We open the story of the third, and still existing, lighthouse on the Eddystone with the re-introduction of Teddy Maroon-that Teddy who acted so prominent a part at the burning of Rudyerd’s tower in December 1755.

Men’s activities seem to have been quickened at this period of time, for only about six months were allowed to elapse between the destruction of the old and the commencement of operations for the new lighthouse.

It was a calm evening in the autumn 1756 when Teddy Maroon, smoking a little black pipe, sauntered towards the residence of old John Potter.  On reaching the door he extinguished the little pipe by the summary process of thrusting the point of his blunt forefinger into the bowl, and deposited it hot in his vest pocket.  His tap was answered by a small servant girl, with a very red and ragged head of hair, who ushered him into the presence of the aged couple.  They were seated in the two chairs-one on each side of the fireplace-which they might almost be said to inhabit.  Little Nora was stirring a few embers of coal into a cheery flame, for she knew the old people loved the sight of the fire even in summer.  On a chair beside old Martha lay the open Bible, from which Nora had been reading, and on old Martha’s knee was the valued dictionary, upside down as usual.

“Glad to see you, lad,” said old John, with a pleasant smile as he extended his hand; “it does us good to see you; it minds us so of old times.”

“Ah, then, I’ve got to tell ’ee what’ll mind you more of owld times than the mere sight o’ me face,” said Teddy, as he patted old Martha on the shoulder and sat down beside her.  “How are ’ee, owld ooman?”

“Ay,” replied Martha in a tremulous voice, “you’re uncommon like your father-as like as two peas.”

“Faix, av ye saw the dear owld gintleman now,” said Teddy with a laugh, “ye’d think there was a difference.  Hows’ever, its o’ no use repaitin’ me question, for any man could see that you’re in the best o’ health- you’re bloomin’ like a cabbage rose.”

The latter part of this complimentary speech was shouted into old Martha’s ear, and she responded by shaking her head and desiring the flatterer to “go along.”

“Well, John,” said the visitor, turning to his father’s old friend, “you’ll be glad to hear that I’ve been engaged to work at the new lighthouse, an’, moreover we’ve got fairly begun.”

“You don’t say so,” cried John Potter, with some of the old fire sparkling in his eyes; “well, now, that is pleasant noos.  Why, it makes me a’most wish to be young again.  Of course I heard that they’ve bin hard at the preparations for a good while; but few people comes to see me now; they think I’m too old to be interested in anything; I suppose; an’ I didn’t know that it was fairly begun, or that you were on the work:  I’d like to hear what your old father would say to it, Teddy.”

“I don’t know what he’d say to it,” responded the Irishman, “but I know what he threatens to do, for I wrote him the other day tellin’ him all about it, an’ he bade my sister Kathleen write back that he’s more nor half a mind to come and superintend the operations.”

“What is it all about, Nora?” demanded old Martha, who had been gazing intently at her husband’s countenance during the conversation.

Nora put her pretty lips to her grandmother’s ear and gave the desired information, whereupon the old lady looked solemnly at her spouse, and laying her hand on the dictionary, said, with strong though quivering emphasis:  “now, John, mark my words, I ’ave a settled conviction that that light’ouse will come to a bad end.  It’s sure to be burnt or blow’d over.”

Having given vent to which prophecy, she relapsed into herself and appeared to ruminate on it with peculiar satisfaction.

“And what’s the name of the architect?” demanded John.

“Smeaton,” replied Teddy Maroon.

“Never heerd of ’im before,” returned John.

“No more did I,” said Teddy.

The two friends appeared to find food for meditation in this point of ignorance, for they fell into a state of silence for a few minutes, which was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Mr Thomas Potter.  He looked a little wearied as he sat down beside his mother, whose face lighted up with an expression of intense delight as she said, “Come away, Tommy, where have you been, my boy?”

“I’ve been out on the sea, mother, after mischief as usual,” replied Tommy, whose bald head and wrinkled brow repudiated, while his open hearty smile appeared to justify, the juvenile name.

“What! they ’aven’t engaged you on the noo light’ouse, ’ave they?” said old Martha, in horror.

“No, no, mother, don’t fear that,” said her son, hastening to relieve her mind, “but you know the new engineer is gathering information from all quarters, and he naturally applied to me, because I am of his own profession and have known and studied the rock since I was a little boy.”

“Know’d an’ studied it,” exclaimed Martha with more than her wonted vigour, “ay, an’ if you’d said you’d a’most broke your old mother’s heart with it, you’d ’ave said no more than the truth, Tommy.  It’s a wonder as that rock hasn’t brought me to a prematoor grave.  However, it ain’t likely to do so now, an’ I’m glad they have not inveigled you into it, my boy; for it’s an awful place for wettin’ of your feet an’ dirt’in’ of your hands and pinafores, an’-”

The old lady, relapsing here into early reminiscences, once more retired within herself, while.  Teddy Maroon and John Potter, mentioning their ignorance as to the architect who had undertaken the great work, demanded of “Mister Thomas” if he could enlighten them.

“Of course I can,” he replied, “for he is well known to his friends as a most able man, and will become better known to the world, if I may venture to prophesy, as the builder of what is sure to be the most famous lighthouse on the English coast.  His name is Smeaton, and he is not an engineer.”

“Not an engineer?” echoed Teddy and old John, in surprise.

“No, he’s a mathematical instrument maker.”

“Well now,” said John Potter, gazing meditatively into the fireplace where Nora had evoked a tiny flame, “that is strange.  This Eddystun Rock seems to have what I may call a pecooliar destiny.  The builder of the first light’ouse was a country gentleman; of the second, a silk-mercer; and now, as you say, the third is to be put up by a maker o’ mathymatical instruments.  I only hope,” continued John, shaking his head gravely at the fireplace, “that he won’t make a mess of it like the others did.”

“Come now, father,” returned his son, “don’t say that the others made a mess of it.  We must remember that Winstanley began his building in what we may call total darkness.  No other man before him had attempted such a work, so that he had no predecessor whose good points he might imitate, or whose failures he might avoid.  Many a trained engineer might have made a worse mess of it, and, to my mind, it says much for poor Winstanley’s capacity, all things considered, that his lighthouse stood so long as the six or seven years of its building.  Then as to Rudyerd’s one, it was in reality a great success.  It stood firm for nigh fifty years, and, but for the fire, might have stood for any number of years to come.  It cannot be justly said that he made a mess of it.  As well might you say that the builders of a first-rate ship made a mess of it because someone set her alight after she had sailed the ocean for half a century.”

“True, Tommy, true,” said old John, nodding acquiescence emphatically.  On seeing this, old Martha, knowing nothing about the matter because of her deafness, nodded emphatically also, and said, “that’s so, Tommy, I always ’ad a settled conviction that you was right, except,” she added, as if to guard herself, “except w’en you was after mischief.”

“Well, but Tommy,” continued old John, “you was agoin’ to tell us somethin’ about this Mister Smeaton.  What sort of a man is he?”

“As far as I can judge, on short acquaintance,” replied Potter, “he seems to be a man who has got a mind and a will of his own, and looks like one who won’t be turned out of his straight course by trifles.  His name is John, which is a good bible name, besides being yours, father, and he comes from Leeds, a highly respectable place, which has produced men of note before now.  His age is thirty-two, which is about the most vigorous period of a man’s life, and he has come to his present business in spite of all opposition, a fact which is favourable to the prospects of the lighthouse.  In short he’s a natural genius, and a born engineer.  His father, an attorney, wished him to follow his own profession, but it was soon clear that that was out of the question, for the boy’s whole soul was steeped from earliest childhood in mechanics.”

“I once knew a boy,” said John Potter, with a smile, “whose whole soul was steeped in the same thing!”

“And in mischief,” added old Martha, suddenly, much to every one’s surprise.  The old woman’s deafness was indeed of a strangely intermittent type!

“Well,” continued Potter, with a laugh and a nod to his mother, “no doubt Smeaton had a spice of mischief in him among other qualities, for it is said of him that when quite a little fellow he made a force pump, with which he emptied his father’s fish-pond of water, to the detriment, not to say consternation, of the fish.  The upshot of it all was that the lad was apprenticed to a maker of mathematical instruments, and soon proved himself to be an inventive genius of considerable power.  Ere long he commenced business on his own account, and has now undertaken the task of building the third lighthouse on the Eddystone.  I was in London lately, and saw the beautiful models of the intended structure which Smeaton has made with his own hands, and it seems to me that he’s just the man to do the work.”

At the mention of models, old John Potter’s eyes lighted up, for it brought the memory of former days vividly before him.

“He means to build it of stone,” said the son.

“Stone, say ’ee? that’s right, Tommy, that’s right,” said old John, with a nod of strong approval, “I’ve always thought that the weak point in the old light’ouses was want of weight.  On such a slope of a foundation, you know, it requires great weight to prevent the seas washin’ a lighthouse clean away.”

“I’ve thought the same thing, father, but what you and I only thought of Smeaton has stated, and intends to act upon.  He means to build a tower so solid that it will defy the utmost fury of winds and waves.  He is going to cut the sloping foundation into a series of steps or shelves, which will prevent the possibility of slipping.  The shape of the building is to be something like the trunk of an oak tree, with a wider base than the lighthouse of Rudyerd.  The first twenty feet or so of it is to be built solid; each stone to be made in the shape of a dovetail, and all the stones circling round a central key to which they will cling, as well as to each other, besides being held by bolts and cement, so that the lower part of the building will be as firm as the rock on which it stands.  But I daresay, father,” continued his son, with a glance at Teddy Maroon, “our friend here, being engaged on the work, has told you all about this already.”

“Not I,” said Maroon, quickly, “I’ve bin too busy to come here until to-day, and though I’ve got me own notions o’ what Mr Smeaton intends, by obsarvin’ what’s goin’ on, I han’t guessed the quarter o’ what you’ve towld me, sur.  Howsever, I can spake to what’s bin already done.  You must know,” said Teddy, with a great affectation of being particular, “Mr Smeaton has wisely secured his workmen by howldin’ out pleasant prospects to ’em.  In the first place, we’ve got good regular wages, an’ additional pay whin we’re on the Rock.  In the second place, extra work on shore is paid for over an’ above the fixed wages.  In the third place, each man has got his appinted dooty, an’s kep close at it.  In the fourth place, the rules is uncommon stringent, and instant dismissal follers the breakin’ of ’em.  In the fifth place-”

“Never mind the fifth place, Teddy,” interrupted old John, “like yer father, ye was ever too fond o’ waggin’ yer tongue.  Just tell us straight off, if ye can, what’s been already done at the Rock.”

“Well, well,” said Maroon, with a deprecatory smile, “owld father an’ me’s always bin misonderstud more or less; but no matter.  Av coorse we’ve had the usual difficulties to fight agin, for the owld Eddystone Rock ain’t agoin’ to change its natur to please nobody.  As me father described it in his day, so I finds it in mine.  On most of our first visits we got wet skins; but little or no work done, for though it might be ever so calm here at Plymouth, it always seemed to be blowin’ a private gale out at the Rock-leastwise, av it warn’t blowin’, there was swell enough most days to make the landin’ troublesome.  So we got wan hour’s work at wan time, an’ two hours, or may be three, at another, off an’ on.  As the saison advanced we got on better, sometimes got five and six hours on the Rock right on ind, and whin the tide sarved we wint at it by torch-light.  Wan week we got no less than sixty-four an’ a half hours on it, an’ we was all in great sperrits intirely over that, for you see, mister Potter, we’re all picked men an’ takes a pride in the work-to say nothin’ of havin’ a good master.  Av coorse we’ve had the usual botherations wid the sharp rocks cuttin’ the cable of our attendin’-sloop, an’ gales suddinly gettin’ up whin we was at the Rock wantin’ to land, as well as suddinly goin’ down whin we wasn’t at the Rock, so that we missed our chances.  But such sorrows was what we expicted, more or less.  The wüst disappointment we’ve had has bin wi’ the noo store-ship, the Neptune Buss.  I wish it was the Neptune bu’st, I do, for it’s wus than a tub, an’ gives us more trouble than it’s all worth.  Now the saison’s drawin’ to a close, it’s clear that we’ll do no more this year than cut the foundations.”

“An’ that’s not a bad season’s work, lad,” said old John.  “Ain’t it not, Tommy?”

“Not bad, indeed, father, for there are always unusual and vexatious delays at the beginning of a great work; besides, some of the greatest difficulties in connexion with such buildings are encountered in the preparation of the foundations.  I suppose Mr Smeaton means to dress the stones on shore, ready for laying?” continued Potter the younger, turning to Maroon, who had risen and was buttoning up his monkey-jacket.

“Why, yes sur, haven’t you bin down at the yard?”

“Not yet.  I’ve only just arrived in town; and must be off again to-morrow.  You can’t think how disappointed I am at being prevented by business from taking part in the building of the new lighthouse-”

“What’s that you say, Tommy?” interrupted old Martha, putting her hand to her ear and wrinkling her brow interrogatively.

“That I’m grieved, mother, at not being able to help in building the new lighthouse,” shouted her son, in a voice that might have split an ordinary ear.

Old Martha’s visage relaxed into a faint smile as she turned towards the fire and looked earnestly at it, as if for explanation or consolation.

“Ay ay,” she muttered, “it would have bin strange if you hadn’t wished that; you was always up to mischief, Tommy; always; or else wishin’ to be up to it, although you might know as well as I know myself, that if you did get leave to go hout to the Rock (which you’re for ever wantin’ to do), it would be wet feet an dirty pinafores mornin’, noon, an’ night, which it’s little you care for that, you bad boy, though it causes me no end of washin’ an’ dryin’,-ay ay!”

The old woman looked up in the smiling countenance of her stalwart son, and becoming apparently a little confused by reminiscences of the past and evidences of the present, retired within herself and relapsed into silence.

“Well, sur,” continued Teddy, “just give a look down if you can; it’s worth your while.  Mr Smeaton means to have every stone cut in the yard here on shore, and to lay down each `course’ in the yard too, to be sure that it all fits, for we’ll have no time out at the Rock to correct mistakes or make alterations.  It’ll be `sharp’s the word, boys, and look alive O!’ all through; ship the stones; off to the Rock; land ’em in hot haste; clap on the cement; down wi’ the blocks; work like blazes-or Irishmen, which is much the same thing; make all fast into the boats again; sailors shoutin’ `Look alive, me hearties! squall bearin’ down right abaft of the lee stuns’l gangway!’-or somethin’ like that; up sail, an’ hooroo! boys, for the land, weather permittin’; if not, out to say an’ take things aisy, or av ye can’t be aisy, be as aisy as ye can!”

“A pleasant prospect, truly,” said Mr T. Potter, laughing, as he shook the Irishman’s horny hand.

“Good-bye, John.  Good-bye, Nora, me darlin’; Good-bye, owld ooman.”

“Hold your noise, lad,” said old Martha, looking gravely into her visitor’s face.

“That’s just what I manes to do, mavoorneen,” replied Teddy Maroon, with a pleasant nod, “for I’ll be off to the Rock to-morrow by day-break, weather permittin’, an’ it’s little help any noise from me would give to the waves that kape gallivantin’ wid the reefs out there like mad things, from Sunday to Saturday, all the year round.”

When the door shut on the noisy Irishman, it seemed as though one of the profound calms so much needed and desired out at the Eddystone Rock had settled down in old John Potter’s home-a calm which was not broken for some minutes thereafter except by old Martha muttering softly once or twice, while she gravely shook her head:  “Hold your noise, Teddy, hold your noise, lad; you’re very like your father; hold your noise!”