When it was first commissioned, four men were deputed to watch this light, three being on the rock, and the fourth man on leave at St. Mary’s. The duty was for three months continuous, one man being relieved every month if possible; but, as a matter of fact, the spell on the rock often was increased, owing to the weather rendering it impossible to exchange the men. The character of their duty, under the terrible assaults of the sea, played havoc with the constitutions and nerves of the lighthouse-keepers. They became taciturn, and inevitably fell victims to neurasthenia, owing to their long periods of isolation. Accordingly the authorities gradually relaxed the spell of duty, until now it comprises a month on the rock, followed by a fortnight ashore, while six men, instead of four, are appointed to the station. The Bishop light demands watchers of iron constitution and prolonged experience of the rigours of imprisonment upon a lonely rock. The men appear to suffer most from the fear that one day the seas will regain the upper hand and carry the slender-looking shaft of masonry away. When the Atlantic is roused to fury, the din created by the waves smashing against the tower and reef is so deafening that the keepers can only converse by signs. The attacks which this tower has to withstand are fearful. When the equinoxes are raging, it is no uncommon circumstance for the waves to roll up the side of the tower and hurl themselves clean over the lantern. The enormous force of the water was brought home very startlingly to the attendants of the light one night, when a more than usually wicked breaker slid up the curved round face and wrenched the fog-bell, weighing 550 pounds, from its fastenings on the lantern gallery. The ponderous piece of metal was dashed on to the reef and smashed to fragments. A small piece was recovered after the gale, and is now preserved in the Trinity House museum as an interesting memento of the night when the Atlantic almost got the upper hand. The nerves of the men are tried severely, also, by memories of the terrible marine disasters which have happened on or near the ridge, such as that of the German packet _Schiller_, which went down in 1875 with the loss of 331 lives.