The Lighthouse

Chapter One

The Rock

Early on a summer morning, about the beginning of the nineteenth century, two fishermen of Forfarshire wended their way to the shore, launched their boat, and put off to sea.

One of the men was tall and ill-favoured, the other, short and well-favoured. Both were square-built, powerful fellows, like most men of the class to which they belonged.

It was about that calm hour of the morning which precedes sunrise, when most living creatures are still asleep, and inanimate nature wears, more than at other times, the semblance of repose. The sea was like a sheet of undulating glass. A breeze had been expected, but, in defiance of expectation, it had not come, so the boatmen were obliged to use their oars. They used them well, however, insomuch that the land ere long appeared like a blue line on the horizon, then became tremulous and indistinct, and finally vanished in the mists of morning.

The men pulled “with a will,”—as seamen pithily express it,—and in silence. Only once during the first hour did the big, ill-favoured man venture a remark. Referring to the absence of wind, he said, that “it would be a’ the better for landin’ on the rock.”

This was said in the broadest vernacular dialect, as, indeed, was everything that dropped from the fishermen’s lips. We take the liberty of modifying it a little, believing that strict fidelity here would entail inevitable loss of sense to many of our readers.

The remark, such as it was, called forth a rejoinder from the short comrade, who stated his belief that “they would be likely to find somethin’ there that day.”

They then relapsed into silence.

Under the regular stroke of the oars the boat advanced steadily, straight out to sea. At first the mirror over which they skimmed was grey, and the foam at the cutwater leaden-coloured. By degrees they rowed, as it were, into a brighter region. The sea ahead lightened up, became pale yellow, then warmed into saffron, and, when the sun rose, blazed into liquid gold.

The words spoken by the boatmen, though few, were significant. The “rock” alluded to was the celebrated and much dreaded Inch Cape—more familiarly known as the Bell Rock—which being at that time unmarked by lighthouse or beacon of any kind, was the terror of mariners who were making for the firths of Forth and Tay. The “something” that was expected to be found there may be guessed at when we say that one of the fiercest storms that ever swept our eastern shores had just exhausted itself after strewing the coast with wrecks. The breast of ocean, though calm on the surface, as has been said, was still heaving with a mighty swell, from the effects of the recent elemental conflict.

“D’ye see the breakers noo, Davy?” enquired the ill-favoured man, who pulled the aft oar.

“Ay, and hear them, too,” said Davy Spink, ceasing to row, and looking over his shoulder towards the seaward horizon.

“Yer een and lugs are better than mine, then,” returned the ill-favoured comrade, who answered, when among his friends, to the name of Big Swankie, otherwise, and more correctly, Jock Swankie. “Od! I believe ye’re right,” he added, shading his heavy red brows with his heavier and redder hand, “that is the rock, but a man wad need the een o’ an eagle to see onything in the face o’ sik a bleezin’ sun. Pull awa’, Davy, we’ll hae time to catch a bit cod or a haddy afore the rock’s bare.”

Influenced by these encouraging hopes, the stout pair urged their boat in the direction of a thin line of snow-white foam that lay apparently many miles away, but which was in reality not very far distant.

By degrees the white line expanded in size and became massive, as though a huge breaker were rolling towards them; ever and anon jets of foam flew high into the air from various parts of the mass, like smoke from a cannon’s mouth. Presently, a low continuous roar became audible above the noise of the oars; as the boat advanced, the swells from the south-east could be seen towering upwards as they neared the foaming spot, gradually changing their broad-backed form, and coming on in majestic walls of green water, which fell with indescribable grandeur into the seething caldron. No rocks were visible, there was no apparent cause for this wild confusion in the midst of the otherwise calm sea. But the fishermen knew that the Bell Rock was underneath the foam, and that in less than an hour its jagged peaks would be left uncovered by the falling tide.

As the swell of the sea came in from the eastward, there was a belt of smooth water on the west side of the rock. Here the fishermen cast anchor, and, baiting their hand-lines, began to fish. At first they were unsuccessful, but before half an hour had elapsed, the cod began to nibble, and Big Swankie ere long hauled up a fish of goodly size. Davy Spink followed suit, and in a few minutes a dozen fish lay spluttering in the bottom of the boat.

“Time’s up noo,” said Swankie, coiling away his line.

“Stop, stop, here’s a wallupper,” cried Davy, who was an excitable man; “we better fish a while langer—bring the cleek, Swankie, he’s ower big to—noo, lad, cleek him! that’s it!—Oh–o–o–o!”

The prolonged groan with which Davy brought his speech to a sudden termination was in consequence of the line breaking and the fish escaping, just as Swankie was about to strike the iron hook into its side.

“Hech! lad, that was a guid ane,” said the disappointed man with a sigh; “but he’s awa’.”

“Ay,” observed Swankie, “and we must awa’ too, so up anchor, lad. The rock’s lookin’ oot o’ the sea, and time’s precious.”

The anchor was speedily pulled up, and they rowed towards the rock, the ragged edges of which were now visible at intervals in the midst of the foam which they created.

At low tide an irregular portion of the Bell Rock, less than a hundred yards in length, and fifty yards in breadth, is uncovered and left exposed for two or three hours. It does not appear in the form of a single mass or islet, but in a succession of serrated ledges of various heights, between and amongst which the sea flows until the tide has fallen pretty low. At full ebb the rock appears like a dark islet, covered with seaweed, and studded with deep pools of water, most of which are connected with the sea by narrow channels running between the ledges. The highest part of the rock does not rise more than seven feet above the level of the sea at the lowest tide.

To enter one of the pools by means of the channels above referred to is generally a matter of difficulty, and often of extreme danger, as the swell of the sea, even in calm weather, bursts over these ledges with such violence as to render the channels at times impassable. The utmost caution, therefore, is necessary.

Our fishermen, however, were accustomed to land there occasionally in search of the remains of wrecks, and knew their work well. They approached the rock on the lee-side, which was, as has been said, to the westward. To a spectator viewing them from any point but from the boat itself, it would have appeared that the reckless men were sailing into the jaws of certain death, for the breakers burst around them so confusedly in all directions that their instant destruction seemed inevitable. But Davy Spink, looking over his shoulder as he sat at the bow-oar, saw a narrow lead of comparatively still water in the midst of the foam, along which he guided the boat with consummate skill, giving only a word or two of direction to Swankie, who instantly acted in accordance therewith.

“Pull, pull, lad,” said Davy.

Swankie pulled, and the boat swept round with its bow to the east just in time to meet a billow, which, towering high above its fellows, burst completely over the rocks, and appeared to be about to sweep away all before it. For a moment the boat was as if embedded in snow, then it sank once more into the lead among the floating tangle, and the men pulled with might and main in order to escape the next wave. They were just in time. It burst over the same rocks with greater violence than its predecessor, but the boat had gained the shelter of the next ledge, and lay floating securely in the deep, quiet pool within, while the men rested on their oars, and watched the chaos of the water rush harmlessly by.

In another moment they had landed and secured the boat to a projecting rock.

Few words of conversation passed between these practical men. They had gone there on particular business. Time and tide proverbially wait for no man, but at the Bell Rock they wait a much briefer period than elsewhere. Between low water and the time when it would be impossible to quit the rock without being capsized, there was only a space of two or three hours—sometimes more, frequently less—so it behoved the men to economise time.

Rocks covered with wet seaweed and rugged in form are not easy to walk over; a fact which was soon proved by Swankie staggering violently once or twice, and by Spink falling flat on his back. Neither paid attention to his comrade’s misfortunes in this way. Each scrambled about actively, searching with care among the crevices of the rocks, and from time to time picking up articles which they thrust into their pockets or laid on their shoulders, according as weight and dimensions required.

In a short time they returned to their boat pretty well laden.

“Weel, lad, what luck?” enquired Spink, as Swankie and he met—the former with a grappling iron on his shoulder, the latter staggering under the weight of a mass of metal.

“Not much,” replied Swankie; “nothin’ but heavy metal this mornin’, only a bit of a cookin’ stove an’ a cannon shot—that’s all.”

“Never mind, try again. There must ha’ bin two or three wrecks on the rock this gale,” said Davy, as he and his friend threw their burdens into the boat, and hastened to resume the search.

At first Spink was the more successful of the two. He returned to the boat with various articles more than once, while his comrade continued his rambles unsuccessfully. At last, however, Big Swankie came to a gully or inlet where a large mass of the débris of a wreck was piled up in indescribable confusion, in the midst of which lay the dead body of an old man. Swankie’s first impulse was to shout to his companion, but he checked himself, and proceeded to examine the pockets of the dead man.

Raising the corpse with some difficulty he placed it on the ledge of rock. Observing a ring on the little finger of the right hand, he removed it and put it hastily in his pocket. Then he drew a red morocco case from an inner breast pocket in the dead man’s coat. To his surprise and delight he found that it contained a gold watch and several gold rings and brooches, in some of which were beautiful stones. Swankie was no judge of jewellery, but he could not avoid the conviction that these things must needs be valuable. He laid the case down on the rock beside him, and eagerly searched the other pockets. In one he found a large clasp-knife and a pencil-case; in another a leather purse, which felt heavy as he drew it out. His eyes sparkled at the first glance he got of the contents, for they were sovereigns! Just as he made this discovery, Davy Spink climbed over the ledge at his back, and Swankie hastily thrust the purse underneath the body of the dead man.

“Hallo! lad, what have ye there? Hey! watches and rings—come, we’re in luck this mornin’.”

“We!” exclaimed Swankie, somewhat sternly, “you didn’t find that case.”

“Na, lad, but we’ve aye divided, an’ I dinna see what for we should change our plan noo.”

“We’ve nae paction to that effec’—the case o’ kickshaws is mine,” retorted Swankie.

“Half o’t,” suggested Spink.

“Weel, weel,” cried the other with affected carelessness, “I’d scorn to be sae graspin’. For the matter o’ that ye may hae it all to yersel’, but I’ll hae the next thing we git that’s worth muckle a’ to mysel’.”

So saying Swankie stooped to continue his search of the body, and in a moment or two drew out the purse with an exclamation of surprise.

“See, I’m in luck, Davy! Virtue’s aye rewarded, they say. This is mine, and I doot not there’ll be some siller intilt.”

“Goold!” cried Davy, with dilated eyes, as his comrade emptied the contents into his large hand, and counted over thirty sovereigns.

“Ay, lad, ye can keep the what-d’ye-ca’-ums, and I’ll keep the siller.”

“I’ve seen that face before,” observed Spink, looking intently at the body.

“Like enough,” said Swankie, with an air of indifference, as he put the gold into his pocket. “I think I’ve seed it mysel’. It looks like auld Jamie Brand, but I didna ken him weel.”

“It’s just him,” said Spink, with a touch of sadness. “Ay, ay, that’ll fa’ heavy on the auld woman. But, come, it’ll no’ do to stand haverin’ this way. Let’s see what else is on him.”

They found nothing more of any value; but a piece of paper was discovered, wrapped up in oilskin, and carefully fastened with red tape, in the vest pocket of the dead man. It contained writing, and had been so securely wrapped up, that it was only a little damped. Davy Spink, who found it, tried in vain to read the writing; Davy’s education had been neglected, so he was fain to confess that he could not make it out.

“Let me see’t,” said Swankie. “What hae we here? ‘The sloop is hard an—an—’”

“‘Fast,’ maybe,” suggested Spink.

“Ay, so ’tis. I canna make out the next word, but here’s something about the jewel-case.”

The man paused and gazed earnestly at the paper for a few minutes, with a look of perplexity on his rugged visage.

“Weel, man, what is’t?” enquired Davy.

“Hoot! I canna mak’ it oot,” said the other, testily, as if annoyed at being unable to read it. He refolded the paper and thrust it into his bosom, saying, “Come, we’re wastin’ time. Let’s get on wi’ our wark.”

“Toss for the jewels and the siller,” said Spink, suggestively.

“Very weel,” replied the other, producing a copper. “Heeds, you win the siller; tails, I win the box;—heeds it is, so the kickshaws is mine. Weel, I’m content,” he added, as he handed the bag of gold to his comrade, and received the jewel-case in exchange.

In another hour the sea began to encroach on the rock, and the fishermen, having collected as much as time would permit of the wrecked materials, returned to their boat.

They had secured altogether above two hundredweight of old metal,—namely, a large piece of a ship’s caboose, a hinge, a lock of a door, a ship’s marking-iron, a soldier’s bayonet, a cannon ball, a shoebuckle, and a small anchor, besides part of the cordage of the wreck, and the money and jewels before mentioned. Placing the heavier of these things in the bottom of the boat, they pushed off.

“We better take the corp ashore,” said Spink, suddenly.

“What for? They may ask what was in the pockets,” objected Swankie.

“Let them ask,” rejoined the other, with a grin.

Swankie made no reply, but gave a stroke with his oar which sent the boat close up to the rocks. They both relanded in silence, and, lifting the dead body of the old man, laid it in the stern-sheets of the boat. Once more they pushed off.

Too much delay had been already made. The surf was breaking over the ledges in all directions, and it was with the utmost difficulty that they succeeded in getting clear out into deep water. A breeze which had sprung up from the east, tended to raise the sea a little, but when they finally got away from the dangerous reef, the breeze befriended them. Hoisting the foresail, they quickly left the Bell Rock far behind them, and, in the course of a couple of hours, sailed into the harbour of Arbroath.

Chapter Two

The Lovers and the Press-Gang

About a mile to the eastward of the ancient town of Arbroath the shore abruptly changes its character, from a flat beach to a range of, perhaps, the wildest and most picturesque cliffs on the east coast of Scotland. Inland the country is rather flat, but elevated several hundred feet above the level of the sea, towards which it slopes gently until it reaches the shore, where it terminates in abrupt, perpendicular precipices, varying from a hundred to two hundred feet in height. In many places the cliffs overhang the water, and all along the coast they have been perforated and torn up by the waves, so as to present singularly bold and picturesque outlines, with caverns, inlets, and sequestered “coves” of every form and size.

To the top of these cliffs, in the afternoon of the day on which our tale opens, a young girl wended her way,—slowly, as if she had no other object in view than a stroll, and sadly, as if her mind were more engaged with the thoughts within than with the magnificent prospect of land and sea without. The girl was:

and apparently about twenty years of age. She sought out a quiet nook among the rocks at the top of the cliffs; near to a circular chasm, with the name of which (at that time) we are not acquainted, but which was destined ere long to acquire a new name and celebrity from an incident which shall be related in another part of this story.

Curiously enough, just about the same hour, a young man was seen to wend his way to the same cliffs, and, from no reason whatever with which we happened to be acquainted, sought out the same nook! We say “he was seen,” advisedly, for the maid with the golden hair saw him. Any ordinary observer would have said that she had scarcely raised her eyes from the ground since sitting down on a niece of flower-studded turf near the edge of the cliff, and that she certainly had not turned her head in the direction of the town. Yet she saw him,—however absurd the statement may appear, we affirm it confidently,—and knew that he was coming. Other eyes there were that also saw youth—eyes that would have caused him some degree of annoyance had he known they were upon him—eyes that he would have rejoiced to tinge with the colours black and blue! There were thirteen pair of them, belonging to twelve men and a lieutenant of the navy.

In those days the barbarous custom of impressment into the Royal Navy was in full operation. England was at war with France. Men were wanted to fight our battles, and when there was any difficulty in getting men, press-gangs were sent out to force them into the service. The youth whom we now introduce to the reader was a sailor, a strapping, handsome one, too; not, indeed, remarkable for height, being only a little above the average—five feet, ten inches or thereabouts—but noted for great depth of chest, breadth of shoulder, and development of muscle; conspicuous also for the quantity of close, clustering, light-brown curls down his head, and for the laughing glance of his dark-blue eye. Not a hero of romance, by any means. No, he was very matter of fact, and rather given to meditation than mischief.

The officer in charge of the press-gang had set his heart on this youth (so had another individual, of whom more anon!) but the youth, whose name was Ruby Brand, happened to have an old mother who was at that time in very bad health, and she had also set her heart, poor body, on the youth, and entreated him to stay at home just for one half-year. Ruby willingly consented, and from that time forward led the life of a dog in consequence of the press-gang.

Now, as we have said, he had been seen leaving the town by the lieutenant, who summoned his men and went after him—cautiously, however, in order to take him by surprise for Ruby, besides being strong and active as a lion, was slippery as an eel.

Going straight as an arrow to the spot where she of the golden hair was seated, the youth presented himself suddenly to her, sat down beside her, and exclaiming “Minnie”, put his arm round her waist.

“Oh, Ruby, don’t,” said Minnie, blushing.

Now, reader, the “don’t” and the blush had no reference to the arm round the waist, but to the relative position of their noses, mouths, and chins, a position which would have been highly improper and altogether unjustifiable but for the fact that Ruby was Minnie’s accepted lover.

“Don’t, darling, why not?” said Ruby in surprise.

“You’re so rough,” said Minnie, turning her head away.

“True, dear, I forgot to shave this morning.”

“I don’t mean that,” interrupted the girl quickly, “I mean rude and—and—is that a sea-gull?”

“No, sweetest of your sex, it’s a butterfly; but it’s all the same, as my metaphysical Uncle Ogilvy would undertake to prove to you, thus, a butterfly is white and a gull is white,—therefore, a gull is a butterfly.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Ruby.”

“No more I will, darling, if you will listen to me while I talk sense.”

“What is it?” said the girl, looking earnestly and somewhat anxiously into her lover’s face, for she knew at once by his expression that he had some unpleasant communication to make. “You’re not going away?”

“Well, no—not exactly; you know I promised to stay with mother; but the fact is that I’m so pestered and hunted down by that rascally press-gang, that I don’t know what to do. They’re sure to nab me at last, too, and then I shall have to go away whether I will or no, so I’ve made up my mind as a last resource, to—” Ruby paused.

“Well?” said Minnie.

“Well, in fact to do what will take me away for a short time, but—” Ruby stopped short, and, turning his head on one side, while a look of fierce anger overspread his face, seemed to listen intently.

Minnie did not observe this action for a few seconds, but, wondering why he paused, she looked up, and in surprise exclaimed— “Ruby! what do you—”

“Hush! Minnie, and don’t look round,” said he in a low tone of intense anxiety, yet remaining immovably in the position which he had assumed on first sitting down by the girl’s side, although the swelled veins of his neck and his flushed forehead told of a fierce conflict of feeling within. “It’s the press-gang after me again. I got a glance of one o’ them out of the tail of my eye, creeping round the rocks. They think I haven’t seen them. Darling Minnie—one kiss. Take care of mother if I don’t turn up soon.”

“But how will you escape?”

“Hush, dearest girl! I want to have as much of you as I can before I go. Don’t be afraid. They’re honest British tars after all, and won’t hurt you, Minnie.”

Still seated at the girl’s side, as if perfectly at his ease, yet speaking in quick earnest tones, and drawing her closely to him, Ruby waited until he heard a stealthy tread behind him. Then he sprang up with the speed of thought, uttered a laugh of defiance as the sailors rushed towards him, and leaping wildly off the cliff, fell a height of about fifty feet into the sea.

Minnie uttered a scream of horror, and fell fainting into the arms of the bewildered lieutenant.

“Down the cliffs—quick! he can’t escape if you look alive. Stay, one of you, and look after this girl. She’ll roll over the edge on recovering, perhaps.”

It was easy to order the men down the cliffs, but not so easy for them to obey, for the rocks were almost perpendicular at the place, and descended sheer into the water.

“Surround the spot,” shouted the lieutenant. “Scatter yourselves—away! there’s no beach here.”

The lieutenant was right. The men extended themselves along the top of the cliffs so as to prevent Ruby’s escape, in the event of his trying to ascend them, and two sailors stationed themselves in ambush in the narrow pass at the spot where the cliffs terminate in the direction of the town.

The leap taken by Ruby was a bold one. Few men could have ventured it; indeed, the youth himself would have hesitated had he not been driven almost to desperation. But he was a practised swimmer and diver, and knew well the risk he ran. He struck the water with tremendous force and sent up a great mass of foam, but he had entered it perpendicularly, feet foremost, and in a few seconds returned to the surface so close to the cliffs that they overhung him, and thus effectually concealed him from his pursuers.

Swimming cautiously along for a short distance close to the rocks, he came to the entrance of a cavern which was filled by the sea. The inner end of this cave opened into a small hollow or hole among the cliffs, up the sides of which Ruby knew that he could climb, and thus reach the top unperceived, but, after gaining the summit, there still lay before him the difficulty of eluding those who watched there. He felt, however, that nothing could be gained by delay, so he struck at once into the cave, swam to the inner end, and landed. Wringing the water out of his clothes, he threw off his jacket and vest in order to be as unencumbered as possible, and then began to climb cautiously.