Adventure stories; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
The ship lay at a single anchor, well outside the pier of Leith, so
that all we passengers must come to it by the means of skiffs. This was
very little troublesome, for the reason that the day was a flat calm,
very frosty and cloudy, and with a low shifting fog upon the water. The
body of the vessel was thus quite hid as I drew near, but the tall
spars of her stood high and bright in a sunshine like the flickering of
a fire. She proved to be a very roomy, commodious merchant, but
somewhat blunt in the bows, and loaden extraordinary deep with salt,
salted salmon, and fine white linen stockings for the Dutch. Upon my
coming on board, the captain welcomed me—one Sang (out of Lesmahago, I
believe), a very hearty, friendly tarpaulin of a man, but at the moment
in rather of a bustle. There had no other of the passengers yet
appeared, so that I was left to walk about upon the deck, viewing the
prospect and wondering a good deal what these farewells should be which
I was promised.
All Edinburgh and the Pentland Hills glinted above me in a kind of
smuisty brightness, now and again overcome with blots of cloud; of
Leith there was no more than the tops of chimneys visible, and on the
face of the water, where the haar [24] lay, nothing at all. Out of this
I was presently aware of a sound of oars pulling, and a little after
(as if out of the smoke of a fire) a boat issued. There sat a grave man
in the stern sheets, well muffled from the cold, and by his side a
tall, pretty, tender figure of a maid that brought my heart to a stand.
I had scarce the time to catch my breath in, and be ready to meet her,
as she stepped upon the deck, smiling, and making my best bow, which
was now vastly finer than some months before, when first I made it to
her ladyship. No doubt we were both a good deal changed: she seemed to
have shot up like a young, comely tree. She had now a kind of pretty
backwardness that became her well as of one that regarded herself more
highly and was fairly woman; and for another thing, the hand of the
same magician had been at work upon the pair of us, and Miss Grant had
made us both _braw_, if she could make but the one _bonny_.
The same cry, in words not very different, came from both of us, that
the other was come in compliment to say farewell, and then we perceived
in a flash we were to ship together.
“O, why will not Baby have been telling me!” she cried; and then
remembered a letter she had been given, on the condition of not opening
it till she was well on board. Within was an enclosure for myself, and
ran thus:
“Dear Davie,—What do you think of my farewell? and what do you say to
your fellow passenger? Did you kiss, or did you ask? I was about to
have signed here, but that would leave the purport of my question
doubtful, and in my own case _I ken the answer_. So fill up here with
good advice. Do not be too blate, [25] and for God’s sake do not try to
be too forward; nothing acts you worse. I am
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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