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

then,” said Watt ironically.

“No, ’e’s hoff,” observed Joe.

“Hm! he never was on,” muttered Watt.

“What are you two growling at?” said Ruby, who sat on one of the beams at the other side.

“At our luck, Ruby,” said Joe. “Ha! was that a nibble?” (“Naethin’ o’ the kind,” from Watt.) “It was! as I live it’s large; an ’addock, I think.”

“A naddock!” sneered Watt; “mair like a bit o’ tangle than—eh! losh me! it is a fish—”

“Well done, Joe!” cried Bremner, from the doorway above, as a large rock-cod was drawn to the surface of the water.

“Stay, it’s too large to pull up with the line. I’ll run down and gaff it,” cried Ruby, fastening his own line to the beam, and descending to the water by the usual ladder, on one of the main beams. “Now, draw him this way—gently, not too roughly—take time. Ah! that was a miss—he’s off; no! Again; now then—”

Another moment, and a goodly cod of about ten pounds weight was wriggling on the iron hook which Ruby handed up to Dumsby, who mounted with his prize in triumph to the kitchen.

From that moment the fish began to “take.”

While the men were thus busily engaged, a boat was rowing about in the fog, vainly endeavouring to find the rock.

It was the boat of two fast friends, Jock Swankie and Davy Spink.

These worthies were in a rather exhausted condition, having been rowing almost incessantly from daybreak.

“I tell ’ee what it is,” said Swankie; “I’ll be hanged if I poo another stroke.”

He threw his oar into the boat, and looked sulky.

“It’s my belief,” said his companion, “that we ought to be near aboot Denmark be this time.”

“Denmark or Rooshia, it’s a’ ane to me,” rejoined Swankie; “I’ll hae a smoke.”

So saying, he pulled out his pipe and tobacco-box, and began to cut the tobacco. Davy did the same.

Suddenly both men paused, for they heard a sound. Each looked enquiringly at the other, and then both gazed into the thick fog.

“Is that a ship?” said Davy Spink.

They seized their oars hastily.

“The beacon, as I’m a leevin’ sinner!” exclaimed Swankie.

If Spink had not backed his oar at that moment, there is some probability that Swankie would have been a dead, instead of a living, sinner in a few minutes, for they had almost run upon the north-east end of the Bell Rock, and distinctly heard the sound of voices on the beacon. A shout settled the question at once, for it was replied to by a loud holloa from Ruby.

In a short time the boat was close to the beacon, and the water was so very calm that day, that they were able to venture to hand the packet of letters with which they had come off into the beacon, even although the tide was full.

“Letters,” said Swankie, as he reached out his hand with the packet.

“Hurrah!” cried the men, who were all assembled on the mortar-gallery, looking down at the fishermen, excepting Ruby, Watt, and Dumsby, who were still on the cross-beams below.

“Mind the boat; keep her aff,” said Swankie, stretching out his hand with the packet to the utmost, while Dumsby descended the ladder and held out his hand to receive it.

“Take care,” cried the men in chorus, for news from shore was always a very exciting episode in their career, and the idea of the packet being lost filled them with sudden alarm.

The shout and the anxiety together caused the very result that was dreaded. The packet fell into the sea and sank, amid a volley of yells.

It went down slowly. Before it had descended a fathom, Ruby’s head cleft the water, and in a moment he returned to the surface with the packet in his hand amid a wild cheer of joy; but this was turned into a cry of alarm, as Ruby was carried away by the tide, despite his utmost efforts to regain the beacon.

The boat was at once pushed off but so strong was the current there, that Ruby was carried past the rock, and a hundred yards away to sea, before the boat overtook him.

The moment he was pulled into her he shook himself, and then tore off the outer covering of the packet in order to save the letters from being wetted. He had the great satisfaction of finding them almost uninjured. He had the greater satisfaction, thereafter, of feeling that he had done a deed which induced every man in the beacon that night to thank him half a dozen times over; and he had the greatest possible satisfaction in finding that among the rest he had saved two letters addressed to himself, one from Minnie Gray, and the other from his uncle.

The scene in the beacon when the contents of the packet were delivered was interesting. Those who had letters devoured them, and in many cases read them (unwittingly) half-aloud. Those who had none read the newspapers, and those who had neither papers nor letters listened.

Ruby’s letter ran as follows (we say his letter, because the other letter was regarded, comparatively, as nothing):—

“Arbroath, etcetera.

“Darling Ruby,—I have just time to tell you that we have made a discovery which will surprise you. Let me detail it to you circumstantially. Uncle Ogilvy and I were walking on the pier a few days ago, when we overheard a conversation between two sailors, who did not see that we were approaching. We would not have stopped to listen, but the words we heard arrested our attention, so— O what a pity! there, Big Swankie has come for our letters. Is it not strange that he should be the man to take them off? I meant to have given you such an account of it, especially a description of the case. They won’t wait. Come ashore as soon as you can, dearest Ruby.”

The letter broke off here abruptly. It was evident that the writer had been obliged to close it abruptly, for she had forgotten to sign her name.

“‘A description of the case;’ what case?” muttered Ruby in vexation. “O Minnie, Minnie, in your anxiety to go into details you have omitted to give me the barest outline. Well, well, darling, I’ll just take the will for the deed, but I wish you had—”

Here Ruby ceased to mutter, for Captain Ogilvy’s letter suddenly occurred to his mind. Opening it hastily, he read as follows:—

“Dear Neffy,—I never was much of a hand at spellin’, an’ I’m not rightly sure o’ that word, howsever, it reads all square, so ittle do. If I had been the inventer o’ writin’ I’d have had signs for a lot o’ words. Just think how much better it would ha’ bin to have put a regular D like that instead o’ writin’ s-q-u-a-r-e. Then round would have bin far better O, like that. An’ crooked thus,” (draws a squiggly line); “see how significant an’ suggestive, if I may say so; no humbug—all fair an’ above-board, as the pirate said, when he ran up the black flag to the peak.

“But avast speckillatin’ (shiver my timbers! but that last was a pen-splitter), that’s not what I sat down to write about. My object in takin’ up the pen, neffy, is two-fold,

“‘Double, double, toil an’ trouble,’

“as Macbeath said,—if it wasn’t Hamlet.

“We want you to come home for a day or two, if you can git leave, lad, about this strange affair. Minnie said she was goin’ to give you a full, true, and partikler account of it, so it’s of no use my goin’ over the same course. There’s that blackguard Swankie come for the letters. Ha! it makes me chuckle. No time for more—”

This letter also concluded abruptly, and without a signature.

“There’s a pretty kettle o’ fish!” exclaimed Ruby aloud.

“So ’tis, lad; so ’tis,” said Bremner, who at that moment had placed a superb pot of codlings on the fire; “though why ye should say it so positively when nobody’s denyin’ it, is more nor I can tell.”

Ruby laughed, and retired to the mortar-gallery to work at the forge and ponder. He always found that he pondered best while employed in hammering, especially if his feelings were ruffled.

Seizing a mass of metal, he laid it on the anvil, and gave it five or six heavy blows to straighten it a little, before thrusting it into the fire.

Strange to say, these few blows of the hammer were the means, in all probability, of saving the sloop Smeaton from being wrecked on the Bell Rock!

That vessel had been away with Mr Stevenson at Leith, and was returning, when she was overtaken by the calm and the fog. At the moment that Ruby began to hammer, the Smeaton was within a stone’s cast of the beacon, running gently before a light air which had sprung up.

No one on board had the least idea that the tide had swept them so near the rock, and the ringing of the anvil was the first warning they got of their danger.

The lookout on board instantly sang out, “Starboard har–r–r–d–! beacon ahead!” and Ruby looked up in surprise, just as the Smeaton emerged like a phantom-ship out of the fog. Her sails fluttered as she came up to the wind, and the crew were seen hurrying to and fro in much alarm.

Mr Stevenson himself stood on the quarterdeck of the little vessel, and waved his hand to assure those on the beacon that they had sheered off in time, and were safe.

This incident tended to strengthen the engineer in his opinion that the two large bells which were being cast for the lighthouse, to be rung by the machinery of the revolving light, would be of great utility in foggy weather.

While the Smeaton was turning away, as if with a graceful bow to the men on the rock, Ruby shouted:

“There are letters here for you, sir.”

The mate of the vessel called out at once, “Send them off in the shore-boat; we’ll lay-to.”

No time was to be lost, for if the Smeaton should get involved in the fog it might be very difficult to find her; so Ruby at once ran for the letters, and, hailing the shore-boat which lay quite close at hand, jumped into it and pushed off.

They boarded the Smeaton without difficulty and delivered the letters.

Instead of returning to the beacon, however, Ruby was ordered to hold himself in readiness to go to Arbroath in the shore-boat with a letter from Mr Stevenson to the superintendent of the workyard.

“You can go up and see your friends in the town, if you choose,” said the engineer, “but be sure to return by tomorrow’s forenoon tide. We cannot dispense with your services longer than a few hours, my lad, so I shall expect you to make no unnecessary delay.”

“You may depend upon me, sir,” said Ruby, touching his cap, as he turned away and leaped into the boat.

A light breeze was now blowing, so that the sails could be used. In less than a quarter of an hour sloop and beacon were lost in the fog, and Ruby steered for the harbour of Arbroath, overjoyed at this unexpected and happy turn of events, which gave him an opportunity of solving the mystery of the letters, and of once more seeing the sweet face of Minnie Gray.

But an incident occurred which delayed these desirable ends, and utterly changed the current of Ruby’s fortunes for a time.