Robert Michael Ballantyne
The Lighthouse
Chapter Twelve
Bell Rock Billows—An Unexpected Visit—A Disaster and a Rescue
It is pleasant, it is profoundly enjoyable, to sit on the margin of the sea during the dead calm that not unfrequently succeeds a wild storm, and watch the gentle undulations of the glass-like surface, which the very gulls seem to be disinclined to ruffle with their wings as they descend to hover above their own reflected images.
It is pleasant to watch this from the shore, where the waves fall in low murmuring ripples, or from the ship’s deck, far out upon the sea, where there is no sound of water save the laving of the vessel’s bow as she rises and sinks in the broad-backed swell; but there is something more than pleasant, there is, something deeply and peculiarly interesting, in the same scene when viewed from such a position as the Bell Rock; for there, owing to the position of the rock and the depth of water around it, the observer beholds, at the same moment, the presence, as it were, of storm and calm.
The largest waves there are seen immediately after a storm has passed away, not during its continuance, no matter how furious the gale may have been, for the rushing wind has a tendency to blow down the waves, so to speak, and prevent their rising to their utmost height. It is when the storm is over that the swell rises; but as this swell appears only like large undulations, it does not impress the beholder with its magnitude until it draws near to the rock and begins to feel the checking influence of the bottom of the sea. The upper part of the swell, having then greater velocity than the lower parts assumes more and more the form of a billow. As it comes on it towers up like a great green wall of glittering glass, moving with a grand, solemn motion, which does not at first give the idea of much force or impetus. As it nears the rock, however, its height (probably fifteen or twenty feet) becomes apparent; its velocity increases; the top, with what may be termed gentle rapidity, rushes in advance of the base; its dark green side becomes concave; the upper edge lips over, then curls majestically downwards, as if bowing to a superior power, and a gleam of light flashes for a moment on the curling top. As yet there is no sound; all has occurred in the profound silence of the calm, but another instant and there is a mighty crash—a deafening roar; the great wall of water has fallen, and a very sea of churning foam comes leaping, bursting, spouting over rocks and ledges, carrying all before it with a tremendous sweep that seems to be absolutely irresistible until it meets the higher ledges of rock, when it is hurled back, and retires with a watery hiss that suggests the idea of baffled rage.
But it is not conquered. With the calm majesty of unalterable determination, wave after wave comes on, in slow, regular succession, like the inexhaustible battalions of an unconquerable foe, to meet with a similar repulse again and again.
There is, however, this peculiar difference between the waves on the ordinary seashore and the billows on the Bell Rock, that the latter, unlike the former, are not always defeated. The spectator on shore plants his foot confidently at the very edge of the mighty sea, knowing that “thus far it may come, but no farther.” On the Bell Rock the rising tide makes the conflict, for a time, more equal. Now, the rock stands proudly above the sea: anon the sea sweeps furiously over the rock with a roar of “Victory!”
Thus the war goes on, and thus the tide of battle daily and nightly ebbs and flows all the year round.
But when the cunning hand of man began to interfere, the aspect of things was changed, the sea was forced to succumb, and the rock, once a dreaded enemy, became a servant of the human race. True, the former rages in rebellion still, and the latter, although compelled to uphold the light that warns against itself, continues its perpetual warfare with the sea; but both are effectually conquered by means of the wonderful intelligence that God has given to man, and the sea for more than half a century has vainly beat against the massive tower whose foundation is on the Bell Rock.
But all this savours somewhat of anticipation. Let us return to Ruby Brand, in whose interest we have gone into this long digression; for he it was who gazed intently at the mingled scene of storm and calm which we have attempted to describe, and it was he who thought out most of the ideas which we have endeavoured to convey.
Ruby had lent a hand to work the pump at the foundation-pit that morning. After a good spell at it he took his turn of rest, and, in order to enjoy it fully, went as far out as he could upon the seaward ledges, and sat down on a piece of rock to watch the waves.
While seated there, Robert Selkirk came and sat down beside him. Selkirk was the principal builder, and ultimately laid every stone of the lighthouse with his own hand. He was a sedate, quiet man, but full of energy and perseverance. When the stones were landed faster than they could be built into their places, he and Bremner, as well as some of the other builders, used to work on until the rising tide reached their waists.
“It’s a grand sight, Ruby,” said Selkirk, as a larger wave than usual fell, and came rushing in torrents of foam up to their feet, sending a little of the spray over their heads.
“It is indeed a glorious sight,” said Ruby. “If I had nothing to do, I believe I could sit here all day just looking at the waves and thinking.”
“Thinkin’?” repeated Selkirk, in a musing tone of voice. “Can ye tell, lad, what ye think about when you’re lookin’ at the waves?”
Ruby smiled at the oddness of the question.
“Well,” said he, “I don’t think I ever thought of that before.”
“Ah, but I have!” said the other, “an’ I’ve come to the conclusion that for the most part we don’t think, properly speakin’, at all; that our thoughts, so to speak, think for us; that they just take the bit in their teeth and go rumblin’ and tumblin’ about anyhow or nohow!”
Ruby knitted his brows and pondered. He was one of those men who, when they don’t understand a thing, hold their tongues and think.
“And,” continued Selkirk, “it’s curious to observe what a lot o’ nonsense one thinks too when one is lookin’ at the waves. Many a time I have pulled myself up, thinkin’ the most astonishin’ stuff ye could imagine.”
“I would hardly have expected this of such a grave kind o’ man as you,” said Ruby.
“Mayhap not. It is not always the gravest looking that have the gravest thoughts.”
“But you don’t mean to say that you never think sense,” continued Ruby, “when you sit looking at the waves?”
“By no means,” returned his companion; “I’m only talking of the way in which one’s thoughts will wander. Sometimes I think seriously enough. Sometimes I think it strange that men can look at such a scene as that, and scarcely bestow a thought upon Him who made it.”
“Speak for yourself, friend,” said Ruby, somewhat quickly; “how know you that other men don’t think about their Creator when they look at His works?”
“Because,” returned Selkirk, “I find that I so seldom do so myself, even although I wish to and often try to; and I hold that every man, no matter what he is or feels, is one of a class who think and feel as he does; also, because many people, especially Christians, have told me that they have had the same experience to a large extent; also, and chiefly, because, as far as unbelieving man is concerned, the Bible tells me that ‘God is not in all his thoughts.’ But, Ruby, I did not make the remark as a slur upon men in general, I merely spoke of a fact,—an unfortunate fact,—that it is not natural to us, and not easy, to rise from nature to nature’s God, and I thought you would agree with me.”
“I believe you are right,” said Ruby, half-ashamed of the petulance of his reply; “at any rate, I confess you are right as far as I am concerned.”
As Selkirk and Ruby were both fond of discussion, they continued this subject some time longer, and there is no saying how far they would have gone down into the abstruse depths of theology, had not their converse been interrupted by the appearance of a boat rowing towards the rock.
“Is yonder craft a fishing boat, think you?” said Ruby, rising and pointing to it.
“Like enough, lad. Mayhap it’s the pilot’s, only it’s too soon for him to be off again with letters. Maybe it’s visitors to the rock, for I see something like a woman’s bonnet.”
As there was only one woman in the world at that time as far as Ruby was concerned (of course putting his mother out of the question!), it will not surprise the reader to be told that the youth started, that his cheek reddened a little, and his heart beat somewhat faster than usual. He immediately smiled, however, at the absurdity of supposing it possible that the woman in the boat could be Minnie, and as the blacksmith shouted to him at that moment, he turned on his heel and leaped from ledge to ledge of rock until he gained his wonted place at the forge.
Soon he was busy wielding the fore-hammer, causing the sparks to fly about himself and his comrade in showers, while the anvil rang out its merry peal.
Meanwhile the boat drew near. It turned out to be a party of visitors, who had come off from Arbroath to see the operations at the Bell Rock. They had been brought off by Spink, the pilot, and numbered only three—namely, a tall soldier-like man, a stout sailor-like man, and a young woman with—yes,—with golden hair.
Poor Ruby almost leaped over the forge when he raised his eyes from his work and caught sight of Minnie’s sweet face. Minnie had recognised her lover before the boat reached the rock, for he stood on an elevated ledge, and the work in which he was engaged, swinging the large hammer round his shoulder, rendered him very conspicuous. She had studiously concealed her face from him until quite close, when, looking him straight in the eyes without the least sign of recognition, she turned away.
We have said that the first glance Ruby obtained caused him to leap nearly over the forge; the second created such a revulsion of feeling that he let the fore-hammer fall.
“Hallo! Got a spark in yer eye?” enquired Dove, looking up anxiously.
It flashed across Ruby at that instant that the look given him by Minnie was meant to warn him not to take any notice of her, so he answered the smith’s query with “No, no; I’ve only let the hammer fall, don’t you see? Get on, old boy, an don’t let the metal cool.”
The smith continued his work without further remark, and Ruby assisted, resolving in his own mind to be a little more guarded as to the expression of his feelings.
Meanwhile Mr Stevenson received the visitors, and showed them over the works, pointing out the peculiarities thereof, and the difficulties that stood in the way.
Presently he came towards the forge, and said, “Brand, the stout gentleman there wishes to speak to you. He says he knew you in Arbroath. You can spare him for a few minutes, I suppose, Mr Dove?”
“Well, yes, but not for long,” replied the smith. “The tide will soon be up, and I’ve enough to do to get through with all these.”
Ruby flung down his hammer at the first word, and hastened to the ledge of rock where the visitors were standing, as far apart from the workmen as the space of the rock would admit of.
The stout gentleman was no other than his uncle, Captain Ogilvy, who put his finger to his lips as his nephew approached, and gave him a look of mystery that was quite sufficient to put the latter on his guard. He therefore went forward, pulled off his cap, and bowed respectfully to Minnie, who replied with a stiff curtsy, a slight smile, and a decided blush.
Although Ruby now felt convinced that they were all acting a part, he could scarcely bear this cold reception. His impulse was to seize Minnie in his arms; but he did not even get the comfort of a cold shake of the hand.
“Nephy,” said the captain in a hoarse whisper, putting his face close to that of Ruby, “mum’s the word! Silence, mystery, an’ all that sort o’ thing. Don’t appear to be an old friend, lad; and as to Minnie here—
“‘O no, we never mention her,
Her name it’s never heard.’
“Allow me to introduce you to Major Stewart, whose house you broke into, you know, Ruby, when:—
“‘All in the Downs the fleet was moored,’
“At least when the Termagant was waitin’ for you to go aboard.”
Here the captain winked and gave Ruby a facetious poke in the ribs, which was not quite in harmony with the ignorance of each other he was endeavouring to inculcate.
“Young man,” said the major quietly, “we have come off to tell you that everything is in a prosperous state as regards the investigation into your innocence—the private investigation I mean, for the authorities happily know nothing of your being here. Captain Ogilvy has made me his confidant in this matter, and from what he tells me I am convinced that you had nothing to do with this robbery. Excuse me if I now add that the sight of your face deepens this conviction.”
Ruby bowed to the compliment.
“We were anxious to write at once to the captain of the vessel in which you sailed,” continued the major, “but you omitted to leave his full name and address when you left. We were afraid to write to you, lest your name on the letter might attract attention, and induce a premature arrest. Hence our visit to the rock to-day. Please to write the address in this pocket-book.”
The major handed Ruby a small green pocket-book as he spoke, in which the latter wrote the full name and address of his late skipper.
“Now, nephy,” said the captain, “we must, I’m sorry to say, bid ye good day, and ask you to return to your work, for it won’t do to rouse suspicion, lad. Only keep quiet here, and do yer dooty—‘England expects every man to do his dooty’—and as sure as your name’s Ruby all will be shipshape in a few weeks.”
“I thank you sincerely,” said Ruby, addressing the major, but looking at Minnie.
Captain Ogilvy, observing this, and fearing some display of feeling that would be recognised by the workmen, who were becoming surprised at the length of the interview, placed himself between Minnie and her lover.
“No, no, Ruby,” said he, solemnly. “I’m sorry for ye, lad, but it won’t do. Patience is a virtue, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.”
“My mother?” said Ruby, wishing to prolong the interview.
“Is well,” said the captain. “Now, goodbye, lad, and be off.”
“Goodbye, Minnie,” cried Ruby, stepping forward suddenly and seizing the girl’s hand; then, wheeling quickly round, he sprang over the rocks, and returned to his post.
“Ha! it’s time,” cried the smith. “I thought you would never be done makin’ love to that there girl. Come, blaze away!”
Ruby felt so nettled by the necessity that was laid upon him of taking no notice of Minnie, that he seized the handle of the bellows passionately, and at the first puff blew nearly all the fire away.
“Hallo! messmate,” cried the smith, clearing the dust from his eyes; “what on airth ails ye? You’ve blowed the whole consarn out!”
Ruby made no reply, but, scraping together the embers, heaped them up and blew more gently.
In a short time the visitors re-entered their boat, and rowed out of the creek in which it had been lying.
Ruby became so exasperated at not being able even to watch the boat going away, that he showered terrific blows on the mass of metal the smith was turning rapidly on the anvil.
“Not so fast, lad; not so fast,” cried Dove hurriedly.
Ruby’s chafing spirit blew up just at that point; he hit the iron a crack that knocked it as flat as a pancake, and then threw down the hammer and deliberately gazed in the direction of the boat.
The sight that met his eyes appalled him. The boat had been lying in the inlet named Port Stevenson. It had to pass out to the open sea through Wilson’s Track, and past a small outlying rock named Gray’s Rock—known more familiarly among the men as Johnny Gray. The boat was nearing this point, when the sea, which had been rising for some time, burst completely over the seaward ledges, and swept the boat high against the rocks on the left. The men had scarcely got her again into the track when another tremendous billow, such as we have already described, swept over the rocks again and swamped the boat, which, being heavily ballasted, sank at once to the bottom of the pool.
It was this sight that met the horrified eyes of Ruby when he looked up.
He vaulted over the bellows like an antelope, and, rushing over Smith’s Ledge and Trinity Ledge, sprang across Port Boyle, and dived head foremost into Neill’s Pool before any of the other men, who made a general rush, could reach the spot.
A few powerful strokes brought Ruby to the place where the major and the captain, neither of whom could swim, were struggling in the water. He dived at once below these unfortunates, and almost in a second, reappeared with Minnie in his arms.
A few seconds sufficed to bring him to Smith’s Ledge, where several of his comrades hauled him and his burden beyond the reach of the next wave, and where, a moment or two later, the major and captain with the crew of the boat were landed in safety.
To bear the light form of Minnie in his strong arms to the highest and driest part of the rock were the work of a few moments to Ruby. Brief though those moments were, however, they were precious to the youth beyond all human powers of calculation, for Minnie recovered partial consciousness, and fancying, doubtless, that she was still in danger, flung her arms round his neck, and grasped him convulsively. Reader, we tell you in confidence that if Ruby had at that moment been laid on the rack and torn limb from limb, he would have cheered out his life triumphantly. It was not only that he knew she loved him—that he knew before,—but he had saved the life of the girl he loved, and a higher terrestrial happiness can scarcely be attained by man.
Laying her down as gently as a mother would her first-born, Ruby placed a coat under her head, and bade his comrades stand back and give her air. It was fortunate for him that one of the foremen, who understood what to do, came up at this moment, and ordered him to leave off chafing the girl’s hand with his wet fists, and go get some water boiled at the forge if he wanted to do her good.
Second words were not needed. The bellows were soon blowing, and the fire glowed in a way that it had not done since the works at the Bell Rock began. Before the water quite boiled some tea was put in, and, with a degree of speed that would have roused the jealousy of any living waiter, a cup of tea was presented to Minnie, who had recovered almost at the moment Ruby left her.
She drank a little, and then closing her eyes, moved her lips silently for a few seconds.
Captain Ogilvy, who had attended her with the utmost assiduity and tenderness as soon as he had wrung the water out of his own garments, here took an opportunity of hastily pouring something into the cup out of a small flask. When Minnie looked up again and smiled, he presented her with the cup. She thanked him, and drank a mouthful or two before perceiving that it had been tampered with.
“There’s something in it,” she said hurriedly.
“So there is, my pet,” said the captain, with a benignant smile, “a little nectar, that will do you more good than all the tea. Come now, don’t shake your head, but down with it all, like a good child.”
But Minnie was proof against persuasion, and refused to taste any more.
“Who was it that saved me, uncle?” (She had got into the way of calling the captain “uncle.”)
“Ruby Brand did it, my darlin’,” said the old man with a look of pride. “Ah! you’re better now; stay, don’t attempt to rise.”
“Yes, yes, uncle,” she said, getting up and looking round, “it is time that we should go now; we have a long way to go, you know. Where is the boat?”
“The boat, my precious, is at the bottom of the sea.”
As he said this, he pointed to the mast, half of which was seen rising out of the pool where the boat had gone down.
“But you don’t need to mind,” continued the captain, “for they’re goin’ to send us in one o’ their own boats aboord the floatin’ lightship, where we’ll get a change o’ clothes an’ somethin’ to eat.”
As he spoke, one of the sailors came forward and announced that the boat was ready, so the captain and the major assisted Minnie into the boat, which soon pushed off with part of the workmen from the rock. It was to be sent back for the remainder of the crew, by which time the tide would render it necessary that all should leave.
Ruby purposely kept away from the group while they were embarking, and after they were gone proceeded to resume work.
“You took a smart dive that time, lad,” observed Joe Dumsby as they went along.
“Not more than anyone would do for a girl,” said Ruby.
“An’ such a purty wan, too,” said O’Connor. “Ah! av she’s not Irish, she should ha’ bin.”
“Ye’re a lucky chap to hae sic a chance,” observed John Watt.
“Make up to her, lad,” said Forsyth; “I think she couldn’t refuse ye after doin’ her such service.”
“Time enough to chaff after work is over,” cried Ruby with a laugh, as he turned up his sleeves, and, seizing the hammer, began, as his friend Dove said, “to work himself dry.”
In a few minutes, work was resumed, and for another hour all continued busy as bees, cutting and pounding at the flinty surface of the Bell Rock.
