sinews of the calf of my right leg are gathered up into a knot about the bulk and consistency of a sledge-hammer SHEPHERD. Nae tricks upon travellers. You've nae cramp. Gin you hae, streek out your richt hind leg, like a horse giein' a funk-and then ower on the back o' ye, and keep floatin' for a space, and your cauf 'll be as saft's a cushion. Lord safe us, what's this? Deevil tak me if he's no droonin'. Mr Tickler, are you droonin'? There he's doon ance, and up again-twice, and up again ;-but it's time to tak haud o' him by the hair o' the head, or he'll be doon amang the limpets! (SHEPHERD seizes TICKLER by the locks.) TICKLER. Oho-oho-oho-ho-ho-ho-hra-hra-hrach-hrach. SHEPHERD. What language is that? Finnish? Noo, sir, dinna rug me doon to the bottom alang wi' you in the dead-thraws. TICKLER. Heaven reward you,-James-the pain is gone-but keep near me. SHEPHERD. Whammle yoursell ower on your back, sir. That 'ill do. Hoo are you now, sir? Yonner's the James Watt steam-boat, Captain Bain, within half a league. Lean on my airm, sir, till he comes alang-side, and it 'ill be a real happiness to the captain to save your life. But what 'ill a' the leddies do whan they're hoistin' us a-board? They maun just use their fans. TICKLER. My dear Shepherd, I am again floating like a turtle,-but keep within hail, James. Are you to windward or leeward? SHEPHERD. Right astarn. Did you ever see, sir, in a' your born days, sic a sky? Ane can scarcely say he sees't, for it's maist invisible in its blue beautifu' tenuity, as the waters o' a well! It's just like the ee o' ae lassie I kent lang ago-the langer you gazed intil't, the deep, deep, deeper it grew-the cawmer and the mair cawm-composed o' a smile, as an amythist is composed o' lichtand seeming something impalpable to the touch, till you ventured, wi' fear, joy, and tremmlin' to kiss it-just ae hesitatin', pantin', reverential kiss-and then to be sure your verra sowl kent it to be a bonny blue ee, covered wi' a lid o' dark fringes, and drappin' aiblins a bit frichten'd tear to the lip o' love. TICKLER. What is your specific gravity, James? You float like a sedge. SHEPHERD. Say rather a Nautilus, or a Mew. I'm native to the yelement. TICKLER. Where learned you the natatory art, my dear Shepherd? SHEPHERD. Do you mean soomin'? In St Mary's Loch. For a hail simmer I kept plouterin' alang the shore, and pittin' ae fit to the grun, knockin' the skin aff my knees, and makin' nae progress, till ae day, the gravel haein' been loosened by a flood, I plowpped in ower head and ears, and in my confusion, turnin' my face the wrang airt, I swom across the loch at the widest, at ae streatch, and ever after that cou'd hae soomed ony man in the Forest for a wager, excep Mr David Ballantyne, that noo leeves ower by yonner, near the Hermitage Castle. TICKLER. Now, James, you are, to use the language of Spenser, the Shepherd of the Sea. SHEPHERD. O that I had been a sailor! To hae circumnavigated the warld! To hae pitched our tents, or built our bowers, on the shores o' bays sae glitterin' wi' league-lang wreaths o' shells, that the billows blushed crimson as they murmured! To hae seen our flags burnin' meteor-like, high up amang the primæval woods, while birds bright as ony buntin' sat trimmin' their plummage amang the cordage, sae tame in that island where ship had haply never touched afore, nor ever might touch again, lying in a latitude by itsell, and far out o' the breath o' the treddwunds! Or to hae landed wi' a' the crew, marines and a', excep a guard on ship-board to keep aff the crowd o' canoes, on some warlike isle, tossin' wi' the plumes on chieftains' heads, and soun'-soun'-soundin' wi' gongs! What's a man-o'-war's barge, Mr Tickler, beautifu' sicht though it be, to the hundred-oared canoe o' some savage Island-king! The King himsell lyin' in state-no dead, but leevin', every inch o' him-on a platform-aboon a' his warriors standin' wi' war-clubs, and stane-hatchets, and fish-bane spears, and twisted mats, and tattooed faces, and ornaments in their noses, and painted een, and feathers on their heads a yard heigh, a silent, or burstin' out o' a sudden intil shootin' sangs o' welcome or defiance, in a language made up o' a few lang strang words-maistly gutturals-and gran' for the naked priests to yell intil the ears o' their victims, when about to cut their throats on the altar-stane that Idolatry had incrusted with blood, shed by stormy moonlicht to glut the maw of their sanguinary God. Or say rather-O rather say, that the white-winged Wonder that has brought the strangers frae afar, frae lands beyond the setting sun, has been hailed with hymns and dances o' peace-and that a' the daughters of the Isle, wi' the daughter o' the King at their head, come a' gracefully windin' alang in a figur, that, wi' a thousan' changes, is aye but ae single dance, wi' unsandalled feet true to their ain wild singin', wi' wings fancifully fastened to their shouthers, and, beautifu' creaturs! a' naked to the waist-But whare the deevil's Mr Tickler? Has he sunk during my soliloquy? or swum to shore? Mr Tickler-Mr Tickler-I wush I had a pistol to fire into the air, that he might be brought to. Yonner he is, playin' at porpuss. Let me try if I can reach him in twenty strokes-it's no abune a hunder yards. Five yards a-stroke-no bad soomin' in dead water.-There, I've done it in nineteen. Let me on my back for a rest. TICKLER. I am not sure that this confounded cramp―― SHEPHERD. The cramp's just like the hiccup, sir-never think o't, and it's gane. I've seen a white lace-veil, sic as Queen Mary's drawn in, lyin' afloat, without stirrin' aboon her snawy broo, saftenin' the ee-licht-and it's yon braided clouds that remind me o't, motionless, as if they had lain there a' their lives; yet, wae's me! perhaps in ae single hour to melt away for ever! TICKLER. James, were a Mermaid to see and hear you moralizing so, afloat on your back, her heart were lost. SHEPHERD. I'm nae favourite noo, I suspec, amang the Mermaids. TICKLER. Why not, James? You look more irresistible than you imagine. Never saw I your face and figure to more advantage-when lying on the braes o' Yarrow, with your eyes closed in the sunshine, and the shadows of poetical dreams chasing each other along cheek and brow. You would make a beautiful corpse, James. SHEPHERD. Think shame o' yoursell, Mr Tickler, for daurin' to use that word, and the sinnies o' the cawf o' your richt leg yet knotted wi' the cramp. Think shame o' yoursell! That word's no canny. TICKLER. But what ail the Mermaids with the Shepherd ? SHEPHERD. I was ance lyin' half asleep in a sea-shore cave o' the Isle o' Sky, wearied out by the verra beauty o' the moonlicht that had keepit lyin' for hours in ae lang line o' harmless fire, stretching leagues and leagues to the rim o' the ocean. Nae sound, but a bit faint, dim plash-plash-plash o' the tide-whether ebbin' or flawin' I ken not-no against, but upon the weedy sides o' the cave TICKLER. As when some shepherd of the Hebride Isles, SHEPHERD. A' the hail warld That soun's like Thamson-in his Castle o' Indolence. was forgotten-and my ain name-and what I was-and where I had come frae-and why I was lyin' there-nor was I onything but a Leevin' Dream. TICKLER. Are you to windward or leeward, James? SHEPHERD. Something like a caulder breath o' moonlicht-fell on my face and breast, and seemed to touch all my body and my limbs. But it canna be mere moonlicht, thocht I, for, at the same time, there was the whisperin'-or say rather, the waverin' o' the voice-no alang the green cave wa's, but close intil my ear, and then within my verra breast,-sae, at first, for the soun' was saft and sweet, and wi' a touch o' plaintive wildness in't no unlike the strain o' an Eolian harp, I was rather surprised than feared, and maist thocht that it was but the wark o' my ain fancy, afore she yielded to the dwawm o' that solitary sleep. James, I hear the Steamer. TICKLER. SHEPHERD. I opened my een, that had only been half steekit-and may we never reach the shore again, if there was not I, sir, in the embrace o' a Mermaid ! TICKLER. James-remember we are well out to Inchkeith. If you please, no— SHEPHERD. I would scorn to be droon'd with a lee in my mouth, sir. It is quite true that the hair o' the cretur is green-and it's as slimy as it's green-slimy and sliddery as the sea-weed that cheats your unsteady footing on the rocks. Then what een!-oh, what een!-Like the boiled een o' a cod's head and shouthers!—and yet expression in them-an expression o' love and fondness, that would hae garred an Eskimaw scunner. TICKLER. James, you are surely romancing. SHEPHERD. Oh, dear, dear me !-hech, sirs! hech, sirs!—the fishiness o' that kiss !— I had hung up my claes to dry on a peak o' the cliff-for it was ane o' thae lang midsummer nichts, when the sea-air itself fans ye wi' as warm a sugh as that frae a leddy's fan, when you're sittin' side by side wi' her in an arbour Oh, James-you fox TICKLER. SHEPHERD. Sae that I was as naked as either you or me, Mr Tickler, at this blessed moment-and wha: I felt mysell enveloped in the hauns, paws, fins, scales, tail, and maw o' the Mermaid o' a monster, I grued till the verra roof o' the cave let down drap, drap, drap upon us-me and the Mermaid-and I gied mysell up for lost. TICKLER. Worse than Venus and Adonis, my dear Shepherd. SHEPHERD. I began mutterin' the Lord's Prayer, and the Creed, and the hundred and nineteenth Psalm-but a' wudna do. The Mermaid held the grup-and while I was splutterin' out her kisses, and convulsed waur than I ever was under the waarst nicht-mare that ever sat on my stamach, wi' ae desperate wallop we baith gaed tapsalteerie-frae ae sliddery ledge to anither-till, wi' accelerated velocity, like twa stanes, increasin' accordin' to the squares o' the distances, we played plunge like porpusses into the sea, a thousand fadom deep-and hoo I gat rid o' the briny Beastliness nae man kens till this day; for there was I sittin' in the cave, chitterin' like a drookit cock, and nae Mermaid to be seen or heard; although, wad ye believe me, the cave had the smell o' crabs, and labsters, and oysters, and skate, and fish in general, encuch to turn the stamach o' a whale or a sca-lion. TICKLER. Ship, ahoy!-Let us change our position, James. Shall we board the Steamer ? SHEPHERD. Only look at the waves, hoo they gang welterin' frae her prow and sides, and widen in her wake for miles aff! Gin we venture ony nearer, we'll never wear breeks mair. Mercy on us, she's bearin' doon upon us. Let us soom fast, and passing across her bows, we shall bear up to windward out o' a' the commotion.-Captain Bain! Captain Bain! it's me and Mr Tickler, takin' a soom for an appeteet-stop the ingine till we get past the bowsprit. TICKLER. Heavens, James! what a bevy of ladies on deck. Let us dive. SHEPHERD. You may dive-for you swim improperly high; but as for me, I seem in the water to be a mere Head, like a cherub on a church. A boat, captain-a boat! TICKLER. James, you aren't mad, sure? Who ever boarded a steamer in our plight? There will be fainting from stem to stern, in cabin and steerage. SHEPHERD. I ken that leddy in the straw-bannet and green vail, and ruby sarsnet, wi' the glass at her ee. Ye ho-Miss TICKLER. James-remember how exceedingly delicate a thing is a young lady's reputation. See, she turns away in confusion. SHEPHERD. Captain, I say, what news frae London? CAPTAIN BAIN, (through a speaking trumpet). Lord Wellington's amendment on the bonding clause in the corn bill again carried against Ministers by 133 to 122. Sixty-six shillings! TICKLER. What says your friend M'Culloch to that, Captain? SHEPHERD. Wha cares a bodle about corn bills in our situation? What's the Captain routin' about noo out o' his speakin' trumpet? But he may just as weel haud his tongue, for I never understand ae word out o' the mouth o' a trumpet. TICKLER. He says, the general opinion in London is, that the Administration will stand-that Canning and Brougham SHEPHERD. Canning and Brougham, indeed! Do you think, sir, if Canning and Brougham had been soomin' in the sea, and that Canning had ta'en the cramp in the cawf o' his richt leg, as you either did, or said you did, a short while sin syne, that Brougham wad hae safed him as I safed you? Faith, no he indeed! Hairy wad hae thocht naething o' watchin' till George showed the croon o' his head aboon water, and then hittin' him on the temples. TICKLER. No, no, James. They would mutually risk lives for each other's sake. But no politics at present, we're getting into the swell, and will have our work to do to beat back into smooth water. James, that was a facer. SHEPHERD. Dog on it, ane wad need to be a sea-mew, or kittywake, or stormy pettrel, or some ither ane o' Bewick's birds TICKLER. Keep your mouth shut, James, till we're out of the swell. SHEPHERD. Em-hem-umph-humph-whoo-whoo-whurr-whurr-herrachvach erach. TICKLER. Whsy-whsy-whsy-whugh-whugh-shugh-shugh-prugh—ptsugh -prgugh. SHEPHERD. It's lang sin' I've drank sae muckle sawt water at ae sittin'—at ae soomin', I mean-as I hae dune, sir, sin' that Steam-boat gaed by. She does indeed kick up a deevil o' a rumpus. I TICKLER. Whoo-whoo-whoof-whroo-whroo-whroof-proof-ptroof-sprtf! SHEPHERD. Ae thing I maun tell you, sir, and that's, gin you tak the cramp the noo, you maunna expect ony assistance frae me-no gin you were my ain faither. This bates a' the swalls! Confoun' the James Watt, quoth I. TICKLER. Nay, nay, James. She is worthy of her name—and a better seaman than Captain Bain never boxed the compass. He never comes below, except at mealtimes, and a pleasanter person cannot be at the foot of the table. All night long he is on deck, looking out for squalls. SHEPHERD. I declare to you, sir, that just noo, in the trough o' the sea, I did na see the top o' the Steamer's chimley. See, Mr Tickler-see, Mr Tickler-only look here only look here—HERE'S BRONTE! MR North's great NewFunlan' BRONTE! TICKLER. Capital-capital. He has been paying his father a visit at the gallant Admiral's, and come across our steps on the sands. SHEPHERD. Puir fallow-gran' fallow-did ye think we was droonin'? BRONTE. Bow-bow-bow-bow, wow, wow-bow, wow, wow. TICKLER. His oratory is like that of Bristol Hunt versus Sir Thomas Lethbridge. Sir, you're tired, sir. No bad idea, James. SHEPHERD. You had better tak haud o' his tail. TICKLER. But let me just put one arm round his neck. There we go. Bronte, my boy, you swim strong as a rhinoceros ! Why, I think, James, he speaks uncommonly well. Few of our Scotch members speak better. He might lead the Opposition. SHEPHERD. What for will ye aye be introducin' politics, sir? But really, I hae fund his tail very useful in that swall; and let's leave him to himsell noo, for twa men on ae dowg's a sair doondracht. TICKLER. With what a bold kind eye the noble animal keeps swimming between us, like a Christian! SHEPHERD. I hae never been able to perswade my heart and my understandin' that dowgs haena immortal sowls. See how he steers himsell, first a wee towarts me, and then a wee towarts you, wi' his tail like a rudder. His sowl maun be immortal. TICKLER. I am sure, James, that if it be, I shall be extremely happy to meet Bronte in any future society. SHEPHERD. The minister wad ca' that no orthodox. But the mystery o' life canna gang out like the pluff o' a' cawnle. Perhaps the verra bit bonny glitterin' insecks that we ca' ephemeral, because they dance out but ae single day, never dee, but keep for ever and aye openin' and shuttin' their wings in mony million atmospheres, and may do sae through a' eternity. The universe is aiblins wide eneuch. TICKLER. Eyes right! James, a boatful of ladies-with umbrellas and parasols extended to catch the breeze. Let us lie on our oars, and they will never observe us. |