The Lighthouse by Robert Michael Ballantyne (books for 5 year olds to read themselves TXT) 📖

There's that blackguard Swankie come for the
letters. Ha! it makes me chuckle. No time for more--"

This letter also concluded abruptly, and without a signature.

"There's a pretty kettle o' fish!" exclaimed Ruby aloud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"There are letters here for you, sir."

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

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

They boarded the _Smeaton_ without difficulty and delivered the letters.

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

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

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

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

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


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?"

"_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 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, "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 Rock Workyard, Arbroath,

"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