The contrast was pleasant; repose after toil,-for stone-cutting in the yard on shore was rest compared with the labour at the Rock.  Steady, regular, quiet progress; stone after stone added to the great pile, tested and ready for shipment at the appointed time.  The commander-in-chief planning, experimenting, superintending.  The men busy as bees; and, last but not least, delightful evenings with friends, and recountings of the incidents of the war.  Such is the record of the winter.

The spring of 1758 came; summer advanced.  The builders assumed the offensive, and sent out skirmishers to the Rock, where they found that the enemy had taken little or no rest during the winter, and were as hard at it as ever.  Little damage, however, had been done.

The attacking party suffered some defeats at the outset.  They found that their buoy was lost, and the mooring chain of the Buss had sunk during the winter.  It was fished up, however, but apparently might as well have been let lie, for it could not hold the Buss, which broke loose during a gale, and had to run for Plymouth Sound.  Again, on 3rd June; another buoy was lost, and bad weather continued till July.  Then, however, a general and vigorous assault was made, the result being “great progress,” so that, on the 8th of August, a noteworthy point was reached.

On that day the fourteenth “course” was laid, and this completed the “solid” part of the lighthouse.  It rose 35 feet above the foundation.

From this point the true house may be said to have commenced, for, just above this course, the opening for the door was left, and the little space in the centre for the spiral staircase which was to lead to the first room.

As if to mark their disapproval of this event, the angry winds and waves, during the same month, raised an unusually furious commotion while one of the yawls went into the “Gut” or pool, which served as a kind of harbour, to aid one of the stone boats.

“She won’t get out o’ that this night,” said John Bowden, alluding to the yawl, as he stood on the top of the “solid” where his comrades were busy working, “the wind’s gettin’ up from the east’ard.”

“If she don’t,” replied one of the men, “we’ll have to sleep where we are.”

“Slape!” exclaimed Maroon, looking up from the great stone whose joints he had been carefully cementing, “it’s little slape you’ll do here, boys.  Av we’re not washed off entirely we’ll have to howld on by our teeth and nails.  It’s a cowld look-out.”

Teddy was right.  The yawl being unable to get out of the Gut, the men in it were obliged to “lie on their oars” all night, and those on the top of the building, where there was scarcely shelter for a fly, felt both the “look-out” and the look-in so “cowld” that they worked all night as the only means of keeping themselves awake and comparatively warm.  It was a trying situation; a hard night, as it were “in the trenches,”-but it was their first and last experience of the kind.

Thus foot by foot-often baffled, but never conquered-Smeaton and his men rose steadily above the waves until they reached a height of thirty-five feet from the foundation, and had got as far as the store-room (the first apartment) of the building.  This was on the 2nd of October, on which day all the stones required for that season were put into this store-room; but on the 7th of the same month the enemy made a grand assault in force, and caused these energetic labourers to beat a retreat.  It was then resolved that they should again retire into winter quarters.  Everything on the Rock was therefore “made taut” and secure against the foe, and the workers returned to the shore, whence they beheld the waves beating against their tower with such fury that the sprays rose high above it.

The season could not close, however, without an exhibition of the peculiar aptitude of the Buss for disastrous action!  On the 8th that inimitable vessel-styled by Teddy Maroon a “tub,” and by the other men, variously, a “bumboat,” a “puncheon,” and a “brute” began to tug with tremendous violence at her cable.

“Ah then, darlin’,” cried Maroon, apostrophising her, “av ye go on like that much longer it’s snappin’ yer cable ye’ll be after.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” growled John Bowden, as he leaned against the gale and watched with gravity of countenance a huge billow whose crest was blown off in sheets of spray as it came rolling towards them.

“Howld on!” cried Teddy Maroon, in anxiety.

If his order was meant for the Buss it was flatly disobeyed, for that charming example of naval architecture, presenting her bluff bows to the billow, snapt the cable and went quietly off to leeward!

“All hands ahoy!” roared William Smart as he rushed to the foresail halyards.

The summons was not needed.  All the men were present, and each knew exactly what to do in the circumstances.  But what avails the strength and capacity of man when his weapon is useless?

“She’ll never beat into Plymouth Sound wi’ the wind in this direction,” observed one of the masons, when sail had been set.

“Beat!” exclaimed another contemptuously, “she can’t beat with the wind in any direction.”

“An’ yit, boys,” cried Maroon, “she may be said to be a first-rate baiter, for she always baits us complaitly.”

“I never, no I never did see such a scow!” said John Bowden, with a deepening growl of indignation, “she’s more like an Irish pig than a-”

“Ah then, don’t be hard upon the poor pigs of owld Ireland,” interrupted Maroon, pathetically.

“Bah!” continued Bowden, “I only wish we had the man that planned her on board, that we might keel-haul him.  I’ve sailed in a’most every kind of craft that floats-from a Chinese junk to a British three-decker, and between the two extremes there’s a pretty extensive choice of washin’-tubs, but the equal o’ this here Buss I never did see-no never; take another haul on the foretops’l halyards, boys, and shut your potato-traps for fear the wind blows your teeth overboard.  Look alive!”

That the Buss deserved the character so emphatically given to her was proved by the fact that, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach the Sound, she was finally run into Dartmouth Roads, and, shortly afterwards, her ungainly tossings, for that season, came to a close.