The Lighthouse by Robert Ballantyne

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"Weel, let's tak' up a siller spoon, or somethin', an' put it in the
auld wife's garden, an' they'll think it was him that did it."

"No' that bad!" said Swankie, with a chuckle.

A silver fork and a pair of sugar-tongs bearing old Mrs. Stewart's
initials were accordingly selected for this purpose, and placed in
the little garden in the front of Widow Brand's cottage.

Here they were found in the morning by Captain Ogilvy, who examined
them for at least half-an-hour in a state of the utmost perplexity.
While he was thus engaged one of the detectives of the town happened
to pass, apparently in some haste.

"Hallo! shipmate," shouted the captain.

"Well?" responded the detective.

"Did ye ever see silver forks an' sugar-tongs growin' in a garden
before?"

"Eh?" exclaimed the other, entering the garden hastily; "let me see.
Oho! this may throw some light on the matter. Did you find them
here?"

"Ay, on this very spot."

"Hum. Ruby went away last night, I believe?"

"He did."

"Some time after midnight?" enquired the detective.

"Likely enough," said the captain, "but my chronometer ain't quite so
reg'lar since we left the sea; it might ha' bin more,--mayhap less."

"Just so. You saw him off?"

"Ay; but you seem more than or'nar inquisitive today----"

"Did he carry a bundle?" interrupted the detective.

"Ay, no doubt."

"A large one?"

"Ay, a goodish big 'un."

"Do you know what was in it?" enquired the detective, with a knowing
look.

"I do, for I packed it," replied the captain; "his kit was in it."

"Nothing more?"

"Nothin' as I knows of."

"Well, I'll take these with me just now," said the officer, placing
the fork and sugar-tongs in his pocket. "I'm afraid, old man, that
your nephew has been up to mischief before he went away. A burglary
was committed in the town last night, and this is some of the plate.
You'll hear more about it before long, I dare say. Good day to ye."

So saying, the detective walked quickly away, and left the captain
in the centre of the garden staring vacantly before him, in
speechless amazement.

CHAPTER V

THE BELL ROCK INVADED

A year passed away. Nothing more was heard of Ruby Brand, and the
burglary was believed to be one of those mysteries which are destined
never to be solved.

About this time great attention was being given by Government to the
subject of lighthouses. The terrible number of wrecks that had taken
place had made a deep impression on the public mind. The position and
dangerous character of the Bell Rock, in particular, had been for a
long time the subject of much discussion, and various unsuccessful
attempts had been made to erect a beacon of some sort thereon.

There is a legend that in days of old one of the abbots of the
neighbouring monastery of Aberbrothoc erected a bell on the Inchcape
Rock, which was tolled in rough weather by the action of the waves on
a float attached to the tongue, and thus mariners were warned at
night and in foggy weather of their approach to the rock, the great
danger of which consists in its being a sunken reef, lying twelve
miles from the nearest land, and exactly in the course of vessels
making for the firths of Forth and Tay. The legend further tells how
that a Danish pirate, named Ralph the Rover, in a mischievous mood,
cut the bell away, and that, years afterwards, he obtained his
appropriate reward by being wrecked on the Bell Rock, when returning
from a long cruise laden with booty.

Whether this be true or not is an open question, but certain it is
that no beacon of any kind was erected on this rock until the
beginning of the nineteenth century, after a great storm in 1799 had
stirred the public mind, and set springs in motion, which from that
time forward have never ceased to operate.

Many and disastrous were the shipwrecks that occurred during the
storm referred to, which continued, with little intermission, for
three days. Great numbers of ships were driven from their moorings
in the Downs and Yarmouth Roads; and these, together with all vessels
navigating the German Ocean at that time, were drifted upon the east
coast of Scotland.

It may not, perhaps, be generally known that there are only three
great inlets or estuaries to which the mariner steers when overtaken
by easterly storms in the North Sea--namely, the Humber, and the
firths of Forth and Moray. The mouth of the Thames is too much
encumbered by sand-banks to be approached at night or during bad
weather. The Humber is also considerably obstructed in this way, so
that the Roads of Leith, in the Firth of Forth, and those of
Cromarty, in the Moray Firth, are the chief places of resort in
easterly gales. But both of these had their special risks.

On the one hand, there was the danger of mistaking the Dornoch Firth
for the Moray, as it lies only a short way to the north of the
latter; and, in the case of the Firth of Forth, there was the
terrible Bell Rock.

Now, during the storm of which we write, the fear of those two
dangers was so strong upon seamen that many vessels were lost in
trying to avoid them, and much hardship was sustained by mariners who
preferred to seek shelter in higher latitudes. It was estimated that
no fewer than seventy vessels were either stranded or lost during
that single gale, and many of the crews perished.

At one wild part of the coast, near Peterhead, called the Bullers of
Buchan, after the first night of the storm, the wrecks of seven
vessels were found in one cove, without a single survivor of the
crews to give an account of the disaster.

The "dangers of the deep" are nothing compared with the _dangers of
the shore_. If the hard rocks of our island could tell the tale of
their experience, and if we landsmen could properly appreciate it, we
should understand more clearly why it is that sailors love blue (in
other words, deep) water during stormy weather.

In order to render the Forth more accessible by removing the danger
of the Bell Rock, it was resolved by the Commissioners of Northern
Lights to build a lighthouse upon it. This resolve was a much bolder
one than most people suppose, for the rock on which the lighthouse
was to be erected was a sunken reef, visible only at low tide during
two or three hours, and quite inaccessible in bad weather. It was the
nearest approach to building a house in the sea that had yet been
attempted! The famous Eddystone stands on a rock which is _never
quite_ under water, although nearly so, for its crest rises a very
little above the highest tides, while the Bell Rock is eight or ten
feet under water at high tides.

It must be clear, therefore, to everyone, that difficulties, unusual
in magnitude and peculiar in kind, must have stood in the way of the
daring engineer who should undertake the erection of a tower on a
rock twelve miles out on the stormy sea, and the foundation of which
was covered with ten or twelve feet of water every tide; a tower
which would have to be built perfectly, yet hastily; a tower which
should form a comfortable home, fit for human beings to dwell in, and
yet strong enough to withstand the utmost fury of the waves, not
merely whirling round it, as might be the case on some exposed
promontory, but rushing at it, straight and fierce from the wild
ocean, in great blue solid billows that should burst in thunder on
its sides, and rush up in scarcely less solid spray to its lantern, a
hundred feet or more above its foundation.

An engineer able and willing to undertake this great work was found
in the person of the late Robert Stevenson of Edinburgh, whose
perseverance and talent shall be commemorated by the grandest and
most useful monument ever raised by man, as long as the Bell Rock
lighthouse shall tower above the sea.

It is not our purpose to go into the details of all that was done in
the construction of this lighthouse. Our peculiar task shall be to
relate those incidents connected with this work which have relation
to the actors in our tale.

We will not, therefore, detain the reader by telling him of all the
preliminary difficulties that were encountered and overcome in this
"Robinson Crusoe" sort of work; how that a temporary floating
lightship, named the _Pharos_, was prepared and anchored in the
vicinity of the rock in order to be a sort of depot and rendezvous
and guide to the three smaller vessels employed in the work, as well
as a light to shipping generally, and a building-yard was established
at Arbroath, where every single stone of the lighthouse was cut and
nicely fitted before being conveyed to the rock. Neither shall we
tell of the difficulties that arose in the matter of getting blocks
of granite large enough for such masonry, and lime of a nature strong
enough to withstand the action of the salt sea. All this, and a great
deal more of a deeply interesting nature, must remain untold, and be
left entirely to the reader's imagination. [Footnote]

[Footnote: It may be found, however, in minute detail, in the large
and interesting work entitled _Steveson's Bell Rock Lighthouse.]

Suffice it to say that the work was fairly begun in the month of
August, 1807; that a strong beacon of timber was built, which was so
well constructed that it stood out all the storms that beat against
it during the whole time of the building operations; that close to
this beacon the pit or foundation of the lighthouse was cut down deep
into the solid rock; that the men employed could work only between
two and three hours at a time, and had to pump the water out of this
pit each tide before they could resume operations; that the work
could only be done in the summer months, and when engaged in it the
men dwelt either in the _Pharos_ floating light, or in one of the
attending vessels, and were not allowed to go ashore--that is, to the
mainland, about twelve miles distant; that the work was hard, but so
novel and exciting that the artificers at last became quite enamoured
of it, and that ere long operations were going busily forward, and
the work was in a prosperous and satisfactory state of advancement.

Things were in this condition at the Bell Rock, when, one fine summer
evening, our friend and hero, Ruby Brand, returned, after a long
absence, to his native town.

CHAPTER VI

THE CAPTAIN CHANGES HIS QUARTERS

It was fortunate for Ruby that the skipper of the vessel ordered him
to remain in charge while he went ashore, because he would certainly
have been recognized by numerous friends, and his arrival would
speedily have reached the ears of the officers of justice, who seem
to be a class of men specially gifted with the faculty of never
forgetting. It was not until darkness had begun to settle down on the
town that the skipper returned on board, and gave him leave to go
ashore.

Ruby did not return in the little coaster in which he had left his
native place. That vessel had been wrecked not long after he joined
her, but the crew were saved, and Ruby succeeded in obtaining a berth
as second mate of a large ship trading between Hull and the Baltic.
Returning from one of his voyages with a pretty good sum of money in
his pocket, he resolved to visit his mother and give it to her. He
therefore went aboard an Arbroath schooner, and offered to work his
passage as an extra hand. Remembering his former troubles in
connexion with the press-gang, he resolved to conceal his name from
the captain and crew, who chanced to be all strangers to him.

It must not be supposed that Mrs. Brand had not heard of Ruby since
he left her. On the contrary, both she and Minnie Gray got letters as
frequently as the postal arrangements of those days would admit of;
and from time to time they received remittances of money, which
enabled them to live in comparative comfort. It happened, however,
that the last of these remittances had been lost, so that Mrs. Brand
had to depend for subsistence on Minnie's exertions, and on her
brother's liberality. The brother's power was limited, however, and
Minnie had been ailing for some time past, in consequence of her
close application to work, so that she could not earn as much as
usual. Hence it fell out that at this particular time the widow found
herself in greater pecuniary difficulties than she had ever been in
before.

Ruby was somewhat of an original. It is probable that every hero is.
He resolved to surprise his mother by pouring the money he had
brought into her lap, and for this purpose had, while in Hull,
converted all his savings into copper, silver, and gold. Those
precious metals he stowed separately into the pockets of his huge
pea-jacket, and, thus heavily laden, went ashore about dark, as soon
as the skipper returned.

At this precise hour it happened that Mrs. Brand, Minnie Gray, and
Captain Ogilvy were seated at their supper in the kitchen of the
cottage.

Two days previously the captain had called, and said to Mrs. Brand--

"I tell 'ee what it is, sister, I'm tired of livin' a solitary
bachelor life, all by myself, so I'm goin' to make a change, lass."

Mrs. Brand was for some moments speechless, and Minnie, who was
sewing near the window, dropped her hands and work on her lap, and
looked up with inexpressible amazement in her sweet blue eyes.

"Brother," said Mrs. Brand earnestly, "you don't mean to tell me that
you're going to marry at _your_ time of life?"

"Eh! what? Marry?"

The captain looked, if possible, more amazed than his sister for a
second or two, then his red face relaxed into a broad grin, and he
sat down on a chair and chuckled, wiping the perspiration (he seemed
always more or less in a state of perspiration) from his bald head
the while.

"Why, no, sister, I'm not going to marry; did I speak of marryin'?"

"No; but you spoke of being tired of a bachelor life, and wishing to
change."

"Ah! you women," said the captain, shaking his head--"always
suspecting that we poor men are wantin' to marry you. Well, pr'aps
you ain't far wrong neither; but I'm not goin' to be spliced
yet-a-while, lass. Marry, indeed!

'Shall I, wastin' in despair,
Die, 'cause why? a woman's rare?'"

"Oh! Captain Ogilvy, that's not rightly quoted," cried Minnie, with a
merry laugh.

"Ain't it?" said the captain, somewhat put out; for he did not like
to have his powers of memory doubted.

"No; surely women are not _rare_," said Minnie.

"Good ones are," said the captain stoutly.

"Well; but that's not the right word."

"What _is_ the right word, then?" asked the captain with affected
sternness, for, although by nature disinclined to admit that he could
be wrong, he had no objection to be put right by Minnie.

"Die because a woman's f----," said Minnie, prompting him.

"F----, 'funny?'" guessed the captain.

"No; it's not 'funny'," cried Minnie, laughing heartily.

"Of course not," assented the captain, "it could not be 'funny'
nohow, because 'funny' don't rhyme with 'despair'; besides, lots o'
women ain't funny a bit, an' if they was, that's no reason why a man
should die for 'em; what _is_ the word, lass?"

"What am _I_?" asked Minnie, with an arch smile, as she passed her
fingers through the clustering masses of her beautiful hair.

"An angel, beyond all doubt," said the gallant captain, with a burst
of sincerity which caused Minnie to blush and then to laugh.

"You're incorrigible, captain, and you are so stupid that it's of no
use trying to teach you."

Mrs. Brand--who listened to this conversation with an expression of
deep anxiety on her meek face, for she could not get rid of her first
idea that her brother was going to marry--here broke in with the
question,--

"When is it to be, brother?"

"When is what to be, sister?"

"The--the marriage."

"I tell you I _ain't_ a-goin' to marry," repeated the captain;
"though why a stout young feller like me, just turned sixty-four,
_shouldn't_ marry, is more than I can see. You know the old proverbs,
lass--'It's never too late to marry'; 'Never ventur', never give in';
'John Anderson my jo John, when we was first--first----'"

"Married," suggested Minnie.

"Just so," responded the captain, "and everybody knows that _he_ was
an old man. But no, I'm not goin' to marry; I'm only goin' to give up
my house, sell off the furniture, and come and live with _you_."

"Live with me!" ejaculated Mrs. Brand.

"Ay, an' why not? What's the use o' goin' to the expense of two
houses when one'll do, an' when we're both raither scrimp o' the
ready? You'll just let me have the parlour. It never was a comf'rable
room to sit in, so it don't matter much your givin' it up; it's a
good enough sleepin' and smokin' cabin, an' we'll all live together
in the kitchen. I'll throw the whole of my _tree_mendous income into
the general purse, always exceptin' a few odd coppers, which I'll
retain to keep me a-goin' in baccy. We'll sail under the same flag,
an' sit round the same fire, an' sup at the same table, and sleep in
the same--no, not exactly that, but under the same roof-tree,
which'll be a more hoconomical way o' doin' business, you know; an'
so, old girl, as the song says--

'Come an' let us be happy together,
For where there's a will there's a way,
An' we won't care a rap for the weather
So long as there's nothin' to pay'."

"Would it not be better to say, 'so long as there's _something_ to
pay?'" suggested Minnie.

"No, lass, it _wouldn't_," retorted the captain. "You're too fond of
improvin' things. I'm a stanch old Tory, I am. I'll stick to the old
flag till all's blue. None o' your changes or improvements for me."

This was a rather bold statement for a man to make who improved upon
almost every line he ever quoted; but the reader is no doubt
acquainted with parallel instances of inconsistency in good men even
in the present day.

"Now, sister," continued Captain Ogilvy, "what d'ye think of my
plan?"

"I like it well, brother," replied Mrs. Brand with a gentle smile.
"Will you come soon?"

"To-morrow, about eight bells," answered the captain promptly.

This was all that was said on the subject. The thing was, as the
captain said, settled off-hand, and accordingly next morning he
conveyed such of his worldly goods as he meant to retain possession
of to his sister's cottage--"the new ship", as he styled it. He
carried his traps on his own broad shoulders, and the conveyance of
them cost him three distinct trips.

They consisted of a huge sea-chest, an old telescope more than a yard
long, and cased in leather; a quadrant, a hammock, with the bedding
rolled up in it, a tobacco-box, the enormous old Family Bible in
which the names of his father, mother, brothers, and sisters were
recorded; and a brown teapot with half a lid. This latter had
belonged to the captain's mother, and, being fond of it, as it
reminded him of the "old ooman", he was wont to mix his grog in it,
and drink the same out of a teacup, the handle of which was gone, and
the saucer of which was among the things of the past.

Notwithstanding his avowed adherence to Tory principles, Captain
Ogilvy proceeded to make manifold radical changes and surprising
improvements in the little parlour, insomuch that when he had
completed the task, and led his sister carefully (for she was very
feeble) to look at what he had done, she became quite incapable of
expressing herself in ordinary language; positively refused to
believe her eyes, and never again entered that room, but always spoke
of what she had seen as a curious dream!

No one was ever able to discover whether there was not a slight tinge
of underlying jocularity in this remark of Mrs. Brand, for she was a
strange and incomprehensible mixture of shrewdness and innocence; but
no one took much trouble to find out, for she was so lovable that
people accepted her just as she was, contented to let any small
amount of mystery that seemed to be in her to remain unquestioned.

"The parlour" was one of those well-known rooms which are
occasionally met with in country cottages, the inmates of which are
not wealthy. It was reserved exclusively for the purpose of receiving
visitors. The furniture, though old, threadbare, and dilapidated, was
kept scrupulously clean, and arranged symmetrically. There were a few
books on the table, which were always placed with mathematical
exactitude, and a set of chairs, so placed as to give one
mysteriously the impression that they were not meant to be sat upon.
There was also a grate, which never had a fire in it, and was never
without a paper ornament in it, the pink and white aspect of which
caused one involuntarily to shudder.

But the great point, which was meant to afford the highest
gratification to the beholder, was the chimney-piece. This spot was
crowded to excess in every square inch of its area with ornaments,
chiefly of earthenware, miscalled china, and shells. There were great
white shells with pink interiors, and small brown shells with spotted
backs. Then there were china cups and saucers, and china shepherds
and shepherdesses, represented in the act of contemplating the
heavens serenely, with their arms round each other's waists. There
were also china dogs and cats, and a huge china cockatoo as a
centre-piece; but there was not a single spot the size of a sixpence
on which the captain could place his pipe or his tobacco-box!

"We'll get these things cleared away," said Minnie, with a laugh, on
observing the perplexed look with which the captain surveyed the
chimney-piece, while the changes above referred to were being made in
the parlour; "we have no place ready to receive them just now, but
I'll have them all put away to-morrow."

"Thank'ee, lass," said the captain, as he set down the sea-chest and
seated himself thereon; "they're pretty enough to look at, d'ye see,
but they're raither in the way just now, as my second mate once said
of the rocks when we were cruising off the coast of Norway in search
of a pilot."

The ornaments were, however, removed sooner than anyone had
anticipated. The next trip that the captain made was for his hammock
(he always slept in one), which was a long unwieldy bundle, like a
gigantic bolster. He carried it into the parlour on his shoulder, and
Minnie followed him.

"Where shall I sling it, lass?"

"Here, perhaps," said Minnie.

The captain wheeled round as she spoke, and the end of the hammock
swept the mantelpiece of all its ornaments, as completely as if the
besom of destruction had passed over it.

"Shiver my timbers!" gasped the captain, awestruck by the hideous
crash that followed.

"You've shivered the ornaments at any rate," said Minnie,
half-laughing and half-crying.

"So I have, but no matter. Never say die so long's there a shot in
the locker. There's as good fish in the sea as ever come out of it;
so bear a hand, my girl, and help me to sling up the hammock."

The hammock was slung, the pipe of peace was smoked, and thus Captain
Ogilvy was fairly installed in his sister's cottage.

It may, perhaps, be necessary to remind the reader that all this is a
long digression; that the events just narrated occurred a few days
before the return of Ruby, and that they have been recorded here in
order to explain clearly the reason of the captain's appearance at
the supper table of his sister, and the position which he occupied in
the family.

When Ruby reached the gate of the small garden, Minnie had gone to
the captain's room to see that it was properly prepared for his
reception, and the captain himself was smoking his pipe close to the
chimney, so that the smoke should ascend it.

The first glance through the window assured the youth that his mother
was, as letters had represented her, much better in health than she
used to be. She looked so quiet and peaceful, and so fragile withal,
that Ruby did not dare to "surprise her" by a sudden entrance, as he
had originally intended, so he tapped gently at the window, and drew
back.

The captain laid down his pipe and went to the door.

"What, Ruby!" he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper.

"Hush, uncle! How is Minnie; where is she?"

"I think, lad," replied the captain in a tone of reproof, "that you
might have enquired for your mother first."

"No need," said Ruby, pointing to the window; "I _see_ that she is
there and well, thanks be to God for that:--but Minnie?"

"She's well, too, boy, and in the house. But come, get inside. I'll
explain, after."

This promise to "explain" was given in consequence of the great
anxiety he, the captain, displayed to drag Ruby into the cottage.

The youth did not require much pressing, however. He no sooner heard
that Minnie was well, than he sprang in, and was quickly at his
mother's feet. Almost as quickly a fair vision appeared in the
doorway of the inner room, and was clasped in the young sailor's arms
with the most thorough disregard of appearances, not to mention
propriety.

While this scene was enacting, the worthy captain was engaged in
active proceedings, which at once amused and astonished his nephew,
and the nature and cause of which shall be revealed in the next
chapter.

CHAPTER VII

RUBY IN DIFFICULTIES

Having thrust his nephew into the cottage, Captain Ogilvy's first
proceeding was to close the outer shutter of the window and fasten it
securely on the inside. Then he locked, bolted, barred, and chained
the outer door, after which he shut the kitchen door, and, in default
of any other mode of securing it, placed against it a heavy table as
a barricade.

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