It was a grim episode at this light which brought about the practice of appointing three men at least to a sea light-station. When first completed, The Smalls was provided with only two keepers, and on one occasion one of the two died. His companion refrained from committing the body to the sea, lest he might be suspected of foul-play, so he constructed a rough shell, in which he placed the body of his dead chum, and stood the grisly burden on end beside his flag of distress on the gallery outside the lantern. As the spell of duty in those days was four months, it was some time before the relief came out. Then they discovered a shattered human wreck tending the lights, who had never neglected his duty under the onerous and weird conditions, but who nevertheless had become broken down and aged under the terrible ordeal. After this experience three men instead of two were placed on duty at all such exposed and inaccessible lights. It may be recalled that Alphonse Daudet tells a similar creepy story which was related to him by a light-keeper on the rugged Corsican coast, and which he narrates in the “Phares des Sanguinaires.” A similar experience is also associated with Rudyerd’s Eddystone light. Off the North Welsh coast there are the famous lights of the South Stack and the Skerries, the latter rising out of the water on a dangerous cluster of rocks off Carmel Head. The Isle of Man also possesses a magnificent specimen of lighthouse engineering in the Chicken Rock light, the work of the brothers Stevenson, which, although in the Irish Sea, comes within the jurisdiction of the Commissioners of Northern Lights. This tower stands on a reef which is submerged by 6 feet of water even at high neap-tides. When a gale is raging and the spring-tides are at their highest, the waves frequently engulf the lantern, although it is perched 143 feet above the water. The light is of 143,000 candle-power, of the revolving type, and visible for sixteen miles in clear weather.