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Scott, Michael, 1789-1835

"Tom Cringle's Log"

I need scarcely say that I was greatly excited. It was my first
command: My future standing in the service depended on my conduct now,
and, God help me, I was all this while a mere lad, not more than twenty
one years old. A strange indescribable feeling had come over me, and
an irresistible desire to disburden my mind to the excellent man before
me. I sat down.
"Hey day," quoth Bang, as he laid down his coffee cup; "why, Tom, what
ails you? You look deuced pale, my boy."

"Up all night, sir, and bothered all day," said I; "wearied enough, I
can tell you."
I felt a strong tremor pervade my whole frame at this moment; and I was
impelled to speak by some unknown impulse, which I could not account for
nor analyze.
"Mr Bang, you are the only friend whom I could count on in these
countries; you know all about me and mine, and, I believe, would
willingly do a kind action to my father's son."
"What are you at, Tom, my dear boy? come to the point, man."
"I will. I am distressed beyond measure at having led you and your
excellent friends, Wagtail and Gelid, into this danger; but I could not
help it, and I have satisfied my conscience on that point; so I have
only to entreat that you will stay below, and not unnecessarily expose
yourselves. And if I should fall--may I take this liberty, my dear
sir," and I involuntarily took his hand,--"if I should fall, and I doubt
if I shall ever see the sun set again, as we are fearfully overmatched"
Bang struck in.


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