Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 16
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 16
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
"I'd give a hundred guineas to have her within range of my long
eighteens at this moment, or when I shall see your beams again in the
morning." He looked to the broad disk of the sun, which was just sinking
in the dense mass of resplendent clouds, while his last rays shot like
long broad ribands over the edge of the highest, and undulated upon the
long swell that was raised by the breeze, which covered its top with
masses of white foam, resembling flocks at play in an immense meadow.
Anxious to obtain the last glance of this magnificent panorama, I had
got upon the nettings in which the hammocks are stowed, and stood so
long holding on by the mizzen-rattlins, absorbed in pleasing dreamy
thoughts, not unmixed with regret, that it was quite dark before I was
conscious of the change. My mind had again turned in upon itself, and
the lovely harvest nights of my regretted home came before me, more
chastened in their grandeur, but not the less lovely on that account.
Wilson and Grant were conversing in whispers near the spot where I
stood, talking of their blighted hopes, as if they felt that nature, in
the grand aspect she now exhibited, looked lovely in mockery of their
woes. We still held on as we had done through the afternoon--the surges
rising and sprinkling our foredeck as we passed swiftly through the
waters, urged on by an increasing gale. Weary of my position, I was in
the act of descending to the deck, when, by some accident, I lost my
hold, and fell overboard, striking against the dead-eyes, and wounding
my tongue so severely in my fall that it was bit through. When I rose to
the surface, stunned and confused, the water was hissing in my ears, and
my mouth full of blood. I attempted to call out for help; but my efforts
were vain. My tongue was unfit for its office; I only uttered
unintelligible sounds, not to be distinguished amidst the noise of the
waves. Still hope was strong in me, for I could hear the cries on deck,
"A man overboard!" though I could distinguish no object in the darkness.
The sounds became faint and more faint. The vessel's way was so great,
she shot from the spot like a bird; and I could at intervals see the
lights that they had hung out as I rose to the top of the waves, which I
buffeted with all my energies. The frigate had evidently laid to. I
strove to make for the lights. I saw, far astern, a boat had been
lowered, and hope again braced my nerves. Could I have called out, I had
been saved; for I heard their voices shouting for me, and even the plash
of their oars; but I was dumb. My tongue had almost instantly swelled so
as to fill my mouth; yet still I struggled amidst the waves to reach the
source of the sounds. At that moment they could not have been many yards
distant from me, if I could have judged from the distinctness with which
I heard them call. At last they ceased for a few minutes, as if in
consultation. Moment of horrid agony! I was in the grasp of inevitable
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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