The campaign of 1759 opened on the 3rd of July with an attack commanded by Smeaton in person in the old Buss.

Previous to this, on March 21st, the coast was visited by a gale of such severity that immense mischief was done on shore.  Ships in the port, houses, etcetera, at Plymouth, were greatly damaged; nevertheless, the unfinished tower out upon the exposed Eddystone reef stood fast, having defied the utmost fury of winds and waves.

It was found, however, that some loss had been sustained, the buoy of the mooring chain, as usual, was gone; but worse than that, one of the stones left in the store-room, a mass which weighed four and a half hundredweight, was missing.  It had been washed out of the store-room entry by the water!

This was a serious loss, as it obliged the men to retire to the Buss, where they were constrained to spin yarns and twirl their thumbs in idleness till the lost stone was replaced by another.  Then they went to work according to custom “with a will,” and, on the 21st of July, completed the second floor; a whole room with a vaulted roof having been built in seven days.

At this point they proceeded to fit in the entry and store-room doors; and here another vexatious check appeared imminent.  It was found that the block-tin with which the door-hooks were to be fastened had been forgotten!

Doubtless Mr Smeaton felt inclined to emulate the weather by “storming” on this occasion, but that would have been of no use.  Neither was it of any avail that Teddy Maroon scratched his head and wrinkled his visage like that of a chimpanzee monkey.  The tin was not; the hooks would not hold without it, and to send ashore for it would have involved great delay.  Mr Smeaton proved equal to the occasion.

“Off with you, lads, to the Buss,” he cried, “and bring hither every pewter plate and dish on board.”

“Think o’ that now!” exclaimed Maroon his wrinkles expanding into a bland smile of admiration.

“Don’t think of it, but do it,” returned Smeaton, with a laugh.

The thing was done at once.  The “plate” of the Buss was melted down and mixed with lead, the hooks were fixed into the jambs, and the doors were hung in triumph.  Solid doors they were too; not slender things with wooden panels, but thick iron-plated affairs somewhat resembling the armour of a modern ship-of-war, and fitted to defy the ocean’s most powerful battering-rams.

Progress thereafter was steady and rapid.  There were points here and there in the work which served as landmarks.  On the 6th of August Smeaton witnessed a strange sight-a bright halo round the top of the building.  It was no miracle, though it looked like one.  Doubtless some scientific men could give a satisfactory explanation of it, and prove that it was no direct interposition of the hand of God.  So could they give a satisfactory account of the rainbow, though the rainbow is a direct sign to man.  Whatever the cause, there the glory circled like a sign of blessing on the work, and a fitting emblem of the life-giving, because death-warding, beams which were soon to be sent streaming from that tower by the hand of man.

Three days afterwards they began to lay the balcony floor; on the 17th the main column was completed, and on the 26th the masonry was finished.  It only remained that the lantern should be set up.  But this lantern was a mighty mass of metal and glass, made with great care, and of immense strength and weight.  Of course it had to be taken off to the rock in pieces, and we may almost say of course the ocean offered opposition.  Then, as if everything had conspired to test the endurance and perseverance of the builders, the first and second coppersmiths fell ill on the 4th September.  Skilled labour such as theirs could not readily be replaced in the circumstances, and every hour of the now far advanced season had become precious.  Smeaton had set his heart on “showing a light” that year.  In this difficulty, being a skilled mechanic himself, he threw off his coat and set to work with the men.

The materials of the lantern were landed on the 16th and fitted together, and the cupola was hoisted to its place on the 17th.  This latter operation was extremely hazardous, the cupola being upwards of half a ton in weight, and it had to be raised outside the building and kept carefully clear of it the while.  It seemed as if the elements themselves favoured this critical operation, or rather, as though they stood aghast and breathlessly still, while this, the crowning evidence of their defeat, was being put on.  It was accomplished in less than half an hour, and, strange to say, no sooner was the tackling loosed and the screws that held the cupola fixed, than up got wind and sea once more in an uproarious gale of consternation from the east!

On the 18th a huge gilt ball was screwed on the top by Smeaton’s own hand, and thus the building of the Eddystone lighthouse was finished.

There still remained, however, a good deal of copper and wood-work to be done in the interior, but there was now no doubt in Smeaton’s mind that the light would be exhibited that season.  He therefore removed his bed and stores from the Buss to the lighthouse, and remained there, the better to superintend the completion of the work.

One evening he looked into the upper storeroom, where some bars were being heated over a charcoal fire.  He became giddy with the fumes, staggered, and fell down insensible.  Assuredly poor Smeaton’s labours would have terminated then and there if it had not been that one of the men had providentially followed him.  A startled cry was heard-one of those cries full of meaning which cause men to leap half involuntarily to the rescue.

“Och! somebody’s kilt,” cried Maroon, flinging away his pipe and springing up the staircase, followed by others, “wather! wather! look alive there!”

Some bore Smeaton to the room below, and others ran down for sea-water, which they dashed over their master unmercifully.  Whether or not it was the best treatment we cannot say, but it sufficed, for Smeaton soon recovered consciousness and found himself lying like a half drowned rat on the stone floor.

At last, on the 1st of October, the lantern was lighted for trial during the day, with 24 candles.  They burned well though a gale was blowing.  On the 4th an express was sent to the Corporation of the Trinity House to say that all was ready.  A short delay was made to allow of the lighting-up being advertised, and finally, on the 16th of October 1759, the new Eddystone lighthouse cast its first benignant rays over the troubled sea.

It chanced on that day that an appropriate storm raged, as if to inaugurate the great event.  Owing to this, Smeaton could not get off to be at the lighting-up of his own building.  From the shore, however, he beheld its initiative gleam as it opened its bright eye to the reality of its grand position, and we can well believe that his hardy, persevering spirit exulted that night over the success of his labours.  We can well believe, also, that there was in him a deeper and higher feeling than that of mere joy, if we may judge of the cast of his mind by the inscriptions put by him upon his work during progress and at completion.

Round the upper store-room, on the course under the ceiling, he chiselled the words:-

“Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it.”

And on the last stone set, over the door of the lantern, was carved:-

“Praise God!”

The lighthouse, thus happily completed, rose to a height of seventy feet, and consisted of forty-six courses of masonry.  The internal arrangements will be understood at once by reference to our engraving, which exhibits a section of the tower.  There was first the solid part, 35 feet in height and 16 feet 8 inches in diameter at the top, the base being much wider.  Then came the still very solid portion with the entrance-door and the spiral staircase.  Above that, the first store-room, which had no windows.  Next, the second store-room, with two windows.  Next the kitchen, followed by the bed-room, both of which had four windows; and, last, the lantern.  The rooms were 12 feet 4 inches in diameter, with walls 2 feet 2 inches thick, and the whole fabric, from top to bottom, was so dovetailed, trenailed, cemented, inter-connected, and bound together, that it formed and still continues, a unique and immoveable mass of masonry.

There were others besides Smeaton who watched, that night, with deep interest the opening of the Eddystone’s bright eye.

In a humble apartment in the village of Cawsand Bay an aged man stood, supported by an elderly man, at a window, gazing seaward with an expression of intense expectation, while a very aged woman sat crooning over the fire, holding the hand of a fair girl just verging on early womanhood.

“D’ee see it yet, Tommy?” asked the old man, eagerly.

“No, not yet,” replied Tommy, “not-yes-there !”

“Ah! that’s it, I see it,” cried old John Potter, with a faint gleam of his old enthusiasm.  “There it goes, brighter than ever.  A blessed light, and much wanted, Tommy, much, much wanted.”

He leaned heavily on his son’s arm and, after gazing for some time, asked to be taken back to his chair opposite old Martha.

“What is it?” inquired Martha, bending her ear towards a pretty little mouth.

“Grandfather has just seen the new Eddystone lighted up for the first time,” replied Nora.

“Ay, ay,” said Martha in a moralising tone, as she turned her eyes towards the fire, “ay, ay, so soon!  I always had a settled conviction that that lighthouse would be burnt.”

“It’s not burnt, grannie,” said Nora, smiling, “it’s only lighted up.”

“Well, well, my dear,” returned Martha, with a solemn shake of the head, “there an’t much difference atween lighted-up an’ burnt-up.  It’s just as I always said to your father, my dear-to your grandfather I mean- depend upon it, John, I used to say, that light’ouse will either be burnt up or blowed over.  Ay, ay, dear me!”

She subsided into silent meditation, and thus, good reader, we shall bid her farewell, merely remarking that she and her honest husband did not die for a considerable time after that.  As she grew older and blinder, old Martha became more and more attached to the Bible and the dictionary, as well as to dear good blooming Nora, who assisted her in the perusal of the former, her sweet ringing voice being the only one at last that the old woman could hear.  But although it was evident that Martha had changed in many ways, her opinions remained immoveable.  She feebly maintained these, and held her “settled convictions” to the last gasp.

As for Teddy Maroon, he returned to Ireland after the lighthouse was finished and quietly got married, and settled on the margin of the bog where the Teddy from whom he sprang still lingered, among his numerous descendants, the life of his juvenile kindred, and an oracle on lighthouses.

Time with its relentless scythe at last swept all the actors in our tale away:  Generations after them came and went.  The world grew older and more learned; whether more wise is still an open question!  Knowledge increased, science and art advanced apace.  Electricity, steam, iron, gold, muscle, and brain, all but wrought miracles, and almost everything underwent change more or less; but, amid all the turmoil of the world’s progress and all the storms of elemental strife, one object remained unaltered, and apparently unalterable-the Eddystone Lighthouse!  True, indeed, its lantern underwent vast improvements, the Argand lamp and lens replacing the old candle, and causing its crown to shine with a whiter light and an intensified glory as it grew older, but as regards its sturdy frame, there it has stood on the rugged rocks amid the tormented surges, presenting its bold and battered, but undamaged, front to the utmost fury of blast and billow for upwards of a hundred years.