The Story of the Rock, R. M. Ballantyne [fiction novels to read .TXT] 📗

At last, on the 1st of October, the lantern was lighted for trial during the day, with 24 candles. They burned well though a gale was blowing. On the 4th an express was sent to the Corporation of the Trinity House to say that all was ready. A short delay was made to allow of the lighting-up being advertised, and finally, on the 16th of October 1759, the new Eddystone lighthouse cast its first benignant rays over the troubled sea.

It chanced on that day that an appropriate storm raged, as if to inaugurate the great event. Owing to this, Smeaton could not get off to be at the lighting-up of his own building. From the shore, however, he beheld its initiative gleam as it opened its bright eye to the reality of its grand position, and we can well believe that his hardy, persevering spirit exulted that night over the success of his labours. We can well believe, also, that there was in him a deeper and higher feeling than that of mere joy, if we may judge of the cast of his mind by the inscriptions put by him upon his work during progress and at completion.

Round the upper store-room, on the course under the ceiling, he chiselled the words:—

“Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it.”

And on the last stone set, over the door of the lantern, was carved:—

“Praise God!”

The lighthouse, thus happily completed, rose to a height of seventy feet, and consisted of forty-six courses of masonry. The internal arrangements will be understood at once by reference to our engraving, which exhibits a section of the tower. There was first the solid part, 35 feet in height and 16 feet 8 inches in diameter at the top, the base being much wider. Then came the still very solid portion with the entrance-door and the spiral staircase. Above that, the first store-room, which had no windows. Next, the second store-room, with two windows. Next the kitchen, followed by the bed-room, both of which had four windows; and, last, the lantern. The rooms were 12 feet 4 inches in diameter, with walls 2 feet 2 inches thick, and the whole fabric, from top to bottom, was so dovetailed, trenailed, cemented, inter-connected, and bound together, that it formed and still continues, a unique and immoveable mass of masonry.

There were others besides Smeaton who watched, that night, with deep interest the opening of the Eddystone’s bright eye.

In a humble apartment in the village of Cawsand Bay an aged man stood, supported by an elderly man, at a window, gazing seaward with an expression of intense expectation, while a very aged woman sat crooning over the fire, holding the hand of a fair girl just verging on early womanhood.

“D’ee see it yet, Tommy?” asked the old man, eagerly.

“No, not yet,” replied Tommy, “not—yes—there—!”

“Ah! that’s it, I see it,” cried old John Potter, with a faint gleam of his old enthusiasm. “There it goes, brighter than ever. A blessed light, and much wanted, Tommy, much, much wanted.”

He leaned heavily on his son’s arm and, after gazing for some time, asked to be taken back to his chair opposite old Martha.

“What is it?” inquired Martha, bending her ear towards a pretty little mouth.

“Grandfather has just seen the new Eddystone lighted up for the first time,” replied Nora.

“Ay, ay,” said Martha in a moralising tone, as she turned her eyes towards the fire, “ay, ay, so soon! I always had a settled conviction that that lighthouse would be burnt.”

“It’s not burnt, grannie,” said Nora, smiling, “it’s only lighted up.”

“Well, well, my dear,” returned Martha, with a solemn shake of the head, “there an’t much difference atween lighted-up an’ burnt-up. It’s just as I always said to your father, my dear—to your grandfather I mean—depend upon it, John, I used to say, that light’ouse will either be burnt up or blowed over. Ay, ay, dear me!”

She subsided into silent meditation, and thus, good reader, we shall bid her farewell, merely remarking that she and her honest husband did not die for a considerable time after that. As she grew older and blinder, old Martha became more and more attached to the Bible and the dictionary, as well as to dear good blooming Nora, who assisted her in the perusal of the former, her sweet ringing voice being the only one at last that the old woman could hear. But although it was evident that Martha had changed in many ways, her opinions remained immoveable. She feebly maintained these, and held her “settled convictions” to the last gasp.

As for Teddy Maroon, he returned to Ireland after the lighthouse was finished and quietly got married, and settled on the margin of the bog where the Teddy from whom he sprang still lingered, among his numerous descendants, the life of his juvenile kindred, and an oracle on lighthouses.

Time with its relentless scythe at last swept all the actors in our tale away: Generations after them came and went. The world grew older and more learned; whether more wise is still an open question! Knowledge increased, science and art advanced apace. Electricity, steam, iron, gold, muscle, and brain, all but wrought miracles, and almost everything underwent change more or less; but, amid all the turmoil of the world’s progress and all the storms of elemental strife, one object remained unaltered, and apparently unalterable—the Eddystone Lighthouse! True, indeed, its lantern underwent vast improvements, the Argand lamp and lens replacing the old candle, and causing its crown to shine with a whiter light and an intensified glory as it grew older, but as regards its sturdy frame, there it has stood on the rugged rocks amid the tormented surges, presenting its bold and battered, but undamaged, front to the utmost fury of blast and billow for upwards of a hundred years.