Part 6

On the evening of Sunday the 27th our new light was exhibited for the first time, the coveted honour of “first light” falling in the ordinary routine of duty to the writer. The new apparatus--a bewildering arrangement of massive glass prisms--is in striking contrast with its predecessor, the old reflector system of lighting, a system, by the way, now almost obsolete. The following description of the new light is copied from an engraved plate affixed to the new apparatus:--“Combined hyper-radiant and 1st order apparatus, with equiangular dioptric elements and catadioptric back prisms; power of red flash and white flash equalised. White and red flashing light, showing white and red flashes alternately every half minute, the period being one minute. Designed by Messrs Stevenson, Civil Engineers, Edinburgh. Contractors, Messrs Steven & Struthers, Glasgow, and Messrs Société Des Etablissements Henry Lepaute, Paris. David A. Stevenson, Engineer to the Board. Apparatus makes one revolution in one minute--1901.”

Occasionally during the progress of the alterations our population, unlike that of Arbroath, increased to a somewhat alarming extent, mounting at times to a grand total of seven all told. Considering that the majority of the population were unaccustomed to life under such “cribbed, cabined, and confined” conditions, it was surprising to witness the cheerfulness and good humour with which they accepted their sixteen weeks’ solitary confinement. At times the resources of our commissariat were taxed to their utmost. Beef, which is stored in our safe on the balcony, and retains its freshness for a fortnight in cold weather, demands a liberal salting at present, otherwise it does become a trifle “gamey,” but, on the whole, it is preferable to its relative in tins--a relationship, by the way, extremely difficult to prove, and hopelessly so should the label be missing. What though at times a transverse section of our loaves disclosed a landscape in cerulean tints undreamt of by the most vivid impressionist, the transference to “hard tack” was accepted with better grace than when a similar move had to be made from the salted meat to the “embalmed commodity.”

_AUGUST 1902._

The coating of acorn barnacles with which the higher surfaces of the Rock and also the base of the tower are whitened in summer is fast disappearing before the ravages of that ruthless destroyer the white whelk. Seen from the balcony, this encrustation resembles a lime-hauled wall, and presents a suitable background for the observation of moving objects under water. These barnacles are frequently mistaken by the casual observer for young limpets, whereas, unlike the limpet, which moves freely from place to place in quest of vegetable diet, the moment the young barnacle settles to erect his limey habitation, he possesses a fixity of tenure which terminates only with his existence. An outer wall, with razor edges, surrounds a hollow cone, his private apartment, and probably guards his four-leaved door from injury. This opening, through which all business with the outer world is transacted, is scarcely discernible when above water; but immediately the tide covers it, the hollow cone is seen to fall apart in four vertical sections, a bunch of fingers is thrust forth and rhythmic clutches made at invisible food. How little they resemble their relatives who swing by their pendulous stalks from ships’ bottoms or submerged wreckage, and see the world without any exertion of their own. The ancients firmly believed that from these animals certain birds were produced, probably from the resemblance of their shelly casement to the beak of a bird, and the bird known as the barnacle-goose owes his name to this belief. Even to-day there are persons who solemnly declare that the Northern Diver is so evolved.

Another fallacy common amongst fishing communities on the West Coast is the attributing the destructive effects of the _teredo navalis_, or ship-worm, to the innocent barnacle, whose only fault is the resistance their multitudes offer to a ship’s progress through the water. A log of wood which has been adrift at sea for a lengthened period will generally be found to have its surface clustered with pendulous barnacles. The removal of these disclose minute pin-holes on the surface, which, in the interior, assume the diameter of a man’s little finger, and permeate the log from end to end like a honeycomb. Each little tunnel is smoothly enamelled with a deposit of lime by this indefatigable borer, the _teredo_. Though boring parallel with his neighbour, the thickness of paper only separating them, they never, by any chance, encroach on each other’s bore. Their tracks are seen to abruptly diverge when all but into that of their neighbour, so that they are evidently cognisant of each other’s proximity, an interesting fact also apparent in rats on board wooden vessels, who, though they will gnaw their way through any woodwork, instinctively refrain from suicidal attempts on the outer skin of the ship.

On the memorable 9th we had a bird’s-eye view of the Coronation celebrations in Arbroath. With the aid of our telescope the crowds on the Common were clearly visible, the ladies in white dresses being most conspicuous. The flash of the guns firing the royal salute was seen fifty-five seconds before the report reached us. In the afternoon the sports in the Victoria Park occupied our attention, and the white-clad competitors in the high jump could be seen taking their preliminary run and rising over the obstacle. Parties straying on the beach had only their heads visible, and as they neared the margin appeared to vanish under water. The progress of the bonfire on the Common at night was also watched, and the moving figures could be plainly seen silhouetted in the glare. Probably but few noticed our attempt to celebrate the occasion. Two strings of flags from the balcony to the rocks fluttered gaily in the breeze, while the balcony railing was similarly decked. Amongst those suspended from the rail was a flag of peculiar interest, namely, one which had been sewn by Miss Stevenson, a sister of the builder, Robert Stevenson, almost a hundred years ago. The central subject depicted on the white ground is the Bell Rock Lighthouse; on the right, the patron saint of Scotland with his cross; while a ship under full sail occupies the left, the whole bordered with a deep edging of red. The figures are extremely well executed, and the colouring to the flesh tints remarkable. The flag was presented to the Rock by Miss Stevenson to be used as a table draping during divine service.

Several white butterflies and moths innumerable were seen passing here this month. It seems these insects have their migratory periods as well as birds, and at stations favourable for their observation they appeared, to quote from a writer in a recent number of “Chambers’s,” “as a dense snowstorm driven by a light breeze, and this not for one day only, but for many in succession. Whereas birds come and go with clockwork regularity, the immigration of butterflies is uncertain, and of all those which survive the perils of the deep no single one returns.”

_SEPTEMBER 1902._

A good deal of heavy weather has been experienced on the Rock this month, and the stability of our new lantern subjected to a fair strain, though probably nothing to what it will have to encounter during the course of the winter. The lantern--composed of gun metal astragals, narrowed to the utmost limit compatible with strength, in order to intercept as little light as possible--may be looked upon as a huge hollow cylinder of glass, which in itself seems but a feeble barrier to the onslaughts of the storm. But the three tiers of triangular panes are of heavy plate glass, and the apparently slim like astragals are braced together in the most effective manner to ensure the greatest degree of strength, and need cause no uneasiness to the stranger viewing the outlook during the progress of a gale. It is awful to think that out in that dark void, amid the warring elements, fellow beings may be battling for their lives in close proximity to where we sit in comfort and security, totally ignorant of their condition, and utterly helpless to render them the slightest assistance. Probably a case in point occurred during the gale of the 3rd. On the 9th, about noon, we were somewhat surprised to see the gunboat _Seamew_ approaching the Rock with a hoist of flags, indicating that they wished to communicate with us. Bringing up close to the Rock, they signalled, “Have you seen a vessel in distress?” to which we answered “No”; and then remembering we had seen a torpedo boat pass the day previous, and fearing another case of “buckling” had occurred, we asked “Was it a torpedo boat?” in reply to which they communicated the intelligence, “No; it is a sailing craft from Anstruther last Wednesday, and seven hands.” On our replying “We have not seen her,” the signal “Thank you” was hoisted, and the gunboat steamed out to the eastward on her sorrowful quest. Passing a torpedo boat at gun practice, she was seen to signal her also, with the difference that the flags then used had no existence in our code. Later in the evening she was again seen making for Dundee.

We have had several takes of fish of late, though there seems to be a scarcity of “fry” compared with last year, the absence of which probably accounts for the terns failing to call upon us with their young for a few weeks’ feasting prior to commencing their migratory journey southwards. Gannets may be seen at present striking at fish within a few feet of our doorway, while a flock of young gulls hover expectantly, with feeble peeping cries anticipating the feast in store for them when the dinner scraps make their appearance. Further off a few eider ducks--who only arrived on the 25th, somewhat later than last year--evidently eye the proceedings of these juvenile degenerates with disdain, preferring to refrain from such pampered luxuries and dine on the products of the chase alone. The eiders present are as yet all adult males, the females presumably still occupied with family cares teaching the young idea how to shoot, or rather fish, if plucking mussels, catching crabs, etc., can be called so, for such is their diet, and does not include fish. Strange that the foremost arrivals among migratory birds are all males. Why this is so is not agreed upon by observers, some supposing that the females are detained by maternal duties; others, again, affirm that they migrate _en masse_, and that the more vigorous males soon outstrip and ungallantly leave the gentler sex to bring up the rear. On the 6th we had our first intimation of the autumnal migratory flight in the arrival of a flock of wheatears, accompanied by a solitary wren. On the 27th several greenfinches, larks, and starlings were making insane efforts to follow the line of _most_ resistance, resulting in our new lantern receiving its first baptism of blood, as the glass next morning testified. Several porpoises are to be seen puffing and blowing a mile off, and on the 28th a school of “finner” whales were seen heading north.

I see by the _Arbroath Guide_ that one of our old fog bells has been presented by our Commissioners to the Arbroath Museum, a fit resting place after its long sojourn on the Rock. Should the date upon it happen by any chance to become erased, what possible controversies it may yet become the subject of amongst posterity as to its connection with that mythical personage “Ralph the Rover.” I myself can testify to its having conformed in one respect at least with that of the poem, for on lowering it from its position on the balcony for shipment the tide had overflowed the Rock about a couple of feet, causing the bell to settle with an audible gurgle, or as one of the seamen (Fraser) appropriately quoted, “The bell sank down with a gurgling sound.”

_OCTOBER 1902._

We have had occasional visits of feathered migrants during the month, but it is a matter of remark that each year sees a decrease in the number of arrivals here. Probably the increased number of lights on our coast accounts for this diminution, some proving more attractive than ours. A few years ago it was quite on the cards at this season of the year--thanks to the migratory instinct--to have an additional course at dinner, to which fieldfares, blackbirds, and redwings were the voluntary contributors, and even at times the gamey woodcock “graced the groaning board”--for our “board,” being double-leaved and somewhat senile, does occasionally groan, and this without reference to any superincumbent strain. Amongst the more noteworthy of our captures here, at various times, the following may be mentioned:--A peregrine falcon, large horned owl, small brown owl, kestrels, sparrow hawks, crows, cormorants, corn-crakes, and a turtle dove. Birds generally arrive here in a fagged condition, and are easily captured. As an instance, a kestrel landed on our balcony railing during fog, and, despite the explosions of our fog-signal twenty feet overhead, tucked his head under his wing and fell sound asleep. Another arrival of note was a common blue pigeon, which, after a few hours’ stay, surprised us by depositing an egg in our doorway. Disturbed on our appearance, it reluctantly deserted its treasure, but not without many backward glances before spreading its wings shorewards.

Podley-fishing has been fairly successful during the month, and several codlings have been taken from the pools at low water. Whilst photographing lately, another of our number was busy endeavouring to extract a breakfast from Port Hamilton. Hooking a fair sized codling, the camera was turned on the scene, and fish _à la photo_ figured in our bill of fare next morning. A few years ago a photo was taken of a paidle cock and hen, both of which were taken from their nests for this purpose, and proved amenable sitters; the cock appearing in the photo quite conscious of his importance, though the hen appeared somewhat bored, having been snapped in the middle of a huge “gape,” which some of my previous sitters might interpret as a yawn. Both were returned to their nests none the worse of their unique experience, and possibly yet relate their feelings before the camera to the admiring wonder of fishy audiences, till puffed with the idea of their own importance they now probably suffer from a disease (peculiar to some higher vertebrates with as slender a reputation) resulting in what is colloquially known as “swelled head.”

Wouldn’t the fishermen of Arbroath fancy their lines had fallen in pleasant places should the fish they pursue at such hazard come sailing voluntarily into the harbour, and even without the usual ceremony of dropping them a line, appear on the surface, mutely asking to be lifted out? Such, however, was our experience lately. Shortly before daybreak one quiet morning our attention was attracted by the movements of a few gulls, evidently interested in some object in the water at the edge of the reef. As daylight advanced it was seen to be a large fish wobbling erratically upon the surface. On extinguishing the light and descending to the rocks, which the advancing tide had not yet covered, the fish was seen to have entered the Johnny Gray boat track, and was propelling itself, keel upwards, in our direction. A fish in this unusual position indicates an abnormal distension of the swimming bladder, which, by over-increasing its buoyancy, entirely upsets its centre of gravity, and forces it topsy-turvy to the surface. A steam trawler, which had been working close to the Rock for several days previous, was probably responsible for our friend’s “blown” condition. Stepping gingerly over beds of white whelks as we wade bare foot to welcome our visitor, we mentally contrast our inferiority with more juvenile days--a time when even road metal could be safely negotiated. The screaming gulls resent our interference with their expected feast, no doubt slanging us unmercifully as we land our capture, an arm-long lythe, safely on the grating. Their clamouring, however, is soon stilled, as each retires with as big a share of the offal as his strength and agility can command.

The long-tailed ducks are now only wanting to complete the list of our winter boarders, and their advent may be looked for early next month. The eiders have now attained their numerical strength for the winter, and are busily engaged picking up a living, not only for themselves, but also for the parasitical gulls which hover in close attendance, shepherding them with unwearied diligence. The peculiar cackling of the eiders--not unlike that of wild geese--becomes somewhat disturbing as their operations are occasionally carried on underneath our bedroom window. Gannets are now rarely seen here, but at their breeding haunts on the Bass Rock--which we had the opportunity of visiting while on our way here last relief--they are still in evidence, though by the end of the month they will have commenced their journey southwards. A new light is being completed on the Bass Rock, and on the first of December, yet another factor in our dwindling list of visitors will be in operation--ostensibly a lighthouse--but to our feathered friends, alas! a veritable slaughter-house.

_NOVEMBER 1902._

Exceedingly stormy weather, with a prevalence of sou’-easterly winds and heavy seas, has been our portion here this month, restricting our movements out of doors, till with circling round our promenade on the balcony one almost doubts the possibility of ever again being able to hold a straight course when opportunity offers. Workmen have been engaged this month fitting up a service of copper piping from the grating at the base of the tower to the cisterns in the oil store on the third flat, whereby the operation of storing oil will in future be rendered much easier. The oil will now be landed in forty-gallon casks, instead of the small six-gallon ankers as formerly, emptied into a sifting tank on the grating, and by means of a rotary pump forced upwards to the oil cisterns--a vast improvement on the old system, when each anker had to be hoisted indoors, and then shouldered upstairs to the cisterns.

A pleasing incident of the month was the arrival of a handsome present for each of the keepers, consisting of a silver mounted briar pipe, a pound of golden bar tobacco, and a liberal supply of first class reading matter. All keepers throughout the service--over 200--were similarly supplied, so that the gift will be seen to be a pretty extensive one, and the donor, James Coats, junr., Paisley, has without doubt earned the gratitude of the service by this generous act of kindness.

About the beginning of the month we had a few feathered visitors, chiefly blackbirds, fieldfares, and starlings. On the morning of the 5th several struck heavily on the lantern, but were swept away by the strong sou’-east wind then blowing. The gannets have now all disappeared, none having been seen since the 27th. The eiders continue in close attendance and have had their numbers augmented by the arrival of the longtails on the 9th, a week earlier than last year, thus completing our list of regular boarders for the winter. At 6 p.m. on the 13th we were privileged with the unusual spectacle of a lunar rainbow. The bow--a faint white arc against the dark background--was distinctly visible in the nor’-west, though, of course, void of the vivid colouring inseparable from its solar namesake.

While taking a turn round the balcony on the evening of the 15th, our attention was attracted to what appeared to be a peculiar shaped mass of foam resting on the rocks immediately beneath us. On careful observation, however, the object was seen to move slightly in the faint moonlight, and by the aid of our telescope the outline of a seal could be dimly seen. On the change of the watch at 6 p.m. an attacking party, including the workmen then on the Rock, was organised, and a plan of campaign drawn up. Descending the outside ladder, which was fortunately in deep shadow, we were able to gain a footing on the Rock unperceived. His suspicions had, however, evidently been aroused, as he was seen to lift his head sniffing uneasily in our direction. Bracing ourselves within the margin of the shadow cast by the tower, we charged down upon him at the double, expecting to see him beat a hasty retreat to the water; but, to our surprise, he made no effort whatever in that direction, but seemed to consider himself quite a match for us, and that there was no present necessity for retreating. Snarling and snapping viciously as we surrounded him, he appeared at a great disadvantage compared with his agile movements when in his element, his hind flippers being now of practically little use to him, his lumbering movements being effected by the aid of the fore flippers alone. His furious efforts to sample portions of our anatomy were easily avoided, and by laying hold of his hind flippers, as one would trundle a barrow, he was immediately placed _hors-de-combat_. An unfortunate squid or cuttlefish, which had been left stranded by the receding tide, when pushed within his reach was seized and energetically shaken with all the vim of an accomplished ratter. The wooden shaft of a boat-hook was similarly treated, and still bears evidence of his utter ignorance of the dental profession. A rope being procured, a clove hitch was slipped over one of his hind-flippers, the other end made fast to an eye-bolt on the Rock. Thus secured, he was left to his novel reflections for the night.

As the tide covered the Rock he could be seen in the clear moonlight ploughing along the creamy surface, stretching his tether in every direction in futile efforts to escape. At daylight next morning he was found sheltering under a projecting ledge of rock. What a clean, well-groomed fellow he looked, with his sleek, glossy coat glistening in the sunshine, his squat, plump body adapting itself to the inequalities of the surface on which it rested. His coat, by the way, as much fur as that of a horse--grey above, mottled with dark spots, while the under surface is of a creamy yellow. His beautiful teeth gleaming white against the scarlet interior of his mouth, as he snapped fruitlessly on either side, suggested the maximum of robust animal health. As a memento of his visit the camera was brought on the scene, and another addition made to our list of illustrious visitors.

Liberating him proved to be more difficult than his capture, for when cut adrift he persisted in facing us instead of making for the water, towards which we endeavoured to drive him. After some manœuvring, however, he was driven to the edge of the gulley, but even with his body half submerged he maintained a defensive attitude, not seeming to realise that he was at liberty to depart. An incoming wave, however, moved him to a sense of his position, and with a defiant snort he slipped under water. Omitting, in his hurry, to take proper bearings, he took the wrong direction, and, finding himself in a _cul-de-sac_, made his appearance again on the surface, and with a hurried glance at his position again sank, this time making a bee-line for the outlet, being clearly seen, as he passed under water close to where we stood, and was last seen buffeting his way through the foaming breakers, evidently none the worse for his compulsory detention on the Rock.

_DECEMBER 1902._