OTHER THINGS BESIDES MURDER "WILL OUT"
Meanwhile Davy Spink, with his heart full, returned slowly to the
shore.
He was long of reaching it, the boat being very heavy for one man to
pull. On landing he hurried up to his poor little cottage, which was
in a very low part of the town, and in a rather out-of-the-way corner
of that part.
"Janet," said he, flinging himself into a rickety old armchair that
stood by the fireplace, "the press-gang has catched us at last, and
they've took Big Swankie away, and, worse than that----"
"Oh!" cried Janet, unable to wait far more, "that's the best news
I've heard for mony a day. Ye're sure they have him safe?"
"Ay, sure enough," said Spink dryly; "but ye needna be sae glad aboot
it, for Swankie was aye good to _you_."
"Ay, Davy," cried Janet, putting her arm round her husband's neck,
and kissing him, "but he wasna good to _you_. He led ye into evil
ways mony a time when ye would rather hae keepit oot o' them. Na, na,
Davy, ye needna shake yer heed; I ken'd fine."
"Weel, weel, hae'd yer ain way, lass, but Swankie's awa" to the
wars, and so's Ruby Brand, for they've gotten him as weel."
"Ruby Brand!" exclaimed the woman.
"Ay, Ruby Brand; and this is the way they did it."
Here Spink detailed to his helpmate, who sat with folded hands and
staring eyes opposite to her husband, all that had happened. When he
had concluded, they discussed the subject together. Presently the
little girl came bouncing into the room, with rosy cheeks, sparkling
eyes, a dirty face, and fair ringlets very much dishevelled, and with
a pitcher of hot soup in her hands.
Davy caught her up, and kissing her, said abruptly, "Maggie, Big
Swankie's awa' to the wars."
The child looked enquiringly in her father's face, and he had to
repeat his words twice before she quite realized the import of them.
"Are ye jokin', daddy?"
"No, Maggie; it's true. The press-gang got him and took him awa', an'
I doot we'll never see him again."
The little girl's expression changed while he spoke, then her lip
trembled, and she burst into tears.
"See there, Janet," said Spink, pointing to Maggie, and looking
earnestly at his wife.
"Weel-a-weel," replied Janet, somewhat softened, yet with much
firmness, "I'll no deny that the man was fond o' the bairn, and it
liked him weel enough; but, my certes! he wad hae made a bad man o'
you if he could. But I'm real sorry for Ruby Brand; and what'll the
puir lassie Gray dot Ye'll hae to gang up an' gie them the message."
"So I will; but that's like somethin' to eat, I think?"
Spink pointed to the soup.
"Ay, it's a' we've got, so let's fa' to; and haste ye, lad. It's a
sair heart she'll hae this night--wae's me!"
While Spink and his wife were thus employed, Widow Brand, Minnie
Gray, and Captain Ogilvy were seated at tea, round the little table
in the snug kitchen of the widow's cottage.
It might have been observed that there were two teapots on the table,
a large one and a small, and that the captain helped himself out of
the small one, and did not take either milk or sugar. But the
captain's teapot did not necessarily imply tea. In fact, since the
death of the captain's mother, that small teapot had been accustomed
to strong drink only. It never tasted tea.
"I wonder if Ruby will get leave of absence," said the captain,
throwing himself back in his armchair, in order to be able to admire,
with greater ease, the smoke, as it curled towards the ceiling from
his mouth and pipe.
"I do hope so," said Mrs. Brand, looking up from her knitting, with a
little sigh. Mrs. Brand usually followed up all her remarks with a
little sigh. Sometimes the sigh was very little. It depended a good
deal on the nature of her remark whether the sigh was of the little,
less, or least description; but it never failed, in one or other
degree, to close her every observation.
"I _think_ he will," said Minnie, as she poured a second cup of tea
for the widow.
"Ay, that's right, lass," observed the captain; "there's nothin'
like hope--
'The pleasures of hope told a flatterin' tale
Regardin' the fleet when Lord Nelson get sail.'
Fill me out another cup of tea, Hebe."
It was a pleasant little fiction with the captain to call his
beverage "tea". Minnie filled out a small cupful of the contents of
the little teapot, which did, indeed, resemble tea, but which smelt
marvellously like hot rum and water.
"Enough, enough. Come on, Macduff! Ah! Minnie, this is prime Jamaica;
it's got such a--but I forgot; you don't understand nothin' about
nectar of this sort."
The captain smoked in silence for a few minutes, and then said, with
a sudden chuckle--
"Wasn't it odd, sister, that we should have found it all out in such
an easy sort o' way? If criminals would always tell on themselves as
plainly as Big Swankie did, there would be no use for lawyers."
"Swankie would not have spoken so freely," said Minnie, with a laugh,
"if he had known that we were listening."
"That's true, girl," said the captain, with sudden gravity; "and I
don't feel quite easy in my mind about that same eavesdropping. It's
a dirty thing to do--especially for an old sailor, who likes
everything to be fair and above-board; but then, you see, the natur'
o' the words we couldn't help hearin' justified us in waitin' to hear
more. Yes, it was quite right, as it turned out A little more tea,
Minnie. Thank'ee, lass. Now go, get the case, and let us look over it
again."
The girl rose, and, going to a drawer, quickly returned with a small
red leather case in her hand. It was the identical jewel case that
Swankie had found on the dead body at the Bell Rock!
"Ah! that's it; now, let us see; let us see." He laid aside his pipe,
and for some time felt all his pockets, and looked round the room, as
if in search of something.
"What are you looking for, uncle?"
"The specs, lass; these specs'll be the death o' me."
Minnie laughed. "They're on your brow, uncle!"
"So they are! Well, well----"
The captain smiled deprecatingly, and, drawing his chair close to the
table, began to examine the box.
Its contents were a strange mixture, and it was evident that the case
had not been made to hold them.
There was a lady's gold watch, of very small size, and beautifully
formed; a set of ornaments, consisting of necklace, bracelets, ring,
and ear-rings of turquoise and pearls set in gold, of the most
delicate and exquisite chasing; also, an antique diamond cross of
great beauty, besides a number of rings and bracelets of considerable
value.
As the captain took these out one by one, and commented on them, he
made use of Minnie's pretty hand and arm to try the effect of each,
and truly the ornaments could not have found a more appropriate
resting-place among the fairest ladies of the land.
Minnie submitted to be made use of in this, way with a pleased and
amused expression; for, while she greatly admired the costly gems,
she could not help smiling at the awkwardness of the captain in
putting them on.
"Read the paper again," said Minnie, after the contents of the box
had been examined.
The captain took up a small parcel covered with oiled cloth, which
contained a letter. Opening it, he began to read, but was interrupted
by Mrs. Brand, who had paid little attention to the jewels.
"Read it out loud, brother," said she, "I don't hear you well. Read
it out; I love to hear of my darling's gallant deeds."
The captain cleared his throat, raised his voice, and read slowly:--
"'LISBON, _10th March_, 1808.
"'DEAR CAPTAIN BRAND,--I am about to quit this place for the East in
a few days, and shall probably never see you again. Pray accept the
accompanying case of jewels as a small token of the love and esteem
in which you are held by a heart-broken father. I feel assured that
if it had been in the power of man to have saved my drowning child
your gallant efforts would have been successful. It was ordained
otherwise; and I now pray that I may be enabled to say "God's will be
done". But I cannot bear the sight of these ornaments. I have no
relatives--none at least who deserve them half so well as yourself.
Do not pain me by refusing them. They may be of use to you if you are
ever in want of money, being worth, I believe, between three and four
hundred pounds. Of course, you cannot misunderstand my motive in
mentioning this. No amount of money could in any measure represent
the gratitude I owe to the man who risked his life to save my child.
May God bless you, sir."
The letter ended thus, without signature; and the captain ceased to
read aloud. But there was an addition to the letter written in pencil,
in the hand of the late Captain Brand, which neither he nor Minnie had
yet found courage to read to the poor widow. It ran thus:--
"Our doom is sealed. My schooner is on the Bell Rock. It is blowing a
gale from N.E., and she is going to pieces fast. We are all standing
under the lee of a ledge of rock--six of us. In half an hour the tide
will be roaring over the spot. God in Christ help us! It is an awful
end. If this letter and box is ever found, I ask the finder to send
it, with my blessing, to Mrs. Brand, my beloved wife, in Arbroath."
The writing was tremulous, and the paper bore the marks of having
been soiled with seaweed. It was unsigned. The writer had evidently
been obliged to close it hastily.
After reading this in silence the captain refolded the letter.
"No wonder, Minnie, that Swankie did not dare to offer such things
for sale. He would certainly have been found out. Wasn't it lucky
that we heard him tell Spink the spot under his floor where he had
hidden them?"
At that moment there came a low knock to the door. Minnie opened it,
and admitted Davy Spink, who stood in the middle of the room
twitching his cap nervously, and glancing uneasily from one to
another of the party.
"Hallo, Spink!" cried the captain, pushing his spectacles up on his
forehead, and gazing at the fisherman in surprise, "you don't seem to
be quite easy in your mind. Hope your fortunes have not sprung a
leak!"
"Weel, Captain Ogilvy, they just have; gone to the bottom, I might
a'most say. I've come to tell ye--that--the fact is, that the
press-gang have catched us at last, and ta'en awa' my mate, Jock
Swankie, better kenn'd as Big Swankie."
"Hem--well, my lad, in so far as that does damage to you, I'm sorry
for it; but as regards society at large, I rather think that Swankie
havin' tripped his anchor is a decided advantage. If you lose by this
in one way, you gain much in another; for your mate's companionship
did ye no good. Birds of a feather should flock together. You're
better apart, for I believe you to be an honest man, Spink."
Davy looked at the captain in unfeigned astonishment.
"Weel, ye're the first man that iver said that, an' I thank 'ee, sir,
but you're wrang, though I wush ye was right. But that's no' what I
cam' to tell ye."
Here the fisherman's indecision of manner returned. "Come, make a
clean breast of it, lad. There are none here but friends."
"Weel, sir, Ruby Brand----"
He paused, and Minnie turned deadly pale, for she jumped at once to
the right conclusion. The widow, on the other hand, listened for more
with deep anxiety, but did not guess the truth.
"The fact is, Ruby's catched too, an' he's awa' to the wars, and he
sent me to--ech, sirs! the auld wuman's fentit."
Poor Widow Brand had indeed fallen back in her chair in a state
bordering on insensibility. Minnie was able to restrain her feelings
so as to attend to her. She and the captain raised her gently, and
led her into her own room, from whence the captain returned, and shut
the door behind him.
"Now, Spink," said he, "tell me all about it, an' be partic'lar."
Davy at once complied, and related all that the reader already knows,
in a deep, serious tone of voice, for he felt that in the captain he
had a sympathetic listener.
When he had concluded, Captain Ogilvy heaved a sigh so deep that it
might have been almost considered a groan, then he sat down on his
armchair, and, pointing to the chair from which the widow had
recently risen, said, "Sit down, lad."
As he advanced to comply, Spink's eyes for the first time fell on the
case of jewels. He started, paused, and looked with a troubled air at
the captain.
"Ha!" exclaimed the latter with a grin; "you seem to know these
things; old acquaintances, eh!"
"It wasna' me that stole them," said Spink hastily.
"I did not say that anyone stole them."
"Weel, I mean that--that----"
He stopped abruptly, for he felt that in whatever way he might
attempt to clear himself, he would unavoidably criminate, by
implication, his absent mate.
"I know what you mean, my lad; sit down."
Spink sat down on the edge of the chair, and looked at the other
uneasily.
"Have a cup of tea?" said the captain abruptly, seizing the small pot
and pouring out a cupful.
"Thank 'ee--I--I niver tak' tea."
"Take it to-night, then. It will do you good."
Spink put the cup to his lips, and a look of deep surprise overspread
his rugged countenance as he sipped the contents. The captain nodded.
Spink's look of surprise changed into a confidential smile; he also
nodded, winked, and drained the cup to the bottom.
"Yes," resumed the captain; "you mean that you did not take the case
of jewels from old Brand's pocket on that day when you found his body
on the Bell Rock, though you were present, and saw your comrade
pocket the booty. You see I know all about it, Davy, an' your only
fault lay in concealing the matter, and in keepin' company with that
scoundrel."
The gaze of surprise with which Spink listened to the first part of
this speech changed to a look of sadness towards the end of it.
"Captain Ogilvy," said he, in a tone of solemnity that was a strong
contrast to his usual easy, careless manner of speaking, "you ca'd me
an honest man, an' ye think I'm clear o' guilt in this matter, but
ye're mista'en. Hoo ye cam' to find oot a' this I canna divine, but I
can tell ye somethin' mair than ye ken. D'ye see that bag?"
He pulled a small leather purse out of his coat pocket, and laid it
with a little bang on the table.
The captain nodded.
"Weel, sir, that was _my_ share o' the plunder, thretty goolden
sovereigns. We tossed which o' us was to hae them, an' the siller
fell to me. But I've niver spent a boddle o't. Mony a time have I
been tempit, an' mony a time wad I hae gi'en in to the temptation,
but for a certain lass ca'd Janet, that's been an angel, it's my
belief, sent doon frae heeven to keep me frae gawin to the deevil
a'thegither. But be that as it may, I've brought the siller to them
that owns it by right, an' so my conscience is clear o't at lang
last."
The sigh of relief with which Davy Spink pushed the bag of gold
towards his companion, showed that the poor man's mind was in truth
released from a heavy load that had crushed it for years.
The captain, who had lit his pipe, stared at the fisherman through
the smoke for some time in silence; then he began to untie the purse,
and said slowly, "Spink, I said you were an honest man, an' I see no
cause to alter my opinion."
He counted out the thirty gold pieces, put them back into the bag,
and the bag into his pocket. Then he continued, "Spink, if this gold
was mine I would--but no matter, it's not mine, it belongs to Widow
Brand, to whom I shall deliver it up. Meantime, I'll bid you good
night. All these things require reflection. Call back here to-morrow,
my fine fellow, and I'll have something to say to you. Another cup of
tea?"
"Weel, I'll no objec'."
Davy Spink rose, swallowed the beverage, and left the cottage. The
captain returned, and stood for some time irresolute with his hand on
the handle of the door of his sister's room. As he listened, he heard
a sob, and the tones of Minnie's voice as if in prayer. Changing his
mind, he walked softly across the kitchen into his own room, where,
having trimmed the candle, refilled and lit his pipe, he sat down at
the table, and, resting his arms thereon, began to meditate.