Ed. Edwards, Geo. Adams, Jno. Price We doubt not but that whoever takes up this will be so merciful as to cause it to be sent to Thos. Williams, Esq., Trelethin, near St. David’s, Wales.6 Whiteside and the others were subsequently rescued with no ill effects. The men at Smalls Lighthouse lived in quarters that could accommodate two people, situated under the glassed-in light tower. The keepers were responsible for sustaining the light under all circumstances, which many times proved challenging. They were issued written instructions—implying that keepers had to be literate—but for many, oral directives sufficed. At this time British lighthouses posted two men for lighthouse shifts at sea. They were tasked with cleaning the exterior of the glass, which became clouded from the never-ending salt spray. Inside, they were to keep the lamp and reflectors clean and filled with whatever fuel the apparatus used. Many lighthouses were equipped with fog-warning devices that required maintenance and repairs of their leather. The men had to maintain their living quarters and conserve their supplies in order to survive what could be extended periods of isolation. Because of the close quarters, the largely unvaried routine, and long periods of isolation, it was essential that keepers got along with each other. Respect and tolerance for one another was of critical importance for men living in close proximity for twenty-four hours a day for weeks on end. Boredom, annoying human idiosyncrasies, and the stresses of the job could easily lead to conflict—occupational hazards that received little publicity as compared to the more romantic image of the lightkeeper occupying a first-rate waterfront property. Huge waves frequently washed through and around the legs of the lighthouse as the fearful keepers sat in their small hut, the entire wooden structure oscillating in storms. This was not splendid peaceful isolation, but rather unremitting torture. In 1801 the two-man team of Thomas Howell and Thomas Griffith, both local laborers, was stationed on Smalls Lighthouse. Accounts vary about what actually happened, but at one point Griffith either was taken seriously ill or suffered a life-threatening accident. Howell tried to help his keeper-mate, but there was a kit containing only rudimentary remedies onboard for providing medical care. At the time the Royal Navy routinely communi6 The notes were transcribed and posted on the Trinity House History
Blog on 31 December 2014: “Official history blog of the Corporation of Trinity House of Deptford, Strond and its lighthouse service, incorporated 1514.”
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cated between ships via a flag code, but lighthouses were neither equipped with flag-sets nor codebooks to convey meaningful messages. The common distress signal for ships at sea was displaying a capsized British ensign. Being able to make out the upsidedown flag from a distance over stormy waters was difficult. The men became desperate and hoisted the distress signal on the lighthouse’s short mast in the hope of getting the attention of a passing ship. No help came. After a time, Griffith died of his disorder. For several days, Howell kept the body of his colleague within the living compartment. Having a corpse as one’s companion began to take its mental toll, particularly when the body began to decompose and putrefy. It was well known ashore that the two men frequently argued, and Howell was concerned that if he cast the body into the sea, he might be accused of having murdered his coworker.
hathitrust, p.d.
We were distressed in a gale of wind upon the 13th of January, since which have not been able to keep any light; but we could not have kept any light above sixteen nights longer for want of oil and candles, which makes us murmur and think we are forgotten.
Illustration depicting the drama of building and manning the light tower at Smalls Rock, printed in Chatterbox, a weekly paper published by John Erskine Clarke in 1904. Howell had once been a cooper and was skilled at working with wood. He constructed a crude coffin for his dead companion using bulkhead boards from their modest dwelling. He placed the decomposing body in the coffin, dragged it outside, and lashed it to the walkway railings surrounding the light’s windows. The unrelenting winds eventually ripped at the coffin. Most of the boards tumbled into the ocean, but the withered cadaver remained tied to the railings. This attracted seabirds that pecked at Griffith’s remains. They consumed the rotting flesh and underlying organs, thus exposing large parts of his skeleton. The dead man’s empty eye sockets now blankly gazed at Howell. As the winds swirled around the rock ledge, one outstretched dead man’s arm formed a gruesome image. Griffith’s spirit appeared to beckon either to his remaining live colleague or his would-be rescuers. Indeed, the distress signal had been seen and a few boats tried to reach them, but heavy seas made it impossible to land a boat. These conditions continued for the next four months, and during this time all that could be seen from seaward was the capsized ensign up the mast and a decomposing corpse dangling on a SEA HISTORY 165, WINTER 2018–19