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CHAPTER 8

ARCHIE SAT IN THE PARLOUR OF THE GEORGE, IMPATIENTLY skimming the latest copy of The Manx Advertiser. The Water Bailiff was late. On the second page of the paper there was an outspoken article on Reform, reprinted from the Westminster Review, severely trouncing the recalcitrant Tories. For a few minutes Archie forgot the time altogether. That the Tories could do this! In the face of the will of the people so uncompromisingly expressed! In the face of a government majority, the Prime Minister, the whole law and constitution, let alone justice, progress, industry and equality! The Tories had forced a dissolution of parliament rather than let the Reform Bill go through, and now, after all the excitement, a landless lighthouse surveyor still had no right to vote unless he took ship to America and started life all over again. If the coming election didn’t bring the Whigs back, and Reform along with them, there’d be barricades up in London as well as Paris, and what’s more, if it wasn’t for the Beagle, he’d be tempted to join the revolution himself. It was all a man without a vote could possibly do. Archie threw down the newspaper, and strode over to the window.

Twenty-five past eleven. There was no real reason for him to meet this Water Bailiff at all. The Commissioners had referred to it as a ‘courtesy visit’. Mr Stevenson had been more forthright. ‘The Isle of Man Tynwald has no rights in the matter at all, but they like to think they have. We’ll need them to co-operate later, when we’re building. In fact we’ll probably have to ask for favours. So just do your best to turn them up sweet, Buchanan. There’s nothing else you can do; it’s up to the Commissioners really. These Manxmen haven’t a leg to stand on, but don’t for God’s sake say so to their faces.’

‘Ah, Mr Stevenson?’

Archie turned round. He’d been told that Quirk was a lawyer, and had imagined a shark-like adversary moving in for the kill. There were plenty of those in Edinburgh. In fact the Water Bailiff was a stout, genial fellow in an old-fashioned embroidered waistcoat and broadcloth suit. ‘Quirk, sir, George Quirk, at your service.’

Archie shook the outstretched hand. ‘Buchanan, sir. I’m not Mr Stevenson. I’m one of the Company’s surveyors.’

‘Buchanan. Yes, indeed. My father had the pleasure of meeting Mr Stevenson. That must have been, what … thirty years ago? I was a mere boy, but I remember much discussion concerning the lighthouses. Yes, there was a lot of talk about Mr Stevenson’s visit – but that’s thirty years since. Long before your time, sir, but I remember it well.’

Archie flushed. Just because thirty years ago he’d not yet been weaned he had no need to feel at a disadvantage now, but if that had been Mr Quirk’s object it had not been unsuccessful.

‘A difficult business this, sir, a difficult business,’ went on Mr Quirk. ‘Shall we sit down? What can I order for you? A pint of porter?’

‘Nothing for me, I thank you, sir. I hope our business isn’t going to be difficult.’

They sat at the window. Mr Quirk retained his kindly smile, but the way he took out a pocket book filled with papers, and laid them open on the table in front of him seemed alarmingly business-like. Archie recognised the familiar seal of the Commissioners of Northern Lights. ‘Well, well, we may as well come straight to the point, Mr Buchanan. It’s this matter of harbour dues.’

That was what Archie had expected him to say. ‘Mr Stevenson told me there’d been questions asked about harbour dues.’ He did his best to emulate Mr Quirk’s urbanity. ‘But it doesn’t apply to us. The Commissioners of Northern Lights have never had any extra revenue from their Manx lights. The Manx dues have always been included in the charge for Scottish lights – it says so in the Act of ’15.’

‘For the new lights built by the Commissioners at the Calf and Point of Ayre that is correct – what you say is perfectly true so far as it goes. But the Ellan Bride light raised a very considerable income from harbour dues while it was in private hands. And that income is still going – always has gone – straight out of this country. In short, sir, all profits have gone to Scotland, to the owner’s estates.’

‘But the Ellan Bride lighthouse belongs to the Crown now. That means the new light will be built and maintained by the Commissioners of Northern Lights, in the same way as the ones on the Calf of Man.’

‘And the revenue will go back to Edinburgh, collected by the Commissioners. I should remind you, sir, that Ellan Bride is part of the Isle of Man, and any income arising therefrom should be administered by our own government.’

‘But there won’t be an income! It’s quite the opposite – the purchase of the old light, and the building of the new one, is going to be an enormous expense. It’ll take the Commissioners years to recover the money! And your government isn’t paying a penny for that, is it?’ He’d been too forthright. For a moment he had a vision of Mr Stevenson at his elbow, shaking his finger reprovingly. ‘What I mean to say is,’ added Archie, as mildly as he could, ‘if there are any harbour dues they’d have to be used to recoup the expense of purchasing and building the light, just like in Scotland.’

‘If there are any dues, you say. I abhor casuistry, Mr Buchanan.’ The Water Bailiff was no longer smiling benignly. ‘What I think you mean to say is that the Commissioners have every intention of collecting dues for Ellan Bride, and they have every intention, that being so, of retaining all monies in Scotland, overriding the claims of the Manx government. It’s all one with Crown policy on our ports and harbours, sir. We make the investment, and maintain the properties, and not a penny of the income do we recover.’

‘But, sir, in this case you’re not making the investment. The Commissioners – I mean the Crown – bought the light from the Duke of Atholl, and if there is any income in the future – and as to that I simply don’t know – I’m just the surveyor – but if there is, it would have to go first to recoup the expense – the huge expense – of taking over the light in the first place.’

‘The Duke of Atholl,’ remarked Mr Quirk, ‘was much inclined to promote a Scotch connection, for which, saving your presence, sir, there is no historical precedent. In 1815 it was the Duke who allowed the care of Manx lights to be devolved upon the Scottish lighthouse authority.’

‘Well,’ said Archie, ‘it was going to be that or England, wasn’t it? But the Liverpool merchants wouldn’t have Trinity House here, and so you got us. I thought your Manx Parliament was pleased to have lights at Point of Ayre and Calf of Man. Now we’re going to improve the light on Ellan Bride. There’s no change of policy in that.’

‘Allow me to correct you, sir. The light on Ellan Bride is a very different matter. It already exists – has existed for fifty years – as a Manx lighthouse.’

They seemed to be going round and round in circles. Archie looked out at the canvas awnings over the shambles opposite, and tried to work out if there was any wind at all. Even if there were, it was no use to them here. They should be in Port St Mary, standing by the boat … Quirk was still ranting about how much the Duke of Atholl had filched from the Isle of Man. He seemed to be implying that the Crown should have paid the Manx government, rather than the Duke of Atholl, when they bought the lighthouse. That was nonsense. In fact – Archie recollected himself with a start – perhaps it was his job to point this out.

‘But Ellan Bride was a private light! It belonged to the Duke and it was his to sell!’ Archie did his best not to sound exasperated.

‘Are you aware, sir, of the distinction between the manorial lands, which included the island of Ellan Bride, and the lighthouse itself, which is a public service in the same category as ports and harbours?’

‘Yes – I mean – I know – Mr Stevenson told me – that there was a lot of trouble over ports and harbours. But that’s nothing to do with the Ellan Bride lighthouse! It was a private light, always, and the people here – your government, I mean – never had any interest in it.’

‘Interest, sir! If you knew of the “interest” which the late Duke appropriated from the people of this island! But as his countryman you would no doubt wish to defend him.’

‘Not at all, sir.’ He was not going to lose his temper. He owed Mr Stevenson that much, at least. ‘I keep saying: the Duke sold the lighthouse to the Crown. The Act makes it all quite clear: the Crown then handed it over to the Commissioners of Northern Lights, because they look after all the lighthouses on this Island. What I mean to say, sir, with all due respect, is that the lighthouse on Ellan Bride does not, and never has, belonged to your government.’

‘But the revenue from it, if revenue is being collected, should come to the Island. After all, it is the Island which provides the light, so it should get the revenue from the ports who pay the harbour dues.’

Archie knew that if the Manx Parliament had owned it, the Ellan Bride light would have brought them a fortune. But surely he could cut this interview short? He’d been told to make this so-called courtesy visit, but he was, after all, only the surveyor. He wasn’t even employed by the Commissioners, or the government. If he’d wanted to be a politician he’d have gone into politics.

‘Well, sir, I’m just the surveyor. I work for the lighthouse engineers. We have a contract to rebuild the Ellan Bride light. I’ve just come to do my job, sir.’ He could hardly be more tactful that that; even Mr Stevenson would have admitted that his manner was conciliatory.

‘Very well.’ Mr Quirk suddenly seemed to abandon the question, as if he could no longer be bothered to argue about it. He wasn’t smiling any more. Archie watched him shuffle through his papers again. ‘There is a secondary question, of course. It’s debatable whether it is in fact necessary to rebuild the Ellan Bride light.’

‘That’s why I’m here, sir,’ said Archie. At least this was a matter he did know something about. ‘The particulars we hold in Edinburgh suggest that the Ellan Bride light – which was built, as I say, fifty years ago – is no longer up to modern requirements. The beam isn’t powerful enough, and also there’s been confusion because in poor visibility Ellan Bride is ay mistaken for one of the Calf lights. The merchants of Liverpool have petitioned us to give Ellan Bride a revolving light too, showing a red sector as well as a white – just like at Cape Wrath – so as to differentiate the signal.’

‘You say all this, sir, but I don’t think you’re familiar with any of our lights on the Island. You’ve never been here before? You’ve not looked at the present light on Ellan Bride?’

‘No,’ said Archie. ‘That’s why I’m going over there as soon as I can.’ He thought of taking his watch from his waistcoat pocket and pointedly looking at it, but decided against it. ‘The range of the present light is no more than four leagues, even in optimum conditions. In view of the vastly increased traffic to and from the ports of Liverpool, Whitehaven, Glasgow, Dublin and Belfast – to say nothing of all the minor ports – and the way the herring fishing is expanding – a more adequate light on Ellan Bride must be a priority.’ Absorbed in the technical question, Archie forgot for a moment that he was dealing with an adversary. ‘We’ll have tae build a higher tower and design a better lighting system.’

‘But the light has already been improved! The range is far greater than it was fifty years ago. In fact I’ve seen it from here! Over at St Bees they only replaced the coal-burning light a few years ago! Ellan Bride has always been kept up-to-date with oil lamps.’

‘I must beg to differ, sir. The lamps on Ellan Bride were installed in 1790. I agree the Duke was ahead of his time when he bought them – they were the latest invention back then – but that’s more than forty years since. St Bees was an anomaly. I can’t comment on that. I don’t work for Trinity House.’

‘But I understand the Ellan Bride light to have modern glass reflectors!’

‘Have you seen them?’ asked Archie.

‘No, in fact I have not.’

‘Have you ever been on Ellan Bride yourself, sir?’

‘No, sir, I have not. But I am reliably informed that the reflectors are of the latest modern design.’

‘No sir,’ said Archie firmly. He was on his own ground now. ‘The reflectors were modern when they were built, but the science of lens design has developed greatly since then. The lights on the Calf can be seen six or seven leagues away in clear weather. The Ellan Bride light is only visible for just over half that distance. And, as I explained, we need tae devise a signal that will differentiate Ellan Bride more clearly from the Calf. We’ll probably use the latest French lenses on the new light. At the verra least we’ll use modern Argand burners.’

‘So, if everything is already decided by your employers,’ said Mr Quirk testily, ‘I fail to see the object of this consultation.’

‘I came here because your Governor requested it,’ said Archie. ‘His letter said that you wanted to discuss technical questions with the surveyor before he went to the site. I’ve come to survey the island. That’s my job, sir. I survey the site in detail, and take my plans back to Mr Stevenson.’ Archie glanced at the bright sky outside the window and made to rise from his chair.

‘I take it, then, that you’ll report to me on your findings before you leave the Island.’

That meant he must be free to go. With any luck there’d be no further official obstruction. Let them argue about the bloody harbour dues for the next twenty years if they liked. It was nothing to do with him. ‘Certainly sir,’ said Archie. He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Good day to you, sir.’

Mr Quirk pursed his lips and looked at his papers again. ‘There is just one other matter.’

‘Sir?’

‘The keeper of the new light. There is at present, as I mentioned earlier, a Scotch connection. The Duke was inclined to favour his own countrymen in all spheres, and that has been a cause of considerable dissatisfaction. But times, as you will note, have changed.’

‘Sir?’

‘Presumably you’ll be making a new appointment. I can suggest a reliable, deserving man who would make a satisfactory employee.’

‘You want the Commissioners of Northern Lights to evict the present keepers because they’re Scots? All our employees are Scots, of course!’ Archie couldn’t quite keep the anger out of his voice.

‘Indeed no, sir. You quite misunderstand me. In any case, the Ellan Bride light has been kept by the same family since it was built. It was one of the late Duke’s appointments from his Scotch estates. Perhaps the present keepers no longer regard themselves as foreigners. I wouldn’t know. But that is not to the purpose. My point is, it is unlikely, is it not, that the Commissioners of Northern Lights would employ women?’

Archie frowned. He didn’t want to give way, but the ground had shifted. Besides, it was no business of his. ‘That is correct, sir. The Commissioners don’t generally employ women.’

‘Then I may have a suitable name to suggest, sir, when you return. I take it that the policy of the Commissioners would be to employ a local man?’

‘I think you’d have to approach the Commissioners about that. I’m just the surveyor.’