The sun shone brightly over the sea next morning; so brightly and
powerfully that it seemed to break up and disperse by force the great
storm-clouds which hung about the sky, like the fragments of an army of
black bullies who had done their worst and been baffled.
The storm was over; at least, the wind had moderated down to a fresh,
invigorating breeze. The white crests of the billows were few and far
between, and the wild turmoil of waters had given place to a grand
procession of giant waves, that thundered on the Bell Rock Lighthouse,
at once with more dignity and more force than the raging seas of the
previous night.
It was the sun that awoke Ruby, by shining in at one of the small
windows of the library, in which he slept. Of course it did not shine
in his face, because of the relative positions of the library and the
sun, the first being just below the lantern, and the second just above
the horizon, so that the rays struck upwards, and shone with dazzling
brilliancy on the dome-shaped ceiling. This was the second time of
wakening for Ruby that night, since he lay down to rest. The first
wakening was occasioned by the winding up of the machinery which kept
the lights in motion, and the chain of which, with a ponderous weight
attached to it, passed through a wooden pilaster close to his ear,
causing such a sudden and hideous din that the sleeper, not having been
warned of it, sprang like a Jack-in-the-box out of bed into the middle
of the room, where he first stared vacantly around him like an unusually
surprised owl, and then, guessing the cause of the noise, smiled
pitifully, as though to say, "Poor fellow, you're easily frightened,"
and tumbled back into bed, where he fell asleep again instantly.
On the second time of wakening Ruby rose to a sitting posture, yawned,
looked about him, yawned again, wondered what o'clock it was, and then
listened.
No sound could be heard save the intermittent roar of the magnificent
breakers that beat on the Bell Rock. His couch was too low to permit of
his seeing anything but sky out of his windows, three of which, about
two feet square, lighted the room. He therefore jumped up, and, while
pulling on his garments, looked towards the east, where the sun greeted
and almost blinded him. Turning to the north window, a bright smile lit
up his countenance, and "A blessing rest on you" escaped audibly from
his lips, as he kissed his hand towards the cliffs of Forfarshire, which
were seen like a faint blue line on the far-off horizon, with the town
of Arbroath just rising above the morning mists.
He gazed out at this north window, and thought over all the scenes that
had passed between him and Minnie from the time they first met, down to
the day when they last parted. One of the sweetest of the mental
pictures that he painted that morning with unwonted facility, was that
of Minnie sitting at his mother's feet, comforting her with the words of
the Bible.
At length he turned with a sigh to resume his toilette. Looking out at
the southern window, he observed that the rocks were beginning to be
uncovered, and that the "rails", or iron pathway that led to the foot of
the entrance-door ladder, were high enough out of the water to be walked
upon. He therefore hastened to descend.
We know not what appearance the library presented at the time when Ruby
Brand slept in it; but we can tell, from personal experience, that, at
the present day, it is a most comfortable and elegant apartment. The
other rooms of the lighthouse, although thoroughly substantial in their
furniture and fittings, are quite plain and devoid of ornament, but the
library, or "stranger's room", as it is sometimes called, being the
guest-chamber, is fitted up in a style worthy of a lady's boudoir, with
a Turkey carpet, handsome chairs, and an elaborately carved oak table,
supported appropriately by a centre stem of three twining dolphins. The
dome of the ceiling is painted to represent stucco panelling, and the
partition which cuts off the small segment of this circular room that is
devoted to passage and staircase, is of panelled oak. The thickness of
this partition is just sufficient to contain the bookcase; also a
cleverly contrived bedstead, which can be folded up during the day out
of sight. There is also a small cupboard of oak, which serves the
double purpose of affording shelf accommodation and concealing the iron
smoke-pipe which rises from the kitchen, and, passing through the
several storeys, projects a few feet above the lantern. The centre
window is ornamented with marble sides and top, and above it stands a
marble bust of Robert Stevenson, the engineer of the building, with a
marble slab below bearing testimony to the skill and energy with which
he had planned and executed the work.
If not precisely what we have described it to be at the present time,
the library must have been somewhat similar on that morning when our
hero issued from it and descended to the rock.
The first stair landed him at the entrance to the sleeping-berths. He
looked into one, and observed Forsyth's head and arms lying in the bed,
in that peculiarly negligent style that betokens deep and sweet repose.
Dumsby's rest was equally sound in the next berth. This fact did not
require proof by ocular demonstration; his nose announced it sonorously
over the whole building.
Passing to the kitchen, immediately below, Ruby found his old messmate,
Jamie Dove, busy in the preparation of breakfast.
"Ha! Ruby, good mornin'; you keep up your early habits, I see. Can't
shake yer paw, lad, 'cause I'm up to the elbows in grease, not to speak
o' sutt an' ashes."
"When did you learn to cook, Jamie?" said Ruby, laughing.
"When I came here. You see we've all got to take it turn and turn
about, and it's wonderful how soon a feller gets used to it. I'm rather
fond of it, d'ye know? We haven't overmuch to work on in the way o'
variety, to be sure, but what we have there's lots of it, an' it gives
us occasion to exercise our wits to invent somethin' new. It's
wonderful what can be done with fresh beef, cabbage, carrots, potatoes,
flour, tea, bread, mustard, sugar, pepper, an' the like, if ye've got a
talent that way."
"You've got it all off by heart, I see," said Ruby.
"True, boy, but it's not so easy to get it all off yer stomach
sometimes. What with confinement and want of exercise we was troubled
with indigestion at first, but we're used to it now, and I have acquired
quite a fancy for cooking. No doubt you'll hear Forsyth and Joe say
that I've half-pisoned them four or five times, but that's all envy;
besides, a feller can't learn a trade without doin' a little damage to
somebody or something at first. Did you ever taste blackbird pie?"
"No," replied Ruby, "never."
"Then you shall taste one to-day, for we caught fifty birds last week."
"Caught fifty birds?"
"Ay, but I'll tell ye about it some other time. Be off just now, and
get as much exercise out o' the rock as ye can before breakfast."
The smith resumed his work as he said this, and Ruby descended.
He found the sea still roaring over the rock, but the rails were so far
uncovered that he could venture on them, yet he had to keep a sharp
lookout, for, whenever a larger breaker than usual struck the rock, the
gush of foaming water that flew over it was so great that a spurt or two
would sometimes break up between the iron bars, and any one of these
spurts would have sufficed to give him a thorough wetting.
In a short time, however, the sea went back and left the rails free.
Soon after that Ruby was joined by Forsyth and Dumsby, who had come down
for their morning promenade.
They had to walk in single file while taking exercise, as the tramway
was not wide enough for two, and the rock, even when fully uncovered,
did not afford sufficient level space for comfortable walking, although
at low water (as the reader already knows) it afforded fully a hundred
yards of scrambling ground, if not more.
They had not walked more than a few minutes when they were joined by
Jamie Dove, who announced breakfast, and proceeded to take two or three
turns by way of cooling himself. Thereafter the party returned to the
kitchen, where they sat down to as good a meal as any reasonable man
could desire.
There was cold boiled beef--the remains of yesterday's dinner--and a bit
of broiled cod, a native of the Bell Rock, caught from the doorway at
high water the day before. There was tea also, and toast--buttered
toast, hot out of the oven.
Dove was peculiarly good at what may be styled toast-cooking. Indeed,
all the lightkeepers were equally good. The bread was cut an inch
thick, and butter was laid on as plasterers spread plaster with a
trowel. There was no scraping off a bit here to put it on there; no
digging out pieces from little caverns in the bread with the point of
the knife; no repetition of the work to spread it thinner, and, above
all, no omitting of corners and edges;--no, the smallest conceivable fly
could not have found the minutest atom of dry footing on a Bell Rock
slice of toast, from its centre to its circumference. Dove had a
liberal heart, and he laid on the butter with a liberal hand. Fair play
and no favour was his motto, quarter-inch thick was his gauge, railway
speed his practice. The consequence was that the toast floated, as it
were, down the throats of the men, and compensated to some extent for
the want of milk in the tea.
"Now, boys, sit in," cried Dove, seizing the teapot.
"We have not much variety," observed Dumsby to Ruby, in an apologetic
tone.
"Variety!" exclaimed Forsyth, "what d'ye call that?" pointing to the
fish.
"Well, that _is_ a hextra morsel, I admit," returned Joe; "but we don't
get that every day; 'owsever, wot there is is good, an' there's plenty
of it, so let's fall to."
Forsyth said grace, and then they all "fell to", with appetites peculiar
to that isolated and breezy spot, where the wind blows so fresh from the
open sea that the nostrils inhale culinary odours, and the palates seize
culinary products, with unusual relish.
There was something singularly unfeminine in the manner in which the
duties of the table were performed by these stalwart guardians of the
Rock. We are accustomed to see such duties performed by the tender
hands of woman, or, it may be, by the expert fingers of trained
landsmen; but in places where woman may not or can not act with
propriety,--as on shipboard, or in sea-girt towers,--men go through such
feminine work in a way that does credit to their versatility,--also to
the strength of culinary materials and implements.
The way in which Jamie Dove and his comrades knocked about the pans,
teapots, cups and saucers, etcetera, without smashing them, would have
astonished, as well as gratified, the hearts of the fraternity of
tinsmiths and earthenware manufacturers.
We have said that everything in the lighthouse was substantial and very
strong. All the woodwork was oak, the floors and walls of solid
stone,--hence, when Dove, who had no nerves or physical feelings,
proceeded with his cooking, the noise he caused was tremendous. A man
used to woman's gentle ways would, on seeing him poke the fire, have
expected that the poker would certainly penetrate not only the coals,
but the back of the grate also, and perchance make its appearance at the
outside of the building itself, through stones, joggles, dovetails,
trenails, pozzolano mortar, and all the strong materials that have
withstood the fury of winds and waves for the last half-century!
Dove treated the other furniture in like manner; not that he treated it
ill,--we would not have the reader imagine this for a moment. He was
not reckless of the household goods. He was merely indifferent as to
the row he made in using them.
But it was when the cooking was over, and the table had to be spread,
that the thing culminated. Under the impulse of lightheartedness,
caused by the feeling that his labours for the time were nearly ended,
and that his reward was about to be reaped, he went about with
irresistible energy, like the proverbial bull in a china shop, without
reaching that creature's destructive point. It was then that a beaming
smile overspread his countenance, and he raged about the kitchen with
Vulcan-like joviality. He pulled out the table from the wall to the
centre of the apartment, with a swing that produced a prolonged crash.
Up went its two leaves with two minor crashes. Down went the four
plates and the cups and saucers, with such violence and rapidity that
they all seemed to be dancing on the board together. The beef all but
went over the side of its dish by reason of the shock of its sudden
stoppage on touching the table, and the pile of toast was only saved
from scatteration by the strength of the material, so to speak, with
which its successive layers were cemented.
When the knives, forks, and spoons came to be laid down, the storm
seemed to lull, because these were comparatively light implements, so
that this period--which in shore-going life is usually found to be the
exasperating one--was actually a season of relief. But it was always
followed by a terrible squall of scraping wooden legs and clanking human
feet when the camp-stools were set, and the men came in and sat down to
the meal.
The pouring out of the tea, however, was the point that would have
called forth the admiration of the world--had the world seen it. What a
contrast between the miserable, sickly, slow-dribbling silver and other
teapots of the land, and this great teapot of the sea! The Bell Rock
teapot had no sham, no humbug about it. It was a big, bold-looking one,
of true Britannia metal, with vast internal capacity and a gaping mouth.
Dove seized it in his strong hand as he would have grasped his biggest
fore-hammer. Before you could wink, a sluice seemed to burst open; a
torrent of rich brown tea spouted at your cup, and it was full--the
saucer too, perhaps--in a moment.
But why dwell on these luxurious scenes? Reader, you can never know
them from experience unless you go to visit the Bell Rock; we will
therefore cease to tantalise you.
During breakfast it was discussed whether or not the signal-ball should
be hoisted.
The signal-ball was fixed to a short staff on the summit of the
lighthouse, and the rule was that it should be hoisted at a fixed hour
every morning _when all was well_, and kept up until an answering signal
should be made from a signal-tower in Arbroath where the keepers'
families dwelt, and where each keeper in succession spent a fortnight
with his family, after a spell of six weeks on the rock. It was the
duty of the keeper on shore to watch for the hoisting of the ball (the
"All's well" signal) each morning on the lighthouse, and to reply to it
with a similar ball on the signal-tower.
If, on any occasion, the hour for signalling should pass without the
ball on the lighthouse being shown, then it was understood that
something was wrong, and the attending boat of the establishment was
sent off at once to ascertain the cause, and afford relief if necessary.
The keeping down of the ball was, however, an event of rare occurrence,
so that when it did take place the poor wives of the men on the rock
were usually thrown into a state of much perturbation and anxiety, each
naturally supposing that her husband must be seriously ill, or have met
with a bad accident.
It was therefore natural that there should be some hesitation about
keeping down the ball merely for the purpose of getting a boat off to
send Ruby ashore.
"You see," said Forsyth, "the day after to-morrow the `relief boat' is
due, and it may be as well just to wait for that, Ruby, and then you can
go ashore with your friend Jamie Dove, for it's his turn this time."
"Ay, lad, just make up your mind to stay another day," said the smith;
"as they don't know you're here they can't be wearyin' for you, and I'll
take ye an' introduce you to my little wife, that I fell in with on the
cliffs of Arbroath not long after ye was kidnapped. Besides, Ruby,
it'll do ye good to feed like a fighting cock out here another day.
Have another cup o' tea?"
"An' a junk o' beef?" said Forsyth.
"An' a slice o' toast?" said Dumsby.
Ruby accepted all these offers, and soon afterwards the four friends
descended to the rock, to take as much exercise as they could on its
limited surface, during the brief period of low water that still
remained to them.
It may easily be imagined that this ramble was an interesting one, and
was prolonged until the tide drove them into their tower of refuge.
Every rock, every hollow, called up endless reminiscences of the busy
building seasons. Ruby went over it all step by step with somewhat of
the feelings that influence a man when he revisits the scene of his
childhood.
There was the spot where the forge had stood.
"D'ye mind it, lad?" said Dove. "There are the holes where the hearth
was fixed, and there's the rock where you vaulted over the bellows when
ye took that splendid dive after the fair-haired lassie into the pool
yonder."
"Mind it? Ay, I should think so!"
Then there were the holes where the great beams of the beacon had been
fixed, and the iron bats, most of which latter were still left in the
rock, and some of which may be seen there at the present day. There was
also the pool into which poor Selkirk had tumbled with the vegetables on
the day of the first dinner on the rock, and that other pool into which
Forsyth had plunged after the mermaids; and, not least interesting among
the spots of note, there was the ledge, now named the "Last Hope", on
which Mr Stevenson and his men had stood on the day when the boat had
been carried away, and they had expected, but were mercifully preserved
from, a terrible tragedy.
After they had talked much on all these things, and long before they
were tired of it, the sea drove them to the rails; gradually, as it rose
higher, it drove them into the lighthouse, and then each man went to his
work--Jamie Dove to his kitchen, in order to clean up and prepare
dinner, and the other two to the lantern, to scour and polish the
reflectors, refill and trim the lamps, and, generally, to put everything
in order for the coming night.
Ruby divided his time between the kitchen and lantern, lending a hand in
each, but, we fear, interrupting the work more than he advanced it.
That day it fell calm, and the sun shone brightly.
"We'll have fog to-night," observed Dumsby to Brand, pausing in the
operation of polishing a reflector, in which his fat face was mirrored
with the most indescribable and dreadful distortions.
"D'ye think so?"
"I'm sure of it."
"You're right," remarked Forsyth, looking from his elevated position to
the seaward horizon, "I can see it coming now."
"I say, what smell is that?" exclaimed Ruby, sniffing.
"Somethink burnin'," said Dumsby, also sniffing.
"Why, what can it be?" murmured Forsyth, looking round and likewise
sniffing. "Hallo! Joe, look out; you're on fire!"
Joe started, clapped his hand behind him, and grasped his
inexpressibles, which were smouldering warmly. Ruby assisted, and the
fire was soon put out, amidst much laughter.
"'Ang them reflectors!" said Joe, seating himself, and breathing hard
after his alarm and exertions; "it's the third time they've set me
ablaze."
"The reflectors, Joe?" said Ruby.
"Ay, don't ye see? They've nat'rally got a focus, an' w'en I 'appen to
be standin' on a sunny day in front of 'em, contemplatin' the face o'
natur', as it wor, through the lantern panes, if I gits into the focus
by haccident, d'ye see, it just acts like a burnin'-glass."
Ruby could scarcely believe this, but after testing the truth of the
statement by actual experiment he could no longer doubt it.
Presently a light breeze sprang up, rolling the fog before it, and then
dying away, leaving the lighthouse enshrouded.
During fog there is more danger to shipping than at any other time. In
the daytime, in ordinary weather, rocks and lighthouses can be seen. At
night, lights can be seen, but during fog nothing can be seen until
danger may be too near to be avoided. The two great fog-bells of the
lighthouse were therefore set a-going, and they rang out their slow
deep-toned peal all that day and all that night, as the bell of the
Abbot of Aberbrothoc is said to have done in days of yore.
That night Ruby was astonished, and then he was stunned! First, as to
his astonishment. While he was seated by the kitchen fire chatting with
his friend the smith, sometime between nine o'clock and midnight, Dumsby
summoned him to the lantern to "help in catching to-morrow's dinner!"
Dove laughed at the summons, and they all went up.
The first thing that caught Ruby's eye at one of the window panes was
the round visage of an owl, staring in with its two large eyes as if it
had gone mad with amazement, and holding on to the iron frame with its
claws. Presently its claws lost hold, and it fell off into outer
darkness.
"What think ye o' that for a beauty?" said Forsyth.
Ruby's eyes, being set free from the fascination of the owl's stare, now
made him aware of the fact that hundreds of birds of all kinds--crows,
magpies, sparrows, tomtits, owls, larks, mavises, blackbirds, etcetera,
etcetera--were fluttering round the lantern outside, apparently bent on
ascertaining the nature of the wonderful light within.
"Ah! poor things," said Forsyth, in answer to Ruby's look of wonder,
"they often visit us in foggy weather. I suppose they get out to sea in
the fog and can't find their way back to land, and then some of them
chance to cross our light and take refuge on it."
"Now I'll go out and get to-morrow's dinner," said Dumsby. He went out
accordingly, and, walking round the balcony that encircled the base of
the lantern, was seen to put his hand up and quietly take down and wring
the necks of such birds as he deemed suitable for his purpose. It
seemed a cruel act to Ruby, but when he came to think of it he felt
that, as they were to be stewed at any rate, the more quickly they were
killed the better!
He observed that the birds kept fluttering about, alighting for a few
moments and flying off again, all the time that Dumsby was at work, yet
Dumsby never failed to seize his prey.
Presently the man came in with a small basket full of _game_. "Now,
Ruby," said he, "I'll bet a sixpence that you don't catch a bird within
five minutes."
"I don't bet such large sums usually, but I'll try," said Ruby, going
out.
He tried and failed. Just as the five minutes were expiring, however,
the owl happened to alight before his nose, so he "nabbed" it, and
carried it in triumphantly.
"_That_ ain't a bird," said Dumsby.
"It's not a fish," retorted Ruby; "but how is it that you caught them so
easily, and I found it so difficult?"
"Because, lad, you must do it at the right time. You watch w'en the
focus of a revolvin' light is comin' full in a bird's face. The moment
it does so 'e's dazzled, and you grab 'im. If you grab too soon or too
late, 'e's away. That's 'ow it is, and they're capital heatin', as
you'll _find_."
Thus much for Ruby's astonishment. Now for his being stunned.
Late that night the fog cleared away, and the bells were stopped. After
a long chat with his friends, Ruby mounted to the library and went to
bed. Later still the fog returned, and the bells were again set
a-going. Both of them being within a few feet of Ruby's head, they
awakened him with a bang that caused him to feel as if the room in which
he lay were a bell and his own head the tongue thereof.
At first the sound was solemnising, then it was saddening. After a time
it became exasperating, and then maddening. He tried to sleep, but he
only tossed. He tried to meditate, but he only wandered--not "in
dreams", however. He tried to laugh, but the laugh degenerated into a
growl. Then he sighed, and the sigh ended in a groan. Finally, he got
up and walked up and down the floor till his legs were cold, when he
turned into bed again, very tired, and fell asleep, but not to rest--to
dream.
He dreamt that he was at the forge again, and that he and Dove were
trying to smash their anvils with the sledge-hammers--bang and bang
about. But the anvil would not break. At last he grew desperate, hit
the horn off, and then, with another terrific blow, smashed the whole
affair to atoms!
This startled him a little, and he awoke sufficiently to become aware of
the fog-bells.
Again he dreamed. Minnie was his theme now, but, strange to say, he
felt little or no tenderness towards her. She was beset by a hundred
ruffians in pea-jackets and sou'westers. Something stirred him to
madness. He rushed at the foe, and began to hit out at them right and
left. The hitting was slow, but sure--regular as clock-work. First the
right, then the left, and at each blow a seaman's nose was driven into
his head, and a seaman's body lay flat on the ground. At length they
were all floored but one--the last and the biggest. Ruby threw all his
remaining strength into one crashing blow, drove his fist right through
his antagonist's body, and awoke with a start to find his knuckles
bleeding.
"Hang these bells!" he exclaimed, starting up and gazing round him in
despair. Then he fell back on his pillow in despair, and went to sleep
in despair.
Once more he dreamed. He was going to church now, dressed in a suit of
the finest broadcloth, with Minnie on his arm, clothed in pure white,
emblematic, it struck him, of her pure gentle spirit. Friends were with
him, all gaily attired, and very happy, but unaccountably silent.
Perhaps it was the noise of the wedding-bells that rendered their voices
inaudible. He was struck by the solemnity as well as the pertinacity of
these wedding-bells as he entered the church. He was puzzled too, being
a Presbyterian, why he was to be married in church, but being a man of
liberal mind, he made no objection to it.
They all assembled in front of the pulpit, into which the clergyman, a
very reverend but determined man, mounted with a prayer book in his
hand. Ruby was puzzled again. He had not supposed that the pulpit was
the proper place, but modestly attributed this to his ignorance.
"Stop those bells!" said the clergyman, with stern solemnity; but they
went on.
"Stop them, I say!" he roared in a voice of thunder.
The sexton, pulling the ropes in the middle of the church, paid no
attention.
Exasperated beyond endurance, the clergyman hurled the prayer book at
the sexton's head, and felled him! Still the bells went on of their own
accord.
"Stop! sto-o-o-op! I say," he yelled fiercely, and, hitting the pulpit
with his fist, he split it from top to bottom.
Minnie cried "Shame!" at this, and from that moment the bells ceased.
Whether it was that the fog-bells ceased at that time, or that Minnie's
voice charmed Ruby's thoughts away, we cannot tell, but certain it is
that the severely tried youth became entirely oblivious of everything.
The marriage-party vanished with the bells; Minnie, alas, faded away
also; finally, the roar of the sea round the Bell Rock, the rock itself,
its lighthouse and its inmates, and all connected with it, faded from
the sleeper's mind, and:--
"Like the baseless fabric of a vision
Left not a wrack behind."