Chapter 13

"But to proceed with my relation. For many years after the establishment of the second lighthouse, it was attended by two men only; and, indeed, the duty required no more. This duty consisted in watching, alternately, four hours, to snuff and renew the candles. But it happened that one of the men was taken ill and died, and notwithstanding the Eddystone flag was hoisted as a signal of distress, yet the weather was so boisterous for some time, as to prevent any boat from getting near enough to speak to them. In this dilemma, the living man found himself in a very awkward situation, being apprehensive, that if he committed the dead body to the deep, (the only way in which he could dispose of it,) he might be charged with his murder. This induced him, for some time, to let the corpse remain, in hopes that the boat might be able to land, and relieve him from his distress. In the mean time, the body became, as it might naturally be supposed that it would do, extremely offensive, and the poor man's sufferings were, as you may imagine, very great. He, however, bore it till some sailors effected their landing, when, with their assistance, it was committed to the waves. This unpleasant circumstance induced the proprietors afterwards to employ a third man; so that in case of any future accident of the same nature, there might be constantly one to supply his place. I should not much like a life of such confinement, where the troubled waves must be almost one's only companion. The tastes of mankind are, however, various, and it is very well they are so:--'Many men, many minds,' as our copy says. Ferdinand wanted an explanation of its meaning the other day. I can tell him a little anecdote, very much to my present subject, and to that point also.

"A skipper was once carrying out a shoe-maker in his boat, to be a light-keeper at the Eddystone. 'How happens it, friend,' said he, 'that you should choose to go out to be a light-keeper, when you can, on shore, as I am told, earn half-a-crown or three shillings a day, by making leathern pipes; whereas, the light-keeper's salary is but twenty- five pounds a year, which is scarcely ten shillings a week.' To this the shoemaker replied: 'I am going, bcause I don't like confinement:' Thus you see, my dear Ferdinand, what different ideas different people attach to the same word.

"I am now coming to a very melancholy part of my narrative, which is, the fatal catastrophe that occasioned the destruction of this celebrated building.

"About two o'clock in the morning, on the second of December, 1755, when one of the light-keepers went into the lantern to snuff the candles, as usual, he found the whole in a smoke, and upon opening the door of the lantern into the balcony, a flame instantly burst from the inside of the cupola. He immediately endeavoured to alarm his companions; but they being in bed and asleep, were some time before they came to his assistance.

"There were always some leathern buckets kept on the spot, and a tub of water in the lantern. He therefore attempted to extinguish the flames in the cupola, by throwing water from the balcony, upon the outside cover of lead. As soon as his companions came to his assistance, he encouraged them to fetch up water in the leathern buckets from the sea; which, you may suppose, they could not do very quickly, as the fire was at so great a height. You may judge of their horror, in perceiving that the flames gained strength every moment, in spite of all their efforts to extinguish them. The poor men were obliged to throw the water full four yards higher than their heads, to render it of the least service. A most remarkable accident put an end to the exertions of the unfortunate man who first discovered the calamity. As he was looking very attentively, with his mouth a little way open, a quantity of lead, melted by the heat of the flames, suddenly rushed like a torrent from the roof, and fell, not only upon his head, face, and shoulders, but even down his throat, and into his stomach. This increased the terror and dismay of these wretched men, who now saw no means of escaping. They found it impossible to subdue the raging element, and, in dreadful alarm, retreated from the immediate scene of horror, into one of the rooms below; and continued descending, from room to room, as the fire, with constantly increasing fury, advanced over their head. Early in the morning, the conflagration was perceived by some fishermen in Plymouth Sound, who soon spread the alarm: boats were instantly sent out to the relief of the unhappy sufferers at the Eddystone. They were almost stupified with terror, and were discovered sitting in a hole under the rock. All three were conveyed in safety to the shore; but the poor man who had swallowed the melted lead, continued to grow worse and worse, and in ten or eleven days, he expired in great agonies. Although he had always himself been positive that he had actually swallowed the melted metal, his physician could scarcely believe it possible. After his death, his body was opened, in order to ascertain the fact, and a large lump of lead, weighing seven ounces and five drams, was actually found in his stomach. It is a most extraordinary circumstance, but Mr. Dormer says it is so well attested, as to be beyond all possibility of doubt.

"The present lighthouse, the sight of which has afforded me so much pleasure, was begun in 1756, by Mr. Smeaton, and completed in little more than three years. It is built of stone, and is reckoned quite a master-piece of architecture. Hitherto it has resisted the utmost violence, both of the winds and waves, and seems likely to stand so long as the rock itself endures.

"I am amused myself on Saturday evening, with taking a small drawing of this wonderful tower, from a large print belonging to our landlord. I shall enclose it in this letter, as I think you will like to see a representation of it.

"But it is time, my dear Emily, to give you some account of our little voyage. And now I fancy I see you all attention. My curious sister, Louisa, has laid aside her work to listen the more profoundly; and the ears and eyes of the philosophic little Ferdinand, are opened even wider than usual, that he may not lose a single word of my narrative.

"The day could not have been more delightful, nor the wind more favourable; and if I shone in poetical description, here would be a fine field for its display. I could tell you how brilliantly the sun-beams danced upon the waters, and with how delightful a motion the vessel glided lightly over its surface, as our sails swelled with the wind; but all this I shall leave for your own fancies to picture. It is sufficient for me to say, I completely enjoyed my short voyage.

"A singular circumstance occurred soon after we left land. [Footnote: This circumstance actually occurred to the passengers on board the Argyle steam-boat, in the autumn of the year 1814.]--A poor little lark was pursued, at no great distance from our vessel, by a merciless hawk; the little creature continued, for some time, with surprising dexterity, to elude the grasp of its intended destroyer. At length, quite exhausted by its efforts, it alighted on our boat. I incautiously ran to catch it, purposing to shield it from the threatened danger. Not, however, comprehending my design, the terrified bird again took flight, and was again pursued by its pitiless foe. Half a dozen crows from a neighbouring wood, generously enlisted themselves on the weaker side, and at length succeeded in driving completely away the formidable antagonist; whilst the poor little lark again sought shelter on our deck, and escaped the threatened danger. This was the only adventure that befell us on our way to the rock. The landing was very hazardous; at least, it appeared so to me, who am unaccustomed to such expeditions.

"I have already told you so many particulars of the Eddystone, that little remains for me to add upon the subject. I was extremely pleased with the opportunity of viewing this wonderful structure, in company with so well-informed a friend as Mr. Dormer, who took the greatest pains to explain to me the uses of its several parts. I thought of the poor sufferers whom I have already mentioned, as exposed to the raging of the flames; and trembled for my own safety, as the angry billows dashed against the rocks, whilst their hollow roar seemed to me, who am not accustomed to the tremendous sound, to threaten instant destruction. The light-keepers told us, that, on the morning after a storm, the waves dashed above a hundred feet over the top of the building, completely concealing it by the spray.

"After having spent some time in admiring this wonderful monument of human ingenuity, we returned to our boat in high spirits, and little anticipating the dangers that awaited us.

"About half an hour after we left the rock, the gathering clouds threatened an approaching tempest; and what is termed a land-swell, dashed about our little bark, and terrified me most sadly. Mr. Dormer was himself alarmed, but he acted on this occasion with his usual fortitude and presence of mind. Some of the gentlemen on board, who had been more accustomed than I to the boisterous element, laughed at my fears, and called me a fresh-water sailor. The storm increased, and with it my terrors. I thought of my dear parents; of you, my beloved Emily; of Louisa, Ferdinand, and our dear little Sophy. I felt scarcely a hope that I should ever see you more. My love for you would, I thought, be soon buried with myself in the stormy deep. I do not like to think of those moments of horror. Heaven, in mercy, preserved us through the danger, and guided us in safety to the shore. Do you not remember the description of a storm, in the "Odyssey," which we were reading last week. I thought it, at the time, a striking passage, but having now experienced myself, the horrors of such a scene, I can discover in it additional beauties:

"Meanwhile the god, whose hand the thunder forms, Drives clouds on clouds, and blackens heaven with storms! Wide o'er the waste the rage of Boreas sweeps, And night rush'd headlong on the shaded deeps."

"What a long letter have I written to you, Emily. Pray give my duty to my dear father and mother, kiss little Sophy for me, and give my kind love to Louisa and Ferdinand. I long to see you again. Farewell, dear Emily.

"Your affectionate

"EDWARD."

"Oh, what a delightful letter!" cried Louisa, as Emily concluded it: "but only think of his being exposed to such a dreadful storm. Dear, dear Edward, how thankful I am that you escaped in safety."

The moistened eye of his tender parent, directed with pious gratitude to heaven, silently spoke her feelings.

"Edward is quite mistaken in thinking that I should not feel interest in his account of the lighthouse," continued Louisa; "for I think every thing he has mentioned extremely entertaining, and even feel disappointed that he has not given a more particular account of the present building."

"I believe, my dear," said her mother, "I can supply you with all the information you wish, as I have frequently heard your father speak upon the subject."

_Louisa_. Thank you, mamma. Then, first of all, I want to know who Mr. Smeaton was, who built it.

_Mrs. B._ He was, originally, a philosophical instrument maker; and in consequence of his having made many inventions and improvements in mechanics, he was chosen a Fellow of the Royal Society, in 1753. Not finding the business in which he first embarked likely to afford him much emolument, he turned his attention to architecture, and was recommended to Lord Macclesfield as a very suitable person to attempt the re-building of the Eddystone Lighthouse. His lordship bore a strong testimony to his ability, in declaring he had never known him to undertake anything, which he did not complete to the perfect satisfaction of those who employed him.

_Louisa_. This was speaking highly in his favour, indeed. I should think it would make the proprietors very anxious to have him undertake the work.

_Mrs. B._ It did, my dear. He was at that time engaged in business in Scotland, where a friend wrote to him, merely informing him, in a few words, that he was made choice of, as a proper person to rebuild the Eddystone Lighthouse. Mr. Smeaton not understanding that the former building had been totally consumed, imagined he was only required to repair or rebuild the upper part of it; or, perhaps, that he was merely requested to give in his proposals, with other candidates. The information of his friend, therefore, occasioned him no great joy; nor was he much inclined to have any thing to do in the business, not thinking it prudent to leave the affairs, which at that time engaged his attention, upon an uncertainty.

_Louisa_. How much disappointed the proprietors must have been, if he sent them this answer.

_Mrs. B._ He first prudently wrote a letter to his friend, enquiring what was the extent of the mischief the former lighthouse had sustained, and whether he was actually appointed to make the repairs. To this he received an answer still more laconic than the first letter had been: "It is a total demolition; and, as Nathan said unto David, thou art the man."

_Louisa_. What an odd man that friend must have been. I suppose this second letter pleased him highly, and that he was willing to undertake the business.

_Mrs. B._ Yes, my dear; he regarded it as a high honour to be considered competent to so great a work, and having finished the business in which he was engaged in the north, he set off for London, where he arrived on the 23d of February, 1756. Mr. Smeaton had an interview with the proprietors, when it was determined that he should go to Plymouth; and, after seeing the rock, and examining the plans upon which the two former buildings had been erected, should communicate his ideas to the proprietors. They seemed to wish to have it again constructed with wood; Mr. Smeaton himself, on the contrary, greatly preferred stone.

_Louisa_. I should think stone would be much best: it could not then be burnt down again; but I suppose it would be a great deal dearer than wood.

_Mrs. B._ Exactly so, Louisa. However, the gentlemen concerned in the business, were too generous to let this influence their determination; therefore, when convinced that it would not only be stronger constructed of stone, but also more speedily erected, they did not hesitate a moment, but determined that it should be rebuilt in the very best manner; and such was their confidence in Mr. Smeaton's honour and integrity, that they left the accomplishment of the plan entirely to him.

_Louisa_. In what month did he begin his work, mamma?

_Mrs. B._ On the 23d of July, 1756, he set sail for the rock; but there was a great deal to be done before the erection of the building could be begun. First, marking out and preparing the rock, and contriving such cements as would not be affected by water.

_Ferdinand._ I was wondering how that would be managed.

_Mrs. B._ Mr. Smeaton was indefatigable in his experiments upon that subject, and at length succeeded, in a manner equal to his most sanguine expectations.

_Louisa_. I long to hear when he began the building.

_Mrs. B._ Have a little patience, my love, and you shall hear. Towards the end of May, 1757, every thing was in readiness for the commencement of the work. The comfort and accommodation of the light-keepers was, in this building, most kindly considered. In the one constructed by Mr. Rudyerd, the bed-rooms had been in the lower part, and the kitchen at top; but the beds were, in that case, very apt to be damp. In the present instance, the chambers are contrived above the kitchen; the funnel for the smoke from which, passes through them, and by this means they are kept constantly warm and comfortable. I cannot give you an account of the whole admirable arrangement of this building, nor do I think it would be at all interesting to you if I could; you will be satisfied to know, that on the 9th of October, 1759, it was completed, without loss of life or limb to any person concerned in it. Not a single accident occurred during the whole time, by which the work could be said to have been retarded. The time that elapsed, between the first stroke upon the rock, and leaving the lighthouse completed, was three years, nine weeks, and three days.

_Louisa_. Thank you, dear mamma. Now I think I know all about it; and I feel quite as well pleased, as if I had actually been at the Eddystone, and heard the billows roar, and seen the waves dash over it, in the tremendous manner Edward says they sometimes do.

"I am much better pleased than I should be under those circumstances," said Emily, whose gentle nature preferred the calm of domestic life, to any other scene. But Ferdinand thought it would certainly be more interesting to see and hear for himself, under all circumstances, than to receive the most eloquent description from the lips of another.

"And now, pray, mamma," added he, "what does Edward mean by calling me a philosopher. I believe he only intended to laugh at me, and that I do not much like. Little boys cannot be philosophers, can they?"

"I shall answer your question by another," returned his mother: "Can little boys love to acquire wisdom?"

"O yes, mamma, certainly," said Edward, "for I love nothing so well as hearing new things, and improving myself."

"The word philosophy," my dear, "is formed from two Greek terms, which signify a lover of wisdom. You have heard your father speak of Pythagoras?"

_Ferdinand._ Yes, I have, mamma. I heard him once say, that he was the first who discovered the solar system.

_Mrs. B._ Do you understand the meaning of the term you have just used, my dear?

_Ferdinand_. It means, the revolution of the earth and other planets round the sun, I believe, mamma.

_Mrs. B._ True. This was discovered, as your father has informed you, by Pythagoras, several hundred years before the birth of our Saviour. This great man was as humble as he was wise; and when the appellation of _sophist_ was given him, which signifies a wise man, he requested rather to be called a _philosopher_, or _lover_ of wisdom.

_Ferdinand_. I like Pythagoras very much, mamma; I wish you would be so kind as to tell me some more about him.

_Mrs. B._ That I will do most willingly, my dear. I see the sun is breaking out, and I believe we may venture to take a little walk. Go and put on your cloaks and bonnets, Emily and Louisa, and we will talk about Pythagoras as we go along.

The children were soon equipped, and joined their mother in the garden. The plantations were extensive, and as the clouds still looked dark and lowering, they did not venture to extend their ramble beyond them.

Mrs. Bernard aroused them for some time, with relating the most interesting particulars of the life of Pythagoras.

Louisa thought his forbidding his pupils to speak in his presence, till they had listened five years to his instructions, was not a good plan; declaring, that she should learn very little, were she not allowed to ask the meaning of such things as she did not understand, and to mention her own notions upon various subjects.

"The plan adopted by Pythagoras," said Mrs. Bernard, "was calculated to teach his pupils those amiable virtues--diffidence, humility, and forbearance. These charms give a brilliant lustre to every other acquirement; indeed, they are so necessary, that knowledge without them, far from improving a character, is apt to produce conceit and arrogance, which are great failings in all, but particularly disgusting in youth."

Louisa fully agreed to the truth of her mother's remark, and was going on with the conversation upon the character of the philosopher, when her attention was attracted by her favourite tortoise. He was creeping slowly out of his hole, to enjoy the sun-beams, which at this instant, with splendour, shone through the dark cloud, that a moment before had obscured his rays.

"Mamma, does not the tortoise live a great many years?" enquired Louisa.

"It does, my dear," returned Mrs. Bernard: "I was reading an account in the 'Monthly Magazine,' this morning, of one which lives in the garden of the Bishop of Peterborough, and is known to have been two hundred and sixteen years in the country."

"Two hundred and sixteen years!" exclaimed Louisa, with astonishment: "why that is almost as long as the patriarchs lived of old."

"Oh no, indeed, you are mistaken there, Louisa," said Ferdinand; "for I read in the Bible, this morning, that Methuselah, who was the oldest man ever known, lived nine hundred and sixty-nine years."

Mr. Bernard at this instant joined them, and in conversation equally instructive and entertaining, the time passed pleasantly away, till the dinner-bell summoned them to the house.

"Several days elapsed without any remarkable occurrence; frequent showers prevented their visiting the poor cottager, whose health gradually recovered, under the kind care of her excellent nurse Jane, and the tender attentions of her little Susan. On the day fixed for Edward's return, the two children were again taken to their humble home, and rejoiced their mother by their improved appearance.

Each hour was anxiously counted, as the time fixed for his arrival approached. Ferdinand, Louisa, and little Sophy, stationed themselves at the window. Anxiously they watched every carriage that drove past the gate; at length, a cry of joy announced his arrival. In an instant he was folded in the arms of his tender parents, and alternately embraced, with the greatest affection, by his brother and sisters. Every individual rejoiced at his return. And thus restored to the bosom of DOMESTIC PLEASURE, we leave him, for the present, tranquil and happy.

THE END.

* * * * * HISTORICAL QUESTIONS.