The Lighthouse, R. M. Ballantyne [best mystery novels of all time .txt] 📗

lime of a nature strong enough to withstand the action of the salt sea. All this, and a great deal more of a deeply interesting nature, must remain untold, and be left entirely to the reader's imagination. [Footnote]

[Footnote: It may be found, however, in minute detail, in the large and interesting work entitled _Steveson's Bell Rock Lighthouse.]

Suffice it to say that the work was fairly begun in the month of August, 1807; that a strong beacon of timber was built, which was so well constructed that it stood out all the storms that beat against it during the whole time of the building operations; that close to this beacon the pit or foundation of the lighthouse was cut down deep into the solid rock; that the men employed could work only between two and three hours at a time, and had to pump the water out of this pit each tide before they could resume operations; that the work could only be done in the summer months, and when engaged in it the men dwelt either in the Pharos floating light, or in one of the attending vessels, and were not allowed to go ashore—that is, to the mainland, about twelve miles distant; that the work was hard, but so novel and exciting that the artificers at last became quite enamoured of it, and that ere long operations were going busily forward, and the work was in a prosperous and satisfactory state of advancement.

Things were in this condition at the Bell Rock, when, one fine summer evening, our friend and hero, Ruby Brand, returned, after a long absence, to his native town.

CHAPTER VI THE CAPTAIN CHANGES HIS QUARTERS

It was fortunate for Ruby that the skipper of the vessel ordered him to remain in charge while he went ashore, because he would certainly have been recognized by numerous friends, and his arrival would speedily have reached the ears of the officers of justice, who seem to be a class of men specially gifted with the faculty of never forgetting. It was not until darkness had begun to settle down on the town that the skipper returned on board, and gave him leave to go ashore.

Ruby did not return in the little coaster in which he had left his native place. That vessel had been wrecked not long after he joined her, but the crew were saved, and Ruby succeeded in obtaining a berth as second mate of a large ship trading between Hull and the Baltic. Returning from one of his voyages with a pretty good sum of money in his pocket, he resolved to visit his mother and give it to her. He therefore went aboard an Arbroath schooner, and offered to work his passage as an extra hand. Remembering his former troubles in connexion with the press-gang, he resolved to conceal his name from the captain and crew, who chanced to be all strangers to him.

It must not be supposed that Mrs. Brand had not heard of Ruby since he left her. On the contrary, both she and Minnie Gray got letters as frequently as the postal arrangements of those days would admit of; and from time to time they received remittances of money, which enabled them to live in comparative comfort. It happened, however, that the last of these remittances had been lost, so that Mrs. Brand had to depend for subsistence on Minnie's exertions, and on her brother's liberality. The brother's power was limited, however, and Minnie had been ailing for some time past, in consequence of her close application to work, so that she could not earn as much as usual. Hence it fell out that at this particular time the widow found herself in greater pecuniary difficulties than she had ever been in before.

Ruby was somewhat of an original. It is probable that every hero is. He resolved to surprise his mother by pouring the money he had brought into her lap, and for this purpose had, while in Hull, converted all his savings into copper, silver, and gold. Those precious metals he stowed separately into the pockets of his huge pea-jacket, and, thus heavily laden, went ashore about dark, as soon as the skipper returned.

At this precise hour it happened that Mrs. Brand, Minnie Gray, and Captain Ogilvy were seated at their supper in the kitchen of the cottage.

Two days previously the captain had called, and said to Mrs. Brand—

"I tell 'ee what it is, sister, I'm tired of livin' a solitary bachelor life, all by myself, so I'm goin' to make a change, lass."

Mrs. Brand was for some moments speechless, and Minnie, who was sewing near the window, dropped her hands and work on her lap, and looked up with inexpressible amazement in her sweet blue eyes.

"Brother," said Mrs. Brand earnestly, "you don't mean to tell me that you're going to marry at your time of life?"

"Eh! what? Marry?"

The captain looked, if possible, more amazed than his sister for a second or two, then his red face relaxed into a broad grin, and he sat down on a chair and chuckled, wiping the perspiration (he seemed always more or less in a state of perspiration) from his bald head the while.

"Why, no, sister, I'm not going to marry; did I speak of marryin'?"

"No; but you spoke of being tired of a bachelor life, and wishing to change."

"Ah! you women," said the captain, shaking his head—"always suspecting that we poor men are wantin' to marry you. Well, pr'aps you ain't far wrong neither; but I'm not goin' to be spliced yet-a-while, lass. Marry, indeed!

          'Shall I, wastin' in despair,
          Die, 'cause why? a woman's rare?'"

"Oh! Captain Ogilvy, that's not rightly quoted," cried Minnie, with a merry laugh.

"Ain't it?" said the captain, somewhat put out; for he did not like to have his powers of memory doubted.

"No; surely women are not rare," said Minnie.

"Good ones are," said the captain stoutly.

"Well; but that's not the right word."

"What is the right word, then?" asked the captain with affected sternness, for, although by nature disinclined to admit that he could be wrong, he had no objection to be put right by Minnie.

"Die because a woman's f——," said Minnie, prompting him.

"F——, 'funny?'" guessed the captain.

"No; it's not 'funny'," cried Minnie, laughing heartily.

"Of course not," assented the captain, "it could not be 'funny' nohow, because 'funny' don't rhyme with 'despair'; besides, lots o' women ain't funny a bit, an' if they was, that's no reason why a man should die for 'em; what is the word, lass?"

"What am I?" asked Minnie, with an arch smile, as she passed her fingers through the clustering masses of her beautiful hair.

"An angel, beyond all doubt," said the gallant captain, with a burst of sincerity which caused Minnie to blush and then to laugh.

"You're incorrigible, captain, and you are so stupid that it's of no use trying to teach you."

Mrs. Brand—who listened to this conversation with an expression of deep anxiety on her meek face, for she could not get rid of her first idea that her brother was going to marry—here broke in with the question,—

"When is it to be, brother?"

"When is what to be, sister?"

"The—the marriage."

"I tell you I ain't a-goin' to marry," repeated the captain; "though why a stout young feller like me, just turned sixty-four, shouldn't marry, is more than I can see. You know the old proverbs, lass—'It's never too late to marry'; 'Never ventur', never give in'; 'John Anderson my jo John, when we was first—first——'"

"Married," suggested Minnie.

"Just so," responded the captain, "and everybody knows that he was an old man. But no, I'm not goin' to marry; I'm only goin' to give up my house, sell off the furniture, and come and live with you."

"Live with me!" ejaculated Mrs. Brand.

"Ay, an' why not? What's the use o' goin' to the expense of two houses when one'll do, an' when we're both raither scrimp o' the ready? You'll just let me have the parlour. It never was a comf'rable room to sit in, so it don't matter much your givin' it up; it's a good enough sleepin' and smokin' cabin, an' we'll all live together in the kitchen. I'll throw the whole of my _tree_mendous income into the general purse, always exceptin' a few odd coppers, which I'll retain to keep me a-goin' in baccy. We'll sail under the same flag, an' sit round the same fire, an' sup at the same table, and sleep in the same—no, not exactly that, but under the same roof-tree, which'll be a more hoconomical way o' doin' business, you know; an' so, old girl, as the song says—

          'Come an' let us be happy together,
             For where there's a will there's a way,
          An' we won't care a rap for the weather
             So long as there's nothin' to pay'."

"Would it not be better to say, 'so long as there's something to pay?'" suggested Minnie.

"No, lass, it wouldn't," retorted the captain. "You're too fond of improvin' things. I'm a stanch old Tory, I am. I'll stick to the old flag till all's blue. None o' your changes or improvements for me."

This was a rather bold statement for a man to make who improved upon almost every line he ever quoted; but the reader is no doubt acquainted with parallel instances of inconsistency in good men even in the present day.

"Now, sister," continued Captain Ogilvy, "what d'ye think of my plan?"

"I like it well, brother," replied Mrs. Brand with a gentle smile.
"Will you come soon?"

"To-morrow, about eight bells," answered the captain promptly.

This was all that was said on the subject. The thing was, as the captain said, settled off-hand, and accordingly next morning he conveyed such of his worldly goods as he meant to retain possession of to his sister's cottage—"the new ship", as he styled it. He carried his traps on his own broad shoulders, and the conveyance of them cost him three distinct trips.

They consisted of a huge sea-chest, an old telescope more than a yard long, and cased in leather; a quadrant, a hammock, with the bedding rolled up in it, a tobacco-box, the enormous old Family Bible in which the names of his father, mother, brothers, and sisters were recorded; and a brown teapot with half a lid. This latter had belonged to the captain's mother, and, being fond of it, as it reminded him of the "old ooman", he was wont to mix his grog in it, and drink the same out of a teacup, the handle of which was gone, and the saucer of which was among the things of the past.

Notwithstanding his avowed adherence to Tory principles, Captain Ogilvy proceeded to make manifold radical changes and surprising improvements in the little parlour, insomuch that when he had completed the task, and led his sister carefully (for she was very feeble) to look at what he had done, she became quite incapable of expressing herself in ordinary language; positively refused to believe her eyes, and never again entered that room, but always spoke of what she had seen as a curious dream!

No one was ever able to discover whether there was not a slight tinge of underlying jocularity in this remark of Mrs. Brand, for she was a strange and incomprehensible mixture of shrewdness and innocence; but no one took much trouble to find out, for she was so lovable that people accepted her just as she was, contented to let any small amount of mystery that seemed to be in her to remain unquestioned.

"The parlour" was one of those well-known rooms which are occasionally met with in country cottages, the inmates of which are not wealthy. It was reserved exclusively for the purpose of receiving visitors. The furniture, though old, threadbare, and dilapidated, was kept scrupulously clean, and arranged symmetrically. There were a few books on the table, which were always placed with mathematical exactitude, and a set of chairs, so placed as to give one mysteriously the impression that they were not meant to be sat upon. There was also a grate, which never had a fire in it, and was never without a paper ornament in it, the pink and white aspect of which caused one involuntarily to shudder.

But the great point, which was meant to afford the highest gratification to the beholder, was the chimney-piece. This spot was crowded to excess in every square inch of its area with ornaments, chiefly of earthenware, miscalled china, and shells. There were great white shells with pink interiors, and small brown shells with spotted backs. Then there were china cups and