The Lighthouse by Robert Ballantyne

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"Surround the spot," shouted the lieutenant. "Scatter
yourselves--away! there's no beach here."

The lieutenant was right. The men extended themselves along the top
of the cliffs so as to prevent Ruby's escape, in the event of his
trying to ascend them, and two sailors stationed themselves in ambush
in the narrow pass at the spot where the cliffs terminate in the
direction of the town.

The leap taken by Ruby was a bold one. Few men could have ventured
it; indeed, the youth himself would have hesitated had he not been
driven almost to desperation. But he was a practised swimmer and
diver, and knew well the risk he ran. He struck the water with
tremendous force and sent up a great mass of foam, but he had
entered it perpendicularly, feet foremost, and in a few seconds
returned to the surface so close to the cliffs that they overhung
him, and thus effectually concealed him from his pursuers.

Swimming cautiously along for a short distance close to the rocks, he
came to the entrance of a cavern which was filled by the sea. The
inner end of this cave opened into a small hollow or hole among the
cliffs, up the sides of which Ruby knew that he could climb, and thus
reach the top unperceived, but, after gaining the summit, there still
lay before him the difficulty of eluding those who watched there. He
felt, however, that nothing could be gained by delay, so he struck at
once into the cave, swam to the inner end, and landed. Wringing the
water out of his clothes, he threw off his jacket and vest in order
to be as unencumbered as possible, and then began to climb
cautiously.

Just above the spot where Ruby ascended there chanced to be stationed
a seaman named Dalls. This man had lain down flat on his breast, with
his head close to the edge of the cliff, so as to observe narrowly
all that went on below, but, being a stout, lethargic man, he soon
fell fast asleep! It was just at the spot where this man lay that
Ruby reached the summit. The ascent was very difficult. At each step
the hunted youth had to reach his hand as high above his head as
possible, and grasp the edge of a rock or a mass of turf with great
care before venturing on another step. Had one of these points of
rock, or one of these tufts of grass, given way, he would infallibly
have fallen down the precipice and been killed. Accustomed to this
style of climbing from infancy, however, he advanced without a
sensation of fear.

On reaching the top he peeped over, and, seeing that no one was near,
prepared for a rush. There was a mass of brown turf on the bank above
him. He grasped it with all his force, and swung himself over the
edge of the cliff. In doing so he nearly scalped poor Dalls, whose
hair was the "turf" which he had seized, and who, uttering a hideous
yell, leaped upon Ruby and tried to overthrow him. But Dalls had met
his match. He received a blow on the nose that all but felled him,
and instantly after a blow on each eye, that raised a very
constellation of stars in his brain, and laid him prone upon the
grass.

His yell, however, and the noise of the scuffle, were heard by those
of the press-gang who were nearest to the scene of conflict. They
rushed to the rescue, and reached the spot just as Ruby leaped over
his prostrate foe and fled towards Arbroath. They followed with a
cheer, which warned the two men in ambush to be ready. Ruby was lithe
as a greyhound. He left his pursuers far behind him, and dashed down
the gorge leading from the cliffs to the low ground beyond.

Here he was met by the two sailors, and by the lieutenant, who had
joined them. Minnie was also there, having been conducted thither by
the said lieutenant, who gallantly undertook to see her safe into the
town, in order to prevent any risk of her being insulted by his men.
On hearing the shout of those who pursued Ruby, Winnie hurried away,
intending to get free from the gang, not feeling that the
lieutenant's protection was either desirable or necessary.

When Ruby reached the middle of the gorge, which we have dignified
with the name of "pass", and saw three men ready to dispute his
passage, he increased his speed. When he was almost up to them he
turned aside and sprang nimbly up the almost perpendicular wall of
earth on his right. This act disconcerted the men, who had prepared
to receive his charge and seize him, but Ruby jumped down on the
shoulders of the one nearest, and crushed him to the ground with his
weight. His clenched fist caught the lieutenant between the eyes and
stretched him on his back--the third man wisely drew aside to let
this human thunderbolt pass by!

He did pass, and, as the impetuous and quite irresistible locomotive
is brought to a sudden pause when the appropriate breaks are applied,
so was he brought to a sudden halt by Minnie a hundred yards or so
farther on.

"Oh! don't stop," she cried eagerly, and hastily thrusting him away.
"They'll catch you!"

Panting though he was, vehemently, Ruby could not restrain a laugh.

"Catch me! no, darling; but don't be afraid of them. They won't hurt
you, Minnie, and they _can't_ hurt _me_--except in the way of cutting
short our interview. Ha! here they come. Goodbye, dearest; I'll see
you soon again."

At that moment five or six of the men came rushing down the pass with
a wild cheer. Ruby made no haste to run. He stood in an easy attitude
beside Minnie; leisurely kissed her little hand, and gently smoothed
down her golden hair. Just as the foremost pursuer came within
fifteen yards or so of them, he said, "Farewell, my lassie, I leave
you in good hands"; and then, waving his cap in the air, with a cheer
of more than half-jocular defiance, he turned and fled towards
Arbroath as if one of the nor'-east gales, in its wildest fury, were
sweeping him over the land.

CHAPTER III

OUR HERO OBLIGED TO GO TO SEA

When Ruby Brand reached the outskirts of Arbroath, he checked his
speed and walked into his native town whistling gently, and with his
hands in his pockets, as though he had just returned from an evening
walk. He directed his steps to one of the streets near the harbour,
in which his mother's cottage was situated.

Mrs. Brand was a delicate, little old woman--so little and so old
that people sometimes wondered how it was possible that she could be
the mother of such a stalwart son. She was one of those kind, gentle,
uncomplaining, and unselfish beings, who do not secure much
popularity or admiration in this world, but who secure obedient
children, also steadfast and loving friends. Her favourite book was
the Bible; her favourite hope in regard to earthly matters, that men
should give up fighting and drinking, and live in peace; her
favourite theory that the study of _truth_ was the object for which
man was created, and her favourite meal--tea.

Ruby was her only child. Minnie was the daughter of a distant
relation, and, having been left an orphan, she was adopted by her.
Mrs. Brand's husband was a sailor. He commanded a small coasting
sloop, of which Ruby had been the mate for several years. As we have
said, Ruby had been prevailed on to remain at home for some months in
order to please his mother, whose delicacy of health was such that
his refusal would have injured her seriously; at least the doctor
said so, therefore Ruby agreed to stay.

The sloop _Penguin_, commanded by Ruby's father, was on a voyage to
Newcastle at that time, and was expected in Arbroath every day. But
it was fated never more to cast anchor in that port. The great storm,
to which reference has been made in a previous chapter, caused many
wrecks on the shores of Britain. The _Penguin_ was one of the many.

In those days telegraphs, railroads, and penny papers did not exist.
Murders were committed then, as now, but little was said, and less
was known about them. Wrecks occurred then, as now, but few, except
the persons immediately concerned, heard of them. "Destructive
fires", "terrible accidents", and the familiar round of "appalling
catastrophes" occurred then, as now, but their influence was limited,
and their occurrence soon forgotten.

We would not be understood to mean that "now" (as compared with
"then",) all is right and well; that telegraphs and railways and
daily papers are all-potent and perfect. By no means. We have still
much to learn and to do in these improved times; and, especially,
there is wanting to a large extent among us a sympathetic telegraphy,
so to speak, between the interior of our land and the sea-coast,
which, if it existed in full and vigorous play, would go far to
improve our condition, and raise us in the esteem of Christian
nations. Nevertheless, as compared with now, the state of things then
was lamentably imperfect.

The great storm came and went, having swept thousands of souls into
eternity, and hundreds of thousands of pounds into nonentity.
Lifeboats had not been invented. Harbours of refuge were almost
unknown, and although our coasts bristled with dangerous reefs and
headlands, lighthouses were few and far between. The consequence was,
that wrecks were numerous; and so also were wreckers,--a class of
men, who, in the absence of an efficient coastguard, subsisted to a
large extent on what they picked up from the wrecks that were cast in
their way, and who did not scruple, sometimes, to _cause_ wrecks, by
showing false lights in order to decoy vessels to destruction.

We do not say that all wreckers were guilty of such crimes, but many
of them were so, and their style of life, at the best, had naturally
a demoralizing influence upon all of them.

The famous Bell Rock, lying twelve miles off the coast of
Forfarshire, was a prolific source of destruction to shipping. Not
only did numbers of vessels get upon it, but many others ran upon the
neighbouring coasts in attempting to avoid it.

Ruby's father knew the navigation well, but, in the confusion and
darkness of the furious storm, he miscalculated his position and ran
upon the rock, where, as we have seen, his body was afterwards found
by the two fishermen. It was conveyed by them to the cottage of Mrs.
Brand, and when Ruby entered he found his mother on her knees by the
bedside, pressing the cold hand of his father to her breast, and
gazing with wild, tearless eyes into the dead face.

We will not dwell upon the sad scenes that followed.

Ruby was now under the necessity of leaving home, because his mother
being deprived of her husband's support naturally turned in distress
to her son. But Ruby had no employment, and work could not be easily
obtained at that time in the town, so there was no other resource
left him but to go to sea. This he did in a small coasting sloop
belonging to an old friend, who gave him part of his wages in advance
to enable him to leave his mother a small provision, at least for a
short time.

This, however, was not all that the widow had to depend on. Minnie
Gray was expert with her needle, and for some years past had
contributed not a little to the comforts of the household into which
she had been adopted. She now set herself to work with redoubled zeal
and energy. Besides this, Mrs. Brand had a brother, a retired
skipper, who obtained the complimentary title of Captain from his
friends. He was a poor man, it is true, as regarded money, having
barely sufficient for his own subsistence, but he was rich in
kindliness and sympathy, so that he managed to make his small income
perform wonders. On hearing of his brother-in-law's death, Captain
Ogilvy hastened to afford all the consolation in his power to his
sorrowing sister.

The captain was an eccentric old man, of rugged aspect. He thought
that there was not a worse comforter on the face of the earth than
himself, because, when he saw others in distress, his heart
invariably got into his throat, and absolutely prevented him from
saying a single word. He tried to speak to his sister, but all he
could do was to take her hand and weep. This did the poor widow more
good than any words could have done, no matter how eloquently or
fitly spoken. It unlocked the fountain of her own heart, and the two
wept together.

When Captain Ogilvy accompanied Ruby on board the sloop to see him
off, and shook hands as he was about to return to the shore,
he said--

"Cheer up, Ruby; never say die so long as there's a shot in the
locker. That's the advice of an old salt, an' you'll find it sound,
the more you ponder of it. Wen a young feller sails away on the sea
of life, let him always go by chart and compass, not forgettin' to
take soundin's w'en cruisin' off a bad coast. Keep a sharp lookout
to wind'ard, an' mind yer helm--that's _my_ advice to you lad, as
ye go

'A-sailin' down life's troubled stream,
All as if it wor a dream'".

The captain had a somewhat poetic fancy (at least he was impressed
with the belief that he had), and was in the habit of enforcing his
arguments by quotations from memory. When memory failed he
supplemented with original composition.

"Goodbye, lad, an' Providence go wi' ye."

"Goodbye, uncle. I need not remind you to look after mother when
I'm away."

"No, nephy, you needn't; I'll do it whether or not."

"And Minnie, poor thing, she'll need a word of advice and comfort now
and then, uncle."

"And she shall have it, lad," replied the captain with a tremendous
wink, which was unfortunately lost on the nephew, in consequence of
its being night and unusually dark, "advice and comfort on demand,
gratis; for

'Woman, in her hours of ease,
Is most uncommon hard to please';

but she _must_ be looked arter, ye know, and made of, d'ye see? so
Ruby, boy, farewell."

Half-an-hour before midnight was the time chosen for the sailing of
the sloop _Termagant_, in order that she might get away quietly and
escape the press-gang. Ruby and his uncle had taken the precaution to
go down to the harbour just a few minutes before sailing, and they
kept as closely as possible to the darkest and least-frequented
streets while passing through the town.

Captain Ogilvy returned by much the same route to his sister's
cottage, but did not attempt to conceal his movements. On the
contrary, knowing that the sloop must have got clear of the harbour
by that time, he went along the streets whistling cheerfully. He had
been a noted, not to say noisy, whistler when a boy, and the habit
had not forsaken him in his old age. On turning sharp round a corner,
he ran against two men, one of whom swore at him, but the other
cried--

"Hallo! messmate, yer musical the night. Hey, Captain Ogilvy, surely
I seed you an' Ruby slinkin' down the dark side o' the market-gate
half an 'oor ago?"

"Mayhap ye did, an' mayhap ye didn't," retorted the captain, as he
walked on; "but as it's none o' your business to know, I'll not tell
ye."

"Ay, ay? O but ye're a cross auld chap. Pleasant dreams t' ye."

This kindly remark, which was expressed by our friend Davy Spink, was
lost on the captain, in consequence of his having resumed his musical
recreation with redoubled energy, as he went rolling back to the
cottage to console Mrs. Brand, and to afford "advice and comfort
gratis" to Minnie Gray.

CHAPTER IV

THE BURGLARY

On the night in question, Big Swankie and a likeminded companion, who
went among his comrades by the name of the Badger, had planned to
commit a burglary in the town, and it chanced that the former was
about that business when Captain Ogilvy unexpectedly ran against him
and Davy Spink.

Spink, although a smuggler, and by no means a particularly
respectable man, had not yet sunk so low in the scale of life as to
be willing to commit burglary. Swankie and the Badger suspected this,
and, although they required his assistance much, they were afraid to
ask him to join, lest he should not only refuse, but turn against
them. In order to get over the difficulty, Swankie had arranged to
suggest to him the robbery of a store containing gin, which belonged
to a smuggler, and, if he agreed to that, to proceed further and
suggest the more important matter in hand. But he found Spink proof
against the first attack.

"I tell 'ee, I'll hae naething to do wi't," said he, when the
proposal was made.

"But," urged Swankie, "he's a smuggler, and a cross-grained hound
besides. It's no' like robbin' an honest man."

"An' what are we but smugglers'!" retorted Spink; "an' as to bein'
cross-grained, you've naethin' to boast o' in that way. Na, na,
Swankie, ye may do't yersel, I'll hae nae hand in't. I'll no objec'
to tak a bit keg o' Auchmithie water [Footnote] noo and then, or to
pick up what comes to me by the wund and sea, but I'll steal frae
nae man."

[Footnote: Smuggled spirits.]

"Ay, man, but ye've turned awfu' honest all of a suddent," said the
other with a sneer. "I wonder the thretty sovereigns I gied ye the
other day, when we tossed for them and the case o' kickshaws,
havena' brunt yer pooches."

Davy Spink looked a little confused.

"Aweel," said he, "it's o' nae use greetin' ower spilt milk, the
thing's done and past noo, and I canna help it. Sae guid-night to
'ee."

Swankie, seeing that it was useless to attempt to gain over his
comrade, and knowing that the Badger was waiting impatiently for him
near the appointed house, hurried away without another word, and Davy
Spink strolled towards his home, which was an extremely dirty little
hut, near the harbour.

At the time of which we write, the town of Arbroath was neither so
well lighted nor so well guarded as it now is. The two burglars found
nothing to interfere with their deeds of darkness, except a few bolts
and bars, which did not stand long before their expert hands.
Nevertheless, they met with a check from an unexpected quarter.

The house they had resolved to break into was inhabited by a widow
lady, who was said to be wealthy, and who was known to possess a
considerable quantity of plate and jewels. She lived alone, having
only one old servant and a little girl to attend upon her. The house
stood on a piece of ground not far from the ruins of the stately
abbey which originated and gave celebrity to the ancient town of
Aberbrothoc. Mrs. Stewart's house was full of Eastern curiosities,
some of them of great value, which had been sent to her by her son,
then a major in the East India Company's service.

Now, it chanced that Major Stewart had arrived from India that very
day, on leave of absence, all unknown to the burglars, who, had they
been aware of the fact, would undoubtedly have postponed their visit
to a more convenient season.

As it was, supposing they had to deal only with the old lady and her
two servants, they began their work between twelve and one that
night, with considerable confidence, and in great hopes of a rich
booty.

A small garden surrounded the old house. It was guarded by a wall
about eight feet high, the top of which bristled with bottle-glass.
The old lady and her domestics regarded this terrible-looking defence
with much satisfaction, believing in their innocence that no human
creature could succeed in getting over it. Boys, however, were their
only dread, and fruit their only care, when they looked complacently
at the bottle-glass on the wall, and, so far, they were right in
their feeling of security, for boys found the labour, risk, and
danger to be greater than the worth of the apples and pears.

But it was otherwise with men. Swankie and the Badger threw a piece
of thick matting on the wall; the former bent down, the latter
stepped upon his back, and thence upon the mat; then he hauled his
comrade up, and both leaped into the garden.

Advancing stealthily to the door, they tried it and found it locked.
The windows were all carefully bolted, and the shutters barred. This
they expected, but thought it as well to try each possible point of
entrance, in the hope of finding an unguarded spot before having
recourse to their tools. Such a point was soon found, in the shape of
a small window, opening into a sort of scullery at the back of the
house. It had been left open by accident. An entrance was easily
effected by the Badger, who was a small man, and who went through the
house with the silence of a cat, towards the front door. There were
two lobbies, an inner and an outer, separated from each other by a
glass door. Cautiously opening both doors, the Badger admitted his
comrade, and then they set to work.

A lantern, which could be uncovered or concealed in a moment, enabled
them to see their way.

"That's the dinin'-room door," whispered the Badger.

"Hist! haud yer jaw," muttered Swankie; "I ken that as weel as you."

Opening the door, they entered and found the plate-chest under the
sideboard.

It was open, and a grin of triumph crossed the sweet countenances of
the friends as they exchanged glances, and began to put silver forks
and spoons by the dozen into a bag which they had brought for the
purpose.

When they had emptied the plate-chest, they carried the bag into the
garden, and, climbing over the wall, deposited it outside. Then they
returned for more.

Now, old Mrs. Stewart was an invalid, and was in the habit of taking
a little weak wine and water before retiring to rest at night. It
chanced that the bottle containing the port wine had been left on the
sideboard, a fact which was soon discovered by Swankie, who put the
bottle to his mouth, and took a long pull.

"What is't?" enquired the Badger, in a low tone.

"Prime!" replied Swankie, handing over the bottle, and wiping his
mouth with the cuff of his coat.

The Badger put the bottle to his mouth, but unfortunately for him,
part of the liquid went down the "wrong throat". The result was that
the poor man coughed, once, rather loudly. Swankie, frowning
fiercely, and shaking his fist, looked at him in horror; and well he
might, for the Badger became first red and then purple in the face,
and seemed as if he were about to burst with his efforts to keep down
the cough. It came, however, three times, in spite of him,--not
violently, but with sufficient noise to alarm them, and cause them to
listen for five minutes intently ere they ventured to go on with
their work, in the belief that no one had been disturbed.

But Major Stewart had been awakened by the first cough. He was a
soldier who had seen much service, and who slept lightly. He raised
himself in his bed, and listened intently on hearing the first cough.
The second cough caused him to spring up and pull on his trousers;
the third cough found him half-way downstairs, with a boot-jack in
his hand, and when the burglars resumed work he was peeping at them
through the half-open door.

Both men were stooping over the plate-chest, the Badger with his back
to the door, Swankie with his head towards it. The major raised the
boot-jack and took aim. At the same moment the door squeaked, Big
Swankie looked up hastily, and, in technical phraseology, "doused the
glim". All was dark in an instant, but the boot-jack sped on its way
notwithstanding. The burglars were accustomed to fighting, however,
and dipped their heads. The boot-jack whizzed past, and smashed the
pier-glass on the mantelpiece to a thousand atoms. Major Stewart
being expert in all the devices of warfare, knew what to expect, and
drew aside. He was not a moment too soon, for the dark lantern flew
through the doorway, hit the opposite wall, and fell with a loud
clatter on the stone floor of the lobby. The Badger followed at once,
and received a random blow from the major that hurled him head over
heels after the lantern.

There was no mistaking the heavy tread and rush of Big Swankie as he
made for the door. Major Stewart put out his foot, and the burglar
naturally tripped over it; before he could rise the major had him by
the throat. There was a long, fierce struggle, both being powerful
men; at last Swankie was hurled completely through the glass door. In
the fall he disengaged himself from the major, and, leaping up, made
for the garden wall, over which he succeeded in clambering before the
latter could seize him. Thus both burglars escaped, and Major Stewart
returned to the house half-naked,--his shirt having been torn off his
back,--and bleeding freely from cuts caused by the glass door.

Just as he re-entered the house, the old cook, under the impression
that the cat had got into the pantry, and was smashing the crockery,
entered the lobby in her nightdress, shrieked "Mercy on us!" on
beholding the major, and fainted dead away.

Major Stewart was too much annoyed at having failed to capture the
burglars to take any notice of her. He relocked the door, and
assuring his mother that it was only robbers, and that they had been
beaten off, retired to his room, washed and dressed his wounds, and
went to bed.

Meanwhile Big Swankie and the Badger, laden with silver, made for the
shore, where they hid their treasure in a hole.

"I'll tell 'ee a dodge," said the Badger.

"What may that be?" enquired Swankie.

"You said ye saw Ruby Brand slinking down the market-gate, and that's
he's off to sea?"

"Ay, and twa or three more folk saw him as weel as me."

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