lighthouse, mounting guard over the harbour. The first beacon was erected upon this site as far back as 1816, thereby rendering it the first lighthouse in the State, and it was fitted with an oil light, while one or two of the English lights were still open coal fires. In 1883 it was decided to modernize the lighting apparatus, so that a more powerful beam might be thrown. Electricity was the illuminant selected, the machinery for the generation of the requisite current being designed for installation in the original tower. But three-quarters of a century’s exposure to the elements had rendered this building somewhat too weak to carry the requisite heavy lenses and machinery, so a new tower was projected. The old light was kept going while its successor sprang up alongside; when the latter was completed, the oil light in the famous old tower was extinguished for ever and the building demolished.

The new lighthouse is a fine structure. At the foot of the tower is a spacious, well-lighted, and artistic one-floor building housing the electrical machinery as well as the office. The domiciles for the keepers and the engineers are placed on either side of the spreading lawn surrounding the station.

The most southerly light upon the New South Wales coastline is that at Green Cape, a few miles north of Cape Howe. As at the other stations, three keepers are maintained, being accommodated, with their families, in roomy cottages; while a small patch of land is turned to agricultural advantage, cows, horses, etc., being maintained by the men. The most easterly light on the Australian continent is at Cape Byron. This light is perched on a dangerous cliff, which drops almost vertically into the water 371 feet below; but it is within touch of civilization, a winding road having been cut down the flank of the promontory on the land side into the neighbouring town of Byron Bay, so that the tradesmen’s carts are able to make their rounds up the cliff to satisfy the varied wants of the wardens of the light. One of the loneliest lights is that on Norah Head—Bungaree Norah it is called—and this is also the latest light erected by the State, as it dates from 1903. Although somewhat out of the way, it is not to be compared with some of the isolated British, Canadian, and United States lights, being, in fact, no more inaccessible or lonely than most localities in the Australian Bush.

Sugar-Loaf Point is one of the most serious danger spots along the shoreline, but is now well guarded with a fine lighthouse planted on its summit, the welcome rays of which are visible for many miles out to sea. The light-keepers here had a surprising discovery one morning in 1910. The Satara fouled the point and was wrecked, though fortunately her passengers were succoured by passing steamers. On this vessel at the time of the disaster there was a staghound, and although, when the rescues were effected, search for the animal was made high and low on the wreck, no signs of it could be seen. It was given up as lost. Some days later the lighthouse-keepers ventured to the beach below to have a look round, and to their astonishment a staghound come bounding towards them, yelping with joy at the sight of a human face. For a dog to be in such a lonely spot was a strange circumstance, but at last it was surmised to be the animal which was missed on the Satara. Apparently the animal clung to the crippled craft for some time, and then, realizing that the ship was abandoned, dived overboard and swam ashore. It fraternized with the keepers, and for some time kept them company at the station.

One of the worst wrecks which have happened upon the shores of New South Wales was that of the steamer Ly-ce-moon. By some inexplicable means the ship got out of her course on a fine Sunday night, and came to grief off Green Cape. The lighthouse-keepers at once hurried to the rescue, the hapless passengers, as they were got ashore, being tended at the station until they were removed to their homes. The lighthouse-keepers worked tremendously hard, but they were not entirely successful. Although by herculean effort they brought a large number of people to safety, there is a small fenced enclosure in the Bush behind the station where lie the remains of some fifty persons who lost their lives in the wreck, and whose bodies were washed ashore.

While New South Wales has a comparatively easy length of coastline to protect, the neighbouring colony of New Zealand, on the other hand, has a wild, forbidding, and extensive stretch of shore. Up to the present the Government has concentrated its energies upon the illumination of the busiest reaches of water, and has planted prominent outposts at the respective extreme tips of the twin islands. During the financial year ending March 31, 1912, sixteen wrecks occurred in these seas, of which six were total losses. The most ill-famed corner appears to be the large sweeping indentation at the southern end of North Island, lying between Cape Egmont and Wellington, particularly in the vicinity of Wanganui, since this stretch of coast claimed five victims. Cook’s Strait, which is dangerous to navigators, is well protected, however, the most prominent beacon being that on Stephens Island, its group-flashes, occurring every thirty seconds, being particularly powerful, and having a range of thirty-two miles.

The Marine Department maintains thirty-two coastal lights, of which twenty-two are on the mainland, and ten situate on islands off the coast. They are of a varied description, ranging from powerful lights of the first order to beacons dependent upon dissolved acetylene, stored in cylinders of sufficient capacity to keep the light gleaming for sixty days continuously. Some of the places in which the warning lights are placed are exceedingly lonely and inaccessible, so that the perfection of the unattended light has solved a complex problem, and has enabled many terrible stretches of forbidding coast to be well indicated.

The first tower to be brought into service in New Zealand was that on Pencarrow Head, to indicate the entrance to the inlet in which Wellington nestles. It shed its rays for the first time on New Year’s Day, 1859. It is an iron structure, from the top of which a fixed white light may be picked up by a vessel twenty-seven miles off the coast. The iron had to be prepared and shaped in England, as there was no foundry in the islands at that time capable of executing the work. The building was shipped to New Zealand in sections and erected. To-day, owing to the growth of the iron industry, the country can supply all its own needs in this field without difficulty, but in all cases the lanterns, mechanism, and lenses, have to be acquired in Europe.

As may be imagined, with such a rugged coastline as New Zealand possesses, some of the stations are terribly lonely and difficult of access, owing to the treacherous nature of the waters over which they mount guard. With the exception of the Brothers light, which is situated on an exposed rock in Cook’s Strait, three keepers are maintained at each island lighthouse—one as relief—and at the more isolated mainland lights. Those of the latter stations which are within easy reach of civilization have only two keepers. The Brothers light, which is New Zealand’s most lonely station, has four keepers, three on the rock at one time, while the fourth is ashore. The spell of service on the rock is three months, followed by one month’s leave. The wives and families of the men reside at Wellington. The authorities, however, do not condemn the light-keeper to one station throughout his whole term of service. He undergoes frequent transference, so that all may have a turn at good and bad stations. The duration of the stay at each light averages about three years, so that there is very little possibility of these patient, long-suffering stalwarts being condemned to such a period of loneliness as to provoke taciturnity and melancholia.

The keeper of the lighthouse light in New Zealand is as well provided for as his colleague in any other part of the world. When he enters the service, he is placed on probation as assistant keeper for six months, at an annual salary of £90, or $450. Emerging from this ordeal satisfactorily, he finds his salary increased at once to £100, or $500, per annum, rising by increments of £10 every two years, until it reaches £130, or $650, per annum. It remains at this figure until he is promoted to the position of head-keeper, which post brings an annual wage of £140, or $700, rising by biennial increments of £10 to a maximum annual remuneration of £180, or $900. In addition to the foregoing scale, a keeper receives an extra annual station allowance of £10 in the case of third-class stations, which are those on lonely rocks and islands, and £5 in the case of stations which are not isolated or difficult of access. All keepers in the service live rent-free, and are supplied with coal and oil, together with the free use of sufficient land, if available, to prepare gardens, as well as grazing for two or three cows and a few sheep, etc.; while their stores and provisions are carried without charge by the Government steamer Hinemoa. This vessel is retained solely for attending upon the lighthouses and buoys, and visits every light, save in exceptionally rough weather, once in three months.

At all the isolated and rock stations landing is a hazardous task, even under the most favourable conditions. The swell and currents breaking upon the rocks render it impossible for freight and men to be landed direct from the steamer to the rock. Consequently all the work has to be carried out by means of surf-boats, and heavy drenchings from breaking waves, and exciting moments, are unavoidable. At times the task assumes exceptional difficulty, and is attended with fatal mishaps. On June 2, 1899, the Hinemoa stood in towards the East Cape, the most easterly promontory on the islands, on the southern arm enclosing the Bay of Plenty. The sea looked wicked, but the relieving ship decided to go ahead with its work. All went well until a heavy roller suddenly came in and caught one of the boats at a disadvantage. The craft was capsized before the crew realized their position, and the chief officer, with three of his men, was drowned. Such is one of the penalties which have been exacted by the relentless sea, while courageous men have been engaged in the risky occupation of keeping the coast lights shining for the guidance of seafarers.

The New Zealand shores have been the scenes of some heartrending catastrophes. The steamship Tararua, of 563 tons register, was making her way from Dunedin to the Bluff, when she crashed on to the reef which juts seaward from Waipapapa Point. There was no light to warn the ship—hence the accident. The vessel, battered by sledge-hammer seas, broke up very rapidly, and 130 passengers lost their lives. If the point had been guarded, no accident would have happened. Now a second-order dioptric flashing light of ten seconds guards the reef, and may be seen from a distance of thirteen and a half miles. Another calamity was the loss of the Huddart Parker liner on a danger spot known as the Three Kings Rock. The fearsome character of this peril has been recognized for many years past, but, as it is to be marked by a light suited to the locality, it is hoped that its evil harvest will come to an end. Yet at the same time it must be pointed out that the provision of a light does not always prevent a wreck even in the clearest weather, owing to the weakness of human nature. This was proved by the steamship Triumph, of 1,797 tons register. She left Auckland on the night of November 29, 1883, picked up the Tiri-Tiri Island light—this fixed star can be seen from a distance of twenty-four miles—and yet within two hours of her sailing was wrecked almost under the lighthouse. In this instance gross negligence was only too palpable, and the court of inquiry, after its investigation of the wreck, signified its opinion of the carelessness displayed by suspending the certificate of the master for three years, and that of the chief officer for six months.

Apart from Cook’s Strait, the narrow passage between the two islands, the extreme points of the country are well guarded, the towers for the most part being located upon the prominent headlands. The southern extremity of the South Island is a dangerous coast to navigate, since going east, after the Puysegur Point ten seconds flashing light is dropped at a distance of nineteen miles from the headland, the vessel’s course is set to traverse Foveaux Strait, between the mainland and Stewart Island. In the centre of the neck of water is an ominous rock, Centre Island, which, however, is well guarded by a first-order catadioptric fixed light, shining from a wooden tower, the range of which extends for twenty-two and a half miles, with red arcs marking the inshore dangers. Overlapping this beacon’s field of patrol is a light mounted on Dog Island, revolving once in thirty seconds, and visible for eighteen miles, which in turn meets the Waipapapa light. Thus the approach to Invercargill is well indicated, and, with the east coast promontories all protected, the possibility of a repetition of the Tararua disaster is rendered remote.

On the extreme northern tip of the sister isle, the headland known as Cape Maria Van Diemen carries a first-order dioptric light, revolving once a minute, illuminating a circle of sea having a radius of twenty-four and a half miles. The adjacent headland at the opposite corner of this spit, North Cape, has not been protected hitherto; but this deficiency is now being remedied by the erection of a second-order, incandescent, group-flashing white light, giving three flashes in quick succession every half-minute. The brilliant illumination of this part of the coast is imperative, inasmuch as shipping bound for and from Auckland has to bear round this heavily indented and rock-strewn coast. The entrance to Auckland harbour in particular is disconcerting, but the navigator is assisted by the friendly guardians placed on Cape Brett, Moko Hinou, and Tiri-Tiri, which have ranges of thirty and a half, twenty-six, and twenty-four miles, respectively. The task of the mariner, however, is to be further simplified by the erection of another powerful light on Chicken Island, in the Hauraki Gulf, which will overlap the Moko Hinou and Tiri-Tiri lights. When this light and that at North Cape are placed in commission, the sea between Cape Maria Van Diemen and Auckland will be very well lighted, and will offer the ship’s master few causes for complaint. Two other points are being equipped, Castle Point and Cape Terawhiti, the former with a second-order, incandescent, group-flashing white light, flashing at intervals of forty-five seconds, with periods of darkness lasting eight seconds between each group.

While the majority of the New Zealand coastal lights are attended, certain beacons, from their exposed position, come in the category of unattended lights, as described elsewhere. These burn acetylene gas, and are replaced with fresh supplies of dissolved acetylene every three months by the Hinemoa. Simultaneously with the provision of additional beacons the existing lights are being overhauled and fitted with modern apparatus, rendering them more reliable, economical, and of greater power. When the service was established, the Doty burner, using paraffin-oil, was adopted; but the perfection of the incandescent oil system, and its many advantages over that in vogue, have influenced the Government towards its adoption. The transformation will be completed as soon as practicable, the work being in active progress, as maintenance expenses are reduced appreciably thereby, because kerosene, a cheaper oil, is used in lieu of paraffin, while, furthermore, less oil is burned under the incandescent system.

Before many years have passed, the coasts of New Zealand will be as adequately protected as is humanly possible by a complete chain of coastal lights, which is being forged as rapidly as the circumstances permit. The Government has revised its light-dues in order to meet the increased expenditure in connection with the lighthouse service. Vessels arriving from outside the Dominion have to pay oversea light-dues at the first port of call, and coastal dues at all other New Zealand ports which they touch; while vessels arriving from the Chatham, Auckland, Campbell, Antipodes, and Bounty Islands also have to contribute to the funds.