In erecting the tower, Rudyerd and his shipwrights had much the same difficulties to contend with as Winstanley: the sudden storms and the sudden descents of the press-gangs each in turn considerably hindered the work; and at last it became necessary for government to grant special protections from pressing for all those in any way engaged in building the lighthouse. These protections are interesting documents; they give a minute description of the personal appearance of the person protected, and prove incidentally that many, indeed most, of the men that had been employed by Winstanley were again employed by Rudyerd; altogether the staff of workers and boatmen numbered about twenty. As the men employed by Rudyerd had also worked on the first Eddystone lighthouse, they would naturally possess a lively recollection of the exciting incident of the descent of the French privateer already described; and one cannot wonder that they now asked for something more than protection from the press-gang’s grasp—they demanded that of a man-of-war to watch by the rock so long as they worked there; and without it they would not go. The Admiralty saw no necessity for such waste of a ship’s time; it argued, in well-framed official language, that the men’s fears were vain, since on the previous occasion the French king had severely punished his officer who took them prisoners, and had at once sent back Winstanley himself ‘with encouragement.’ But the workmen were not to be talked into going to the Eddystone unprotected by British guns. Winstanley may have been treated with the courtesy described, but _they_ had not been; they had the vivid remembrance of some time spent at sea in an open boat and in the costume of galley slaves. At last the Admiralty gave way, a man-of-war was set apart for service at the Eddystone, and the timber tower, that for long had lain ready at Plymouth, was towed out to the rock, set up on the site of the former lighthouse, and before very long—on August 28, 1708—the candles in the lantern were illuminated. From first to last Rudyerd’s lighthouse had cost Lovett hard on £10,000; but, as his lease was to be for ninety-nine years from the time of kindling the lights, he might reasonably have considered he was making a profitable investment. Yet, like so many lighthouse speculators, he was doomed to disappointment. Difficulties were experienced in collecting the dues, and troubles and annoyances of various kinds continually arose, with the result that he died, probably a ruined man, not long after the building was finished; the fortune over the Eddystone lighthouse was made by his successors in title—the mortgagees of the undertaking who came into possession on Lovett’s death.