reinforcements of the waves, and not only drowned out the bonfire but
drove the builders back to the shelter of their fortress, the _Buss_,
and shut them up there for several days, while the waves, coming
constantly up in great battalions, broke high over the re-erected
shears, and did great damage to the machinery and works, but failed to
move the sturdy root of the lighthouse which had now been fairly
planted, though the attack was evidently made in force, this being the
worst storm of the season. It lasted fifteen days.

On the 1st September the enemy retired for a little repose, and the
builders, instantly sallying out, went to work again "with a will," and
secured eighteen days of uninterrupted progress. Then the ocean, as if
refreshed, renewed the attack, and kept it up with such unceasing vigour
that the builders drew off and retired into winter quarters on the 3rd
of October, purposing to continue the war in the following spring.

During this campaign of 1757 the column of the lighthouse had risen four
feet six inches above the highest point of the Eddystone Rock. Thus
ended the second season, and the wearied but dauntless men returned to
the work-yard on shore to carve the needful stones, and otherwise to
prepare ammunition for the coming struggle.

Sitting one night that winter at John Potter's fireside, smoking his
pipe in company with John Bowden, Teddy Maroon expressed his belief that
building lighthouses was about the hardest and the greatest work that
man could undertake; that the men who did undertake such work ought not
only to receive double pay while on duty, but also half pay for the
remainder of their natural lives; that the thanks of the king, lords,
and commons, inscribed on vellum, should be awarded to each man; and
that gold medals should be struck commemorative of such great events,--
all of which he said with great emphasis, discharging a sharp little
puff of smoke between every two or three words, and winding up with a
declaration that "them was his sentiments."

To all this old John Potter gravely nodded assent, and old Martha--being
quite deaf to sound as well as reason--shook her head so decidedly that
her cap quivered again.

John Bowden ventured to differ. He--firing off little cloudlets of
smoke between words, in emulation of his friend--gave it as his opinion
that "war was wuss," an opinion which he founded on the authority of his
departed father, who had fought all through the