Perched on the northern end of the Corpus Christi bluff—today the heart of the city’s financial district—stood one of the least-known and shortest-lived lighthouses in American history. Conceived as a modest coastal aid and championed by local residents eager to improve maritime access to their port, Corpus Christi Lighthouse enjoyed only a brief operational life before the forces of climate, soil, and engineering misjudgment brought it abruptly to an end.

The effort to establish the light began in the mid-1850s, when Corpus Christi’s civic leaders petitioned the federal government for a navigational beacon that would guide vessels into the shallow but strategically situated bay. The mayor himself had taken the lead in dredging a channel to the city’s wharves, and the addition of a light was considered essential to encouraging commerce and ensuring safer approaches. In 1856, Congress appropriated $5,000 for a lighthouse, and soon a 50-by-150-foot residential lot at the corner of Broadway and Buffalo Streets was selected as the site.

Plans for beacon light at Corpus Christi Photograph courtesy the National Archives

Construction advanced through 1858, and by December a one-and-a-half-story keeper’s dwelling—described as being built of “concrete brick”—stood completed on the bluff. The building, painted white for visibility, supported a lantern room in the center of its roof. The illuminating apparatus was a small but efficient fifth-order Fresnel lens, set 38 feet above the ground and 77 feet above sea level. With a focal plane high enough to clear the surrounding bluff, the fixed white light was expected to be visible for roughly 14 nautical miles under good conditions. Notice of its activation was officially issued: beginning on the evening of Thursday, February 10, the light would burn nightly from sunset to sunrise for local navigation. Henry Brittain was hired at an annual salary of $300 to serve as the light’s first keeper.

Even as the new lighthouse was being prepared for service, something had begun to go profoundly wrong with the building. Within months of its lighting, the exterior brick walls began bulging outward, pulling away from the interior partition walls and threatening the lantern room. The Light House Board ordered an investigation, and the district engineer soon found himself facing a puzzle. The problem, it turned out, was rooted in both materials and environment. The “shell-crete” brick—an early local mixture used in the construction—did not bear weight well, and the lighthouse had been built directly atop the region’s notorious “gumbo” soil. When saturated by rain, the ground swelled; when baked by drought, it shrank and cracked. The building had been erected during a wet period; as the weather dried, deep fissures opened, tearing the masonry apart. A later return of rain swelled the earth again, heaving the foundation and worsening the damage.

Had the foundation been anchored with deep pilings, the structure might have survived the shifting of the bluff. But without them, the lighthouse was doomed. On September 15, 1859—barely months after entering service—the Light House Board resolved to discontinue the light. Engineers considered installing external buttresses to force the walls back into alignment, but the expense could not be justified. Cheaper pier lights on the wharves provided an adequate substitute, and the lighthouse was abandoned. According to a brief newspaper account, the light was permanently extinguished on November 1, 1859, and Keeper Brittain was out of a job.

What followed was a second life far removed from its intended purpose. When the Civil War reached the Texas coast, Confederate forces converted the derelict structure into an arsenal. During the Union attack on Corpus Christi on August 16 and 18, 1862, the USS Arthur directed fire toward the bluff. At least one projectile struck the lighthouse, though—fortunately for the Confederates—it did not ignite the powder stored inside. As Union forces advanced, the Confederates placed an explosive charge in the structure, blowing the rusting lantern from its mount.

After the Union captured the region, the structure—already failing—became a playground for local children. Mischievous boys attempted to demolish the old building themselves, rolling a butter churn filled with gunpowder into the ruins. Their improvised device started a fire, which spread into the structure and ignited leftover powder. The resulting blast gutted much of what remained.

By 1870, the U.S. customs collector at Corpus Christi reported the building in nearly complete ruin. Only two weakened walls continued to support the sagging roof, and he expressed grave concern for the safety of neighborhood children who still wandered among the wreckage. Amazingly, the remnants endured nearly another decade. In 1878, city alderman Dick Jurgan finally ordered a crew to pull down the unstable ruins with ropes, ending the last physical trace of the ill-fated Corpus Christi Lighthouse. A historical marker found at 723 N. Upper Broadway identifies the location where Corpus Christi Lighthouse stood and provides a brief history of the structure.

In April 1902, a fixed white lens-lantern light was established atop a pyramidal structure built atop piles and covered with horizontal slats. The light was situated on the reef offshore from the outer end of Central Wharf. John J. Anderson was hired to tend the light at an annual salary of $240.

Keepers:

• Corpus Christi Lighthouse: Henry Brittain (1859).
• Corpus Christi Beacon: John J. Anderson (1902 – 1907), Amos Curry (1907 – 1908), John J. Anderson (1908 – at least 1920).

References:

1. Annual Report of the Lighthouse Board, various years.
2. Lighthouses, Lightships, and the Gulf of Mexico, David Cipra, 1997.
3. “Notice to Mariners,” The Daily Exchange, March 12, 1859.

No light exists at this location today.

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