The Lighthouse, R. M. Ballantyne [well read books TXT] 📗

a fact,—a fact which seemed to be contradicted by those who ought to have known better.

Ned soliloquised that morning. His soliloquy will explain the circumstances to which we refer; we therefore record it here. “What’s that? Sure there’s something wrong wid me eye intirely this mornin’. Howld on,” (he wiped it here, and applying it again to the telescope, proceeded); “wan, tshoo, three, four! No mistake about it. Try agin. Wan, tshoo, three, four! An’ yet the ball’s up there as cool as a cookumber, tellin’ a big lie; ye know ye are,” continued Ned, apostrophising the ball, and readjusting the glass. “There ye are, as bold as brass—av ye’re not copper—tellin’ me that everythin’s goin’ on as usual, whin I can see with me two eyes (one after the other) that there’s four men on the rock, whin there should be only three! Well, well,” continued Ned, after a pause, and a careful examination of the Bell Rock, which being twelve miles out at sea could not be seen very distinctly in its lower parts, even through a good glass, “the day afther to-morrow’ll settle the question, Misther Ball, for then the Relief goes off, and faix, if I don’t guv’ ye the lie direct I’m not an Irishman.”

With this consolatory remark, Ned O’Connor descended to the rooms below, and told his wife, who immediately told all the other wives and the neighbours, so that ere long the whole town of Arbroath became aware that there was a mysterious stranger, a fourth party, on the Bell Rock!

Thus it came to pass that, when the relieving boat went off, numbers of fishermen and sailors and others watched it depart in the morning, and increased numbers of people of all sorts, among whom were many of the old hands who had wrought at the building of the lighthouse, crowded the pier to watch its return in the afternoon.

As soon as the boat left the rock, those who had “glasses” announced that there was an “extra man in her.”

Speculation remained on tiptoe for nearly three hours, at the end of which time the boat drew near.

“It’s a man, anyhow,” observed Captain Ogilvy, who was one of those near the outer end of the pier.

“I say,” observed his friend the “leftenant”, who was looking through a telescope, “if—that’s—not—Ruby—Brand—I’ll eat my hat without sauce!”

“You don’t mean—let me see,” cried the captain, snatching the glass out of his friend’s hand, and applying it to his eye. “I do believe!—yes! it is Ruby, or his ghost!”

By this time the boat was near enough for many of his old friends to recognise him, and Ruby, seeing that some of the faces were familiar to him, rose in the stern of the boat, took off his hat and waved it.

This was the signal for a tremendous cheer from those who knew our hero; and those who did not know him, but knew that there was something peculiar and romantic in his case, and in the manner of his arrival, began to cheer from sheer sympathy; while the little boys, who were numerous, and who love to cheer for cheering’s sake alone, yelled at the full pitch of their lungs, and waved their ragged caps as joyfully as if the King of England were about to land upon their shores!

The boat soon swept into the harbour, and Ruby’s friends, headed by Captain Ogilvy, pressed forward to receive and greet him. The captain embraced him, the friends surrounded him, and almost pulled him to pieces; finally, they lifted him on their shoulders, and bore him in triumphal procession to his mother’s cottage.

And where was Minnie all this time? She had indeed heard the rumour that something had occurred at the Bell Rock; but, satisfied from what she heard that it would be nothing very serious, she was content to remain at home and wait for the news. To say truth, she was too much taken up with her own sorrows and anxieties to care as much for public matters as she had been wont to do.

When the uproarious procession drew near, she was sitting at Widow Brand’s feet, “comforting her” in her usual way.

Before the procession turned the corner of the street leading to his mother’s cottage, Ruby made a desperate effort to address the crowd, and succeeded in arresting their attention.

“Friends, friends!” he cried, “it’s very good of you, very kind; but my mother is old and feeble; she might be hurt if we were to come on her in this fashion. We must go in quietly.”

“True, true,” said those who bore him, letting him down, “so, good day, lad; good day. A shake o’ your flipper; give us your hand; glad you’re back, Ruby; good luck to ’ee, boy!”

Such were the words, followed by three cheers, with which his friends parted from him, and left him alone with the captain.

“We must break it to her, nephy,” said the captain, as they moved towards the cottage.

“‘Still so gently o’er me stealin’,

Memory will bring back the feelin’.’

“It won’t do to go slap into her, as a British frigate does into a French line-o’-battle ship. I’ll go in an’ do the breakin’ business, and send out Minnie to you.”

Ruby was quite satisfied with the captain’s arrangement, so, when the latter went in to perform his part of this delicate business, the former remained at the door-post, expectant.

“Minnie, lass, I want to speak to my sister,” said the captain, “leave us a bit—and there’s somebody wants to see you outside.”

“Me, uncle!”

“Ay, you; look alive now.”

Minnie went out in some surprise, and had barely crossed the threshold when she found herself pinioned in a strong man’s arms! A cry escaped her as she struggled, for one instant, to free herself; but a glance was sufficient to tell who it was that held her. Dropping her head on Ruby’s breast, the load of sorrow fell from her heart. Ruby pressed his lips upon her forehead, and they both rested there.

It was one of those pre-eminently sweet resting-places which are vouchsafed to some, though not to all, of the pilgrims of earth, in their toilsome journey through the wilderness towards that eternal rest, in the blessedness of which all minor resting-places shall be forgotten, whether missed or enjoyed by the way.

Their rest, however, was not of long duration, for in a few minutes the captain rushed out, and exclaiming “she’s swounded, lad,” grasped Ruby by the coat and dragged him into the cottage, where he found his mother lying in a state of insensibility on the floor.

Seating himself by her side on the floor, he raised her gently, and placing her in a half-sitting, half-reclining position in his lap, laid her head tenderly on his breast. While in this position Minnie administered restoratives, and the widow, ere long opened her eyes and looked up. She did not speak at first, but, twining her arms round Ruby’s neck, gazed steadfastly into his face; then, drawing him closer to her heart, she fervently exclaimed “Thank God!” and laid her head down again with a deep sigh.

She too had found a resting-place by the way on that day of her pilgrimage.

Now, reader, we feel bound to tell you in confidence that there are few things more difficult than drawing a story to a close! Our tale is done, for Ruby is married to Minnie, and the Bell Rock Lighthouse is finished, and most of those who built it are scattered beyond the possibility of reunion. Yet we are loath to shake hands with them and to bid you farewell.

Nevertheless, so it must be, for if we were to continue the narrative of the after-careers of our friends of the Bell Rock, the books that should be written would certainly suffice to build a new lighthouse.

But we cannot make our bow without a parting word or two.

Ruby and Minnie, as we have said, were married. They lived in the cottage with their mother, and managed to make it sufficiently large to hold them all by banishing the captain into the scullery.

Do not suppose that this was done heartlessly, and without the captain’s consent. By no means. That worthy son of Neptune assisted at his own banishment. In fact, he was himself the chief cause of it, for when a consultation was held after the honeymoon, as to “what was to be done now,” he waved his hand, commanded silence, and delivered himself as follows:—

“Now, shipmates all, give ear to me, an’ don’t ventur’ to interrupt. It’s nat’ral an’ proper, Ruby, that you an’ Minnie and your mother should wish to live together; as the old song says, ‘Birds of a feather flock together,’ an’ the old song’s right; and as the thing ought to be, an’ you all want it to be, so it shall be. There’s only one little difficulty in the way, which is, that the ship’s too small to hold us, by reason of the after-cabin bein’ occupied by an old seaman of the name of Ogilvy. Now, then, not bein’ pigs, the question is, what’s to be done? I will answer that question: the seaman of the name of Ogilvy shall change his quarters.”

Observing at this point that both Ruby and his bride opened their mouths to speak, the captain held up a threatening finger, and sternly said, “Silence!” Then he proceeded—

“I speak authoritatively on this point, havin’ conversed with the seaman Ogilvy, and diskivered his sentiments. That seaman intends to resign the cabin to the young couple, and to hoist his flag for the futur’ in the fogs’l.”

He pointed, in explanation, to the scullery; a small, dirty-looking apartment off the kitchen, which was full of pots and pans and miscellaneous articles of household, chiefly kitchen, furniture.

Ruby and Minnie laughed at this, and the widow looked perplexed, but perfectly happy and at her ease, for she knew that whatever arrangement the captain should make, it would be agreeable in the end to all parties.

“The seaman Ogilvy and I,” continued the captain, “have gone over the fogs’l” (meaning the forecastle) “together, and we find that, by the use of mops, buckets, water, and swabs, the place can be made clean. By the use of paper, paint, and whitewash, it can be made respectable; and, by the use of furniture, pictures, books, and ’baccy, it can be made comfortable. Now, the question that I’ve got to propound this day to the judge and jury is—Why not?”

Upon mature consideration, the judge and jury could not answer “why not?” therefore the thing was fixed and carried out and the captain thereafter dwelt for years in the scullery, and the inmates of the cottage spent so much of their time in the scullery that it became, as it were, the parlour, or boudoir, or drawing-room of the place. When, in course of time, a number of small Brands came to howl and tumble about the cottage, they naturally gravitated towards the scullery, which then virtually became the nursery, with a stout old seaman, of the name of Ogilvy, usually acting the part of head nurse. His duties were onerous, by reason of the strength of constitution, lungs, and muscles of the young Brands, whose ungovernable desire to play with that dangerous element from which heat is evolved, undoubtedly qualified them for the honorary title of Fire-Brands.

With the proceeds of the jewel-case Ruby bought a little coasting vessel, with which he made frequent and successful voyages. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” no doubt, for Minnie grew fonder of Ruby every time he went away, and every time he came back. Things prospered with our hero, and you may be sure that he did not forget his old friends of the lighthouse. On the contrary, he and his wife became frequent visitors at the signal-tower, and the families of the lighthouse-keepers felt almost as much at home in “the cottage” as they did in their own houses. And each keeper, on returning from his six weeks’ spell on the rock to