excursion steamers in summer take thousands of visitors from the hoe pier out to the eddystone, and so in many minds renew the moving story of that fatal reef. the existing lighthouse is the fourth to be built in this terrible isolation, whose loneliness appeals more to the imagination when viewing the solitary tower in the hazy distance, from the hoe, than when it is seen at close quarters. at a distance its puny proportions in relation to the surrounding leagues of restless sea are realised with a shudder at the temerity of its builders, but near at hand the massive character of its masonry is the first thing to attract attention. if the daring of modern engineers inspires respect, what should be those emotions with which we look back upon the first audacious attempts to rear a lighthouse upon the tiny foothold of the exposed eddystone, so far back as 1696?
it was early in 1665 that the first proposal for lighting this dangerous reef, full in the course of ships passing up or down channel, was made; sir john coryton and one henry brouncker[282] petitioning the duke of york, the then lord high admiral, for permission to build a number of lighthouses, and, incidentally, one on the eddystone. this proposal, referred to the trinity house, was eventually reduced to a scheme for the eddystone only, and the projectors, who were not proposing to benefit mankind without a good profit for themselves, were to be recouped their outlay by a charge of 2d. a ton on foreign shipping entering west country ports: english vessels to be free of charge.
nothing more was ever heard of this early project, but in 1692 one walter whitfield made a bid for a patent from the trinity house, by which he was to be authorised, at his own risk, to build a lighthouse, to reap the entire profits for a term of three years, and one-half for the next fifty years: the undertaking then to revert to the trinity house. a patent was granted on these terms in 1694, but no works were initiated, and even when a revised agreement was made in 1696, it was not whitfield, but winstanley, who designed and built the first eddystone lighthouse. under this compact the projector’s term of full profits was extended from three to five years.
henry winstanley was a singular genius: very much of an artist, something, but not much, of an engineer, and a wholly sanguine person. he commenced operations on the rock on july 14th, 1696, his workmen being occupied all that summer in drilling holes and fixing the iron stanchions that were to support his building. sometimes[283] he and his men slept on the rock itself, on other occasions they were rowed at nightfall to the guardship terrible, which, lent by the admiralty,[284] stood off and on all day. in june 1697, the commander of this ship, one commissioner st. loe, thought well to go off upon a wholly unauthorised cruise for nearly a week, and in the meanwhile a french privateer pounced upon winstanley and his men, took winstanley prisoner and, taking away the last stitch of the workmen’s clothing, turned them adrift in their boat. to the credit of the french government, winstanley was speedily released, and the too zealous captain of the privateer seems to have been reprimanded for excess of zeal; while st. loe was peremptorily asked by the admiralty for an explanation of his conduct. in the midsummer of 1698 winstanley’s lighthouse was completed and on november 14th, shed the first warning gleam across the waters. it was a remarkable structure. rising to a height of about eighty feet to its weather-vane, it was fantastic in outline, beautiful in colour and gilding, and adorned with devices of the sun in splendour and the imposing inscriptions, “pax in terra. post tenebras lux. glory be to god.” it was rather more picturesque than even a chinese pagoda, and offered so many angles of resistance to the wind that we can only marvel how the elements in those four years allowed him to complete it, and then suffered it to remain another three years. if picturesque beauty were the sole consideration in lighthouse-building this mingled stone and timber tower with its strange suggestions of wren’s city of london church steeples and the “queen anne”[285] architecture of bedford park, was surely the finest lighthouse ever built. it proclaims itself in every circumstance the work of an artist, and was to its smallest detail unpractical. winstanley even provided a highly picturesque means of defence against an enemy: a contrivance in an upper gallery that would drop heavy stones upon his boats; and he designed an elaborate room, from which, in the picture, you see him fishing, and apparently trying to hook one of the boat’s crew pushing off from the rock.
many of these ornate features were found to be hazardous; the tower itself was not sufficiently lofty, and alterations were made in 1699, by which its height was increased to 120 feet. remodelled, it was, in winstanley’s own opinion, as safe as any castle ashore, and he expressed himself as only too eager to be in his lighthouse when the worst storm ever known was blowing. on november 26th, 1703, he had his wish. he put off from the barbican at plymouth for the eddystone on the afternoon of that day, when all the signs pointed to an unprecedented tempest. that night was the night of the famous storm that levelled uncounted trees, unroofed and wrecked many mansions, and sunk fleets of shipping. henry winstanley was born at littlebury, near saffron walden, but he is not buried there, for on that night he and his lighthouse and the lighthouse-keepers perished together. when morning dawned the rock was bare, except for one surviving link of iron chain.[286] winstanley’s project had lost considerably more than £3,000, and his widow was reduced to seeking a pension from the government; but a singular fascination seems to have impelled private persons to risk their all in a work that should have been the sole concern of the trinity house. a certain john lovett, merchant, of london, was the next to enter this, as a commercial project, and the designer of his lighthouse was rudyerd, a ludgate hill silk mercer. he began work in 1706, and by 1709 had completed a wooden tower, which lasted nearly fifty years, and was then destroyed by fire, december 2nd, 1755. there were three keepers. their efforts at subduing the flames were useless, the molten lead from the roof driving them into the crannies of the rock; where they went through such terrors of exposure to the cold and the waves on the one hand, and the cascades of melted lead on the other that one, raving mad, plunged to death in the sea. two actually survived the occasion, but one of these was thought a lunatic by the rescuing party. he declared that while he stood looking up at the flames, some molten lead had run down his throat. in the course of twelve days he died, and his incredible story was proved by nearly eight ounces of lead being found in his stomach. incidentally, lovett was ruined.
[287]
the third lighthouse was begun by the mortgagees of lovett’s estate, in june 1757. this was the famous stone structure designed and built by smeaton. although the building was[289] hindered by smeaton’s men being every now and again seized by the press gang, it was completed in october 1759, and would probably still be standing except for the curious fact that the rock it stood upon was showing signs of weakness. in 1807 the building lease lapsed and the lighthouse became the property of the trinity house, when the tallow candles, which, up to that time had been the sole illuminant, were exchanged for oil. a newer building, the existing lighthouse, was decided upon in 1877, and built on an adjoining reef. begun in 1879, it was completed in 1882. it is circular, constructed of cornish granite, and rises to a height of 130 feet.
the streets of plymouth and its sister towns are a good deal more crowded than even those of london. it is among the busiest of places, and with its vast naval dockyards at devonport and keyham, its military interests, and its great commercial importance, is in a good many districts grim and unlovely. the centre of plymouth—the municipal centre—is, however, strikingly beautiful, and is the outcome of a movement dating from about 1867, having for its object the creation of a group of municipal buildings worthy of a place with so long and stirring a history. what the old guildhall was like may still be seen, for it survives in the dirty, dark and inconvenient building thought good enough for the public library, though not for the town councillors. it was a worthy and brilliant idea to build a new[290] group of guildhall and offices for the governance of the town; a majestic group that should harmonise with the ancient gothic church of st. andrew, and form with it three sides of a spacious square. the opening of the guildhall took place in 1874, when the then prince of wales performed the ceremony. the great hall, used for concerts and public functions, is a noble building, with fine hammerbeam roof, and an excellent range of beautiful stained-glass windows, recounting in spirited and well-coloured designs the departure from plymouth for france of the black prince, in 1355; the breton raid upon the town in 1404; the enquiry at plympton priory as to the incorporation of plymouth, 1440; the landing of katharine of aragon, 1501; captain fleming announcing the armada in sight, 1588; drake inaugurating the water supply, 1592; the arrest of raleigh, 1618; sailing of the mayflower, 1620; final repulse of the royalists from the town, 1643; proclamation of william of orange as king of england 1688; cookworthy and the plymouth club house, 1772; and napoleon on the bellerophon at plymouth, 1815.
the series ends with a window representing the opening of the guildhall itself, august 15th, 1874, by the prince of wales, who is shown in stained-glass, taking part in the ceremony attired in conventional silk hat, frock coat, and lavender-coloured trousers. it is a weird and uncanny use for stained-glass, and the thing is not less grotesque because it thus perpetuates what now seems the[293] ridiculous fashion in hats, coats, and trousers obtaining in 1874. the prince is shown holding a wand, symbol of his then honorary office of high steward of the borough of plymouth; within the other hand the key used for the opening. in the background of this highly remarkable work of art, which would certainly astonish the mediæval craftsmen, could they return and see it, are represented those who strutted their little parts on the local stage in that day. they are duly pictured in their robes as town councillors, and are happier in that fact than the prince is in his everyday gear. prominent among them you see a face like a dutch cheese with whiskers; probably intended for the mayor.
st. andrew’s church is a striking feature in this group of municipal buildings. it “suggested” the group: it was the keynote whence this architectural symphony was developed, and in the continual modernising of plymouth, it remains one of the very few old, and characteristic devonian buildings in the three towns. the tower, built in 1460, is the latest part of the church.
an odd punning epitaph within is worthy a note. it is to the memory of one “mrs.[294] mary sparke,” whose light was quenched in 1665:—
“life’s but a sparke, a weake uncertaine breath,
no sooner kindled but puft out by death.
such was my name, my frame, my fate, yet i,
am still a living sparke, though thus i dye,
and shine in heaven’s orbe, a star most bright,
though death on earth so soone eclipst my light.”
plymouth’s other old church—although not so very old—has a romantic story. it is one of the four churches in england dedicated to “king charles the martyr.” begun in the reign of charles the first, it was abandoned during the troubles that led to the execution of the king, and was completed and dedicated in 1664.
