Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, No. 401, March 1849Various
Science
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, No. 401, March 1849
Various
England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals
the sailors rolling away full speed along the edge of the plantation
where the outlandish creature had disappeared; and, lastly, at the
canvass cover which lay on the spot where he had stood. They were
actually consulting how to guard against possible inroads from the
savage at night, since he might be lurking near, when I mounted and
rode off; I daresay even their hearing that I was a live and real
lieutenant would cap the whole story.
Croydon is a pretty, retired little town, so quiet and old-fashioned
that I enjoyed the unusual rest in it, and the very look of the canal,
the marketplace, the old English trees and people--by comparison with
even the Iris's white decks, and her circumference of a prospect,
different as it was every morning or hour of the day. My mother and my
sister Jane were so kind--they petted me so, and were so happy to have
me down to breakfast and out walking, even to feel the smell of my
cigar,--that I hardly knew where I was. I gave them an account of the
places I had seen, with a few tremendous storms and a frigate-fight or
two, instead of the horse-marine stories about mermaids and flying
Dutchmen I used to pass upon them when a conceited youngster. Little
Jane would listen with her ear to a large shell, when we were upon sea
matters, and shut her eyes, saying she could fancy the thing so
perfectly in that way. Or was it about India, there was a painted
sandal-wood fan carved in open-work like the finest lace, which she
would spread over her face, because the seeing through it, and its
scent, made her feel as if she were in the tropics. As for my mother,
good simple woman, she was always between astonishment and horror,
never having believed that lieutenants would be so heartless as to
masthead a midshipman for the drunkenness of a boat's crew, nor being
able to understand why, with a gale brewing to seaward, a captain
tried to get his ship as far as he could from land. The idea of my
going to sea again never entered her head, the terrible war being
over, and the rank I had gained being invariably explained to visiters
as at least equal to that of a captain amongst soldiers. To the
present day, this is the point with respect to seafaring matters on
which my venerated and worthy parent is clearest: she will take off
her gold spectacles, smoothing down her silver hair with the other
hand, and lay down the law as to reform in naval titles, showing that
my captain's commission puts me on a level with a military colonel.
However, as usual, I got tired by little and little of this sort of
thing; I fancy there's some peculiar disease gets into a sailor's
brain that makes him uneasy with a firm floor and no offing beyond;
certainly the country about Croydon was to my mind, at that time, the
worst possible,--all shut in, narrow lanes, high hedges and orchards,
no sky except overhead, and no horizon. If I could only have got a
hill, there would have been some relief in having a look-out from it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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