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Scott, Michael, 1789-1835

"Tom Cringle's Log"

I was
forcibly struck with this, for I was certain no one had touched it.
"By heavens! it heaves," I exclaimed, much moved--"how is this? I
never thought to have believed such things,----it stirs again--it takes
the figure of a man--as if it were a pall covering his body. Pray,
Captain Transom, what trick is this?--Is there any thing below that cloak
there?"
"What cloak do you mean?"
"Why, that blue one lying on the locker there--is there any cat or dog in
the cabin? "--and I started on my legs.--"Captain Transom," I continued,
with great vehemence, "for the love of God tell me what is there below
that cloak."
He looked surprised beyond all measure.
"Why, Mr Cringle, I cannot for the soul of me comprehend you; indeed I
cannot; but, Mafame, indulge him. See if there be any thing below my
cloak."
The servant walked to the locker, and lifted up the cape of it, and was
in the act of taking it from the locker, when I impetuously, desired the
man to leave it alone.
"I can't look on him again," said I; while the faintishness increased, so
that I could hardly speak. "Don't move the covering from his face, for
God's sake--don't remove it," and I lay back in my chair, screening my
eyes from the lamp with my hands, and shuddering with an icy chill from
head to foot.
The Captain, who had hitherto maintained the well--bred, patronizing,
although somewhat distant, air of a superior officer to an inferior who
was his guest, addressed me now in an altered tone, and with a brotherly
kindness.


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