Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, No. 401, March 1849Various
Science
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, No. 401, March 1849
Various
England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals
steady a lady's tea-cup." "Ay, your honour," replied Jacobs, and his
weather eye twinkled, "and washed the fok'sle under, too! But ye know,
sir, he'd got a reg'lar-built Nabob aboard, and a beauty besides!"
"Ah, Mr Jacobs!" exclaimed the romantic young lady, "what was that? Is
it one of your stories?" "Well, your ladyship, 'tis a bit of a yarn,
no doubt, and some'at of a cur'ous one." "Oh!" said another of the
captain's fair protégées, "I _do_ love these 'yarns,' as you call
them; they are so expressive, so--and all that sort of thing!"
"Nonsense, my love," said her mother; "you don't understand them, and
'tis better you should not,--they are low, and contain a great many
bad words, I fear." "But think of the imagination, aunt," rejoined
the other girl, "and the adventures! Oh, the ocean of all places for
that! Were it not for sea-sickness, I should dote upon it! As for the
_storm_ just now, look how safe we are,--and see how the dear old ship
rises up from the billows, with all her sails so delightfully
mysterious one over another!" "Bless your heart, ma'rm, yes,"
responded Old Jack, chuckling; "you talks just like a seaman, beggin'
your pardon. As consarns the tea, sir, I make bould to expect the'll
be a shift o' wind directly, and a slant deck, as soon as we get fair
into the stream, rid o' this bit of a bubble the tail of it kicks up
hereabouts." "Bear a hand, then, Jacobs," said the captain, "and see
all right below for the party in the cabin,--we shall be down in a few
minutes." The captain stood up on the quarter-gallery, to peer round
into the dusk and watch the lifting of the main-royal; but the next
minute he called to the ladies, and their next neighbours, to look
towards the larboard bow, and see the moon rise. A long edge of gray
haze lay around the eastern horizon, on which the dark rim of the sea
was defined beyond the roll of the waves, as with the sweep of a soft
brush dipped in indigo; while to westward it heaved up, weltering in
its own watery light against the gloom. From behind this low fringe of
vapour was silently diffusing, as it were, a pool of faint radiance,
like a brook babbling from under ice; a thread of silver ran along the
line of haze, growing keener at one point, until the arch of the moon
shot slowly up, broad and fair; the wave-heads rising between were
crested here and there with light; the bow of the ship, the bellies of
her fore-canvass, her bowsprit with the jibs hanging idly over it, and
the figure-head beneath, were tinged by a gentle lustre, while the
hollow shadows stole out behind. The distant horizon, meanwhile, still
lay in an obscure streak, which blended into the dark side of the low
fog-bank, so as to give sea and cloud united the momentary appearance
of one of those long rollers that turn over on a beach, with their
glittering crest: you would expect to see next instant what actually
seemed to take place--the whole outline plashing over in foam, and
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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