Chapter Twenty Three.The Storm.“’Tis a fearful night,” said Logan, pausing with his foot on the first step of the ladder. “Perhaps we had better sit up.”“What’s the use?” said O’Connor, who was by nature reckless. “Av the beacon howlds on, we may as well slape as not; an’ if it don’t howld on, why, we’ll be none the worse o’ slapin’ anyhow.”“Imean to sit up,” said Forsyth, whose alarm was aggravated by another fit of violent toothache.“So do I,” exclaimed several of the men, as another wave dashed against the beacon, and a quantity of spray came pouring down from the rooms above.This latter incident put an end to further conversation. While some sprang up the ladder to see where the leak had occurred, Ruby opened the door, which was on the lee-side of the building, and descended to the mortar-gallery to look after his tools, which lay there.Here he was exposed to the full violence of the gale, for, as we have said, this first floor of the beacon was not protected by sides. There was sufficient light to enable him to see all round for a considerable distance. The sight was not calculated to comfort him.The wind was whistling with what may be termed a vicious sound among the beams, to one of which Ruby was obliged to cling to prevent his being carried away. The sea was bursting, leaping, and curling wildly over the rocks, which were now quite covered, and as he looked down through the chinks in the boards of the floor, he could see the foam whirling round the beams of his trembling abode, and leaping up as if to seize him. As the tide rose higher and higher, the waves roared straight through below the floor, their curling backs rising terribly near to where he stood, and the sprays drenching him and the whole edifice completely.As he gazed into the dark distance, where the turmoil of waters seemed to glimmer with ghostly light against a sky of the deepest black, he missed the light of theSmeaton, which, up to that time, had been moored as near to the lee of the rock as was consistent with safety. He fancied she must have gone down, and it was not till next day that the people on the beacon knew that she had parted her cables, and had been obliged to make for the Firth of Forth for shelter from the storm.While he stood looking anxiously in the direction of the tender, a wave came so near to the platform that he almost involuntarily leaped up the ladder for safety. It broke before reaching the beacon, and the spray dashed right over it, carrying away several of the smith’s tools.“Ho, boys! lend a hand here, some of you,” shouted Ruby, as he leaped down on the mortar-gallery again.Jamie Dove, Bremner, O’Connor, and several others were at his side in a moment, and, in the midst of tremendous sprays, they toiled to secure the movable articles that lay there. These were passed up to the sheltered parts of the house; but not without great danger to all who stood on the exposed gallery below.Presently two of the planks were torn up by a sea, and several bags of coal, a barrel of small-beer, and a few casks containing lime and sand, were all swept away. The men would certainly have shared the fate of these, had they not clung to the beams until the sea had passed.As nothing remained after that which could be removed to the room above, they left the mortar-gallery to its fate, and returned to the kitchen, where they were met by the anxious glances and questions of their comrades.The fire, meanwhile, could scarcely be got to burn, and the whole place was full of smoke, besides being wet with the sprays that burst over the roof, and found out all the crevices that had not been sufficiently stopped up. Attending to these leaks occupied most of the men at intervals during the night. Ruby and his friend the smith spent much of the time in the doorway, contemplating the gradual destruction of their workshop.For some time the gale remained steady, and the anxiety of the men began to subside a little, as they became accustomed to the ugly twisting of the great beams, and found that no evil consequences followed.In the midst of this confusion, poor Forsyth’s anxiety of mind became as nothing compared with the agony of his toothache!Bremner had already made several attempts to persuade the miserable man to have it drawn, but without success.“I could do it quite easy,” said he, “only let me get a hold of it, an’ before you could wink I’d have it out.”“Well, you may try,” cried Forsyth in desperation, with a face of ashy paleness.It was an awful situation truly. In danger of his life; suffering the agonies of toothache, and with the prospect of torments unbearable from an inexpert hand; for Forsyth did not believe in Bremner’s boasted powers.“What’ll you do it with?” he enquired meekly.“Jamie Dove’s small pincers. Here they are,” said Bremner, moving about actively in his preparations, as if he enjoyed such work uncommonly.By this time the men had assembled round the pair, and almost forgot the storm in the interest of the moment.“Hold him, two of you,” said Bremner, when his victim was seated submissively on a cask.“You don’t need to hold me,” said Forsyth, in a gentle tone.“Don’t we!” said Bremner. “Here, Dove, Ned, grip his arms, and some of you stand by to catch his legs; but you needn’t touch them unless he kicks. Ruby, you’re a strong fellow; hold his head.”The men obeyed. At that moment Forsyth would have parted with his dearest hopes in life to have escaped, and the toothache, strange to say, left him entirely; but he was a plucky fellow at bottom; having agreed to have it done, he would not draw back.Bremner introduced the pincers slowly, being anxious to get a good hold of the tooth. Forsyth uttered a groan in anticipation! Alarmed lest he should struggle too soon, Bremner made a sudden grasp and caught the tooth. A wrench followed; a yell was the result, and the pincers slipped!This was fortunate, for he had caught the wrong tooth.“Now be aisy, boy,” said Ned O’Connor, whose sympathies were easily roused.“Once more,” said Bremner, as the unhappy man opened his mouth. “Be still, and it will be all the sooner over.”Again Bremner inserted the instrument, and fortunately caught the right tooth. He gave a terrible tug, that produced its corresponding howl; but the tooth held on. Again! again! again! and the beacon house resounded with the deadly yells of the unhappy man, who struggled violently, despite the strength of those who held him.“Och! poor sowl!” ejaculated O’Connor.Bremner threw all his strength into a final wrench, which tore away the pincers and left the tooth as firm as ever!Forsyth leaped up and dashed his comrades right and left.“That’ll do,” he roared, and darted up the ladder into the apartment above, through which he ascended to the barrack-room, and flung himself on his bed. At the same time a wave burst on the beacon with such force that every man there, except Forsyth, thought it would be carried away. The wave not only sprang up against the house, but the spray, scarcely less solid than the wave, went quite over it, and sent down showers of water on the men below.Little cared Forsyth for that. He lay almost stunned on his couch, quite regardless of the storm. To his surprise, however, the toothache did not return. Nay, to make a long story short, it never again returned to that tooth till the end of his days!The storm now blew its fiercest, and the men sat in silence in the kitchen listening to the turmoil, and to the thundering blows given by the sea to their wooden house. Suddenly the beacon received a shock so awful, and so thoroughly different from any that it had previously received, that the men sprang to their feet in consternation.Ruby and the smith were looking out at the doorway at the time, and both instinctively grasped the woodwork near them, expecting every instant that the whole structure would be carried away; but it stood fast. They speculated a good deal on the force of the blow they had received, but no one hit on the true cause; and it was not until some days later that they discovered that a huge rock of fully a ton weight had been washed against the beams that night.While they were gazing at the wild storm, a wave broke up the mortar-gallery altogether, and sent its remaining contents into the sea. All disappeared in a moment; nothing was left save the powerful beams to which the platform had been nailed.There was a small boat attached to the beacon. It hung from two davits, on a level with the kitchen, about thirty feet above the rock. This had got filled by the sprays, and the weight of water proving too much for the tackling, it gave way at the bow shortly after the destruction of the mortar-gallery, and the boat hung suspended by the stern-tackle. Here it swung for a few minutes, and then was carried away by a sea. The same sea sent an eddy of foam round towards the door and drenched the kitchen, so that the door had to be shut, and as the fire had gone out, the men had to sit and await their fate by the light of a little oil-lamp.They sat in silence, for the noise was now so great that it was difficult to hear voices, unless when they were raised to a high pitch.Thus passed that terrible night; and the looks of the men, the solemn glances, the closed eyes, the silently moving lips, showed that their thoughts were busy reviewing bygone days and deeds; perchance in making good resolutions for the future—“if spared!”Morning brought a change. The rush of the sea was indeed still tremendous, but the force of the gale was broken and the danger was past.
“’Tis a fearful night,” said Logan, pausing with his foot on the first step of the ladder. “Perhaps we had better sit up.”
“What’s the use?” said O’Connor, who was by nature reckless. “Av the beacon howlds on, we may as well slape as not; an’ if it don’t howld on, why, we’ll be none the worse o’ slapin’ anyhow.”
“Imean to sit up,” said Forsyth, whose alarm was aggravated by another fit of violent toothache.
“So do I,” exclaimed several of the men, as another wave dashed against the beacon, and a quantity of spray came pouring down from the rooms above.
This latter incident put an end to further conversation. While some sprang up the ladder to see where the leak had occurred, Ruby opened the door, which was on the lee-side of the building, and descended to the mortar-gallery to look after his tools, which lay there.
Here he was exposed to the full violence of the gale, for, as we have said, this first floor of the beacon was not protected by sides. There was sufficient light to enable him to see all round for a considerable distance. The sight was not calculated to comfort him.
The wind was whistling with what may be termed a vicious sound among the beams, to one of which Ruby was obliged to cling to prevent his being carried away. The sea was bursting, leaping, and curling wildly over the rocks, which were now quite covered, and as he looked down through the chinks in the boards of the floor, he could see the foam whirling round the beams of his trembling abode, and leaping up as if to seize him. As the tide rose higher and higher, the waves roared straight through below the floor, their curling backs rising terribly near to where he stood, and the sprays drenching him and the whole edifice completely.
As he gazed into the dark distance, where the turmoil of waters seemed to glimmer with ghostly light against a sky of the deepest black, he missed the light of theSmeaton, which, up to that time, had been moored as near to the lee of the rock as was consistent with safety. He fancied she must have gone down, and it was not till next day that the people on the beacon knew that she had parted her cables, and had been obliged to make for the Firth of Forth for shelter from the storm.
While he stood looking anxiously in the direction of the tender, a wave came so near to the platform that he almost involuntarily leaped up the ladder for safety. It broke before reaching the beacon, and the spray dashed right over it, carrying away several of the smith’s tools.
“Ho, boys! lend a hand here, some of you,” shouted Ruby, as he leaped down on the mortar-gallery again.
Jamie Dove, Bremner, O’Connor, and several others were at his side in a moment, and, in the midst of tremendous sprays, they toiled to secure the movable articles that lay there. These were passed up to the sheltered parts of the house; but not without great danger to all who stood on the exposed gallery below.
Presently two of the planks were torn up by a sea, and several bags of coal, a barrel of small-beer, and a few casks containing lime and sand, were all swept away. The men would certainly have shared the fate of these, had they not clung to the beams until the sea had passed.
As nothing remained after that which could be removed to the room above, they left the mortar-gallery to its fate, and returned to the kitchen, where they were met by the anxious glances and questions of their comrades.
The fire, meanwhile, could scarcely be got to burn, and the whole place was full of smoke, besides being wet with the sprays that burst over the roof, and found out all the crevices that had not been sufficiently stopped up. Attending to these leaks occupied most of the men at intervals during the night. Ruby and his friend the smith spent much of the time in the doorway, contemplating the gradual destruction of their workshop.
For some time the gale remained steady, and the anxiety of the men began to subside a little, as they became accustomed to the ugly twisting of the great beams, and found that no evil consequences followed.
In the midst of this confusion, poor Forsyth’s anxiety of mind became as nothing compared with the agony of his toothache!
Bremner had already made several attempts to persuade the miserable man to have it drawn, but without success.
“I could do it quite easy,” said he, “only let me get a hold of it, an’ before you could wink I’d have it out.”
“Well, you may try,” cried Forsyth in desperation, with a face of ashy paleness.
It was an awful situation truly. In danger of his life; suffering the agonies of toothache, and with the prospect of torments unbearable from an inexpert hand; for Forsyth did not believe in Bremner’s boasted powers.
“What’ll you do it with?” he enquired meekly.
“Jamie Dove’s small pincers. Here they are,” said Bremner, moving about actively in his preparations, as if he enjoyed such work uncommonly.
By this time the men had assembled round the pair, and almost forgot the storm in the interest of the moment.
“Hold him, two of you,” said Bremner, when his victim was seated submissively on a cask.
“You don’t need to hold me,” said Forsyth, in a gentle tone.
“Don’t we!” said Bremner. “Here, Dove, Ned, grip his arms, and some of you stand by to catch his legs; but you needn’t touch them unless he kicks. Ruby, you’re a strong fellow; hold his head.”
The men obeyed. At that moment Forsyth would have parted with his dearest hopes in life to have escaped, and the toothache, strange to say, left him entirely; but he was a plucky fellow at bottom; having agreed to have it done, he would not draw back.
Bremner introduced the pincers slowly, being anxious to get a good hold of the tooth. Forsyth uttered a groan in anticipation! Alarmed lest he should struggle too soon, Bremner made a sudden grasp and caught the tooth. A wrench followed; a yell was the result, and the pincers slipped!
This was fortunate, for he had caught the wrong tooth.
“Now be aisy, boy,” said Ned O’Connor, whose sympathies were easily roused.
“Once more,” said Bremner, as the unhappy man opened his mouth. “Be still, and it will be all the sooner over.”
Again Bremner inserted the instrument, and fortunately caught the right tooth. He gave a terrible tug, that produced its corresponding howl; but the tooth held on. Again! again! again! and the beacon house resounded with the deadly yells of the unhappy man, who struggled violently, despite the strength of those who held him.
“Och! poor sowl!” ejaculated O’Connor.
Bremner threw all his strength into a final wrench, which tore away the pincers and left the tooth as firm as ever!
Forsyth leaped up and dashed his comrades right and left.
“That’ll do,” he roared, and darted up the ladder into the apartment above, through which he ascended to the barrack-room, and flung himself on his bed. At the same time a wave burst on the beacon with such force that every man there, except Forsyth, thought it would be carried away. The wave not only sprang up against the house, but the spray, scarcely less solid than the wave, went quite over it, and sent down showers of water on the men below.
Little cared Forsyth for that. He lay almost stunned on his couch, quite regardless of the storm. To his surprise, however, the toothache did not return. Nay, to make a long story short, it never again returned to that tooth till the end of his days!
The storm now blew its fiercest, and the men sat in silence in the kitchen listening to the turmoil, and to the thundering blows given by the sea to their wooden house. Suddenly the beacon received a shock so awful, and so thoroughly different from any that it had previously received, that the men sprang to their feet in consternation.
Ruby and the smith were looking out at the doorway at the time, and both instinctively grasped the woodwork near them, expecting every instant that the whole structure would be carried away; but it stood fast. They speculated a good deal on the force of the blow they had received, but no one hit on the true cause; and it was not until some days later that they discovered that a huge rock of fully a ton weight had been washed against the beams that night.
While they were gazing at the wild storm, a wave broke up the mortar-gallery altogether, and sent its remaining contents into the sea. All disappeared in a moment; nothing was left save the powerful beams to which the platform had been nailed.
There was a small boat attached to the beacon. It hung from two davits, on a level with the kitchen, about thirty feet above the rock. This had got filled by the sprays, and the weight of water proving too much for the tackling, it gave way at the bow shortly after the destruction of the mortar-gallery, and the boat hung suspended by the stern-tackle. Here it swung for a few minutes, and then was carried away by a sea. The same sea sent an eddy of foam round towards the door and drenched the kitchen, so that the door had to be shut, and as the fire had gone out, the men had to sit and await their fate by the light of a little oil-lamp.
They sat in silence, for the noise was now so great that it was difficult to hear voices, unless when they were raised to a high pitch.
Thus passed that terrible night; and the looks of the men, the solemn glances, the closed eyes, the silently moving lips, showed that their thoughts were busy reviewing bygone days and deeds; perchance in making good resolutions for the future—“if spared!”
Morning brought a change. The rush of the sea was indeed still tremendous, but the force of the gale was broken and the danger was past.
Chapter Twenty Four.A Chapter of Accidents.Time rolled on, and the lighthouse at length began to grow.It did not rise slowly, as does an ordinary building. The courses of masonry having been formed and fitted on shore during the winter, had only to be removed from the workyard at Arbroath to the rock, where they were laid, mortared, wedged, and trenailed, as fast as they could be landed.Thus, foot by foot it grew, and soon began to tower above its foundation.From the foundation upwards for thirty feet it was built solid. From this point rose the spiral staircase leading to the rooms above. We cannot afford space to trace its erection step by step, neither is it desirable that we should do so. But it is proper to mention, that there were, as might be supposed, leading points in the process—eras, as it were, in the building operations.The first of these, of course, was the laying of the foundation stone, which was done ceremoniously, with all the honours. The next point was the occasion when the tower showed itself for the first time above water at full tide. This was a great event. It was proof positive that the sea had been conquered; for many a time before that event happened had the sea done its best to level the whole erection with the rock.Three cheers announced and celebrated the fact, and a “glass” all round stamped it on the memories of the men.Another noteworthy point was the connexion—the marriage, if the simile may be allowed—of the tower and the beacon. This occurred when the former rose to a few feet above high-water mark, and was effected by means of a rope-bridge, which was dignified by the sailors with the name of “Jacob’s ladder.”Heretofore the beacon and lighthouse had stood in close relation to each other. They were thenceforward united by a stronger tie; and it is worthy of record that their attachment lasted until the destruction of the beacon after the work was done. Jacob’s ladder was fastened a little below the doorway of the beacon. Its other end rested on, and rose with, the wall of the tower. At first it sloped downward from beacon to tower; gradually it became horizontal; then it sloped upward. When this happened it was removed, and replaced by a regular wooden bridge, which extended from the doorway of the one structure to that of the other.Along this way the men could pass to and fro at all tides, and during any time of the day or night.This was a matter of great importance, as the men were no longer so dependent on tides as they had been, and could often work as long as their strength held out.Although the work was regular, and, as some might imagine, rather monotonous, there were not wanting accidents and incidents to enliven the routine of daily duty. The landing of the boats in rough weather with stones, etcetera, was a never-failing source of anxiety, alarm, and occasionally amusement. Strangers sometimes visited the rock, too, but these visits were few and far between.Accidents were much less frequent, however, than might have been expected in a work of the kind. It was quite an event, something to talk about for days afterwards, when poor John Bonnyman, one of the masons, lost a finger. The balance crane was the cause of this accident. We may remark, in passing, that this balance crane was a very peculiar and clever contrivance, which deserves a little notice.It may not have occurred to readers who are unacquainted with mechanics that the raising of ponderous stones to a great height is not an easy matter. As long as the lighthouse was low, cranes were easily raised on the rock, but when it became too high for the cranes to reach their heads up to the top of the tower, what was to be done? Block-tackles could not be fastened to the skies! Scaffolding in such a situation would not have survived a moderate gale.In these circumstances Mr Stevenson constructed abalancecrane, which was fixed in the centre of the tower, and so arranged that it could be raised along with the rising works. This crane resembled a cross in form. At one arm was hung a movable weight, which could be run out to its extremity, or fixed at any part of it. The other arm was the one by means of which the stones were hoisted. When a stone had to be raised, its weight was ascertained, and the movable weight was so fixed asexactlyto counterbalance it. By this simple contrivance all the cumbrous and troublesome machinery of long guys and bracing-chains extending from the crane to the rock below were avoided.Well, Bonnyman was attending to the working of the crane, and directing the lowering of a stone into its place, when he inadvertently laid his left hand on a part of the machinery where it was brought into contact with the chain, which passed over his forefinger, and cut it so nearly off that it was left hanging by a mere shred of skin. The poor man was at once sent off in a fast rowing boat to Arbroath, where the finger was removed and properly dressed. (See note 1.)A much more serious accident occurred at another time, however, which resulted in the death of one of the seamen belonging to theSmeaton.It happened thus. TheSmeatonhad been sent from Arbroath with a cargo of stones one morning, and reached the rock about half-past six o’clock a.m. The mate and one of the men, James Scott, a youth of eighteen years of age, got into the sloop’s boat to make fast the hawser to the floating buoy of her moorings.The tides at the time were very strong, and the mooring-chain when sweeping the ground had caught hold of a rock or piece of wreck, by which the chain was so shortened, that when the tide flowed the buoy got almost under water, and little more than the ring appeared at the surface. When the mate and Scott were in the act of making the hawser fast to the ring, the chain got suddenly disentangled at the bottom, and the large buoy, measuring about seven feet in length by three in diameter in the middle, vaulted upwards with such force that it upset the boat, which instantly filled with water. The mate with great difficulty succeeded in getting hold of the gunwale, but Scott seemed to have been stunned by the buoy, for he lay motionless for a few minutes on the water, apparently unable to make any exertion to save himself, for he did not attempt to lay hold of the oars or thwarts which floated near him.A boat was at once sent to the rescue, and the mate was picked up, but Scott sank before it reached the spot.This poor lad was a great favourite in the service, and for a time his melancholy end cast a gloom over the little community at the Bell Rock. The circumstances of the case were also peculiarly distressing in reference to the boy’s mother, for her husband had been for three years past confined in a French prison, and her son had been the chief support of the family. In order in some measure to make up to the poor woman for the loss of the monthly aliment regularly allowed her by her lost son, it was suggested that a younger brother of the deceased might be taken into the service. This appeared to be a rather delicate proposition, but it was left to the landing-master to arrange according to circumstances. Such was the resignation, and at the same time the spirit of the poor woman, that she readily accepted the proposal, and in a few days the younger Scott was actually afloat in the place of his brother. On this distressing case being represented to the Board, the Commissioners granted an annuity of 5 pounds to the lad’s mother.The painter who represents only the sunny side of nature portrays a one-sided, and therefore a false view of things, for, as everyone knows, nature is not all sunshine. So, if an author makes his pen-and-ink pictures represent only the amusing and picturesque view of things, he does injustice to his subject.We have no pleasure, good reader, in saddening you by accounts of “fatal accidents”, but we have sought to convey to you a correct impression of things, and scenes, and incidents at the building of the Bell Rock Lighthouse, as they actually were, and looked, and occurred. Although there was much,verymuch, of risk, exposure, danger, and trial connected with the erection of that building, there was, in the good providence of God,verylittle of severe accident or death. Yet that little must be told,—at least touched upon,—else will our picture remain incomplete as well as untrue.Now, do not imagine, with a shudder, that these remarks are the prelude to something that will harrow up your feelings. Not so. They are merely the apology, if apology be needed, for the introduction of another “accident.”Well, then. One morning the artificers landed on the rock at a quarter-past six, and as all hands were required for a piece of special work that day, they breakfasted on the beacon, instead of returning to the tender, and spent the day on the rock.The special work referred to was the raising of the crane from the eighth to the ninth course—an operation which required all the strength that could be mustered for working the guy-tackles. This, be it remarked, was before the balance crane, already described, had been set up; and as the top of the crane stood at the time about thirty-five feet above the rock, it became much more unmanageable than heretofore.At the proper hour all hands were called, and detailed to their several posts on the tower, and about the rock. In order to give additional purchase or power in tightening the tackle, one of the blocks of stone was suspended at the end of the movable beam of the crane, which, by adding greatly to the weight, tended to slacken the guys or supporting-ropes in the direction to which the beam with the stone was pointed, and thereby enabled the men more easily to brace them one after another.While the beam was thus loaded, and in the act of swinging round from one guy to another, a great strain was suddenly brought upon the opposite tackle, with the end of which the men had very improperly neglected to take a turn round some stationary object, which would have given them the complete command of the tackle.Owing to this simple omission, the crane, with the large stone at the end of the beam, got a preponderancy to one side, and, the tackle alluded to having rent, it fell upon the building with a terrible crash.The men fled right and left to get out of its way; but one of them, Michael Wishart, a mason, stumbled over an uncut trenail and rolled on his back, and the ponderous crane fell upon him. Fortunately it fell so that his body lay between the great shaft and the movable beam, and thus he escaped with his life, but his feet were entangled with the wheel-work, and severely injured.Wishart was a robust and spirited young fellow, and bore his sufferings with wonderful firmness while he was being removed. He was laid upon one of the narrow frame-beds of the beacon, and despatched in a boat to the tender. On seeing the boat approach with the poor man stretched on a bed covered with blankets, and his face overspread with that deadly pallor which is the usual consequence of excessive bleeding, the seamen’s looks betrayed the presence of those well-known but indescribable sensations which one experiences when brought suddenly into contact with something horrible. Relief was at once experienced, however, when Wishart’s voice was heard feebly accosting those who first stepped into the boat.He was immediately sent on shore, where the best surgical advice was obtained, and he began to recover steadily, though slowly. Meanwhile, having been one of the principal masons, Robert Selkirk was appointed to his vacant post.And now let us wind up this chapter of accidents with an account of the manner in which a party of strangers, to use a slang but expressive phrase, came to grief during a visit to the Bell Rock.One morning, a trim little vessel was seen by the workmen making for the rock at low tide. From its build and size, Ruby at once judged it to be a pleasure yacht. Perchance some delicate shades in the seamanship, displayed in managing the little vessel, had influenced the sailor in forming his opinion. Be this as it may, the vessel brought up under the lee of the rock and cast anchor.It turned out to be a party of gentlemen from Leith, who had run down the firth to see the works. The weather was fine, and the sea calm, but these yachters had yet to learn that fine weather and a calm sea do not necessarily imply easy or safe landing at the Bell Rock! They did not know that theswellwhich had succeeded a recent gale was heavier than it appeared to be at a distance; and, worst of all, they did not know, or they did not care to remember, that “there is a time for all things,” and that the time for landing at the Bell Rock is limited.Seeing that the place was covered with workmen, the strangers lowered their little boat and rowed towards them.“They’re mad,” said Logan, who, with a group of the men, watched the motions of their would-be visitors.“No,” observed Joe Dumsby; “they are brave, but hignorant.”“Faix, they won’t be ignorant long!” cried Ned O’Connor, as the little boat approached the rock, propelled by two active young rowers in Guernsey shirts, white trousers, and straw hats. “You’re stout, lads, both of ye, an’ purty good hands at the oar,for gintlemen; but av ye wos as strong as Samson it would puzzle ye to stem these breakers, so ye better go back.”The yachters did not hear the advice, and they would not have taken it if they had heard it. They rowed straight up towards the landing-place, and, so far, showed themselves expert selectors of the right channel; but they soon came within the influence of the seas, which burst on the rock and sent up jets of spray to leeward.These jets had seemed very pretty and harmless when viewed from the deck of the yacht, but they were found on a nearer approach to be quite able, and, we might almost add, not unwilling, to toss up the boat like a ball, and throw it and its occupants head over heels into the air.But the rowers, like most men of their class, were not easily cowed. They watched their opportunity—allowed the waves to meet and rush on, and then pulled into the midst of the foam, in the hope of crossing to the shelter of the rock before the approach of the next wave.Heedless of a warning cry from Ned O’Connor, whose anxiety began to make him very uneasy, the amateur sailors strained every nerve to pull through, while their companion who sat at the helm in the stern of the boat seemed to urge them on to redoubled exertions. Of course their efforts were in vain. The next billow caught the boat on its foaming crest, and raised it high in the air. For one moment the wave rose between the boat and the men on the rock, and hid her from view, causing Ned to exclaim, with a genuine groan, “Arrah! they’s gone!”But they were not; the boat’s head had been carefully kept to the sea, and, although she had been swept back a considerable way, and nearly half-filled with water, she was still afloat.The chief engineer now hailed the gentlemen, and advised them to return and remain on board their vessel until the state of the tide would permit him to send a proper boat for them.In the meantime, however, a large boat from the floating light, pretty deeply laden with lime, cement, and sand, approached, when the strangers, with a view to avoid giving trouble, took their passage in her to the rock. The accession of three passengers to a boat, already in a lumbered state, put her completely out of trim, and, as it unluckily happened, the man who steered her on this occasion was not in the habit of attending the rock, and was not sufficiently aware of the run of the sea at the entrance of the eastern creek.Instead, therefore, of keeping close to the small rock calledJohnny Gray, he gave it, as Ruby expressed it, “a wide berth.” A heavy sea struck the boat, drove her to leeward, and, the oars getting entangled among the rocks and seaweed, she became unmanageable. The next sea threw her on a ledge, and, instantly leaving her, she canted seaward upon her gunwale, throwing her crew and part of her cargo into the water.All this was the work of a few seconds. The men had scarce time to realise their danger ere they found themselves down under the water; and when they rose gasping to the surface, it was to behold the next wave towering over them, ready to fall on their heads. When it fell it scattered crew, cargo, and boat in all directions.Some clung to the gunwale of the boat, others to the seaweed, and some to the thwarts and oars which floated about, and which quickly carried them out of the creek to a considerable distance from the spot where the accident happened.The instant the boat was overturned, Ruby darted towards one of the rock boats which lay near to the spot where the party of workmen who manned it had landed that morning. Wilson, the landing-master, was at his side in a moment.“Shove off, lad, and jump in!” cried Wilson.There was no need to shout for the crew of the boat. The men were already springing into her as she floated off. In a few minutes all the men in the water were rescued, with the exception of one of the strangers, named Strachan.This gentleman had been swept out to a small insulated rock, where he clung to the seaweed with great resolution, although each returning sea laid him completely under water, and hid him for a second or two from the spectators on the rock. In this situation he remained for ten or twelve minutes; and those who know anything of the force of large waves will understand how severely his strength and courage must have been tried during that time.When the boat reached the rock the most difficult part was still to perform, as it required the greatest nicety of management to guide her in a rolling sea, so as to prevent her from being carried forcibly against the man whom they sought to save.“Take the steering-oar, Ruby; you are the best hand at this,” said Wilson.Ruby seized the oar, and, notwithstanding the breach of the seas and the narrowness of the passage, steered the boat close to the rock at the proper moment.“Starboard, noo, stiddy!” shouted John Watt, who leant suddenly over the bow of the boat and seized poor Strachan by the hair. In another moment he was pulled inboard with the aid of Selkirk’s stout arms, and the boat was backed out of danger.“Now, a cheer, boys!” cried Ruby.The men did not require urging to this. It burst from them with tremendous energy, and was echoed back by their comrades on the rock, in the midst of whose wild hurrah, Ned O’Connor’s voice was distinctly heard to swell from a cheer into a yell of triumph!The little rock on which this incident occurred was calledStrachan’s Ledge, and it is known by that name at the present day.Note 1. It is right to state that this man afterwards obtained a light-keeper’s situation from the Board of Commissioners of Northern Lights, who seem to have taken a kindly interest in all their servants, especially those of them who had suffered in the service.
Time rolled on, and the lighthouse at length began to grow.
It did not rise slowly, as does an ordinary building. The courses of masonry having been formed and fitted on shore during the winter, had only to be removed from the workyard at Arbroath to the rock, where they were laid, mortared, wedged, and trenailed, as fast as they could be landed.
Thus, foot by foot it grew, and soon began to tower above its foundation.
From the foundation upwards for thirty feet it was built solid. From this point rose the spiral staircase leading to the rooms above. We cannot afford space to trace its erection step by step, neither is it desirable that we should do so. But it is proper to mention, that there were, as might be supposed, leading points in the process—eras, as it were, in the building operations.
The first of these, of course, was the laying of the foundation stone, which was done ceremoniously, with all the honours. The next point was the occasion when the tower showed itself for the first time above water at full tide. This was a great event. It was proof positive that the sea had been conquered; for many a time before that event happened had the sea done its best to level the whole erection with the rock.
Three cheers announced and celebrated the fact, and a “glass” all round stamped it on the memories of the men.
Another noteworthy point was the connexion—the marriage, if the simile may be allowed—of the tower and the beacon. This occurred when the former rose to a few feet above high-water mark, and was effected by means of a rope-bridge, which was dignified by the sailors with the name of “Jacob’s ladder.”
Heretofore the beacon and lighthouse had stood in close relation to each other. They were thenceforward united by a stronger tie; and it is worthy of record that their attachment lasted until the destruction of the beacon after the work was done. Jacob’s ladder was fastened a little below the doorway of the beacon. Its other end rested on, and rose with, the wall of the tower. At first it sloped downward from beacon to tower; gradually it became horizontal; then it sloped upward. When this happened it was removed, and replaced by a regular wooden bridge, which extended from the doorway of the one structure to that of the other.
Along this way the men could pass to and fro at all tides, and during any time of the day or night.
This was a matter of great importance, as the men were no longer so dependent on tides as they had been, and could often work as long as their strength held out.
Although the work was regular, and, as some might imagine, rather monotonous, there were not wanting accidents and incidents to enliven the routine of daily duty. The landing of the boats in rough weather with stones, etcetera, was a never-failing source of anxiety, alarm, and occasionally amusement. Strangers sometimes visited the rock, too, but these visits were few and far between.
Accidents were much less frequent, however, than might have been expected in a work of the kind. It was quite an event, something to talk about for days afterwards, when poor John Bonnyman, one of the masons, lost a finger. The balance crane was the cause of this accident. We may remark, in passing, that this balance crane was a very peculiar and clever contrivance, which deserves a little notice.
It may not have occurred to readers who are unacquainted with mechanics that the raising of ponderous stones to a great height is not an easy matter. As long as the lighthouse was low, cranes were easily raised on the rock, but when it became too high for the cranes to reach their heads up to the top of the tower, what was to be done? Block-tackles could not be fastened to the skies! Scaffolding in such a situation would not have survived a moderate gale.
In these circumstances Mr Stevenson constructed abalancecrane, which was fixed in the centre of the tower, and so arranged that it could be raised along with the rising works. This crane resembled a cross in form. At one arm was hung a movable weight, which could be run out to its extremity, or fixed at any part of it. The other arm was the one by means of which the stones were hoisted. When a stone had to be raised, its weight was ascertained, and the movable weight was so fixed asexactlyto counterbalance it. By this simple contrivance all the cumbrous and troublesome machinery of long guys and bracing-chains extending from the crane to the rock below were avoided.
Well, Bonnyman was attending to the working of the crane, and directing the lowering of a stone into its place, when he inadvertently laid his left hand on a part of the machinery where it was brought into contact with the chain, which passed over his forefinger, and cut it so nearly off that it was left hanging by a mere shred of skin. The poor man was at once sent off in a fast rowing boat to Arbroath, where the finger was removed and properly dressed. (See note 1.)
A much more serious accident occurred at another time, however, which resulted in the death of one of the seamen belonging to theSmeaton.
It happened thus. TheSmeatonhad been sent from Arbroath with a cargo of stones one morning, and reached the rock about half-past six o’clock a.m. The mate and one of the men, James Scott, a youth of eighteen years of age, got into the sloop’s boat to make fast the hawser to the floating buoy of her moorings.
The tides at the time were very strong, and the mooring-chain when sweeping the ground had caught hold of a rock or piece of wreck, by which the chain was so shortened, that when the tide flowed the buoy got almost under water, and little more than the ring appeared at the surface. When the mate and Scott were in the act of making the hawser fast to the ring, the chain got suddenly disentangled at the bottom, and the large buoy, measuring about seven feet in length by three in diameter in the middle, vaulted upwards with such force that it upset the boat, which instantly filled with water. The mate with great difficulty succeeded in getting hold of the gunwale, but Scott seemed to have been stunned by the buoy, for he lay motionless for a few minutes on the water, apparently unable to make any exertion to save himself, for he did not attempt to lay hold of the oars or thwarts which floated near him.
A boat was at once sent to the rescue, and the mate was picked up, but Scott sank before it reached the spot.
This poor lad was a great favourite in the service, and for a time his melancholy end cast a gloom over the little community at the Bell Rock. The circumstances of the case were also peculiarly distressing in reference to the boy’s mother, for her husband had been for three years past confined in a French prison, and her son had been the chief support of the family. In order in some measure to make up to the poor woman for the loss of the monthly aliment regularly allowed her by her lost son, it was suggested that a younger brother of the deceased might be taken into the service. This appeared to be a rather delicate proposition, but it was left to the landing-master to arrange according to circumstances. Such was the resignation, and at the same time the spirit of the poor woman, that she readily accepted the proposal, and in a few days the younger Scott was actually afloat in the place of his brother. On this distressing case being represented to the Board, the Commissioners granted an annuity of 5 pounds to the lad’s mother.
The painter who represents only the sunny side of nature portrays a one-sided, and therefore a false view of things, for, as everyone knows, nature is not all sunshine. So, if an author makes his pen-and-ink pictures represent only the amusing and picturesque view of things, he does injustice to his subject.
We have no pleasure, good reader, in saddening you by accounts of “fatal accidents”, but we have sought to convey to you a correct impression of things, and scenes, and incidents at the building of the Bell Rock Lighthouse, as they actually were, and looked, and occurred. Although there was much,verymuch, of risk, exposure, danger, and trial connected with the erection of that building, there was, in the good providence of God,verylittle of severe accident or death. Yet that little must be told,—at least touched upon,—else will our picture remain incomplete as well as untrue.
Now, do not imagine, with a shudder, that these remarks are the prelude to something that will harrow up your feelings. Not so. They are merely the apology, if apology be needed, for the introduction of another “accident.”
Well, then. One morning the artificers landed on the rock at a quarter-past six, and as all hands were required for a piece of special work that day, they breakfasted on the beacon, instead of returning to the tender, and spent the day on the rock.
The special work referred to was the raising of the crane from the eighth to the ninth course—an operation which required all the strength that could be mustered for working the guy-tackles. This, be it remarked, was before the balance crane, already described, had been set up; and as the top of the crane stood at the time about thirty-five feet above the rock, it became much more unmanageable than heretofore.
At the proper hour all hands were called, and detailed to their several posts on the tower, and about the rock. In order to give additional purchase or power in tightening the tackle, one of the blocks of stone was suspended at the end of the movable beam of the crane, which, by adding greatly to the weight, tended to slacken the guys or supporting-ropes in the direction to which the beam with the stone was pointed, and thereby enabled the men more easily to brace them one after another.
While the beam was thus loaded, and in the act of swinging round from one guy to another, a great strain was suddenly brought upon the opposite tackle, with the end of which the men had very improperly neglected to take a turn round some stationary object, which would have given them the complete command of the tackle.
Owing to this simple omission, the crane, with the large stone at the end of the beam, got a preponderancy to one side, and, the tackle alluded to having rent, it fell upon the building with a terrible crash.
The men fled right and left to get out of its way; but one of them, Michael Wishart, a mason, stumbled over an uncut trenail and rolled on his back, and the ponderous crane fell upon him. Fortunately it fell so that his body lay between the great shaft and the movable beam, and thus he escaped with his life, but his feet were entangled with the wheel-work, and severely injured.
Wishart was a robust and spirited young fellow, and bore his sufferings with wonderful firmness while he was being removed. He was laid upon one of the narrow frame-beds of the beacon, and despatched in a boat to the tender. On seeing the boat approach with the poor man stretched on a bed covered with blankets, and his face overspread with that deadly pallor which is the usual consequence of excessive bleeding, the seamen’s looks betrayed the presence of those well-known but indescribable sensations which one experiences when brought suddenly into contact with something horrible. Relief was at once experienced, however, when Wishart’s voice was heard feebly accosting those who first stepped into the boat.
He was immediately sent on shore, where the best surgical advice was obtained, and he began to recover steadily, though slowly. Meanwhile, having been one of the principal masons, Robert Selkirk was appointed to his vacant post.
And now let us wind up this chapter of accidents with an account of the manner in which a party of strangers, to use a slang but expressive phrase, came to grief during a visit to the Bell Rock.
One morning, a trim little vessel was seen by the workmen making for the rock at low tide. From its build and size, Ruby at once judged it to be a pleasure yacht. Perchance some delicate shades in the seamanship, displayed in managing the little vessel, had influenced the sailor in forming his opinion. Be this as it may, the vessel brought up under the lee of the rock and cast anchor.
It turned out to be a party of gentlemen from Leith, who had run down the firth to see the works. The weather was fine, and the sea calm, but these yachters had yet to learn that fine weather and a calm sea do not necessarily imply easy or safe landing at the Bell Rock! They did not know that theswellwhich had succeeded a recent gale was heavier than it appeared to be at a distance; and, worst of all, they did not know, or they did not care to remember, that “there is a time for all things,” and that the time for landing at the Bell Rock is limited.
Seeing that the place was covered with workmen, the strangers lowered their little boat and rowed towards them.
“They’re mad,” said Logan, who, with a group of the men, watched the motions of their would-be visitors.
“No,” observed Joe Dumsby; “they are brave, but hignorant.”
“Faix, they won’t be ignorant long!” cried Ned O’Connor, as the little boat approached the rock, propelled by two active young rowers in Guernsey shirts, white trousers, and straw hats. “You’re stout, lads, both of ye, an’ purty good hands at the oar,for gintlemen; but av ye wos as strong as Samson it would puzzle ye to stem these breakers, so ye better go back.”
The yachters did not hear the advice, and they would not have taken it if they had heard it. They rowed straight up towards the landing-place, and, so far, showed themselves expert selectors of the right channel; but they soon came within the influence of the seas, which burst on the rock and sent up jets of spray to leeward.
These jets had seemed very pretty and harmless when viewed from the deck of the yacht, but they were found on a nearer approach to be quite able, and, we might almost add, not unwilling, to toss up the boat like a ball, and throw it and its occupants head over heels into the air.
But the rowers, like most men of their class, were not easily cowed. They watched their opportunity—allowed the waves to meet and rush on, and then pulled into the midst of the foam, in the hope of crossing to the shelter of the rock before the approach of the next wave.
Heedless of a warning cry from Ned O’Connor, whose anxiety began to make him very uneasy, the amateur sailors strained every nerve to pull through, while their companion who sat at the helm in the stern of the boat seemed to urge them on to redoubled exertions. Of course their efforts were in vain. The next billow caught the boat on its foaming crest, and raised it high in the air. For one moment the wave rose between the boat and the men on the rock, and hid her from view, causing Ned to exclaim, with a genuine groan, “Arrah! they’s gone!”
But they were not; the boat’s head had been carefully kept to the sea, and, although she had been swept back a considerable way, and nearly half-filled with water, she was still afloat.
The chief engineer now hailed the gentlemen, and advised them to return and remain on board their vessel until the state of the tide would permit him to send a proper boat for them.
In the meantime, however, a large boat from the floating light, pretty deeply laden with lime, cement, and sand, approached, when the strangers, with a view to avoid giving trouble, took their passage in her to the rock. The accession of three passengers to a boat, already in a lumbered state, put her completely out of trim, and, as it unluckily happened, the man who steered her on this occasion was not in the habit of attending the rock, and was not sufficiently aware of the run of the sea at the entrance of the eastern creek.
Instead, therefore, of keeping close to the small rock calledJohnny Gray, he gave it, as Ruby expressed it, “a wide berth.” A heavy sea struck the boat, drove her to leeward, and, the oars getting entangled among the rocks and seaweed, she became unmanageable. The next sea threw her on a ledge, and, instantly leaving her, she canted seaward upon her gunwale, throwing her crew and part of her cargo into the water.
All this was the work of a few seconds. The men had scarce time to realise their danger ere they found themselves down under the water; and when they rose gasping to the surface, it was to behold the next wave towering over them, ready to fall on their heads. When it fell it scattered crew, cargo, and boat in all directions.
Some clung to the gunwale of the boat, others to the seaweed, and some to the thwarts and oars which floated about, and which quickly carried them out of the creek to a considerable distance from the spot where the accident happened.
The instant the boat was overturned, Ruby darted towards one of the rock boats which lay near to the spot where the party of workmen who manned it had landed that morning. Wilson, the landing-master, was at his side in a moment.
“Shove off, lad, and jump in!” cried Wilson.
There was no need to shout for the crew of the boat. The men were already springing into her as she floated off. In a few minutes all the men in the water were rescued, with the exception of one of the strangers, named Strachan.
This gentleman had been swept out to a small insulated rock, where he clung to the seaweed with great resolution, although each returning sea laid him completely under water, and hid him for a second or two from the spectators on the rock. In this situation he remained for ten or twelve minutes; and those who know anything of the force of large waves will understand how severely his strength and courage must have been tried during that time.
When the boat reached the rock the most difficult part was still to perform, as it required the greatest nicety of management to guide her in a rolling sea, so as to prevent her from being carried forcibly against the man whom they sought to save.
“Take the steering-oar, Ruby; you are the best hand at this,” said Wilson.
Ruby seized the oar, and, notwithstanding the breach of the seas and the narrowness of the passage, steered the boat close to the rock at the proper moment.
“Starboard, noo, stiddy!” shouted John Watt, who leant suddenly over the bow of the boat and seized poor Strachan by the hair. In another moment he was pulled inboard with the aid of Selkirk’s stout arms, and the boat was backed out of danger.
“Now, a cheer, boys!” cried Ruby.
The men did not require urging to this. It burst from them with tremendous energy, and was echoed back by their comrades on the rock, in the midst of whose wild hurrah, Ned O’Connor’s voice was distinctly heard to swell from a cheer into a yell of triumph!
The little rock on which this incident occurred was calledStrachan’s Ledge, and it is known by that name at the present day.
Note 1. It is right to state that this man afterwards obtained a light-keeper’s situation from the Board of Commissioners of Northern Lights, who seem to have taken a kindly interest in all their servants, especially those of them who had suffered in the service.
Chapter Twenty Five.The Bell Rock in a Fog—Narrow Escape of the Smeaton.Change of scene is necessary to the healthful working of the human mind; at least, so it is said. Acting upon the assumption that the saying is true, we will do our best in this chapter for the human minds that condescend to peruse these pages, by leaping over a space of time, and by changing at least the character of the scene, if not the locality.We present the Bell Rock under a new aspect, that of a dense fog and a dead calm.This is by no means an unusual aspect of things at the Bell Rock, but as we have hitherto dwelt chiefly on storms it may be regarded as new to the reader.It was a June morning. There had been few breezes and no storms for some weeks past, so that the usual swell of the ocean had gone down, and there were actually no breakers on the rock at low water, and no ruffling of the surface at all at high tide. The tide had, about two hours before, overflowed the rock and driven the men into the beacon house, where, having breakfasted, they were at the time enjoying themselves with pipes and small talk.The lighthouse had grown considerably by this time. Its unfinished top was more than eighty feet above the foundation; but the fog was so dense that only the lower part of the column could be seen from the beacon, the summit being lost, as it were, in the clouds.Nevertheless that summit, high though it was, did not yet project beyond the reach of the sea. A proof of this had been given in a very striking manner, some weeks before the period about which we now write, to our friend George Forsyth.George was a studious man, and fond of reading the Bible critically. He was proof against laughter and ridicule, and was wont sometimes to urge the men into discussions. One of his favourite arguments was somewhat as follows—“Boys,” he was wont to say, “you laugh at me for readin’ the Bible carefully. You would not laugh at a schoolboy for reading his books carefully, would you? Yet the learnin’ of the way of salvation is of far more consequence to me than book learnin’ is to a schoolboy. An astronomer is never laughed at for readin’ his books o’ geometry an’ suchlike day an’ night—even to the injury of his health—but what is an astronomer’s business tohimcompared with the concerns of my soul tome? Ministers tell me there are certain things I must know and believe if I would be saved—such as the death and resurrection of our Saviour Jesus Christ; and they also point out that the Bible speaks of certain Christians, who did well in refusin’ to receive the Gospel at the hands of the apostles, without first enquirin’ into these things, to see if they were true. Now, lads,ifthese things that so many millions believe in, and thatyouall profess to believe in, are lies, then you may well laugh at me for enquirin’ into them; but if they be true, why, I think the devils themselves must be laughing atyoufornotenquirin’ into them!”Of course, Forsyth found among such a number of intelligent men, some who could argue with him, as well as some who could laugh at him. He also found one or two who sympathised openly, while there were a few who agreed in their hearts, although they did not speak.Well, it was this tendency to study on the part of Forsyth, that led him to cross the wooden bridge between the beacon and the lighthouse during his leisure hours, and sit reading at the top of the spiral stair, near one of the windows of the lowest room.Forsyth was sitting at his usual window one afternoon at the end of a storm. It was a comfortless place, for neither sashes nor glass had at that time been put in, and the wind howled up and down the shaft dreadfully. The man was robust, however, and did not mind that.The height of the building was at that time fully eighty feet. While he was reading there a tremendous breaker struck the lighthouse with such force that it trembled distinctly. Forsyth started up, for he had never felt this before, and fancied the structure was about to fall. For a moment or two he remained paralysed, for he heard the most terrible and inexplicable sounds going on overhead. In fact, the wave that shook the building had sent a huge volume of spray right over the top, part of which fell into the lighthouse, and what poor Forsyth heard was about a ton of water coming down through storey after storey, carrying lime, mortar, buckets, trowels, and a host of other things, violently along with it.To plunge down the spiral stair, almost headforemost, was the work of a few seconds. Forsyth accompanied the descent with a yell of terror, which reached the ears of his comrades in the beacon, and brought them to the door, just in time to see their comrade’s long legs carry him across the bridge in two bounds. Almost at the same instant the water and rubbish burst out of the doorway of the lighthouse, and flooded the bridge.But let us return from this digression, or rather, this series of digressions, to the point where we branched off: the aspect of the beacon in the fog, and the calm of that still morning in June.Some of the men inside were playing draughts, others were finishing their breakfast; one was playing “Auld Lang Syne”, with many extempore flourishes and trills, on a flute, which was very much out of tune. A few were smoking, of course (where exists the band of Britons who can get on without that!) and several were sitting astride on the cross-beams below, bobbing—not exactly for whales, but for any monster of the deep that chose to turn up.The men fishing, and the beacon itself, loomed large and mysterious in the half-luminous fog. Perhaps this was the reason that the sea-gulls flew so near them, and gave forth an occasional and very melancholy cry, as if of complaint at the changed appearance of things.“There’s naethin’ to be got the day,” said John Watt, rather peevishly, as he pulled up his line and found the bait gone.Baits arealwaysfound gone when lines are pulled up! This would seem to be an angling law of nature. At all events, it would seem to have been a very aggravating law of nature on the present occasion, for John Watt frowned and growled to himself as he put on another bait.“There’s a bite!” exclaimed Joe Dumsby, with a look of doubt, at the same time feeling his line.“Poo’d in 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! itisa 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 outhishand 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 hisletter, 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 thatheshould be the man to take them off? I meant to have given yousuchan 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;’whatcase?” 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 Iwishyou 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. Thenroundwould 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 sloopSmeatonfrom 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, theSmeatonwas 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 theSmeatonemerged 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 theSmeatonwas 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 theSmeatonshould 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 theSmeatonwithout 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.
Change of scene is necessary to the healthful working of the human mind; at least, so it is said. Acting upon the assumption that the saying is true, we will do our best in this chapter for the human minds that condescend to peruse these pages, by leaping over a space of time, and by changing at least the character of the scene, if not the locality.
We present the Bell Rock under a new aspect, that of a dense fog and a dead calm.
This is by no means an unusual aspect of things at the Bell Rock, but as we have hitherto dwelt chiefly on storms it may be regarded as new to the reader.
It was a June morning. There had been few breezes and no storms for some weeks past, so that the usual swell of the ocean had gone down, and there were actually no breakers on the rock at low water, and no ruffling of the surface at all at high tide. The tide had, about two hours before, overflowed the rock and driven the men into the beacon house, where, having breakfasted, they were at the time enjoying themselves with pipes and small talk.
The lighthouse had grown considerably by this time. Its unfinished top was more than eighty feet above the foundation; but the fog was so dense that only the lower part of the column could be seen from the beacon, the summit being lost, as it were, in the clouds.
Nevertheless that summit, high though it was, did not yet project beyond the reach of the sea. A proof of this had been given in a very striking manner, some weeks before the period about which we now write, to our friend George Forsyth.
George was a studious man, and fond of reading the Bible critically. He was proof against laughter and ridicule, and was wont sometimes to urge the men into discussions. One of his favourite arguments was somewhat as follows—
“Boys,” he was wont to say, “you laugh at me for readin’ the Bible carefully. You would not laugh at a schoolboy for reading his books carefully, would you? Yet the learnin’ of the way of salvation is of far more consequence to me than book learnin’ is to a schoolboy. An astronomer is never laughed at for readin’ his books o’ geometry an’ suchlike day an’ night—even to the injury of his health—but what is an astronomer’s business tohimcompared with the concerns of my soul tome? Ministers tell me there are certain things I must know and believe if I would be saved—such as the death and resurrection of our Saviour Jesus Christ; and they also point out that the Bible speaks of certain Christians, who did well in refusin’ to receive the Gospel at the hands of the apostles, without first enquirin’ into these things, to see if they were true. Now, lads,ifthese things that so many millions believe in, and thatyouall profess to believe in, are lies, then you may well laugh at me for enquirin’ into them; but if they be true, why, I think the devils themselves must be laughing atyoufornotenquirin’ into them!”
Of course, Forsyth found among such a number of intelligent men, some who could argue with him, as well as some who could laugh at him. He also found one or two who sympathised openly, while there were a few who agreed in their hearts, although they did not speak.
Well, it was this tendency to study on the part of Forsyth, that led him to cross the wooden bridge between the beacon and the lighthouse during his leisure hours, and sit reading at the top of the spiral stair, near one of the windows of the lowest room.
Forsyth was sitting at his usual window one afternoon at the end of a storm. It was a comfortless place, for neither sashes nor glass had at that time been put in, and the wind howled up and down the shaft dreadfully. The man was robust, however, and did not mind that.
The height of the building was at that time fully eighty feet. While he was reading there a tremendous breaker struck the lighthouse with such force that it trembled distinctly. Forsyth started up, for he had never felt this before, and fancied the structure was about to fall. For a moment or two he remained paralysed, for he heard the most terrible and inexplicable sounds going on overhead. In fact, the wave that shook the building had sent a huge volume of spray right over the top, part of which fell into the lighthouse, and what poor Forsyth heard was about a ton of water coming down through storey after storey, carrying lime, mortar, buckets, trowels, and a host of other things, violently along with it.
To plunge down the spiral stair, almost headforemost, was the work of a few seconds. Forsyth accompanied the descent with a yell of terror, which reached the ears of his comrades in the beacon, and brought them to the door, just in time to see their comrade’s long legs carry him across the bridge in two bounds. Almost at the same instant the water and rubbish burst out of the doorway of the lighthouse, and flooded the bridge.
But let us return from this digression, or rather, this series of digressions, to the point where we branched off: the aspect of the beacon in the fog, and the calm of that still morning in June.
Some of the men inside were playing draughts, others were finishing their breakfast; one was playing “Auld Lang Syne”, with many extempore flourishes and trills, on a flute, which was very much out of tune. A few were smoking, of course (where exists the band of Britons who can get on without that!) and several were sitting astride on the cross-beams below, bobbing—not exactly for whales, but for any monster of the deep that chose to turn up.
The men fishing, and the beacon itself, loomed large and mysterious in the half-luminous fog. Perhaps this was the reason that the sea-gulls flew so near them, and gave forth an occasional and very melancholy cry, as if of complaint at the changed appearance of things.
“There’s naethin’ to be got the day,” said John Watt, rather peevishly, as he pulled up his line and found the bait gone.
Baits arealwaysfound gone when lines are pulled up! This would seem to be an angling law of nature. At all events, it would seem to have been a very aggravating law of nature on the present occasion, for John Watt frowned and growled to himself as he put on another bait.
“There’s a bite!” exclaimed Joe Dumsby, with a look of doubt, at the same time feeling his line.
“Poo’d in 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! itisa 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 outhishand 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 hisletter, 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 thatheshould be the man to take them off? I meant to have given yousuchan account of it, especially a description of the case. They won’t wait. Come ashore as soon as you can, dearest Ruby.”
“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 thatheshould be the man to take them off? I meant to have given yousuchan 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;’whatcase?” 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 Iwishyou 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. Thenroundwould 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—”
“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. Thenroundwould 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 sloopSmeatonfrom 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, theSmeatonwas 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 theSmeatonemerged 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 theSmeatonwas 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 theSmeatonshould 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 theSmeatonwithout 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.
Chapter Twenty Six.A Sudden and Tremendous Change in Ruby’s Fortunes.What a variety of appropriate aphorisms there are to express the great truths of human experience! “There is many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip” is one of them. Undoubtedly there is. So is there “many a miss of a sweet little kiss.” “The course of true love,” also, “never did run smooth.” Certainly not. Why should it? If it did we should doubt whether the love were true. Our own private belief is that the course of true love is always uncommonly rough, but collective human wisdom has seen fit to put the idea in the negative form. So let it stand.Ruby had occasion to reflect on these things that day, but the reflection afforded him no comfort whatever.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?”“Iwill,” 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 recognised in the officer at the helm the youth who had already given him so much annoyance. The officer also recognised 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, “Notquiteyet, 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 uponyou.”“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 Rock Workyard, Arbroath,“20th June, 1810.“Ruby Brand, seaman and blacksmith, in the service of the Honourable the Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses, aged25years, 5feet10inches 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 inhishair.”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 therewhyI went away. Be sure you see themall, and explainwhy it was. Tell Minnie Gray that I will becertainto 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.
What a variety of appropriate aphorisms there are to express the great truths of human experience! “There is many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip” is one of them. Undoubtedly there is. So is there “many a miss of a sweet little kiss.” “The course of true love,” also, “never did run smooth.” Certainly not. Why should it? If it did we should doubt whether the love were true. Our own private belief is that the course of true love is always uncommonly rough, but collective human wisdom has seen fit to put the idea in the negative form. So let it stand.
Ruby had occasion to reflect on these things that day, but the reflection afforded him no comfort whatever.
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?”
“Iwill,” 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 recognised in the officer at the helm the youth who had already given him so much annoyance. The officer also recognised 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, “Notquiteyet, 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 uponyou.”
“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 Rock Workyard, Arbroath,“20th June, 1810.“Ruby Brand, seaman and blacksmith, in the service of the Honourable the Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses, aged25years, 5feet10inches high, very powerfully made, fair complexion, straight nose, dark-blue eyes, and curling auburn hair.”
“Bell Rock Workyard, Arbroath,
“20th June, 1810.
“Ruby Brand, seaman and blacksmith, in the service of the Honourable the Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses, aged25years, 5feet10inches 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 inhishair.”
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 therewhyI went away. Be sure you see themall, and explainwhy it was. Tell Minnie Gray that I will becertainto 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.