The Lighthouse

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?”

“I will,” 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 recognized in the officer at the helm the youth who had already given him so much annoyance.  The officer also recognized 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, “Not quite yet, 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 upon you.”

“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 BOOK WORKYARD, ARBBOATH,
“20th June, 1810.

“Ruby Brand, seaman and blacksmith, in the service of the Honourable the Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses, aged 25 years, 5 feet 10 inches 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 in his hair.”

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 there why I went away.  Be sure you see them all, and explain why it was.  Tell Minnie Gray that I will be certain to 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.