Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 20
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 20
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
The days of war are now gone by, and the events consequent upon them
have now become but as "the tales of other years;" while those who were
then the principal agents in carrying on hostile operations, have either
gone the way of all the earth, or remain as the connecting links between
the last race and the present. But the time will never come when the
naval history of Great Britain shall not be that on which Britons look
with the greatest interest; and certainly if there is one page in our
history more than another calculated to afford pleasure, and, we may
add, profit to the reader, it is that which records the matchless
achievements of our daring tars during the last French war. How many are
the accounts of storms and battles, of hardships and perils undergone,
which, in the days of our boyhood, we were accustomed to hear from the
mouths of old tars, now no more, and whose memories are preserved only
in the recollections of a few of their old associates! There still
stands on the east side of the village of T----, a whitewashed house, at
the door of which hangs a huge ship, indicating that this is the village
ale-house. This house, in our early days, was the resort of some
half-dozen old sailors, who had retired, after their best years had been
spent in their country's service, to spend their days in their native
village. At the door of "The Ship," as the ale-house was called, stood
an immense ash-tree, the wide-spreading branches of which, covered with
foliage, afforded, in summer, an agreeable shade from the heat of the
sun. Under this tree, a long seat was placed, in front of which stood a
white fir-table, upon which rested the jugs of foaming ale with which
those who chose were wont to regale themselves. That seat is still
there, and we hope it will remain for ages. It was the constant resort
of the old tars already mentioned; and there, with their jug of ale, and
their never-failing pipe, were they wont to fight all their battles o'er
again. Many of the yarns which we then heard, we have since forgotten;
some of them, however, still survive in our recollection. One of these
we shall communicate, if not in the very words in which it was
delivered, yet in substance, to the reader.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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