The Lighthouse by Robert Ballantyne

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The cause of his inconsolable state of mind is easily explained.

The boat had proceeded about halfway to Arbroath when they heard the
sound of oars, and in a few seconds a ship's gig rowed out of the fog
towards them. Instead of passing them the gig was steered straight
for the boat, and Ruby saw that it was full of men-of-war's men.

He sprang up at once and seized an oar.

"Out oars!" he cried. "Boys, if ever you pulled hard in your lives,
do so now. It's the press-gang!"

Before those few words were uttered the two men had seized the oars,
for they knew well what the press-gang meant, and all three pulled
with such vigour that the boat shot over the smooth sea with double
speed. But they had no chance in a heavy fishing boat against the
picked crew of the light gig. If the wind had been a little stronger
they might have escaped, but the wind had decreased, and the small
boat overhauled them yard by yard.

Seeing that they had no chance, Ruby said, between his set teeth:

"Will ye fight, boys?"

"_I_ will," cried Davy Spink sternly, for Davy had a wife and little
daughter on shore, who depended entirely on his exertions for their
livelihood, so he had a strong objection to go and fight in the wars
of his country.

"What's the use?" muttered Big Swankie, with a savage scowl. He, too,
had a strong disinclination to serve in the Royal Navy, being a lazy
man, and not overburdened with courage. "They've got eight men of a
crew, wi' pistols an' cutlashes."

"Well, it's all up with us," cried Ruby, in a tone of sulky anger, as
he tossed his oar overboard, and, folding his arms on his breast, sat
sternly eyeing the gig as it approached.

Suddenly a beam of hope shot into his heart. A few words will explain
the cause thereof.

About the time the works at the Bell Rock were in progress, the war
with France and the Northern Powers was at its height, and the demand
for men was so great that orders were issued for the establishment of
an impress service at Dundee, Arbroath, and Aberdeen. It became
therefore necessary to have some protection for the men engaged in
the works. As the impress officers were extremely rigid in the
execution of their duty, it was resolved to have the seamen carefully
identified, and, therefore, besides being described in the usual
manner in the protection-bills granted by the Admiralty, each man had
a ticket given to him descriptive of his person, to which was attached
a silver medal emblematical of the lighthouse service.

That very week Ruby had received one of the protection-medals and
tickets of the Bell Rock, a circumstance which he had forgotten at
the moment. It was now in his pocket, and might perhaps save him.

When the boat ranged up alongside, Ruby recognized in the officer at
the helm the youth who had already given him so much annoyance. The
officer also recognized Ruby, and, with a glance of surprise and
pleasure, exclaimed:

"What! have I bagged you at last, my slippery young lion?"

Ruby smiled as he replied, "Not _quite_ yet, my persevering young
jackall." (He was sorely tempted to transpose the word into jackass,
but he wisely restrained himself.) "I'm not so easily caught as you
think."

"Eh! how? what mean you?" exclaimed the officer, with an expression
of surprise, for he knew that Ruby was now in his power. "I have you
safe, my lad, unless you have provided yourself with a pair of wings.
Of course, I shall leave one of you to take your boat into harbour,
but you may be sure that I'll not devolve that pleasant duty upon
you."

"_I_ have not provided myself with wings exactly," returned Ruby,
pulling out his medal and ticket; "but here is something that will do
quite as well"

The officer's countenance fell, for he knew at once what it was. He
inspected it, however, closely.

"Let me see," said he, reading the description on the ticket, which
ran thus--

BELL BOOK WORKYARD, ARBBOATH,
_"20th June,_ 1810.

_"Ruby Brand, seaman and blacksmith, in the service of the Honourable
the Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses, aged 25 years, 5 feet
10 inches high, very powerfully made, fair complexion, straight nose,
dark-blue eyes, and curling auburn hair,"

This description was signed by the engineer of the works; and on the
obverse was written, _"The bearer, Ruby Brand, is serving as a
blacksmith in the erection of the Bell Rock Lighthouse."_

"This is all very well, my fine fellow," said the officer, "but I
have been deceived more than once with these medals and tickets. How
am I to know that you have not stolen it from someone?"

"By seeing whether the description agrees," replied Ruby.

"Of course, I know that as well as you, and I don't find the
description quite perfect. I would say that your hair is light-brown,
now, not auburn, and your nose is a little Roman, if anything; and
there's no mention of whiskers, or that delicate moustache. Why, look
here," he added, turning abruptly to Big Swankie, "this might be the
description of your comrade as well as, if not better than, yours.
What's your name?"

"Swankie, sir," said that individual ruefully, yet with a gleam of
hope that the advantages of the Bell Rock medal might possibly, in
some unaccountable way, accrue to himself, for he was sharp enough to
see that the officer would be only too glad to find any excuse for
securing Ruby.

"Well, Swankie, stand up, and let's have a look at you," said the
officer, glancing from the paper to the person of the fisherman, and
commenting thereon. "Here we have 'very powerfully made'--no mistake
about that--strong as Samson; 'fair complexion'--that's it exactly;
'auburn hair'--so it is. Auburn is a very undecided colour; there's a
great deal of red in it, and no one can deny that Swankie has a good
deal of red in _his_ hair."

There was indeed no denying this, for it was altogether red, of an
intense carroty hue.

"You see, friend," continued the officer, turning to Ruby, "that the
description suits Swankie very well."

"True, as far as you have gone," said Ruby, with a quiet smile; "but
Swankie is six feet two in his stockings, and his nose is turned up,
and his hair don't curl, and his eyes are light-green, and his
complexion is sallow, if I may not say yellow----"

"Fair, lad; fair," said the officer, laughing in spite of himself.
"Ah! Ruby Brand, you are jealous of him! Well, I see that I'm fated
not to capture you, so I'll bid you good day. Meanwhile your
companions will be so good as to step into my gig."

The two men rose to obey. Big Swankie stepped over the gunwale, with
the fling of a sulky, reckless man, who curses his fate and submits
to it. Davy Spink had a very crestfallen, subdued look. He was about
to follow, when a thought seemed to strike him. He turned hastily
round, and Ruby was surprised to see that his eyes were suffused with
tears, and that his features worked with the convulsive twitching of
one who struggles powerfully to restrain his feelings.

"Ruby Brand," said he, in a deep husky voice, which trembled at
first, but became strong as he went on; "Ruby Brand, I deserve nae
good at your hands, yet I'll ask a favour o' ye. Ye've seen the wife
and the bairn, the wee ane wi' the fair curly pow. Ye ken the auld
hoose. It'll be mony a lang day afore I see them again, if iver I
come back ava. There's naebody left to care for them. They'll be
starvin' soon, lad. Wull ye--wull ye look--doon?"

Poor Davy Spink stopped here, and covered his face with his big
sunburnt hands.

A sudden gush of sympathy filled Ruby's heart. He started forward,
and drawing from his pocket the letter with which he was charged,
thrust it into Spink's hand, and said hurriedly--

"Don't fail to deliver it the first thing you do on landing. And
hark'ee, Spink, go to Mrs. Brand's cottage, and tell them there _why_
I went away. Be sure you see them _all_, and explain _why_ it was.
Tell Minnie Gray that I will be _certain_ to return, if God spares
me."

Without waiting for a reply he sprang into the gig, and gave the
other boat a shove, that sent it several yards off.

"Give way, lads," cried the officer, who was delighted at this
unexpected change in affairs, though he had only heard enough of the
conversation to confuse him as to the cause of it.

"Stop! stop!" shouted Spink, tossing up his arms.

"I'd rather not," returned the officer.

Davy seized the oars, and, turning his boat in the direction of the
gig, endeavoured to overtake it, As well might the, turkey-buzzard
attempt to catch the swallow. He was left far behind, and when last
seen faintly through the fog, he was standing up in the stern of the
boat wringing his hands.

Ruby had seated himself in the bow of the gig, with his face turned
steadily towards the sea, so that no one could see it. This position
he maintained in silence until the boat ranged up to what appeared
like the side of a great mountain, looming through the mist.

Then he turned round, and, whatever might have been the struggle
within his breast, all traces of it had left his countenance, which
presented its wonted appearance of good-humoured frankness.

We need scarcely say that the mountain turned out to be a British
man-of-war. Ruby was quickly introduced to his future messmates, and
warmly received by them. Then he was left to his own free will during
the remainder of that day, for the commander of the vessel was a kind
man, and did not like to add to the grief of the impressed men by
setting them to work at once.

Thus did our hero enter the Royal Navy; and many a long and weary day
and month passed by before he again set foot in his native town.

CHAPTER XXVII

OTHER THINGS BESIDES MURDER "WILL OUT"

Meanwhile Davy Spink, with his heart full, returned slowly to the
shore.

He was long of reaching it, the boat being very heavy for one man to
pull. On landing he hurried up to his poor little cottage, which was
in a very low part of the town, and in a rather out-of-the-way corner
of that part.

"Janet," said he, flinging himself into a rickety old armchair that
stood by the fireplace, "the press-gang has catched us at last, and
they've took Big Swankie away, and, worse than that----"

"Oh!" cried Janet, unable to wait far more, "that's the best news
I've heard for mony a day. Ye're sure they have him safe?"

"Ay, sure enough," said Spink dryly; "but ye needna be sae glad aboot
it, for Swankie was aye good to _you_."

"Ay, Davy," cried Janet, putting her arm round her husband's neck,
and kissing him, "but he wasna good to _you_. He led ye into evil
ways mony a time when ye would rather hae keepit oot o' them. Na, na,
Davy, ye needna shake yer heed; I ken'd fine."

"Weel, weel, hae'd yer ain way, lass, but Swankie's awa" to the
wars, and so's Ruby Brand, for they've gotten him as weel."

"Ruby Brand!" exclaimed the woman.

"Ay, Ruby Brand; and this is the way they did it."

Here Spink detailed to his helpmate, who sat with folded hands and
staring eyes opposite to her husband, all that had happened. When he
had concluded, they discussed the subject together. Presently the
little girl came bouncing into the room, with rosy cheeks, sparkling
eyes, a dirty face, and fair ringlets very much dishevelled, and with
a pitcher of hot soup in her hands.

Davy caught her up, and kissing her, said abruptly, "Maggie, Big
Swankie's awa' to the wars."

The child looked enquiringly in her father's face, and he had to
repeat his words twice before she quite realized the import of them.

"Are ye jokin', daddy?"

"No, Maggie; it's true. The press-gang got him and took him awa', an'
I doot we'll never see him again."

The little girl's expression changed while he spoke, then her lip
trembled, and she burst into tears.

"See there, Janet," said Spink, pointing to Maggie, and looking
earnestly at his wife.

"Weel-a-weel," replied Janet, somewhat softened, yet with much
firmness, "I'll no deny that the man was fond o' the bairn, and it
liked him weel enough; but, my certes! he wad hae made a bad man o'
you if he could. But I'm real sorry for Ruby Brand; and what'll the
puir lassie Gray dot Ye'll hae to gang up an' gie them the message."

"So I will; but that's like somethin' to eat, I think?"

Spink pointed to the soup.

"Ay, it's a' we've got, so let's fa' to; and haste ye, lad. It's a
sair heart she'll hae this night--wae's me!"

While Spink and his wife were thus employed, Widow Brand, Minnie
Gray, and Captain Ogilvy were seated at tea, round the little table
in the snug kitchen of the widow's cottage.

It might have been observed that there were two teapots on the table,
a large one and a small, and that the captain helped himself out of
the small one, and did not take either milk or sugar. But the
captain's teapot did not necessarily imply tea. In fact, since the
death of the captain's mother, that small teapot had been accustomed
to strong drink only. It never tasted tea.

"I wonder if Ruby will get leave of absence," said the captain,
throwing himself back in his armchair, in order to be able to admire,
with greater ease, the smoke, as it curled towards the ceiling from
his mouth and pipe.

"I do hope so," said Mrs. Brand, looking up from her knitting, with a
little sigh. Mrs. Brand usually followed up all her remarks with a
little sigh. Sometimes the sigh was very little. It depended a good
deal on the nature of her remark whether the sigh was of the little,
less, or least description; but it never failed, in one or other
degree, to close her every observation.

"I _think_ he will," said Minnie, as she poured a second cup of tea
for the widow.

"Ay, that's right, lass," observed the captain; "there's nothin'
like hope--

'The pleasures of hope told a flatterin' tale
Regardin' the fleet when Lord Nelson get sail.'

Fill me out another cup of tea, Hebe."

It was a pleasant little fiction with the captain to call his
beverage "tea". Minnie filled out a small cupful of the contents of
the little teapot, which did, indeed, resemble tea, but which smelt
marvellously like hot rum and water.

"Enough, enough. Come on, Macduff! Ah! Minnie, this is prime Jamaica;
it's got such a--but I forgot; you don't understand nothin' about
nectar of this sort."

The captain smoked in silence for a few minutes, and then said, with
a sudden chuckle--

"Wasn't it odd, sister, that we should have found it all out in such
an easy sort o' way? If criminals would always tell on themselves as
plainly as Big Swankie did, there would be no use for lawyers."

"Swankie would not have spoken so freely," said Minnie, with a laugh,
"if he had known that we were listening."

"That's true, girl," said the captain, with sudden gravity; "and I
don't feel quite easy in my mind about that same eavesdropping. It's
a dirty thing to do--especially for an old sailor, who likes
everything to be fair and above-board; but then, you see, the natur'
o' the words we couldn't help hearin' justified us in waitin' to hear
more. Yes, it was quite right, as it turned out A little more tea,
Minnie. Thank'ee, lass. Now go, get the case, and let us look over it
again."

The girl rose, and, going to a drawer, quickly returned with a small
red leather case in her hand. It was the identical jewel case that
Swankie had found on the dead body at the Bell Rock!

"Ah! that's it; now, let us see; let us see." He laid aside his pipe,
and for some time felt all his pockets, and looked round the room, as
if in search of something.

"What are you looking for, uncle?"

"The specs, lass; these specs'll be the death o' me."

Minnie laughed. "They're on your brow, uncle!"

"So they are! Well, well----"

The captain smiled deprecatingly, and, drawing his chair close to the
table, began to examine the box.

Its contents were a strange mixture, and it was evident that the case
had not been made to hold them.

There was a lady's gold watch, of very small size, and beautifully
formed; a set of ornaments, consisting of necklace, bracelets, ring,
and ear-rings of turquoise and pearls set in gold, of the most
delicate and exquisite chasing; also, an antique diamond cross of
great beauty, besides a number of rings and bracelets of considerable
value.

As the captain took these out one by one, and commented on them, he
made use of Minnie's pretty hand and arm to try the effect of each,
and truly the ornaments could not have found a more appropriate
resting-place among the fairest ladies of the land.

Minnie submitted to be made use of in this, way with a pleased and
amused expression; for, while she greatly admired the costly gems,
she could not help smiling at the awkwardness of the captain in
putting them on.

"Read the paper again," said Minnie, after the contents of the box
had been examined.

The captain took up a small parcel covered with oiled cloth, which
contained a letter. Opening it, he began to read, but was interrupted
by Mrs. Brand, who had paid little attention to the jewels.

"Read it out loud, brother," said she, "I don't hear you well. Read
it out; I love to hear of my darling's gallant deeds."

The captain cleared his throat, raised his voice, and read slowly:--

"'LISBON, _10th March_, 1808.

"'DEAR CAPTAIN BRAND,--I am about to quit this place for the East in
a few days, and shall probably never see you again. Pray accept the
accompanying case of jewels as a small token of the love and esteem
in which you are held by a heart-broken father. I feel assured that
if it had been in the power of man to have saved my drowning child
your gallant efforts would have been successful. It was ordained
otherwise; and I now pray that I may be enabled to say "God's will be
done". But I cannot bear the sight of these ornaments. I have no
relatives--none at least who deserve them half so well as yourself.
Do not pain me by refusing them. They may be of use to you if you are
ever in want of money, being worth, I believe, between three and four
hundred pounds. Of course, you cannot misunderstand my motive in
mentioning this. No amount of money could in any measure represent
the gratitude I owe to the man who risked his life to save my child.
May God bless you, sir."

The letter ended thus, without signature; and the captain ceased to
read aloud. But there was an addition to the letter written in pencil,
in the hand of the late Captain Brand, which neither he nor Minnie had
yet found courage to read to the poor widow. It ran thus:--

"Our doom is sealed. My schooner is on the Bell Rock. It is blowing a
gale from N.E., and she is going to pieces fast. We are all standing
under the lee of a ledge of rock--six of us. In half an hour the tide
will be roaring over the spot. God in Christ help us! It is an awful
end. If this letter and box is ever found, I ask the finder to send
it, with my blessing, to Mrs. Brand, my beloved wife, in Arbroath."

The writing was tremulous, and the paper bore the marks of having
been soiled with seaweed. It was unsigned. The writer had evidently
been obliged to close it hastily.

After reading this in silence the captain refolded the letter.

"No wonder, Minnie, that Swankie did not dare to offer such things
for sale. He would certainly have been found out. Wasn't it lucky
that we heard him tell Spink the spot under his floor where he had
hidden them?"

At that moment there came a low knock to the door. Minnie opened it,
and admitted Davy Spink, who stood in the middle of the room
twitching his cap nervously, and glancing uneasily from one to
another of the party.

"Hallo, Spink!" cried the captain, pushing his spectacles up on his
forehead, and gazing at the fisherman in surprise, "you don't seem to
be quite easy in your mind. Hope your fortunes have not sprung a
leak!"

"Weel, Captain Ogilvy, they just have; gone to the bottom, I might
a'most say. I've come to tell ye--that--the fact is, that the
press-gang have catched us at last, and ta'en awa' my mate, Jock
Swankie, better kenn'd as Big Swankie."

"Hem--well, my lad, in so far as that does damage to you, I'm sorry
for it; but as regards society at large, I rather think that Swankie
havin' tripped his anchor is a decided advantage. If you lose by this
in one way, you gain much in another; for your mate's companionship
did ye no good. Birds of a feather should flock together. You're
better apart, for I believe you to be an honest man, Spink."

Davy looked at the captain in unfeigned astonishment.

"Weel, ye're the first man that iver said that, an' I thank 'ee, sir,
but you're wrang, though I wush ye was right. But that's no' what I
cam' to tell ye."

Here the fisherman's indecision of manner returned. "Come, make a
clean breast of it, lad. There are none here but friends."

"Weel, sir, Ruby Brand----"

He paused, and Minnie turned deadly pale, for she jumped at once to
the right conclusion. The widow, on the other hand, listened for more
with deep anxiety, but did not guess the truth.

"The fact is, Ruby's catched too, an' he's awa' to the wars, and he
sent me to--ech, sirs! the auld wuman's fentit."

Poor Widow Brand had indeed fallen back in her chair in a state
bordering on insensibility. Minnie was able to restrain her feelings
so as to attend to her. She and the captain raised her gently, and
led her into her own room, from whence the captain returned, and shut
the door behind him.

"Now, Spink," said he, "tell me all about it, an' be partic'lar."

Davy at once complied, and related all that the reader already knows,
in a deep, serious tone of voice, for he felt that in the captain he
had a sympathetic listener.

When he had concluded, Captain Ogilvy heaved a sigh so deep that it
might have been almost considered a groan, then he sat down on his
armchair, and, pointing to the chair from which the widow had
recently risen, said, "Sit down, lad."

As he advanced to comply, Spink's eyes for the first time fell on the
case of jewels. He started, paused, and looked with a troubled air at
the captain.

"Ha!" exclaimed the latter with a grin; "you seem to know these
things; old acquaintances, eh!"

"It wasna' me that stole them," said Spink hastily.

"I did not say that anyone stole them."

"Weel, I mean that--that----"

He stopped abruptly, for he felt that in whatever way he might
attempt to clear himself, he would unavoidably criminate, by
implication, his absent mate.

"I know what you mean, my lad; sit down."

Spink sat down on the edge of the chair, and looked at the other
uneasily.

"Have a cup of tea?" said the captain abruptly, seizing the small pot
and pouring out a cupful.

"Thank 'ee--I--I niver tak' tea."

"Take it to-night, then. It will do you good."

Spink put the cup to his lips, and a look of deep surprise overspread
his rugged countenance as he sipped the contents. The captain nodded.
Spink's look of surprise changed into a confidential smile; he also
nodded, winked, and drained the cup to the bottom.

"Yes," resumed the captain; "you mean that you did not take the case
of jewels from old Brand's pocket on that day when you found his body
on the Bell Rock, though you were present, and saw your comrade
pocket the booty. You see I know all about it, Davy, an' your only
fault lay in concealing the matter, and in keepin' company with that
scoundrel."

The gaze of surprise with which Spink listened to the first part of
this speech changed to a look of sadness towards the end of it.

"Captain Ogilvy," said he, in a tone of solemnity that was a strong
contrast to his usual easy, careless manner of speaking, "you ca'd me
an honest man, an' ye think I'm clear o' guilt in this matter, but
ye're mista'en. Hoo ye cam' to find oot a' this I canna divine, but I
can tell ye somethin' mair than ye ken. D'ye see that bag?"

He pulled a small leather purse out of his coat pocket, and laid it
with a little bang on the table.

The captain nodded.

"Weel, sir, that was _my_ share o' the plunder, thretty goolden
sovereigns. We tossed which o' us was to hae them, an' the siller
fell to me. But I've niver spent a boddle o't. Mony a time have I
been tempit, an' mony a time wad I hae gi'en in to the temptation,
but for a certain lass ca'd Janet, that's been an angel, it's my
belief, sent doon frae heeven to keep me frae gawin to the deevil
a'thegither. But be that as it may, I've brought the siller to them
that owns it by right, an' so my conscience is clear o't at lang
last."

The sigh of relief with which Davy Spink pushed the bag of gold
towards his companion, showed that the poor man's mind was in truth
released from a heavy load that had crushed it for years.

The captain, who had lit his pipe, stared at the fisherman through
the smoke for some time in silence; then he began to untie the purse,
and said slowly, "Spink, I said you were an honest man, an' I see no
cause to alter my opinion."

He counted out the thirty gold pieces, put them back into the bag,
and the bag into his pocket. Then he continued, "Spink, if this gold
was mine I would--but no matter, it's not mine, it belongs to Widow
Brand, to whom I shall deliver it up. Meantime, I'll bid you good
night. All these things require reflection. Call back here to-morrow,
my fine fellow, and I'll have something to say to you. Another cup of
tea?"

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