CHAPTER III.

THE LIGHTHOUSE OF THE HEAUX OF BREHAT.

A.D. 1836-1840.

One of the most important of the French lighthouses is that whose brilliant fixed light radiates nightly over the vast and dangerous space comprised between the coast of Brittany and the Roches-Douvres. In our opulent cities it would be considered a monument of the first rank, and its celebrity would, perhaps, rival the renown of the towers of the Eddystone and the Bell Rock, if, like them, it numbered as many years, and had been erected at an epoch when engineering science was less advanced than is the case in the present day.

As a matter of justice, however, we may remark that, notwithstanding the self-reliance of its celebrated constructor, when he cast the foundations of his edifice on the formidable rocks of the Epées de Tréguier—notwithstanding his thorough acquaintance with the labours of his predecessors—M. Léonce Reynaud found himself called upon to meet and conquer difficulties scarcely less numerous or less arduous than those so successfully vanquished by a Smeaton and a Stevenson.

These obstacles were of such a formidable character that the French Lighthouse Commission long hesitated, when deciding on the erection of a lighthouse at the mouth of the gulf which extends between Brittany and the Cotentin, whether its site should be on the mainland or out at sea. The rock on which the choice of the engineers finally rested was part of a group which the sea nearly overwhelms at high tide. It was evident, therefore, that the artificers would only be able to work for a certain number of hours daily. More, the ocean-currents of the region in which it was situated were proverbially very violent; their rate of speed was not less than eight knots per second, and when their force is augmented by the agitation of a tempest, the billows rage with excessive and formidable fury, swelling to enormous heights, and filling the air with their clash and clangour.

Nothing daunted by these difficulties, our engineers set to work, and commenced the erection of the workmen’s sheds. These were planted on the isle of Bréhat, at about three league‘ distance from the rock. In addition to the fact that this island possesses numerous perfectly sheltered harbours, it is placed by the currents under quite peculiar conditions with respect to the rock of the Héaux: the ebb-tide swings from the island to the rock, and the flood rushes from the rock to the island; and it is exactly at low water that disembarkations must take place. Finally, the island presented all the resources desirable for the accommodation and provisioning of the numerous artificers whose services were called into requisition by so considerable an undertaking.

In one of the havens a jetty of rough stones, about 170 feet in length, was constructed, to facilitate the embarkations and disembarkations, which would necessarily be very frequent. The harbour, that of La Corderie, was exactly opposite the Héaux. In addition to the boats which transported to the rock the materials prepared _in_ the island, a very large flotilla was employed in conveying the rough materials, drawn from all quarters, _to_ the island. The granite came from the Ile-Grande, situated about ten leagues to the westward; the lime from the basin of the Loire; Saint-Malo furnished the timber; and, finally, as the wells of Bréhat did not supply sufficient water for the additional population and the uses of the artificers, water, as well as provisions, was obtained from the mainland.

Sixty artificers formed the “army of labour” organized to carry out all M. Raynaud’s bold designs. Lodgings had to be provided for them, inasmuch as the navigation was too uncertain, and the time during which boats could anchor much too short, to admit of their being daily carried back to the mainland. Fortunately, at a very short distance from the place chosen for the works, two aiguilles, or needle-rocks, were found, sufficiently elevated to remain constantly above the level of the water. The interval between them was filled up partly with rough stones and partly with masonry, until an elevation of thirteen feet above the sea was secured; and a platform was thus constructed sufficiently durable for the purpose to which it was intended to put it. Here were planted the huts of the men, and the framework of a beacon which was to carry a provisional light. You may suppose, gentle reader, that there was no room to be wasted. In the beacon was placed, besides the store-room and the keeper’s lodgings, the chamber for the accommodation of the engineer; his bivouacking hut was on the right; by blowing up a portion of the rock, a long but narrow apartment was obtained for the overseers; on the left, in front, stood the kitchen and larder; at the side, the workmen’s dining-room; behind, their sitting and bed-room, which was well filled. The beds were placed as close to each other as possible, in two tiers. A third range was situated in the refectory, above the table. And, lastly, on a projecting crag, to the left, means had been found to erect a small forge, which had but one defect, that it was often impossible to keep it lighted at high water.

At first the workmen were allowed to supply themselves as they pleased with provisions; but some cases of scurvy having broken out, the engineer felt the necessity of enforcing upon them a regular bill of fare. For this purpose he established a canteen, and bound down its owner to keep a stock sufficient for six week‘ supply, as a precaution against possible bad weather, which might cut off all communication with the mainland. At this canteen each workman was compelled to obtain his rations. Other hygienic measures were adopted. The hammocks were every morning exposed in the open air, and once a week the lodging-rooms were lime-washed. Once a week, too, the whole company bathed. Thanks to these precautions, the terrible malady whose approach had been apprehended was driven from the island, and the sanitary condition of so great a number of men herded together in a very limited compass remained constantly satisfactory.

Every day, as soon as the tide had ebbed, the artificers repaired to work, and the hours for meals were so arranged that no interruption took place while the tide lasted. When the rising waters forced them to abandon the rock, a bell gave the signal. They then hastened to cover with a cement which hardened instantaneously the portions of masonry which had just been finished, and took refuge in their abodes. Sometimes, however, it would happen that the sea rose with unusual rapidity; woe, then, to the tardy! They had no other resource but to throw themselves into the water before its depth became dangerous; an amusement for the on-lookers, and almost their only one. Thanks to these measures of order and supervision, the engineer had not to regret the loss of any of the members of his laborious little colony; although, during the course of their works, many ships, and, still more unfortunately, several visitors, perished.

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Let us now say a few words respecting the work itself.

The principal difficulty of the operation consisted in erecting the submarine portion of the building. Once the level of high-water mark was reached, the men could not only carry on their labours more conveniently, but were relieved from the most critical chances. Thenceforth they had nothing further to do with the sea than as regarded the process of landing, and to a certain extent they built upon an island. But on this artificial island everything depended, and in its formation every precaution had to be studied.

The rock on which the lighthouse rests consists of an extremely hard and resistant black porphyry. Nevertheless, as in some places it showed numerous fissures, the work began with the removal of all the superficial part, so as to secure a properly sound basis; and as, at the same time, it was of great importance that the foundation should never be exposed, M. Reynaud adopted the necessary measures to sink it completely in the rock. With this view, an annular surface of 38 feet in diameter, destined to support the hewn stone work, was excavated in the porphyry to a depth of about twenty inches, and dressed with the utmost exactitude; a labour of excessive difficulty on account of the tenacity of the rock, but a certain safeguard against future danger. In the groove thus protected by the whole mass of porphyry were deposited the first courses. As for the part of the rock corresponding to the interior of the tower, no special necessity for extra precautions existing in respect to it, it was left in its rough state, with simply a layer of concrete.

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With a view to that stability which has become for the engineer a principle of elegance, the building, 155 feet in height, has been divided into two principal parts. The first, concave at its base, is of solid masonry up to three feet three inches above the level of the highest tides; its diameter at the base is 38 feet, and at its summit 28 feet. The second, reposing on this impregnable foundation, presents that measure of lightness which would have been considered suitable for a tower of the same elevation built upon the mainland. The thickness of the wall is 50 inches below, and 30 inches above.

As for the methods adopted by the architect, it does not seem necessary to describe them in detail; they would only prove interesting to readers of scientific acquirements. Yet we feel disinclined to pass over in silence a bold conception which does honour to M. Reynaud; namely, that, contrary to a generally accepted idea, it is not necessary in works of this kind to bind together all the stones as a whole, under a supposition that the sea may sweep them away during or after the execution of the works. Thus, in the lighthouses of the Eddystone and the Bell Rock, all the stones in the lower courses are dove-tailed into one another after the most ingenious designs, and held together by plugs of iron and wood. Unquestionably, says Reynaud, these arrangements are not without efficacy; but it is doubtful whether sufficient reasons for them exist. Perhaps they even present more inconveniencies than advantages, for, in addition to their cost, they necessitate a troublesome delay in the execution of works which it is of importance to raise as rapidly as possible above the level of the sea.

The architect of the lighthouse of the Héaux has not, then, fixed each single stone; he has confined himself to arresting at certain points the total mass of water which he supposed might be set in motion during each tide. Consequently each layer was divided, for this purpose, into a certain number of portions; twelve for the lower, and eight for the upper courses. All the stones of these great key-stones rested one upon another by means of salient and re-entering edges; and, more, those of the angles were securely fastened to the course beneath by plugs of granite. Experience has proved this simple arrangement to be sufficient; no injury has occurred to contradict the principle on which it was founded.

Such are the means by which this almost unequalled pharos of the Héaux was completed. It occupied six years in erection. The first was employed in examining the localities and perfecting the plans; the second, in the establishment of the cabins and the formation of the groove in the rock; the third, in the construction of the solid masonry; during the fourth, the tower was raised as far as the first gallery; in the fifth, a little above the cornice; finally, in 1839, the lantern was fixed and lighted. The monument bears the following inscription: “This edifice, commenced in 1836, was completed in 1839, in the reign of Louis Philippe.”

Rapid and successful as was the work, it was nevertheless marked by some accidents. At the commencement of the campaign of 1836, all the machines were in their places, and preparations were being made to lay the first stone, when the whole was swept away by an extraordinary wave. We have heard the engineer describe the cruel regret he experienced on arriving at the rock, after having been separated from it for three days by the tempest, and discovering all his works prostrated, most of his artificers wounded, the whole of them demoralized, and in the midst of the confusion the seamen, who had never been willing to believe in the feasibility of the matter, laughing aloud. He did not lose his courage, and skilfully revived the ardour of his men at the same time that he raised anew his apparatus. A “crab” was planted on the precipitous rock, at whose foot the barges brought alongside, and the materials were transported with the assistance of a railway laid down on the precipice which separated this natural landing-place from the site of the tower.

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Alone, in the midst of ocean, the lighthouse of the Héaux of Bréhat acquires, by its very isolation, a character of severe grandeur which profoundly impresses the voyager. As Michelet says, it has the sublime simplicity of a gigantic sea-plant. Enormous, immovable, silent, it seems, in truth, a defiance flung by the genius of man in the teeth of the spirit of the storm. Sometimes, says M. de Quatrefages, you would say that, sensible of the outrage, the heavens and the sea league together against the enemy who braves them by its impassability. The impetuous winds of the north-west roar around the lantern, and hurl torrents of rain and whirlwinds of hail and snow against its solid crystal. Under the impulse of their irresistible breath gigantic billows hurry up from the open sea, and sometimes reach as high as the first gallery; but these fluent masses glide over the round polished surface of the granite, which does not offer them any holding-place; they even fling long streams of foam above the cupola, and dash down with a groan on the rocks of Stallio-Bras or the shingly beach of the Sillon. But without a quiver the lighthouse supports these terrible attacks. Yet it bends towards them as if to render homage to the power of its adversaries. The keepers have assured me that during a violent tempest, the oil vessels, placed in one of the highest chambers, show a variation in level of upwards of an inch, which supposes that the summit of the tower describes an arc of more than a yard in extent. For the rest, this very pliancy may be regarded as a pledge of durability. At least, we find it in numerous monuments which have braved for centuries the inclemencies of the season. The spire of Strasburg Cathedral, for instance, curves, under the breath of the winds, its long ogives, and its graceful little columns, and balances its four-armed cross, elevated 440 feet above the soil.

The keepers of the lighthouse of the Héaux did not deceive M. de Quatrefages. Observations made in other lighthouses, erected in the open sea, confirm the statement they made to him. If these monuments of human skill and industry are 130 feet in height and upwards, their agitation becomes sufficiently perceptible to spill any liquids in uncovered vessels, to shake the movable weights of the mechanism, rattle against the sides of the descending tubes, and, in a word, to suggest to visitors a vivid idea of the roll of a ship. Towers built after this fashion are, in fact, reeds of stone which bend before the wind; but, like the reeds, they raise their heads again as soon as the hurricane has passed.