One evening a fisherman of Milford contrived to land on the lighthouse rock in an interval of calm, and to carry back to Solva the two keepers; but of the two one was a corpse. The survivor had made a kind of shroud for his dead comrade, and afterwards placed him upright in the gallery, and securely bound him. This he did to avoid the odour which would have arisen from a dead body preserved within the lighthouse, and yet to let it remain for the examination of the surgeons, lest any suspicion of foul play should attach to him.
In the arts of peace a noble rivalry exists between the sister kingdoms of Great Britain; and as England may boast in her Eddystone tower of a splendid work of science and philanthropy, and in her Smeaton of an engineer not less remarkable for genius than resolution, so may Scotland proudly point to the lighthouse on the Bell Rock as a national monument, and to her Robert Stevenson as scarcely inferior to Smeaton in skill and intrepidity.
We have already stated that the charge of lighting the Scottish coast—which, owing to its exposure to heavy seas and furious winds, to its numerous rocks and islands and rugged promontories, is one of the most dangerous in Europe, perhaps in the world—is intrusted to a body called the “Commissioners of Northern Lights,” incorporated by Act of Parliament in 1786. At first the erection of only _four_ lights was contemplated: at Kinnaird Head, in Aberdeenshire; on the Orkney Islands; on the Harris Islands; and at the Mull of Kintyre, in Argyleshire. But the vast development of the commerce of Scotland soon called for additional assistance to the navigators of her waters, and at the present time her shores are surrounded with a ring of warning lights.
The most ancient public light on the Scottish coast is that situated on the Isle of May; an island which, like a natural breakwater, lies off the mouth of the Firth of Forth, and commands, as it were, the great highway to the Scotch capital and its prosperous port. It seems to have been erected at a very early period; and over the entrance-door of the weather-beaten tower is cut the figure of the sun, with the date of 1635.
After the Union, very considerable discontent was expressed by the English and Irish merchants that, for the maintenance of this beacon, they were charged exactly double the rate paid by Scottish vessels. They also complained of the insufficiency of the light, which was simply a coal-fire exposed in an open chauffer, or brazier. The Edinburgh Chamber of Commerce taking up the matter, the proprietor of the light consented to increase its magnitude, and accordingly enlarged his chauffer to three feet square, doubling the consumption of coal, which had formerly been about 200 tons per annum. Thenceforth it became the “most powerful coal-light in the kingdom;” but, owing to its exposure, was frequently unsteady in foul weather; and, moreover, was apt to be confused with the lime-kilns and accidental fires on the neighbouring coast. The Duke of Portland had by this time become proprietor—through marriage—of the light and the island; but to repeated applications that he would substitute an oil-light and reflectors for the wavering and uncertain coal-fire, he turned a deaf ear. At length, on the 19th of December 1810, two men-of-war were wrecked near Dunbar, in consequence, it was believed, of a lime-kiln on the Haddingtonshire coast being mistaken for the Isle of May light. The Admiralty were thus led to interfere, and, after some negotiations with the Duke of Portland, an Act of Parliament was passed in 1814 empowering the Commissioners of Northern Lights to purchase the island and its lighthouse for a sum of £60,000. The tolls were then reduced to an uniform scale, a new tower was erected, and a light on the catoptric system was first exhibited on the 1st of February 1816.