The Lighthouse by R. M. Ballantyne (e book reader online .TXT) 📕

and peculiarly interesting, in the same scene when viewed from such a position as the Bell Rock; for there, owing to the position of the rock and the depth of water around it, the observer beholds, at the same moment, the presence, as it were, of storm and calm.

The largest waves there are seen immediately after a storm has passed away, not during its continuance, no matter how furious the gale may have been, for the rushing wind has a tendency to blow down the waves, so to speak, and prevent their rising to their utmost height. It is when the storm is over that the swell rises; but as this swell appears only like large undulations, it does not impress the beholder with its magnitude until it draws near to the rock and begins to feel the checking influence of the bottom of the sea. The upper part of the swell, having then greater velocity than the lower parts assumes more and more the form of a billow. As it comes on it towers up like a great green wall of glittering glass, moving with a grand, solemn motion, which does not at first give the idea of much force or impetus. As it nears the rock, however, its height (probably fifteen or twenty feet) becomes apparent; its velocity increases; the top, with what may be termed gentle rapidity, rushes in advance of the base; its dark green side becomes concave; the upper edge lips over, then curls majestically downwards, as if bowing to a superior power, and a gleam of light flashes for a moment on the curling top. As yet there is no sound; all has occurred in the profound silence of the calm, but another instant and there is a mighty crash—a deafening roar; the great wall of water has fallen, and a very sea of churning foam comes leaping, bursting, spouting over rocks and ledges, carrying all before it with a tremendous sweep that seems to be absolutely irresistible until it meets the higher ledges of rock, when it is hurled back, and retires with a watery hiss that suggests the idea of baffled rage.

But it is not conquered. With the calm majesty of unalterable determination, wave after wave comes on, in slow, regular succession, like the inexhaustible battalions of an unconquerable foe, to meet with a similar repulse again and again.

There is, however, this peculiar difference between the waves on the ordinary seashore and the billows on the Bell Rock, that the latter, unlike the former, are not always defeated. The spectator on shore plants his foot confidently at the very edge of the mighty sea, knowing that “thus far it may come, but no farther.” On the Bell Rock the rising tide makes the conflict, for a time, more equal. Now, the rock stands proudly above the sea: anon the sea sweeps furiously over the rock with a roar of “Victory!”

Thus the war goes on, and thus the tide of battle daily and nightly ebbs and flows all the year round.

But when the cunning hand of man began to interfere, the aspect of things was changed, the sea was forced to succumb, and the rock, once a dreaded enemy, became a servant of the human race. True, the former rages in rebellion still, and the latter, although compelled to uphold the light that warns against itself, continues its perpetual warfare with the sea; but both are effectually conquered by means of the wonderful intelligence that God has given to man, and the sea for more than half a century has vainly beat against the massive tower whose foundation is on the Bell Rock.

But all this savours somewhat of anticipation. Let us return to Ruby Brand, in whose interest we have gone into this long digression; for he it was who gazed intently at the mingled scene of storm and calm which we have attempted to describe, and it was he who thought out most of the ideas which we have endeavoured to convey.

Ruby had lent a hand to work the pump at the foundation-pit that morning. After a good spell at it he took his turn of rest, and, in order to enjoy it fully, went as far out as he could upon the seaward ledges, and sat down on a piece of rock to watch the waves.

While seated there, Robert Selkirk came and sat down beside him. Selkirk was the principal builder, and ultimately laid every stone of the lighthouse with his own hand. He was a sedate, quiet man, but full of energy and perseverance. When the stones were landed faster than they could be built into their places, he and Bremner, as well as some of the other builders, used to work on until the rising tide reached their waists.

“It’s a grand sight, Ruby,” said Selkirk, as a larger wave than usual fell, and came rushing in torrents of foam up to their feet, sending a little of the spray over their heads.

“It is indeed a glorious sight,” said Ruby. “If I had nothing to do, I believe I could sit here all day just looking at the waves and thinking.”

“Thinkin’?” repeated Selkirk, in a musing tone of voice. “Can ye tell, lad, what ye think about when you’re lookin’ at the waves?”

Ruby smiled at the oddness of the question.

“Well,” said he, “I don’t think I ever thought of that before.”

“Ah, but I have!” said the other, “an’ I’ve come to the conclusion that for the most part we don’t think, properly speakin’, at all; that our thoughts, so to speak, think for us; that they just take the bit in their teeth and go rumblin’ and tumblin’ about anyhow or nohow!”

Ruby knitted his brows and pondered. He was one of those men who, when they don’t understand a thing, hold their tongues and think.

“And,” continued Selkirk, “it’s curious to observe what a lot o’ nonsense one thinks too when one is lookin’ at the waves. Many a time I have pulled myself up, thinkin’ the most astonishin’ stuff ye could imagine.”

“I would hardly have expected this of such a grave kind o’ man as you,” said Ruby.

“Mayhap not. It is not always the gravest looking that have the gravest thoughts.”

“But you don’t mean to say that you never think sense,” continued Ruby, “when you sit looking at the waves?”

“By no means,” returned his companion; “I’m only talking of the way in which one’s thoughts will wander. Sometimes I think seriously enough. Sometimes I think it strange that men can look at such a scene as that, and scarcely bestow a thought upon Him who made it.”

“Speak for yourself, friend,” said Ruby, somewhat quickly; “how know you that other men don’t think about their Creator when they look at His works?”

“Because,” returned Selkirk, “I find that I so seldom do so myself, even although I wish to and often try to; and I hold that every man, no matter what he is or feels, is one of a class who think and feel as he does; also, because many people, especially Christians, have told me that they have had the same experience to a large extent; also, and chiefly, because, as far as unbelieving man is concerned, the Bible tells me that ‘God is not in all his thoughts.’ But, Ruby, I did not make the remark as a slur upon men in general, I merely spoke of a fact,—an unfortunate fact,—that it is not natural to us, and not easy, to rise from nature to nature’s God, and I thought you would agree with me.”

“I believe you are right,” said Ruby, half-ashamed of the petulance of his reply; “at any rate, I confess you are right as far as I am concerned.”

As Selkirk and Ruby were both fond of discussion, they continued this subject some time longer, and there is no saying how far they would have gone down into the abstruse depths of theology, had not their converse been interrupted by the appearance of a boat rowing towards the rock.

“Is yonder craft a fishing boat, think you?” said Ruby, rising and pointing to it.

“Like enough, lad. Mayhap it’s the pilot’s, only it’s too soon for him to be off again with letters. Maybe it’s visitors to the rock, for I see something like a woman’s bonnet.”

As there was only one woman in the world at that time as far as Ruby was concerned (of course putting his mother out of the question!), it will not surprise the reader to be told that the youth started, that his cheek reddened a little, and his heart beat somewhat faster than usual. He immediately smiled, however, at the absurdity of supposing it possible that the woman in the boat could be Minnie, and as the blacksmith shouted to him at that moment, he turned on his heel and leaped from ledge to ledge of rock until he gained his wonted place at the forge.

Soon he was busy wielding the fore-hammer, causing the sparks to fly about himself and his comrade in showers, while the anvil rang out its merry peal.

Meanwhile the boat drew near. It turned out to be a party of visitors, who had come off from Arbroath to see the operations at the Bell Rock. They had been brought off by Spink, the pilot, and numbered only three—namely, a tall soldier-like man, a stout sailor-like man, and a young woman with—yes,—with golden hair.

Poor Ruby almost leaped over the forge when he raised his eyes from his work and caught sight of Minnie’s sweet face. Minnie had recognised her lover before the boat reached the rock, for he stood on an elevated ledge, and the work in which he was engaged, swinging the large hammer round his shoulder, rendered him very conspicuous. She had studiously concealed her face from him until quite close, when, looking him straight in the eyes without the least sign of recognition, she turned away.

We have said that the first glance Ruby obtained caused him to leap nearly over the forge; the second created such a revulsion of feeling that he let the fore-hammer fall.

“Hallo! Got a spark in yer eye?” enquired Dove, looking up anxiously.

It flashed across Ruby at that instant that the look given him by Minnie was meant to warn him not to take any notice of her, so he answered the smith’s query with “No, no; I’ve only let the hammer fall, don’t you see? Get on, old boy, an don’t let the metal cool.”

The smith continued his work without further remark, and Ruby assisted, resolving in his own mind to be a little more guarded as to the expression of his feelings.

Meanwhile Mr Stevenson received the visitors, and showed them over the works, pointing out the peculiarities thereof, and the difficulties that stood in the way.

Presently he came towards the forge, and said, “Brand, the stout gentleman there wishes to speak to you. He says he knew you in Arbroath. You can spare him for a few minutes, I suppose, Mr Dove?”

“Well, yes, but not for long,” replied the smith. “The tide will soon be up, and I’ve enough to do to get through with all these.”

Ruby flung down his hammer at the first word, and hastened to the ledge of rock where the visitors were standing, as far apart from the workmen as the space of the rock would admit of.

The stout gentleman was no other than his uncle, Captain Ogilvy, who put his finger to his lips as his nephew approached, and gave him a look of mystery that was quite sufficient to put the latter on his guard. He therefore went forward, pulled off his cap, and bowed respectfully to Minnie, who replied with a stiff curtsy, a slight smile, and a decided blush.

Although Ruby now felt convinced that they were all acting a part, he could scarcely bear this cold reception. His impulse was to seize Minnie in his arms; but he did not even get the