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Scott, Michael, 1789-1835

"Tom Cringle's Log"

"
I was but little in spirits, and, to say sooth, was fitter for my bed
than society; but the Captain's advances had been made with so much
kindliness, that I got up, and made a strong endeavour to rouse myself;
and, having made my toilet as well as my slender means admitted, I
followed the Captain's steward into the cabin.
I started--why, I could not well tell--as the sentry at the door stood to
his arms when I passed in; and, as if I had been actually possessed by
some wandering spirit, who had taken the small liberty of using my
faculties and tongue without my concurrence, I hastily asked the man if
he was an American?--He stared in great astonishment for a short space,
turned his quid--and then rapped out, as angrily as respect for a
commissioned officer would let him,--"No, by--, sir!"
This startled me as much as the question I had almost unconsciously--and,
I may say, involuntarily--put to the marine had surprised him, and I made
a full stop, and leant back against the door--post. The Captain, who was
walking up and down the cabin, had heard me speak, but without
comprehending the nature of my question, and now recalled me in some
measure to myself, by enquiring if I wanted any thing. I replied,
hurriedly, that I did not.
"Well, Mr Cringle, dinner is ready--so take that chair at the foot of the
table, will you?"
I sat down, mechanically, as it appeared to me--for a strange swimming
dizzy sort of sensation had suddenly overtaken me, accompanied by a
whoreson tingling, as Shakespeare hath it, in my ears.


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