Next morning the captain and his nephew “bore down”, as the former expressed it, on the workyard, and Ruby was readily accepted, his good qualities having already been well tested at the Bell Rock.
“Now, boy, we’ll go and see about the little preventive craft,” said the captain on quitting the office.
“But first,” said Ruby, “let me go and tell my old comrade Dove that I am to be with him again.”
There was no need to enquire the way to the forge, the sound of the anvil being distinctly heard above all the other sounds of that busy spot.
The workyard at Arbroath, where the stones for the lighthouse were collected and hewn into shape before being sent off to the rock, was an enclosed piece of ground, extending to about three-quarters of an acre, conveniently situated on the northern side of the Lady Lane, or Street, leading from the western side of the harbour.
Here were built a row of barracks for the workmen, and several apartments connected with the engineer’s office, mould-makers’ department, stores, workshops for smiths and joiners, stables, etcetera, extending 150 feet along the north side of the yard. All of these were fully occupied, there being upwards of forty men employed permanently.
Sheds of timber were also constructed to protect the workmen in wet weather; and a kiln was built for burning lime. In the centre of the yard stood a circular platform of masonry on which the stones were placed when dressed, so that each stone was tested and marked, and each “course” or layer of the lighthouse fitted up and tried, before being shipped to the rock.
The platform measured 44 feet in diameter. It was founded with large broad stones at a depth of about 2 feet 6 inches, and built to within 10 inches of the surface with rubble work, on which a course of neatly dressed and well-jointed masonry was laid, of the red sandstone from the quarries to the eastward of Arbroath, which brought the platform on a level with the surface of the ground. Here the dressed part of the first entire course, or layer, of the lighthouse was lying, and the platform was so substantially built as to be capable of supporting any number of courses which it might be found convenient to lay upon it in the further progress of the work.
Passing this platform, the captain and Ruby threaded their way through a mass of workyard débris until they came to the building from which the sounds of the anvil proceeded. For a few minutes they stood looking at our old friend Jamie Dove, who, with bared arms, was causing the sparks to fly, and the glowing metal to yield, as vigorously as of old. Presently he ceased hammering, and turning to the fire thrust the metal into it. Then he wiped his brow, and glanced towards the door.
“What! eh! Ruby Brand?” he shouted in surprise.
“Och! or his ghost!” cried Ned O’Connor, who had been appointed to Ruby’s vacant situation.
“A pretty solid ghost you’ll find me,” said Ruby with a laugh, as he stepped forward and seized the smith by the hand.
“Musha! but it’s thrue,” cried O’Connor, quitting the bellows, and seizing Ruby’s disengaged hand, which he shook almost as vehemently as the smith did the other.
“Now, then, don’t dislocate him altogether,” cried the captain, who was much delighted with this warm reception; “he’s goin’ to jine you, boys, so have mercy on his old timbers.”
“Jine us!” cried the smith.
“Ay, been appointed to the old berth,” said Ruby, “so I’ll have to unship you, Ned.”
“The sooner the better; faix, I niver had much notion o’ this fiery style o’ life; it’s only fit for sallymanders and bottle-imps. But when d’ye begin work, lad?”
“To-morrow, I believe. At least, I was told to call at the office to-morrow. To-day I have an engagement.”
“Ay, an’ it’s time we was under weigh,” said Captain Ogilvy, taking his nephew by the arm. “Come along, lad, an’ don’t keep them waiting.”
So saying they bade the smith goodbye, and, leaving the forge, walked smartly towards that part of the harbour where the boats lay.
“Ruby,” said the captain, as they went along, “it’s lucky it’s such a fine day, for Minnie is going with us.”
Ruby said nothing, but the deep flush of pleasure that overspread his countenance proved that he was not indifferent to the news.
“You see she’s bin out of sorts,” continued the captain, “for some time back; and no wonder, poor thing, seein’ that your mother has been so anxious about you, and required more than usual care, so I’ve prevailed on the leftenant to let her go. She’ll get good by our afternoon’s sail, and we won’t be the worse of her company. What say ye to that, nephy?”
Ruby said that he was glad to hear it, but he thought a great deal more than he said, and among other things he thought that the lieutenant might perhaps be rather in the way; but as his presence was unavoidable he made up his mind to try to believe that he, the lieutenant, would in all probability be an engaged man already. As to the possibility of his seeing Minnie and being indifferent to her (in the event of his being a free man), he felt that such an idea was preposterous! Suddenly a thought flashed across him and induced a question—
“Is the lieutenant married, uncle?”
“Not as I know of, lad; why d’ye ask?”
“Because—because—married men are so much pleasanter than—”
Ruby stopped short, for he just then remembered that his uncle was a bachelor.
“’Pon my word, youngster! go on, why d’ye stop in your purlite remark?”
“Because,” said Ruby, laughing, “I meant to say that young married men were so much more agreeable than young bachelors.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the captain, who did not see much force in the observation, “and how d’ye know the leftenant’s a young man? I didn’t say he was young; mayhap he’s old. But here he is, so you’ll judge for yourself.”
At the moment a tall, deeply-bronzed man of about thirty years of age walked up and greeted Captain Ogilvy familiarly as his “buck”, enquiring, at the same time, how his “old timbers” were, and where the “bit of baggage” was.
“She’s to be at the end o’ the pier in five minutes,” said the captain, drawing out and consulting a watch that was large enough to have been mistaken for a small eight-day clock. “This is my nephy, Ruby. Ruby Brand—Leftenant Lindsay. True blues, both of ye—
“‘When shall we three meet again?
Where the stormy winds do blow, do blow, do blow,
And the thunder, lightenin’, and the rain,
Riots up above, and also down below, below, below.’
“Ah! here comes the pretty little craft.”
Minnie appeared as he spoke, and walked towards them with a modest, yet decided air that was positively bewitching.
She was dressed in homely garments, but that served to enhance the beauty of her figure, and she had on the plainest of little bonnets, but that only tended to make her face more lovely. Ruby thought it was perfection. He glanced at Lieutenant Lindsay, and perceiving that he thought so too (as how could he think otherwise?) a pang of jealousy shot into his breast. But it passed away when the lieutenant, after politely assisting Minnie into the boat, sat down beside the captain and began to talk earnestly to him, leaving Minnie entirely to her lover. We may remark here, that the title of “leftenant”, bestowed on Lindsay by the captain was entirely complimentary.
The crew of the boat rowed out of the harbour, and the lieutenant steered eastward, towards the cliffs that have been mentioned in an earlier part of our tale.
The day turned out to be one of those magnificent and exceptional days which appear to have been cut out of summer and interpolated into autumn. It was bright, warm, and calm, so calm that the boat’s sail was useless, and the crew had to row; but this was, in Minnie’s estimation, no disadvantage, for it gave her time to see the caves and picturesque inlets which abound all along that rocky coast. It also gave her time to—but no matter.
“O how very much I should like to have a little boat,” said Minnie, with enthusiasm, “and spend a long day rowing in and out among these wild rocks, and exploring the caves! Wouldn’t it be delightful, Ruby?”
Ruby admitted that it would, and added, “You shall have such a day, Minnie, if we live long.”
“Have you ever been in the Forbidden Cave?” enquired Minnie.
“I’ll warrant you he has,” cried the captain, who overheard the question; “you may be sure that wherever Ruby is forbidden to go, there he’ll be sure to go!”
“Ay, is he so self-willed?” asked the lieutenant, with a smile, and a glance at Minnie.
“A mule; a positive mule,” said the captain.
“Come, uncle, you know that I don’t deserve such a character, and it’s too bad to give it to me to-day. Did I not agree to come on this excursion at once, when you asked me?”
“Ay, but you wouldn’t if I had ordered you,” returned the captain.
“I rather think he would,” observed the lieutenant, with another smile, and another glance at Minnie.
Both smiles and glances were observed and noticed by Ruby, whose heart felt another pang shoot through it; but this, like the former, subsided when the lieutenant again addressed the captain, and devoted himself to him so exclusively, that Ruby began to feel a touch of indignation at his want of appreciation of such a girl as Minnie.
“He’s a stupid ass,” thought Ruby to himself, and then, turning to Minnie, directed her attention to a curious natural arch on the cliffs, and sought to forget all the rest of the world.
In this effort he was successful, and had gradually worked himself into the firm belief that the world was paradise, and that he and Minnie were its sole occupants—a second edition, as it were, of Adam and Eve—when the lieutenant rudely dispelled the sweet dream by saying sharply to the man at the bow-oar—
“Is that the boat, Baker? You ought to know it pretty well.”
“I think it is, sir,” answered the man, resting on his oar a moment, and glancing over his shoulder; “but I can’t be sure at this distance.”
“Well, pull easy,” said the lieutenant; “you see, it won’t do to scare them, Captain Ogilvy, and they’ll think we’re a pleasure party when they see a woman in the boat.”
Ruby thought they would not be far wrong in supposing them a pleasure party. He objected, mentally, however, to Minnie being styled a “woman”—not that he would have had her called a man, but he thought that girl would have been more suitable—angel, perhaps, the most appropriate term of all.
“Come, captain, I think I will join you in a pipe,” said the lieutenant, pulling out a tin case, in which he kept the blackest of little cutty pipes. “In days of old our ancestors loved to fight—now we degenerate souls love to smoke the pipe of peace.”
“I did not know that your ancestors were enemies,” said Minnie to the captain.
“Enemies, lass! ay, that they were. What! have ye never heard tell o’ the great fight between the Ogilvys and Lindsays?”
“Never,” said Minnie.
“Then, my girl, your education has been neglected, but I’ll do what I can to remedy that defect.”
Here the captain rekindled his pipe (which was in the habit of going out, and requiring to be relighted), and, clearing his throat with the emphasis of one who is about to communicate something of importance, held forth as follows.
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