From All Angus (Angus Writers' Circle Anthology 2015)

by Angus Writers

CHAPTER 1: THE ROCK

  Well before daylight on a summer morning in the first few years of the nineteenth century, two fishermen crept down to the shore at Arbroath. They launched their boat and rowed out.

  The sea was like a sheet of glass, undulating after a violent storm that had swept the coast. At first, the water was grey but, after the men had rowed for more than two hours, it became pale yellow, then saffron, then blazed into liquid gold as the sun rose.

  The smaller of the two men, Davy Spink by name, said, “A pity there’s not the breeze we expected. It would have saved this rowing.”

  The other man, Jock Swankie, known as Big Swankie, said, “It’ll be all the better for landing on the rock.”

  “Aye,” agreed Davy. “We’ll surely find something there today.”

  The rock to which they referred was the Inchcape Rock, about twelve miles from the coast of Angus, and the last resting place of many ships making for the Firths of Tay and Forth. After a fourteenth-century Abbot of Arbroath hung a bell on it to warn mariners, it was more commonly known as the Bell Rock.

  Big Swankie asked, “D’you see the breakers now, Davy?”

  Without interrupting the rhythm of his rowing Davy Spink glanced over his shoulder. “Aye, and I hear them too.”

  Big Swankie shaded his heavy red brows with a heavy red hand. “Aye. You’re right. Pull away, Davy. We’ll have time for a bit of fishing before the rock’s bare.”

  As they rowed on, the thin line of snow-white foam expanded until it appeared that a huge breaker was rolling towards them. It towered upwards, and became a majestic wall of green water which fell with a thunderous roar into a seething white cauldron. Foam flew high in the air. Nothing was visible to account for the wild confusion amidst the placid sea, but the fishermen knew that the falling tide would soon expose the jagged ridges of the Bell Rock.

  In the meantime they anchored in the smoother water in the lee of the rock and cast their lines. After a time the cod began to bite and soon a dozen of them were lying in the bottom of the boat.

  Big Swankie said, “The rock’s looking out of the sea, and time’s precious.” They pulled up the anchor and rowed towards the ragged edges of rock, now visible among the foam.

  At low tide a rough patch of the Bell Rock, about a hundred yards long, fifty yards wide and seven feet high, is exposed for two or three hours. It appears as a succession of serrated ridges with channels of the sea between.

  With practised skill, the fishermen waited for a lull between the waves to slip their boat into one of those channels, where it lay in comparative calm although surrounded by the swirling white water.

  The men jumped ashore and tied the boat to a projecting rock. They started work immediately: time and tide wait for no man, especially on the Bell Rock.

  The men slithered around on the weed-draped rock searching among the crevices and sometimes picking things up, putting the smaller items in their pockets and larger ones on their backs.

  As they returned to the boat with their first haul, Davy Spink asked, “Well, lad, what luck?” He held up a grappling iron.

  Swankie dropped a load of metal. “Not much. Only a bit of a cooking stove and a cannon ball.”

  “Never mind. Try again. The gale must have put two or three wrecks on the rock.”

  At first, Davy Spink was more successful, taking several loads to the boat while Swankie ranged empty-handed. Until Swankie found a gully where a large mass of debris was piled in confusion. Among it lay the body of an old man.

  Swankie suppressed an excited call, and looked around. Davy Spink was at the other end of the rock. Swankie pulled the body onto a ledge and knelt to slip a ring off the right little finger and put it in his pocket.

  He took a red morocco case from an inside pocket of the dead man’s coat. It opened easily, revealing a gold watch, plus rings and brooches whose gems sparkled in the sun.

  Continuing to search the pockets, he found a clasp knife and a gold pencil. Then a heavy leather purse. He just had time to open it and glimpse the glitter of gold inside, before he heard the slither of feet. He hastily thrust the purse under the body.

  Davy Spink appeared on the rock above him. “Hello, lad. What have you there? Hey! Watches and rings. We’re in luck this morning.”

  “Where d’you get the ‘we’?” Big Swankie said. “You didn’t find it.”

  “No, but we’ve always divided. Why should we change now?”

  “We’ve no paper to that effect,” said Swankie. “The case of knick-knacks is mine.”

  “Half of it,” retorted Spink.

  “Well, well,” said Swankie, pretending carelessness. “I’d scorn to be so mean. You may have it all to yourself – but I’ll take the next thing that’s worth.”

  He stooped to the body and soon produced the purse. “I’m in luck, Davy. As they say, virtue’s always rewarded. This is mine, and I bet there’s money in it.” He opened the purse.

  “Gold!” Spink cried.

  Swankie tipped out the purse and counted thirty sovereigns. “Aye, lad. You can keep the trinkets, and I’ll keep the money.”

  Spink frowned at the body. “I’ve seen that face before.”

  “Like enough,” said Swankie. “Isn’t it old Jamie Brand?”

  “Aye. That’s him,” said Spink sadly. “It’ll be a heavy blow to the old woman. But we mustn’t stand havering like this. Let’s see what else is on him.”

  They found nothing else of value, but Davy Spink did find a piece of oilskin, fastened with red tape. Opening it, he drew out a piece of paper, almost untouched by sea water. He frowned at it. “I can’t make it out.”

  Swankie said, “You can’t read. Let me see it.”

  “Who says I can’t read?” But he let Swankie take the paper.

  Swankie squinted at it. “What have we here? The sloop is hard and… and….”

  “Fast, maybe,” suggested Spink.

  “Aye. So it is. I can’t make out the next word, but here’s something about the jewel case.” He gazed at the paper with a baffled expression.

  Spink asked, “Well, man, what’s it say?”

  “Hoot! I can’t make it out.” Swankie seemed annoyed as he folded the paper and put it in an inner pocket. “Come on. We’re wasting time. Let’s get on with our work.”

  “Toss for the jewels and money,” suggested Spink hopefully.

  “If it will stop you whining,” said Swankie, producing a copper. “Heads you win the money; tails I win the box. Heads it is. Well, I’m content.” He took the jewel case from Spink and gave him the purse.

  In another hour the tide drove them from the rock with over two hundredweights of the old metal. Spink said, “We better take the corpse ashore.”

  Swankie said, “Why? They may ask what was in the pockets.”

  Spink grinned. “Let them ask.”

  They rowed round to the gully and loaded the body, then set off. A friendly breeze enabled them to raise their foresail and they sailed into Arbroath Harbour two hours later.

  I joined Angus Writers’ Circle in late 1997, and the post of treasurer pounced on me in May 2012. My early love was writing stories for children – of Tony and Bea, young Troubleshooters of the Galactic Federation, and of Jam Rodger, who can visit classic stories. More recently, I have been giving presentations on Scottish authors to libraries and clubs, and preparing some of the children’s stories for publication as e-books.

  web site: www.tonyandbea.co.uk.