Part 35 (2/2)
”What's the use?” muttered Big Sw.a.n.kie, with a savage scowl. He, too, had a strong disinclination to serve in the Royal Navy, being a lazy man, and not overburdened with courage. ”They've got eight men of a crew, wi' pistols an' cutlashes.”
”Well, it's all up with us,” cried Ruby, in a tone of sulky anger, as he tossed his oar overboard, and, folding his arms on his breast, sat sternly eyeing the gig as it approached.
Suddenly a beam of hope shot into his heart. A few words will explain the cause thereof.
About the time the works at the Bell Rock were in progress, the war with France and the Northern Powers was at its height, and the demand for men was so great that orders were issued for the establishment of an impress service at Dundee, Arbroath, and Aberdeen. It became therefore necessary to have some protection for the men engaged in the works. As the impress officers were extremely rigid in the execution of their duty, it was resolved to have the seamen carefully identified, and, therefore, besides being described in the usual manner in the protection-bills granted by the Admiralty, each man had a ticket given to him descriptive of his person, to which was attached a silver medal emblematical of the lighthouse service.
That very week Ruby had received one of the protection-medals and tickets of the Bell Rock, a circ.u.mstance which he had forgotten at the moment. It was now in his pocket, and might perhaps save him.
When the boat ranged up alongside, Ruby recognised in the officer at the helm the youth who had already given him so much annoyance. The officer also recognised Ruby, and, with a glance of surprise and pleasure, exclaimed:
”What! have I bagged you at last, my slippery young lion?”
Ruby smiled as he replied, ”Not _quite_ yet, my persevering young jackall.” (He was sorely tempted to transpose the word into jacka.s.s, but he wisely restrained himself.) ”I'm not so easily caught as you think.”
”Eh! how? what mean you?” exclaimed the officer, with an expression of surprise, for he knew that Ruby was now in his power. ”I have you safe, my lad, unless you have provided yourself with a pair of wings. Of course, I shall leave one of you to take your boat into harbour, but you may be sure that I'll not devolve that pleasant duty upon _you_.”
”I have not provided myself with wings exactly,” returned Ruby, pulling out his medal and ticket; ”but here is something that will do quite as well.”
The officer's countenance fell, for he knew at once what it was. He inspected it, however, closely.
”Let me see,” said he, reading the description on the ticket, which ran thus:--
”Bell Rock Workyard, Arbroath,
”20th June, 1810.
”_Ruby Brand, seaman and blacksmith, in the service of the Honourable the Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses, aged_ 25 _years_, 5 _feet_ 10 _inches high, very powerfully made, fair complexion, straight nose, dark-blue eyes, and curling auburn hair_.”
This description was signed by the engineer of the works; and on the obverse was written, ”_The bearer, Ruby Brand, is serving as a blacksmith in the erection of the Bell Rock Lighthouse_.”
”This is all very well, my fine fellow,” said the officer, ”but I have been deceived more than once with these medals and tickets. How am I to know that you have not stolen it from someone?”
”By seeing whether the description agrees,” replied Ruby.
”Of course, I know that as well as you, and I don't find the description quite perfect. I would say that your hair is light-brown, now, not auburn, and your nose is a little Roman, if anything; and there's no mention of whiskers, or that delicate moustache. Why, look here,” he added, turning abruptly to Big Sw.a.n.kie, ”this might be the description of your comrade as well as, if not better than, yours. What's your name?”
”Sw.a.n.kie, sir,” said that individual ruefully, yet with a gleam of hope that the advantages of the Bell Rock medal might possibly, in some unaccountable way, accrue to himself, for he was sharp enough to see that the officer would be only too glad to find any excuse for securing Ruby.
”Well, Sw.a.n.kie, stand up, and let's have a look at you,” said the officer, glancing from the paper to the person of the fisherman, and commenting thereon. ”Here we have `very powerfully made'--no mistake about that--strong as Samson; `fair complexion'--that's it exactly; `auburn hair'--so it is. Auburn is a very undecided colour; there's a great deal of red in it, and no one can deny that Sw.a.n.kie has a good deal of red in _his_ hair.”
There was indeed no denying this, for it was altogether red, of an intense carroty hue.
”You see, friend,” continued the officer, turning to Ruby, ”that the description suits Sw.a.n.kie very well.”
”True, as far as you have gone,” said Ruby, with a quiet smile; ”but Sw.a.n.kie is six feet two in his stockings, and his nose is turned up, and his hair don't curl, and his eyes are light-green, and his complexion is sallow, if I may not say yellow--”
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