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 for 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 realised 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 do?
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 set 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."