LITMIR.BIZ

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ay, sir!” sang out the man at the wheel. And in another moment the squall burst upon us with all its fury, laying the huge vessel over on its side as if it had been a feather on the wave, and causing her to fly through the black water like a dolphin.

      In a few minutes the first violence of the squall passed away, and was succeeded by a steady breeze, which bore us merrily along over the swelling billows.

      “A stiff one, that,” said the captain, turning to the doctor, who, with imperturbable nonchalance, was standing near him, holding on to a stanchion with one hand, while the other reposed in his breeches pocket.

      “I hope it will last,” replied the doctor. “If it does, we’ll not be long of reaching the blue water you long so much for.”

      Young Wiseacre, who during the squall had been clutching the weather-shrouds with the tenacity of a drowning man, opened his eyes very wide on hearing this, to him, insane wish, and said to me in an undertone, “I say, do you think the doctor is quite right in his mind?”

      “I have no doubt of it,” replied I. “Why do you ask?”

      “Because I heard him say to the captain he wished that this would last.”

      “Is that all?” said I, while a very vile spirit of vanity took possession of me, inducing me to speak in a tone which indicated a tranquillity of mind that I certainly did not enjoy. “Oh, this is nothing at all! I see you’ve never been on salt water before. Just wait a bit, old fellow!” And having given utterance to this somewhat dark and mysterious expression, I staggered across the deck, and amused myself in watching the thick volumes of spray that flew at every plunge from the sides of the bounding vessel.

      The doctor’s wish was granted. The breeze continued steady and strong, sending us through the Pentland Firth in grand style, and carrying us in a short time to the island of Lewis, where we hove-to for a pilot. After a little signalising we obtained one, who steered our good ship in safety through the narrow entrance to the bay of Stornoway into whose quiet waters we finally dropped our anchor.

      Chapter Two.

      Stornoway—The ball—At sea—Go out to tea on the Atlantic—Among the ice—Sighting land—A sleepy sight—York Factory and Bachelors’ Hall

      The harbour of Stornoway is surrounded by high hills, except at the entrance, where a passage—not more, I should think, than three hundred yards wide—admits vessels of any tonnage into its sheltering bosom. Stornoway, a pretty, modest-looking town, apparently pleased with its lot, and contented to be far away from the busy and bustling world, lies snugly at the bottom of the bay. Here we remained upwards of a week, engaging men for the wild Nor’-West, and cultivating the acquaintance of the people, who were extremely kind and very hospitable. Occasionally Wiseacre and I amused ourselves with fishing excursions to the middle of the bay in small boats; in which excursions we were usually accompanied by two or three very ragged little boys from the town. Our sport was generally good, and rendered extremely interesting by our uncertainty as to which of the monsters of the deep would first attack our hooks. Rock-codlings and flounders appeared the most voracious, and occasionally a skate or long-legged crab came struggling to the surface.

      Just before leaving this peaceful little spot, our captain gave a grand ball on board, to which were invited the élite of Stornoway. Great preparations were made for the occasion. The quarter-deck was well washed and scrubbed; an awning was spread over it, which formed a capital ceiling; and representatives of almost every flag that waves formed the walls of the large and airy apartment. Oil lamps, placed upon the skylights, companion, and capstan, shed a mellow light upon the scene, the romantic effect of which was greatly heightened by a few flickering rays of the moon, which shot through various openings in the drapery, and disported playfully upon the deck. At an early and very unfashionable hour on the evening of the appointed night the guests arrived in detachments; and while the gentlemen scrambled up the side of the vessel, the ladies, amid a good deal of blushing and hesitation, were hoisted on board in a chair. Tea was served on deck; and after half an hour’s laughing and chatting, during which time our violin-player was endeavouring to coax his first string to the proper pitch without breaking, the ball opened with a Scotch reel. Every one knows what Scotch reels are, but every one does not know how the belles of the Western Isles can dance them.

      “Just look at that slip of thread-paper,” said the doctor to the captain, pointing to a thin, flat young lady, still in her teens. “I’ve watched her from the first. She’s been up at six successive rounds, flinging her shanks about worse than a teething baby; and she’s up again for another, just as cool and serene as a night in the latter end of October. I wonder what she’s made of?”

      “Leather, p’r’aps, or gutta-percha,” suggested the captain, who had himself been “flinging his legs” about pretty violently during the previous half-hour. “I wish that she had been my partner instead of the heavy fair one that you see over there leaning against the mizzen belaying-pins.”

      “Which?” inquired the doctor. “The old lady with the stu’n-sails set on her shoulders?”

      “No, no,” replied the captain—“the young lady; fat—very fat—fair, and twenty, with the big blue eyes like signal-lamps on a locomotive. She twisted me round just as if I’d been a fathom of pump-water, shouting and laughing all the time in my face, like a sou’-west gale, and never looking a bit where she was going till she pitched head-foremost into the union-jack, carrying it and me along with her off the quarter-deck and half-way down the companion. It’s a blessing she fell undermost, else I should have been spread all over the deck like a capsized pail of slops.”

      “Hallo!” exclaimed the doctor; “what’s wrong with the old lady over there? She’s making very uncommon faces.”

      “She’s sea-sick, I do believe,” cried the captain, rushing across the deck towards her.

      And, without doubt, the old lady in question was showing symptoms of that terrible malady, although the bay was as smooth as a mill-pond, and the Prince Rupert reposed on its quiet bosom without the slightest perceptible motion. With impressive nautical politeness the captain handed her below, and in the sudden sympathy of his heart proposed as a remedy a stiff glass of brandy and water.

      “Or a pipe of cavendish,” suggested the second mate, who met them on the ladder as they descended, and could not refrain from a facetious remark, even although he knew it would, as it did, call forth a thundering command from his superior to go on deck and mind his own business.

      “Isn’t it jolly,” said a young Stornowite, coming up to Wiseacre, with a face blazing with glee—“isn’t it jolly, Mr Wiseacre?”

      “Oh, very!” replied Wiseacre, in a voice of such dismal melancholy that the young Stornowite’s countenance instantly went out, and he wheeled suddenly round to light it again at the visage of some more sympathising companion.

      Just at this point of the revelry the fiddler’s first string, which had endured with a dogged tenacity that was wonderful even for catgut, gave way with a loud bang, causing an abrupt termination to the uproar, and producing a dead silence. A few minutes, however, soon rectified this mischance. The discordant tones of the violin, as the new string was tortured into tune, once more opened the safety-valve, and the ball began de novo.

      Great was the fun, and numerous were the ludicrous incidents that happened during that eventful night; and loud were the noise and merriment of the dancers as they went with vigorous energy through the bewildering evolutions of country-dance and reel. Immense was the delight of the company when the funniest old gentleman there volunteered a song; and ecstatic the joy when he followed it up by a speech upon every subject that an ordinary mind could possibly embrace in a quarter of an hour. But who can describe the scene that ensued when supper was reported ready in the cabin!—a cabin that was very small indeed, with a stair leading down to it so steep that those who were pretty high up could have easily stepped upon the shoulders of those who were near the foot; and the unpleasant idea was painfully suggested that if any one of the heavy ladies (there were several of them) was to slip her foot on commencing the descent, she would infallibly sweep them all down in a mass,

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