"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 la.s.s 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.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE LIGHTHOUSE COMPLETED--RUBY'S ESCAPE FROM TROUBLE BY A DESPERATE VENTURE.

There came a time at last when the great work of building the Bell Rock Lighthouse drew to a close. Four years after its commencement it was completed, and on the night of the 1st of February, 1811, its bright beams were shed for the first time far and wide over the sea.

It must not be supposed, however, that this lighthouse required four years to build it. On the contrary, the seasons in which work could be done were very short. During the whole of the first season of 1807, the aggregate time of low-water work, caught by s.n.a.t.c.hes of an hour or two at a tide, did not amount to fourteen days of ten hours! while in 1808 it fell short of four weeks.

A great event is worthy of very special notice. We should fail in our duty to our readers if we were to make only pa.s.sing reference to this important event in the history of our country.

That 1st of February, 1811, was the birthday of a new era, for the influence of the Bell Rock Light on the shipping interests of the kingdom (not merely of Scotland, by any means), was far greater than people generally suppose.

Here is a _fact_ that may well be weighed with attention; that might be not inappropriately inscribed in diamond letters over the lintel of the lighthouse door. Up to the period of the building of the lighthouse, the known history of the Bell Rock was a black record of wreck, ruin, and death. Its unknown history, in remote ages, who shall conceive, much less tell? _Up_ to that period, seamen dreaded the rock and shunned it--ay, so earnestly as to meet destruction too often in their anxious efforts to avoid it. _From_ that period the Bell Rock has been a friendly point, a guiding star--hailed as such by storm-tossed mariners--marked as such on the charts of all nations. _From_ that date not a single night for more than half a century has pa.s.sed, without its wakeful eye beaming on the waters, or its fog-bells sounding on the air; and, best of all, _not a single wreck has occurred on that rock from that period down to the present day_!

Say not, good reader, that much the same may be said of all lighthouses.

In the first place, the history of many lighthouses is by no means so happy as that of this one. In the second place, all lighthouses are not of equal importance. Few stand on an equal footing with the Bell Rock, either in regard to its national importance or its actual pedestal. In the last place, it is our subject of consideration at present, and we object to odious comparisons while we sing its praises!

Whatever may be said of the other lights that guard our sh.o.r.es, special grat.i.tude is due to the Bell Rock--to those who projected it--to the engineer who planned and built it--to G.o.d, who inspired the will to dare, and bestowed the skill to accomplish, a work so difficult, so n.o.ble, so prolific of good to man!

The nature of our story requires that we should occasionally annihilate time and s.p.a.ce.

Let us then leap over both, and return to our hero, Ruby Brand.

His period of service in the Navy was comparatively brief, much more so than either he or his friends antic.i.p.ated. Nevertheless, he spent a considerable time in his new profession, and, having been sent to foreign stations, he saw a good deal of what is called "service", in which he distinguished himself, as might have been expected, for coolness and courage.

But we must omit all mention of his warlike deeds, and resume the record of his history at that point which bears more immediately on the subject of our tale.

It was a wild, stormy night in November. Ruby's ship had captured a French privateer in the German Ocean, and, a prize crew having been put aboard, she was sent away to the nearest port, which happened to be the harbour of Leith, in the Firth of Forth. Ruby had not been appointed one of the prize crew; but he resolved not to miss the chance of again seeing his native town, if it should only be a distant view through a telescope. Being a favourite with his commander, his plea was received favourably, and he was sent on board the Frenchman.

Those who know what it is to meet with an unexpected piece of great good fortune, can imagine the delight with which Ruby stood at the helm on the night in question, and steered for _home_! He was known by all on board to be the man who understood best the navigation of the Forth, so that implicit trust was placed in him by the young officer who had charge of the prize.

The man-of-war happened to be short-handed at the time the privateer was captured, owing to her boats having been sent in chase of a suspicious craft during a calm. Some of the French crew were therefore left on board to a.s.sist in navigating the vessel.

This was unfortunate, for the officer sent in charge turned out to be a careless man, and treated the Frenchmen with contempt. He did not keep strict watch over them, and the result was, that, shortly after the storm began, they took the English crew by surprise, and overpowered them.

Ruby was the first to fall. As he stood at the wheel, indulging in pleasant dreams, a Frenchman stole up behind him, and felled him with a handspike. When he recovered he found that he was firmly bound, along with his comrades, and that the vessel was lying-to. One of the Frenchmen came forward at that moment, and addressed the prisoners in broken English.

"Now, me boys," said he, "you was see we have konker you again. You behold the sea?" pointing over the side; "well, that bees your bed to-night if you no behave. Now, I wants to know, who is best man of you as onderstand die cost? Speak de trut', else you die."

The English lieutenant at once turned to Ruby.

"Well, cast him loose; de rest of you go b'low--good day, ver' moch indeed."

Here the Frenchman made a low bow to the English, who were led below, with the exception of Ruby.

"Now, my goot mans, you onderstand dis cost?"

"Yes. I know it well."

"It is dangereoux?"

"It is--very; but not so much so as it used to be before the Bell Rock Light was shown."

"Have you see dat light?"

"No; never. It was first lighted when I was at sea; but I have seen a description of it in the newspapers, and should know it well."

"Ver goot; you will try to come to dat light an' den you will steer out from dis place to de open sea. Afterwards we will show you to France.

If you try mischief--voila!"

The Frenchman pointed to two of his comrades who stood, one on each side of the wheel, with pistols in their hands, ready to keep Ruby in order.