The Yellow Frigate; or, The Three SistersGrant, James
History
The Yellow Frigate; or, The Three Sisters
Grant, James
Scotland -- History -- 1057-1603 -- Fiction
"Alas, that I should hear this doom from your own lips at last, lady!
I will quit this wandering life of mariner, for I have one of those
happy homes that are only to be found in England; where the woods are
green, and our painted windows open down to soft and sunny lawns,
instead of iron grates that grimly peer through deep fosses and
guarded barbicans, as here in Scotland, lady. There no rude barons,
or lawless lairds, ride from tower to tower with spears and torches
in their train, no hostile clansmen wage eternal war, making their
life but a mission of military vengeance and feudal hatred; and there
no venal peers are ever ready to sell their country and their king,
her rights or her honour for foreign gold. Oh no; in merry England
we know nothing of transmitted hatred, of Highland raids and border
forays. I love you, lady, well, and, with you, I fain would share
that quiet English home; I love you passionately, and denial is
death, and worse than death to me! and I say so now when on the eve
of battle with one who was never foiled or vanquished on the sea. In
that happy home, if spared to see it, I could worship you as a monk
who serves his altar, and treasure you as a miser hoards his
treasure. Oh do not turn from me as if I was hateful," continued
Howard, borne away by his passion and finding eloquence in the very
depth of it; "'tis true I am an Englishman, lady, and that you are a
Scot--but can a few miles of land or of water make such an evil
difference in our tempers or our race----"
"Oh no, it is not hate that makes me turn away, but true sorrow for
yourself, my good and noble Howard," said Margaret, as she pressed
his hands in hers; for his honest passion and gentle bearing touched
her to the soul, and no woman ever hears a man say he loves her
without feeling a more than common interest in him; but happily for
both, this painful interview was cut short by the stentorian voice of
John o'Lynne, who cried through the poop door,--
"Yoho, Captain Howard; the Scots are within a mile of us and bring
down the breeze with them, and it freshens fast."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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