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 passed, 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 shores, special gratitude is due to the Bell Rock—­to those who projected it—­to the engineer who planned and built it—­to God, who inspired the will to dare, and bestowed the skill to accomplish, a work so difficult, so noble, so prolific of good to man!

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The nature of our story requires that we should occasionally annihilate time and space.

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 anticipated.  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.