Chapter VIII: Part 8

Day at length dawned; but it did not bring with it renewed hope. I had prayed and longed for it, in the expectation that I might be seen and picked up by some vessel; but my heart did not rise in my bosom as the beams of the sun shot over the waters around me. No sight met my eyes but the sky, bounded at a short distance around by my low position in the water. The breeze had considerably abated, the sea was much smoother, and the fears of a lingering death by hunger and thirst began to assail me. As the morning advanced, my faith in my deliverance began to fail, and terrible thoughts crowded upon my mind. I tremble yet when I revert to them. It seemed as if the great tempter of mankind had been with me in this hour of trial, and whispered in my ears thoughts foreign to my nature. I even began to doubt the mercy and goodness of God; despair was again busy with me, and my clasp-knife suggested a short and ready remedy for my misery. I clutched it in my hand, and opened it; but my hand was stayed; my feelings had again undergone a revolution. I dropped the instrument, and wept. I now thought I heard a rushing sound in the air, and looked up. An immense albatross, with his huge extended wings, was suspended over me, attracted by the strange sight I exhibited. In any other situation, would I have been alarmed at the sight of a bird? Now, my heart sunk when I saw the creature circling high above my head. I thought he was examining the object previous to his pouncing upon it. I thought he might strike my head, and my woes would be ended: he might alight, and tear me piece by piece with his strong-hooked bill. The terror of the waters was merged in that of my new enemy; and such is man, that, though I had reconciled myself to the one, I felt my courage and resolution rise within me when I saw a visible and tangible enemy to grapple with. His circles round me became more and more narrow; and, as he descended, I seized my open knife. This precaution was, doubtless, unnecessary. The bird probably only wanted to ascertain what strange inhabitant of the waters now appeared to it. Still, however, it kept up its surveillance, receding now by large circles, and again approaching me, only again to betake itself to a greater distance, and again to renew its approach. I cannot tell how long this continued: but a full hour, at least, must have passed--during all which time I remained under the unaccountable apprehension that I would, unless I defended myself, fall a victim to this gigantic bird of prey. At length he took a long sweep, and I saw him sailing away on his solitary journey, as if he despised the poor object he had left alone on the waste of waters.

From the scorching rays upon the exposed part of my body, I began to suffer much, and my thirst became excessive; my strength gradually declined, and by the time the sun reached his meridian, I had again made up my mind to my fate, commending my soul to its Maker, through my Redeemer. I closed my eyes, as I thought, for ever upon all earthly things. I had lain thus only a short time, when, raising myself up as far as I could upon my raft, and gazing around upon what I thought was to be my tomb, an involuntary cry of joy burst from me. There was a vessel in sight; my weakness and misery were forgot. I saw them lower a boat; and from that moment my mind became a tumult of thoughts and sensations, which I have often since attempted in vain to analyse. The horrors of my late situation were still upon me, and I could with difficulty persuade myself that my delivery was real.

So exquisitely soothing was the feeling that now possessed me, that I feared to open my eyes or move, lest I might break the spell that was upon me, and awaken in the misery I had so lately endured. But I even tired of enjoyment, for my position became irksome. I attempted to turn, but the effort was so painful, that a groan escaped me. A gentle hand wiped the perspiration from my brow, and inquired if I wished to be turned. The sound of that voice was like a beam of light upon my bewildered mind. I opened my eyes, and saw a young female in widow's weeds standing by the side of my cot.

"Generous being," I said, "is it to you that I owe my deliverance?"

A sad smile passed over her face as she gazed at me, and said, "I am happy to see you restored to recollection; but you must not speak." And she gently withdrew from the side of the cot.

I wished much to make inquiries; but felt so weak that I did not persist, but sunk again into the same dreamy state. It is of no use detailing the events of the few days that were passed in this helpless state. By the kind nursing of the female and the kindness of the captain, I slowly recovered, and learned that, by the merest accident, I had been discovered by them as I floated upon the waves; and that, had I not been seen to move when I had raised myself up, they would have passed me; and that I was now on board the Betsy and Ann of Leith, bound from Quebec to that port. My heart overflowed with love and gratitude to that merciful God who had delivered me; for what the kind captain called accident, I felt in my heart was his loving-kindness; now I firmly believe there is no such thing as what men call chance or accident. We are taught by Scripture that all things are ordered and directed by the Creator of the universe, from the fall of a sparrow to the fall of an empire; and, in the eye of Omnipotence, nothing is great or small, all being directed to one great end.

I was now able to leave my cot for a short time, but not the cabin. The young widow was ever by my side, to minister to my wants. I felt much for her sorrows, which she bore with pious resignation; but I had no power to minister to her comforts as my gratitude prompted me, when I observed her, as I lay in my cot, weeping in silence, when she thought me asleep. It was the third day after I was picked up, as I sat in the cabin, and felt myself much recovered, that I gave her an account of my leaving home, and my adventures since. She sat and listened with interest, and seemed much affected by my account of my friend, James Walden. She sighed heavily as I proceeded, and her tears fell fast. When I mentioned his untimely death, she uttered a piercing cry, and fell insensible upon the floor. I cried loudly for help; and her servant and the captain, who were on deck, came quickly to my aid. After some time she recovered, but was so ill that she was forced to be put to bed by her maid. Her mind seemed quite unsettled by what I had said of my friend's death; for she spoke strangely and incoherently, unconscious of what she uttered; often repeating, "James, I shall never see you more. How could I hope? I wished, but dared not hope, humbled as I was--yet frown not on me so; I am more to be pitied than hated." Thus she continued during the greater part of the day.

Towards evening, she became more composed, but was so ill that she could not leave the state-room without the support of her servant, which she did contrary to the remonstrances of the captain; only replying--

"What is life now to me but a dreary blank? O that I were at rest under these rolling waves! O Mr Elder! have you strength to tell me all you know of James before my heart bursts?"

I could myself have wept; but her eyes were dry, yet heavy and languid; her face pale as marble, with a ghastly composure upon it, more heart-moving than clamorous grief. Again I went over every circumstance, and concluded by regretting the prayer-book, as the only article I valued, left on board. She heard me the second time without altering a muscle of her face. When I finished, she said--

"I was Matilda Everard; these fingers wrote the name upon the prayer-book, which I gave to James Everard, my cousin. Walden was the name of his mother; he was an orphan, the ward of my father; I am an only daughter. We were brought up together. I was my father's only child--an heiress; he had little more than his own abilities to depend upon. I was a spoiled child, thoughtless and volatile. I loved him then as a brother. He was some years older than I; he loved me as never man loved woman. I sported with his misery; for I knew not love. My father discovered his passion, and banished him from the house. I regretted him as a brother--no, not as a brother--as a playmate. His feelings of honour were so high, he took no covert means to meet me again; but I saw him often at church, and elsewhere. I used to kiss my hand to him; but we never exchanged words. Urged by my father, I married a rich merchant. He was much older than I. The cold, haughty, and money-making habits of my husband first turned my thoughts to James. I contrasted the joy that used to beam in his eyes, when I smiled upon him, with the indifference of my husband; and my love, once that of a sister, became all that James could have desired, had I been still a maid. Upon my marriage, James disappeared. Neither my father nor any one else knew where he had gone. It is now three years--long, long years--since then. Circumstances called my husband to Quebec, that, if not looked after, might involve him in ruin. Jealous and morose, he took me with him. Months of misery I dragged on there. My husband sickened and died. I am now on my way to my father; but I feel we shall never meet. My heart, I feel, is broken, and life ebbs fast. Farewell! and may you be blessed for your kindness to James. Bury me in the waves; I long to sleep by his side."

Having taken farewell of the captain, she retired, and we never saw her again in life. Some time after, agreeable to her request, she slept with James under the waves of the Atlantic. For some days I was much affected by the melancholy event; but my spirits, with my health, gradually returned. A few weeks more would bring me to my father's house, and I resolved never again to trust to any political prognosticator, even of my own father, for I had never known him so much deceived before. I had been eighteen months away, and the war, so far from being over, was, if possible, fiercer than ever; and the democrats of France were carrying murder and desolation wherever their armies went.

THE ANGLER'S TALE.

Never did boy long more anxiously for the arrival of the happy day which was to free him from the trammels of school discipline than I, a grey-haired man, always do for the return of bright and beautiful summer--that happy season when all nature seems to sympathise with the fortunate citizen who can escape from the confinement, bustle, and excitement of the crowded haunts of men, to soothe his spirit and forget his cares amid the beautiful scenery and calm retirement of the country. I always allow myself, if possible, a holiday in the summer months; and with rod in hand, and knapsack on back, I wander wherever whim or chance may lead me. Oh! the delight I experience, when the city is left far behind me!--the buoyancy, the springiness of feeling, with which I whistle along my path, rejoicing in my freedom! The very birds seem to welcome me with their song; the fields, the streams, all seem breathing of delight; I forget my grey hairs; and the spirit of youth and the freshness of youthful feeling are again upon me.

In one of my fishing excursions, a few years since, I became accidentally acquainted with a worthy farmer of the name of Thompson, who lived on the banks of the Esk, in the neighbourhood of the beautifully-situated town of Langholm. He was a good, though by no means a rare, specimen of the class of men to which he belonged--a shrewd, sensible, well-informed man, frank and friendly in his address, and with an air of quiet, unobtrusive independence.

He made up to me with such kindness and hospitality, and was so cordial and pressing in urging me to repeat my visit, that I have ever since made his comfortable house my head-quarters during the fishing season. His cottage was beautifully situated on a gentle rise, surrounded by lofty trees; immediately below ran the winding Esk, dashing and foaming over a bed of limestone, and spanned, at a short distance, by a lofty bridge of one arch, commanding a view of the ruins of the famed tower of Gilnockie. The neat and cheerful exterior of the cottage bespoke comfort and plenty within; and kinder and more hospitable people never existed than its inmates. Elsie Thompson, the good-wife, in her plain but neat "mournings," and her close white mutch, mild and gentle in her manner, looked the very personification of benevolence and hospitality. She had been a very handsome woman; but the hand of affliction had been heavy upon her, and had left its marks upon her careworn features: four of her children had been carried off by a contagious disorder, and her sole remaining comfort, besides her husband, was her daughter.

Ellen was one of the loveliest creatures my eye ever rested upon. Hers was a face of sunny beauty. The braids of her rich brown hair rested upon a brow of more than common whiteness, from beneath which her large blue eyes sparkled with the light of pure and innocent joyousness. The whole of her features bore the impress of light-hearted mirth; and yet at times a passing shade of sadness flitted across them, which, while it softened their beauty, gave an additional charm to their expression. But it was not Ellen's beauty alone that rendered her interesting: a kinder-hearted, more attentive and affectionate daughter never existed; her whole soul seemed to be wrapped up in her parents; her every action had reference to some wish or habit of theirs. She was equally exemplary in the performance of all her household duties, and was the pride and blessing of her parents.

Ellen and I soon became intimate; for, in the country, untrammelled by the forms of etiquette, acquaintance soon ripens into friendship. Fortunate was it for me that my days of romance were over, or she would have been a dangerous companion; as it was, I could gaze upon her as I would upon a beautiful picture, admiringly, not lovingly. Many a happy evening have I spent, sitting in the mild summer sunset, under the shade of the large beech-tree at Edward Thompson's door, listening to the brawling of the foaming waters, with Ellen by my side. It was at such times that I more particularly remarked the melancholy I have before mentioned. Her thoughts were evidently far from the scene she looked upon, and a tear would sometimes steal down her cheek. Whenever I asked her the occasion of her grief, she would answer, with a languid attempt at a smile, "Oh, naething ava!" and immediately began to talk in a strain of forced liveliness and indifference. I saw that she had some secret cause of unhappiness; but, as she did not volunteer her confidence, I did not consider myself justified in attempting to force it, and set her unhappiness down in my own mind to that general and all-powerful disturber of youthful feelings--love for some absent one.

Last summer, I had been engaged in my favourite amusement of fishing, and had wandered some distance down the Esk, when certain inner warnings admonished me that it was time to recruit my energies. As I am rather an epicure, however, and enjoy my crust with more _gout_, the more beautiful the scenery by which I am surrounded, I resisted the cravings of appetite until I had reached a situation the beauty of which tempted my stay, and then, laying my rod on the bank, I proceeded to examine the contents of my knapsack. It was high noon; but the sun was partially shrouded by light fleecy clouds, and threw a softened light on the green bank on which I seated myself. Immediately at my feet ran the clear stream, fringed a little higher up with willows and trees of a larger growth; opposite to me were the rich woods and lawns of Netherby; to the left, on the other side of the river, was a picturesque, ivy-covered, turreted building, called the fishing tower; to the right, far down the river, were seen the bridge and buildings of Longtown; and in the distance, the beautiful hills of Cumberland. The high-road was only a few yards distant, immediately behind me; but I was shut out from its view by a substantial stone wall, with a neat gate opening to the water-side. Scarcely had I seated myself, when I heard the sound of coming footsteps on the high-road. The sound ceased; and, turning round, I saw a traveller looking over the green gate behind me. I am a great disciple of Lavater, and flatter myself, notwithstanding the many mistakes I have been led into, that I can sometimes read a man's countenance, almost as well as a "written book." To me, a good countenance is always a letter of recommendation, and one to which, in spite of the whisperings of prudence, I always pay instant attention. There was something particularly prepossessing in the countenance and appearance of the stranger. He was a young man of about six-and-twenty, with a laughing dark eye, hair black as the raven's wing, and a complexion bronzed by exposure to sun and clime. He was dressed like a sailor, in a neat blue jacket, a narrow-rimmed glazed hat, and with a small bundle on the stick over his shoulder. Seeing me look round, and encouraged, I suppose, by the friendly interest with which I regarded him, he remarked upon the fineness of the day, and asked if I had had good sport.

"Yes," replied I, "tolerable; and now I have a tolerable appetite. Will you come and join my mess?"

"Thank ye kindly, sir--wi' a' my heart. I've travelled far to-day, and I'll be a' the better of an _elevener_."[4]

[Footnote 4: A nautical term for a forenoon whet.]

After a hearty and simple meal, washed down with a dram of Connal's best,[5] and a draught of pure river water, I lighted my cigar, and, giving my new messmate one, to keep me in countenance, I lounged in luxurious ease upon my grassy couch, while he seated himself with modest frankness beside me.

[Footnote 5: Langholm Distillery.]

"Your face tells of other climates, my friend," says I; "it was not an English sun that bronzed it thus."

"It's five years noo, sir, sin' I left the banks o' the bonny Esk; and weel ye ken that a wanderer by land and sea sees mair in a year than a man that aye sits at the ingle-cheek will in his lifetime. Gude be thankit, I haena felt muckle care or sorrow mysel! but I hae had my ain share o' hardships."

"You seem not to have forgot your mother-tongue, however. You are a native of this part of the country, I suppose?"

"I am, sir; and though I've been lang aneugh amang the Englishers to hae been half English mysel, I couldna mak up my mouth to speak their daft-like lingo; and noo the sicht o' my ain dear river, the thocht that I'm but a few miles frae my ain hame, has dung what little I did ken o't clean oot o' my head."

"I wonder you are not in a greater hurry to get onwards," said I. "I think, if I were in your situation, I should be eager to reach my home as soon as possible."

"Oh, sir, I maun gang and see puir Geordie Gordon's folk before I gang hame. It's ill news I hae to tell them, and I maun wait till the gloamin."

"And who is Geordie Gordon?"

"He was the kindest-hearted o' messmates, and the best o' freends. A better seaman, or a kinder, never stepped atween stem and stern o' a ship. Puir Geordie!" And he hastily passed the sleeve of his jacket over his eyes.

"Suppose you let me hear some of your adventures," said I; "it will pass away the time, and I should like much to know something of the ways of you sailors, and the customs on board a ship."

"Oh, sir, I hae nae adventures to tell. Could you but hae heard puir Geordie--he was the lad for spinning yarns, as we ca' it."

"Well, but you can tell me what took you first to sea, and what you thought of the life of a sailor after you had joined a ship."

"Weel, sir! I'll just begin at the beginning, and tell ye a' aboot it; and if ye're wearied wi' my clavers, ye maun just tell me:--"

There was a large family o' us, and a happy family we were--for my faither was an industrious farmer, weel to do in the world, and weel respeckit by a' wha kenned him; and my mither was a kind-hearted, worthy woman, wha dearly lo'ed us a', but never let her luve blind her to our fauts. She aye taught us that idleness was the root o' a' mischief, and that we needna fear man as lang's we did our duty to our Maker.

I was about seventeen when Geordie Gordon cam hame frae the sea, to see his folk, wha lived in our parishen. A heartsome and a weel-faured lad was Geordie, wi' a merry ee, and a laugh--I maist think I hear't noo--that cam ringing frae the heart. He was a favourite wi' auld and young; and mony was the bright ee that blinked o'er on him as he sat in the kirk wi' his roun blue jacket, and his checkit sark, and his smiling happy face. Jenny Birrel was his sweetheart; a blithe lass and a bonny was Jenny, and guid as she was bonny. Wae'll be her heart when she hears what has happened her Joe!

Weel, sir, I was like the lave--I likit Geordie, and Geordie likit me, and we were aye thegither. It garred my vera heart loup to hear him spin yarns, as he ca'd it, about the dangers he had escapit, and the unco sichts he had seen; till, frae less to mair, I felt an eager wish to gang wi' him on his neist voyage, and to witness the wonders o' the deep, and to veesit forran lands. Besides, I saw that a' the lassies thocht mair o'ane who had been leading a life o' danger and hardship, than o' the douce lads wha keepit following the pleuch, or thumping wi' the flail a' the days o' their lives. And I thocht that my ain wee Joe wad lo'e me better, and that I micht earn something to mak us comfortable; and that, after I had seen a' the ferlies o' forran lans, I wad come hame laden wi' braws to mak her my wife. Bonny wee thing! I wonder if she minds me yet! In storm, in darkness, in danger, I never forgot _her_.

Sair did my mither greet when I tell't her I was for awa wi' Geordie; and aft, aft did she beg me to change my min'.

"Stay at hame, Tam, my bairn," said she, "and tak care o' yer auld mither. A' the lave are gane but yersel, and if ye gang too, what'll become o' us!" But I wadna be persuaded; the spirit o' change was upon me, and gang I wad.

"I winna hinder ye, my bairn," said my faither; "if yer min' is made up to gang for a sailor, gang, and His blessing gang wi' ye. Ye'll be as safe in the midst o' the raging sea as ye wad be by yer ain fireside, as lang's ye trust in Him."

But the warst was to come. I maist repented o' my determination when I gaed for the last time to the trysting tree, whar I had sae aft met my dear lassie. She was there, wi' her face buried in her hans, sabbing as if her young heart would break. Oh, sir, it was a sad sicht to me!

It was a bonny nicht: the moon was at the full, and the stars were a' glinting roun' her; there wasna a cloud, but on our ain hearts; the hail holm was ae bleeze o' licht, amaist as licht as day; the leaves were just soughing o'er our heads; and the soun' o' the burn wimpling near us cam clear upon our ears. Our hearts were owre sair for muckle speaking; she sabbit, and I tried to comfort her--but a' in vain. I wanted comfort mysel; and at last I could stan' it nae langer--I just grat in company.

But this couldna last for lang. We vowed to be leal to ilk ither; and, wi' ae last kiss, I forced mysel awa.

Neist morn, Geordie Gordon and I took foot in han' and awa to Leith, and frae that worked our passage to Lunnon. Weel, sir, it's an awsome bit that Lunnon! The streets just like hedgeraws, and the kirk steeples like poplar-trees; and then the folk as thrang on the planestanes on a week-day as if a' the kirks were scaling at ance! Ye'll hae been in Lunnon, I'se warran, sir? Min', I'm just telling ye hoo I thocht and felt then, for I ken better sin' syne. Then the ships a' crooding on ane anither, like sheep in a fauld, their masts as thick as the trees in yon wud: and the muckle barges wi' but ae man to guide them; and the wee bit cockleshells o' wherries skimming alang, loaded wi' passengers sitting amaist upon the water; and the noise o' men, and the thunner o' carriages, and the smoke o' ten thousand chimlas! 'Od, sir, I used to think Car'il a grand toun, but it's naething ava to Lunnon.

Weel, sir, ae day, Geordie and me were walkin on a place they ca' Tower Hill--whar there's a grand auld castle they ca' the Tower o' Lunnon, where they say a sodger chiel, o' the name o' Julius Caesar, was beheadit langsyne, in the time o' ane o' our auld Scottish kings--when a weel-faured, sonsy-looking chiel, dressed like a provost, wi' a hat on his head might serve a duke, cam up till us, and seeing us glowering aboot, and just doing naething ava, began colloquying wi' us.

"It's a fine day, my lads," said he, looking as blithe as the sun in a May morning. "You seem to be strangers in London. I like your honest looks; and, as I am an idler myself, I will go with you, if you like, and show you the lions."

"The lions! 'od, sir, are there ony lions hereawa?" said I.

"Many that you know nothing of," said he, stuffing his pocket-napkin into his mouth, to keep the dust oot, I thocht. "Come with me, and we'll drink to our better acquaintance."

Wi' that he taks us into a bit public near by, and tells us to ca' for what we likit; and then he crackit awa, and was unco jocose and blithe.

"Have you got plenty of money, lads?" said he at last. And we lookit like twa fules, for Geordie had but twa shillins left, and I had nae mair mysel. He saw, for he had a gleg ee in his head, that we werna weel provided; so cried he, "Never mind, my boys--I'll stand treat; the landlord o' this house is my friend; you can have whatever you call for, and stay with him as long as you like."

Wi' that he ca'ed for mair drink; and, frae ae thing to anither, what wi' laughing and drinking, we got gey and fou, and were weel pleased to win till oor beds.

"Troth, Geordie, lad," says I, "I think we've lichted on oor feet this time; it's no every day in the week we'll meet sic a freend."

"I dinna ken what to mak o' him," said Geordie, wha kenned mair aboot the warld than mysel, as he had been three years sailing atween Dumfries and America; "he's owre ceevil by half. I've aye heard tell that there's a set o' born deevils in Lunnon. It's a' vera weel as far as it's gane; but I'm feared for the aftercome."

Weel, the neist morning, oor kind freend ordered breakfast for us, and then asked us if we'd like to tak a walk and look aboot us. "But," said he, "you must have better _toggery_ than that you have on." And wi' that he took us into a shop, where he ordered a jacket and trousers for each o' us; and, when we had putten them on, we cam oot, looking as braw as the best. In the coorse o' oor cracks, we had tell't him we wanted to go to forran parts.

"Well," said he, "there's a fine East Indiaman at Gravesend, just going to sail for China. I can get you a berth on board of her."

Now, though Geordie and I were baith keen to gang to sea, yet we wanted to choose oor ain ship; and, besides, we had resolved no to gang in ane o' the East India Company's ships; for the lads on board the smack, coming frae Leith, had tell't us to keep clear o' the Indiamen, for that they were manned wi' the sweepings o' Newgate, and that there was mair flogging on board o' them than in the navy.

"We're no for sailing in a Company's ship, sir," said I; "we'll choose for oursels."

"Very well, lads," said he; "but before we part, we must '_square yards_,' if you please. Pay me what you owe me." And, wi' that, he pulls oot a bill as lang's my airm, for sae muckle meat, sae lang lodging, and sae muckle for claithes.

"'Od, sir," said I, "did ye no treat us? Ye ken vera weel we haena a bodle to pay ye wi'."

"Then you must either tramp to prison, or go on board the Indiaman. What say you?"

"Weel, if we maun gang, we maun, and there's an end o't; but ye ha'ena behaved to us like a gentleman and a Christian."

"A gentleman and a Christian!" said he, girning; "why, you Scotch noodle, I'm a crimp!"

("And what, in the name of wonder, is a crimp?" said I, interrupting Tom in his long-winded story.

"A crimp, sir!" said Tom; "d'ye no ken what's a crimp? Why, sir, a crimp is, ye ken--a crimp _is_--hoot, he's just a crimp."[6]

"Very satisfactory, certainly," replied I. "However, go on with your story.")

[Footnote 6: A crimp is a person who receives a certain sum of money from shipowners for procuring sailors to man their vessels.]

Neist morning, Geordie and I, wi' mony ithers, were put into a Gravesend boat, and sent down tae a bit ca'ed Northfleet, whar the Indiaman was lying at the buoys. She was the first large ship I'd ever seen--and eh! but I was astonished. I hae seen mony a ane since, and far bigger anes; but she aye seems to my min' the biggest o' them a'. She was ca'd the True Briton; and grand she did look, wi' her tall masts, and her colours a' fleeing abroad, and the muckle guns peeping out o' the holes in her sides they ca' ports. When we speeled up her sides, it was maist like munting a hill; and when we got on board, I was fairly 'mazed, and stood glowring frae the gangway as if I were bewitched, till a chiel, wi' a face like a foumart, and a siller pipe hanging round his neck wi' a black riband (he was a boatswain's mate), ca'd out to me--

"What are you staring at, you great fool? Come down from the gangway!"

And wi' that he gied me a pu' by the jacket, that maist garred me fa' on the deck. My bluid was up in a moment; and I was just gaun to gie him as guid's he brocht, when Geordie, wha was at my elbow, said--

"Haud yer hand, Tam! Never heed him. Do as ye see me do."

Wi' that he touched his hat to an officer who was walking the deck and tell't him that we wished to ship as seamen.

"Can you hand, reef, steer, and heave the lead, my man?" said he.

"Yes, sir," said George; "but this callant has never been to sea afore."

"Oh, then, he won't do for us; besides, he is too light a hand. How long have _you_ been at sea?"

"Six years, sir--three in a collier, and three in a Dumfries trader to America. But, if Tom here is not shipped, I'll no go either."

"Well, you are a smart, stout-looking fellow yourself; and, as we want a boy or two, we'll take Tom, too, as you call him. Midshipman, take these men to the doctor."

"Ay, ay, sir!" said a smart wee boy, wi' a gilt loop and cockade in his hat--"follow me, my lads!"

"What in a' the yirth is the doctor gaun to do till us? He's no gaun to put a mark upon us, is he, Geordie?" whispered I.

"Whisht, ye great gowk!" was a' the answer I got; and I followed, as I thocht, like a lamb to the slaughter, doun a ladder, till anither flat deck, where a' the officers' cabins were.

'Od, sir, I never was sae astonished in a' my days! It was just like a street in a toun; the cabins, on each side, like raws o' houses; and, farder on, as far as ane could see, a raw o' muckle guns a' standing abreast. It was unco low o'erhead, and I maist brak my head twice or thrice or I won to the doctor's cabin. 'Od, I've aften laughed sin' syne, to think how queer everything lookit to me then!

Weel, sir, the doctor felt our pulses, and lookit in our mouths, and punchit us in the ribs, and examined us just as a horse-dealer wad a beast, to see gin we war sound, wind and limb. And when he was satisfied--

"Mr Noodle," said he to the midshipman, "tell Mr Douglas these men will do."

And awa we gaed up the ladder again.

The ship was only waiting for men to mak up her complement; and, as we were the last, we signed the contract for the voyage, and received twa months' pay as arles. Our kind freend, the crimp, was waiting at the pay-table wi' his bill, and sune eased us o' maist o' our money. The morning after, two steamboats cam alangside, and were lashed to the ship; we cut from the buoy, and in a few minutes the ship was whirring doun the water wi' twa lang cluds o' smoke fleeing awa ahint, and the red ensign just glinting now and then through them in the sunshine. We cam to anchor at a place they ca' the Lower Hope; and in the afternoon the boatswain and his three mates went about chirping wi' their siller pipes, and ca'in, "All hands to muster, ahoy!" and the men a' cam skelping up frae below, and went on the quarterdeck, where the officers were a' standing on the ane side, and the men ranged themsels on the ither.

"All up, sir," said the third mate, touching his hat to the chief.

"Very well--go on, steward." And the ship's steward ca'd out the names o' a' the men, and they went round the capstan, touching their hats as they answered. The chief mate afterwards tell't them a' their stations, for reefing, furling, and tacking, and divided them into starboard and larboard watches. Geordie Gordon being an able seaman, and a smart, active chiel, was made a forecastle-man, and I was stationed in the mizzentop.

At daylight neist morning we were roused out o' our hammocks by the boatswain and his mates calling out on the upper-deck, "All hands up anchor, ahoy! Up all hammocks, ahoy!" And then they cam doun below, and made noise aneugh to wauken the dead or my auld deaf grannie, crying, "Tumble up! tumble up!--show a leg!--lash and carry!" (Meaning the hammocks.) Then the men jumpit out, and began hurrying on their claes, and lashing up their hammocks. I had never been in a hammock afore that nicht, and I had just been dreaming o' hame, when I was waukened by the noise as if a' the deevils had broken loose, and I started up and jumpit out o' my ain bed at hame, as I thocht, but I cam doun wi' sic a thud on the deck as maist brak my head.

As soon as the hammocks were a' up, and put awa in the nettings on deck, the capstan bars were shipped and manned, and the chief mate shouted down the hatchway--

"Are you all ready there below?"

"All ready, sir!" replied the third mate.

"Heave taut for unbitting!"

As soon as the cable was unbitted, "Heave round!" was the cry from the lower-deck.

"Heave round!" said the mate; "step out, my hearts!"

The fifes struck up "The girl I left behind me," the men stamped round the capstan with a cheerful, steady step, and in a very short time the cable was nearly up and doun.

"Up and down, sir!" shouted the boatswain from the forecastle.

"Heave and paul!" cried the chief mate. "Out bars, out bars! bear a hand, my lads!--Up there, topmen--loose sails! Send everybody up from below to make sail!"

"Ay, ay, sir!"

Eh! but I was dumfoundered to see the lads rinning up the rigging like sae mony monkeys. And while I was standing glowering at them, a young midshipman ca'd to me, "Holloa! you, Wilson!--don't you know you're a mizzentopman?--Spin up and loose the topsail!"

"Me gang up, sir!--I canna, sir, I'd tumble."

"Can't, sir! there's no such word on board ship. Up you go; and if you're afraid of falling, hold on with your teeth!"

"So I was obleeged to gang up; but I was a' in a tremble, and just was up to the top in time to creep doun again; for the sails were a' loose, and a' the lads coming doun. Eh! hoo the sailors did laugh at me! But, in a fortnight's time, there wasna ane amang them could lay saut on my tail. But what's the use o' my fashing yer honour wi' a' thae idle clavers? Nae doot ye're tired o' them already."

"Oh no, Tom!" said I, "go on; I am much amused, I assure you; but you'd better moisten your lips out of my flask before you go on."

"Thank ye, sir!"

Eh, but I thocht it a bonny sicht, when I lookit frae the rigging, where I was hauding on wi' a' my fingers, like a fleyed kitlin, to see the men a' lying oot on the different yards, loosening the rapes that keep the sails rowed up--(they ca' them gaskets). Then the chief mate cried oot, "Are you all ready there, forward!"

"All ready, sir."

"Are you ready in the maintop?"

"All ready, sir."

"Ready abaft?"

"All ready, sir."

"Let fall!"--And then the boatswain and his mates gied a loud skirl wi' their pipes, and doun cam a' the sails flaffing at ane and the same time; and in five minutes the masts that lookit afore as bare as trees in winter, were a' cled in canvas frae tap to bottom. Weel, sir, the sails were a' set, and just swelled out bonnily wi' the light breeze, and the yards were trimmed, as they ca' it, for casting.

"Man the capstan bars!" shouted the chief mate. "Hold on there below!"

"All ready, sir!--heave round!" And away went the men again to the soun o' the fife, till the boatswain gied a loud chirrup wi' his pipe, as much as to say the anchor was up; and the paul o' the capstan clinkit, and the bars were ta'en oot, and the men ran aboot a' gaets as they war ordered, and the anchor was made fast, and in a short time the ship was snooving through the water, bobbing and frisking like a fine leddy dressed in a' her braws in a kintra dance.

'Od, sir, a muckle ship's a queer thing when ye come to think on't; it's just, for a' the warl, like a toun afloat. If ye gang to the ane end, ye hear the quacking o' ducks, and the cheep-cheeping o' turkeys, and the crawing o' cocks;--gang to the ither, and there's the baaing o' sheep, and the grumphing o' pigs, and the kye rowting as natural like as if they war in a farm-steading at hame. Then there's Jemmy Ducks, a kind o' henwife, only he's a man; and a butcher, and a baker, and cooks, and carpenters, and joiners, and sail-makers, and blacksmiths (armourers they ca' them), and a smiddy, and a' things like a place on shore. Then, if ye want yer shoon clouted, or yer jacket mendit, or yer hair clippit, ye're safe to fin' tailors, and cobblers, and shavers amang the crew.

We had a vera crooded ship; there war near five hundred sodgers, wi' some o' their wives, on board; and an awfu time we had on't at first.

We had just got fairly oot into the Channel, whan it beguid to blaw great guns, as they say, and the sail was a' taen in but the maintopsail, and the ship tossed and tumbled in the water like a strong man warstlin wi' his enemy. Whiles an awfu sea, as big's a hill-side, wad come rampaging and raining doun upon her, as if it was gaun to swallow her up a'thegither; and, wi' an awsome thud agen her bow, wad send a shower o' thick spray owre her hail length; then she tumbled owre, graining and maning like a leeving thing, till her side went deep into the water, as if she war never gaun to rise mair; then up she wad come again, whirring, and roll owre the tither way, dauring the sea, as 'twere, to anither tussle, while the lang masts were whisking aboot as if they wad sweep the heavens abune oor heads.

The sodgers, puir bodies, were doun on the lowest deck--they ca't the hollup (orlop)--wi' nae licht nor air but what cam doun the hatchways, so that we were obliged to keep the hatch off, and every time a sea struck the ship, a great body o' water ran doun below, till the hollup was rinning maist foot deep; and there were the puir mithers sitting hauding on by the stanchions in the midst o' the deck, and trying to catch the helpless bit weans as they were carried frae side to side by the rolling o' the ship and the rushing o' the water. Eh, it was a sad sicht to see the bits o' things! Mony a puir wean died afterwards.

I could tell ye a feck o' queer things about the voyage; but I hae nae time enow. But I'll just tell ye twa bit stories, ane about a sodger, and the ither about puir Geordie Gordon; they baith affected me much at the time.

Amang the sodgers there was a serjeant--a colour-serjeant, they ca'd him--wha was weel likit by a' the crew. His name was George Hastie; he was a weel-faured, douce, canny body, wi' twa mitherless weans.

Oh, but it was a pleasant sicht to see how carefu he was o' the bairns!--and bonny bairns they were. He kamed their hair, and washed the bit faces and hands, and keepit them aye as trig and clean as their ain mither could hae dune. There was a wee bit shuffling luftennan on board, wha likit his glass weel, and aye lookit twa inches taller after denner, and as proud as a wee bantam cock. Weel, ae day the puir serjeant, what wi' the heat o' the day and the strength o' the grog, was a thocht the waur o' drink, and was maybe no exactly sae respectfu to the bit offisher as he sud hae been; and--I kenna hoo it was, but he was had afore a court-martial, and the stripes were taen aff the airm o' his coat, and he was reduced to the ranks to do duty as a common sentry. Puir fallow! we were a' terrible ill-pleased about it, and nane mair than the vera offishers that condemned him.

Eight days after cam the 23d of April, when the king's birth-day, that's dead, was keepit. At daylicht in the morning, in place o' the drums and fifes striking up what the sodgers ca' the revilly, the hail band o' music--twenty-twa instruments, forby drums--beguid playing, "God Save the King," the colours o' the regiment were fleeing on the poop, and the offishers a' dressed oot in their gran coats. After breakfast, the leddies--bless their blithe looks and bonny faces!--war a' walking up and doun the poop, when the bugles sounded to parade, and a' the sodgers fell in on the quarterdeck. A grand set o' fallows they war--as neat and clean as if they'd just turned oot o' a barrack-yard, wi' their belts as white as snaw, and their brass muntings glinting in the sun, quite dazzling to look at. They war formed into three sides o' a square, as near as micht be, and the colonel and a' the offishers were standing at the open end, a' in full dress. The colonel's breast was just covered a' owre wi' orders.

When the men war a' settled, there was a dead silence; and the onlookers wondered what was coming neist.

"Call Private George Hastie of Captain Thomas's company to the front," said the colonel. And oot afore them a' steppit puir Hastie, pale as a sheet, but firm, erect, and sodger-like.

"George Hastie," said the colonel, "I have been induced, by the solicitations of the ladies, and of the captain and officers of the ship, as well as by the wishes of your own officers, to pardon the transgression of military discipline of which you have been guilty, and to restore you to the rank of flag-serjeant. I hope your temporary degradation will act as a warning to you for the future, and that you will not again run the risk of forfeiting the good opinion which, I am happy to say, your officers have hitherto had of you."

Wi' that, oot whiskit the regimental tailor, and in a jiffey the bit stripes war on Geordie's arm, and he was a made man again.

He just touched his cap to the colonel, puir chiel, and said nought; but a tear cam intil his ee, and gaed stealing owre his cheek, that spak mair and better than words could hae dune. Everybody was delighted at his restoration; it was an act o' mercy wordy o' the occasion;--the king's birth-day couldna hae been better celebrated. The sodgers war then dismissed, and gaed below; and in the evening the band was up, and an extra pint o' grog, to drink the king's health, was served out; and there was naething but joy and diversion from ae end o' the ship to the ither. Sae much for George Hastie! And noo I maun tell ye aboot puir Geordie.

One evening we war comin near ane o' the shoals that's put doun in the chart--but it wasna weel kent whether there really was ane there or no--and the captain cam oot aboot sax in the evening, and tell't the offisher o' the watch to shorten sail, and hae a' ready for lowering the larboard cutter. I was standing on the poop at the time, and heard him gie the order.

Weel, sir, we beguid to shorten sail, while the cutter's crew were clearing awa the boat. We took in a' the stun-sails, and hauled up the courses, and furled the royals; then the mainyard was laid aback, and the boat was lowered and hauled up to the gangway. Geordie Gordon was ane o' the crew o' the boat--and sax o' the finest young lads in the ship they war. Ane o' the mates and a midshipman were sent in the boat, wi' orders to mak sail, and keep ahead o' the ship, sounding for the shoal. They had a compass, twa or three muskets, and some blue lichts for signals, wi' them.

It was a fine evening; a licht, steady breeze was blawing, and the ship, under her topgallantsails, was gaun aboot four knots an hour through the water; and the wee boat danced merrily owre the waves a gey bit ahead, wi' her white sails glinting in the sun, like the wings o' a bonny sea-bird.

Whan the darkening cam on, the captain, afore he _turned in_, said to the offisher o' the watch, "Keep your eye on the boat, Mr Bowline, and on no account let the ship go faster through the water than she does at present. Let me know if the boat makes any signal, or if the breeze should freshen."

"Ay, ay, sir!--Keep a good look-out for the boat there, forward!"

Weel, sir, the breeze keepit steady, and the ship gaed cannily through the water, and the boat was easy to be seen--till aboot seven-bells--that's half-past eleven--the sky beguid to be o'ercast, and the breeze to freshen; but still through the darkness the bit white sail was seen.

At eight-bells, that's twal o'clock, the watch was relieved, and anither officer came up to tak charge o' the ship.

"A cloudy night, Bowline. What are the orders?"

"You're to keep the ship the same course" (I dinna just min' what it was), "and not to lose sight of the boat on any account."

"Very well. But where _is_ the _boat_?"

"There she is, just under that dark cloud. Good-night!"

"Don't be in such a hurry. I can't see the boat!"

"Why, there she is!"

"I can't see her," said the other; "and what's more, I won't take charge of the deck till I do."

"I'm sure I saw her two minutes ago," said Bowline.

Weel, sir, they lookit and lookit, and we a' lookit, and they gat up their nicht-glasses; but a' in vain, for the boat wasna to be seen.

The offisher o' the deck was maist demented, and ran in to the captain--"We've lost sight of the boat, sir!"

"The devil!" said he, starting oot o' his cot, and rinning on deck--"burn a blue light directly!"

The gunner's mate ran doun for a blue licht; and, in a minute, it was fizzing awa on the quarter, throwing a bricht glare o' licht a' owre the ship. The nicht was dark by this time; but you could see every rape in her, and the faces o' the men at the far end looking a' blue and ghaist-like.

Lang and sair we lookit for an answer to the signal; ye micht hae heard a whisper, we war sae quiet wi' fear and hope; but there was nowther sicht nor sound in reply. Anither was burned--but still nae answer.

A gloom fell upon us a', a fear o' we didna ken what. We durstna speak our thochts to ane anither; and, as for our captain, I thocht he wad hae gane clean oot o' his mind--for a kinder-hearted man never steppit a quarterdeck. We hove the ship to, as they ca't, and fired guns every two or three minutes, in hopes the lads in the boat wad hear; and sair and sadly we langed for the morning licht.

It cam at last; but there was naething to be seen but the lift and the water. The ship was hauled to the wind; and the hail o' that day we made short tacks backward and forward across our auld course, wi' signals fleeing at our mastheads, and firing guns every hauf-hour, and a' the men straining their een to get a gliff o' the boat--but a' for nocht--we never saw them mair! Whether the boat was capsised in a sudden squall, or the ship had struck her, or whatever it was, will never be kent till the sea gies up her dead!