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 are light-green, and his complexion is
sallow, if I may not say yellow--"
"Fair, lad; fair," said the officer, laughing in spite of himself. "Ah!
Ruby Brand, you are jealous of him! Well, I see that I'm fated not to
capture you, so I'll bid you good day. Meanwhile your companions will
be so good as to step into my gig."
The two men rose to obey. Big Swankie stepped over the gunwale, with
the fling of a sulky, reckless man, who curses his fate and submits to
it. Davy Spink had a very crestfallen, subdued look. He was about to
follow, when a thought seemed to strike him. He turned hastily round,
and Ruby was surprised to see that his eyes were suffused with tears,
and that his features worked with the convulsive twitching of one who
struggles powerfully to restrain his feelings.
"Ruby Brand," said he, in a deep husky voice, which trembled at first,
but became strong as he went on; "Ruby Brand, I deserve nae good at your
hands, yet I'll ask a favour o' ye. Ye've seen the wife and the bairn,
the wee ane wi' the fair curly pow. Ye ken the auld hoose. It'll be
mony a lang day afore I see them again, if iver I come back ava.
There's naebody left to care for them. They'll be starvin' soon, lad.
Wull ye--wull ye look-doon?"
Poor Davy Spink stopped here, and covered his face with his big sunburnt
hands.
A sudden gush of sympathy filled Ruby's heart. He started forward, and
drawing from his pocket the letter with which he was charged, thrust it
into Spink's hand, and said hurriedly--
"Don't fail to deliver it the first thing you do on landing. And
hark'ee, Spink, go to Mrs Brand's cottage, and tell them there _why_ I
went away. Be sure you see them _all_, and explain _why it was_. Tell
Minnie Gray that I will be _certain_ to return, if God spares me."
Without waiting for a reply he sprang into the gig, and gave the other
boat a shove, that sent it several yards off.
"Give way, lads," cried the officer, who was delighted at this
unexpected change in affairs, though he had only heard enough of the
conversation to confuse him as to the cause of it.
"Stop! stop!" shouted Spink, tossing up his arms.
"I'd rather not," returned the officer.
Davy seized the oars, and, turning his boat in the direction of the gig,
endeavoured to overtake it. As well might the turkey-buzzard attempt to
catch the swallow. He was left far behind, and when last seen faintly
through the fog, he was standing up in the stern of the boat wringing
his hands.
Ruby had seated himself in the bow of the gig, with his face turned
steadily towards the sea, so that no one could see it. This position he
maintained in silence until the boat ranged up to what appeared like the
side of a great mountain, looming through the mist.
Then he turned round, and, whatever might have been the struggle within
his breast, all traces of it had left his countenance, which presented
its wonted appearance of good-humoured frankness.
We need scarcely say that the mountain turned out to be a British
man-of-war. Ruby was quickly introduced to his future messmates, and
warmly received by them. Then he was left to his own free will during
the remainder of that day, for the commander of the vessel was a kind
man, and did not like to add to the grief of the impressed men by
setting them to work at once.
Thus did our hero enter the Royal Navy; and many a long and weary day
and month passed by before he again set foot in his native town.