[45] A. Stevenson, “Account of the Skerryvore Lighthouse,” p. 143.
Up to the 20th of June no materials had been landed on the rock but iron and timber; next arrived the great stones, all ready cut and hewn, and weighing not less than eight hundred tons. But the disembarkation of these very essential supplies entailed serious risks, which were renewed with every block, for the loss of a single one would have delayed the works. At length the foundation-stone was fixed in its place; the Duke of Argyle presiding over the ceremony, accompanied by his duchess, his daughter, and a numerous retinue.
The summer of 1840 was a summer of tempests. Nevertheless, in the midst of incessant fears, and dangers, and wearying accidents, and every kind of privation, the devoted band of workers prosecuted their noble enterprise; and such, says Mr. Stevenson, was their profound sense of duty—such the desire of every one that full and complete success should crown their efforts—that not a man expressed a wish to retreat from the battle-field where he was exposed to so many enemies.
The day’s occupations were thus divided. At half-past three in the morning they were awakened, and from four o’clock to eight they laboured without a pause; at eight they were allowed half an hour for dinner. Work was then resumed, and continued for seven or eight, or, if it were very urgent, even for nine hours. Next came supper, which was eaten leisurely and comfortably in the cool of the evening. This prolonged toil produced a continual sleepiness, so that those who stood still for any time invariably fell off into a profound slumber; which, adds Mr. Stevenson, frequently happened to himself during breakfast and dinner. Several times, also, he woke up, pen in hand, with a word begun on the page of his diary. Life, however, on the desert rock of the Skerryvore seems not to have been without its peculiar pleasures. The grandeur of ocean’s angry outbursts—the hoarse murmur of the waters—the shrill harsh cries of the sea-birds who incessantly hovered round them—the splendour of a sea polished like a mirror—the glory of a cloudless sky—the solemn silence of azure nights, sometimes sown thick with stars, sometimes illuminated by the full moon,—were scenes of a panorama as novel as it was wonderful, and which could not fail to awaken thought even in the dullest and most indifferent minds. Consider, too—when we think of Mr. Stevenson and his devoted company—the continual emotions which they experienced of hope and anxiety; the necessity, on the part of their leader, of incessant watchfulness, and of readiness of resource to grapple with every difficulty; the gratification with which each man regarded the gradual growth, under his laborious hands, of a noble and beneficent work; and we think the reader will admit that life upon the Skerryvore, if it had its troubles and its perils, was not without its rewards and happiness.