We do not learn when the ‘family’—sent to the lonely rock just before Christmas, 1698—was relieved, or of what that family consisted. If it included a man and his wife only, then it is to be hoped that the couple selected had either won the Dunmow flitch or would at least be deserving of it; the Eddystone rock would have been close quarters for a pair not happily matched. [Illustration: SILVER MODEL OF EDDYSTONE LIGHTHOUSE AFTER ALTERATION.] It is probable that early in the following year, 1699, Winstanley returned to the Eddystone to see how the structure had borne the wintry blast. He found it unshaken, but he also found that it was not nearly high enough; the sea, dashing against the rocks, being frequently thrown above the lantern, and often for long together completely hiding the light. He therefore determined, besides strengthening the foundations, to take down the upper part of the building and rebuild it, as shown in the silver model of it here figured. This was so much higher than that removed that the total elevation was 120 feet. Even with this alteration Winstanley tells us that in great storms the sea ‘flies, in appearance, 100 feet above the vane.’ That William III took a personal interest in the Eddystone lighthouse is proved by the fact that, through Major-General Trelawny, he commissioned a certain Thomas Bastin, the brother of an officer in the army, and a man who tried to ease the pinch of poverty by sketching various notable buildings, to make for him accurate pictures of Winstanley’s work both before and after its alteration; these, in January, 1702, were hanging in one of the king’s apartments at Kensington. How we learn the fact is that his majesty had forgotten to pay Mr. Bastin’s little bill, which came to £30, and so there is some correspondence on the subject in the Treasury papers. Besides the _natural_ dangers of Eddystone there were some that we may term _artificial_, to which those who resided there were exposed. We have seen how, during the progress of the work, the men from a French vessel swooped down on the undefended workmen and treated them in no very agreeable manner; but it was not only from foes that the ‘islanders’ were liable to attack: ‘Spare us from our friends’ might well have been their motto had they coveted one. What days those were, those days of vigorous ‘pressing’ for sea service! there was recruiting then, with a vengeance. Perhaps it was needful, perhaps it was not; any way, it was carried on with a want of discrimination too often apparent in those whose hands are tied up with red tape, for we find that even the light-keepers of the Eddystone—or at least the male portion of them—were not safe from the press-gang’s grasp. They were ‘pressed’ into his majesty’s service, though very speedily released.