Cruise of the Midge

Michael Scott

Description

Scottish-born merchant Michael Scott was inspired to write about his experiences at sea after making numerous trips around the world. The Cruise of the Midge, his second work, follows a semi-autobiographical character, Benjamin Brail, as he travels to Africa for his family's merchant business.

Sujets

• Adventure (Guyana)
• Adventure

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 mai 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776589357
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE CRUISE OF THE MIDGE
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MICHAEL SCOTT
 
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The Cruise of the Midge First published in 1834 Epub ISBN 978-1-77658-935-7 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77658-936-4 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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VOLUME I Chapter I - Gazelles and Midges—The Midge's Wings Are Singed Chapter II - The Attack Chapter III - The Midge in the Hornet's Nest Chapter IV - The Evening After the Brush Chapter V - Autobiography of Serjeant Quacco Chapter VI - The Fetish—Crossing the Bar, and Destruction of the Slaver Chapter VII - A Warm Reception Chapter VIII - Cape Missionaries Chapter IX - Foundering of the Hermes Chapter X - Dicky Phantom—Yarn Spinning Chapter XI - Jambe de Bois Chapter XII - Gambling—An Unlucky Hit VOLUME II Chapter I - A Hairbreadth Escape Chapter II - A Vision—The Dying Bucanier Chapter III - Scenes in Havanna Chapter IV - A Cruise in the Mountains—El Cafetal Chapter V - The Mosquito Chapter VI - Spiriting Away—Where is the Ballahoo? Chapter VII - The Devil's Gully Chapter VIII - My Uncle Chapter IX - Occidental Vagaries Chapter X - The Moonbeam Chapter XI - The Breaking Wave Chapter XII - The End of the Yarn Endnotes
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"ON LIFE'S VAST OCEAN DIVERSELY WE SAIL, REASON THE CARD, BUT PASSION IS THE GALE." ESSAY ON MAN
VOLUME I
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Chapter I - Gazelles and Midges—The Midge's Wings Are Singed
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Born an Irishman, the son of an Irishwoman; educated in Scotland, thecountry of my father, an ancient mariner, who, as master andsupercargo, had sailed his own ship for many years in the Virginiatrade; removed to England at the age of seventeen, in consequence ofhis death; I had, by the time I arrived at majority, passed four yearsof my mercantile apprenticeship in my paternal uncle's counting-house,an extensive merchant in that modern Tyre, the enterprising town ofLiverpool; during which period, young as I was, I had already made fourvoyages in different vessels of his to foreign parts—to the WestIndies, the Brazils, the Costa Firme, and the United States of America.
Being naturally a rambling, harumscarum sort of a young chap, this sortof life jumped better with my disposition than being perched on the topof a tall mahogany tripod, poring over invoices, daybooks, journals,and ledgers, with the shining ebony-coloured desk jammed into the pitof my stomach below, and its arbour of bright brass rods constantlyperverting the integrity of my curls above; so at the period when thescene opens, I had with much ado prevailed on my uncle to let meproceed once more on a cruise, instead of a senior clerk, in charge oftwo of his ships, bound to the African coast, to trade for ivory andgold dust, and to fill up with palm oil and hardwood timbers.
I had no small difficulty in carrying this point, as the extremeinsalubrity of the climate, the chance of being plundered by thesemi-piratical foreign slavers, to say nothing of the danger of atreacherous attack on the part of the natives themselves, weighedheavily against my going in my worthy uncle's mind; but I had set myheart on it, and where "there's a will, there's a way."
I will not conceal, however, that after all, when it came to the point,I do not believe he would have allowed me to depart, had it not beenfor a prank of mine, which put him into a towering passion with meabout this time.
On the occasion of a rejoicing for one of our great victories, beinghand-and-glove with all the skippers and mates of the vessels belongingto the concern, I smuggled up to our house on Everton Terrace, unknownto my uncle, two boat guns, six-pounder carronades, and a lot offire-works, by bribing the brewer's man to carry them for me in hiscart. Having achieved this part of my plan, with the aid of two youngtars, I contrived to mount the guns in the summer-house, immediatelybeneath the dining-room window; and having loaded them, I set fire toslow matches, fitted to the touch-holes, just as the dinner bell rang;and then calmly took my place at table, facing mine uncle.
The old gentleman was rather a quiet-going codger, and during mealsseldom annoyed his neighbours with too much conversation—in thepresent case, he had eaten his soup, his bit of fish, and was justraising his first glass of wine to his lips—when bang went one of mycarronades, and smash fell the glass—the madeira flowing all down hislap. He had not recovered his equanimity, when bang went gun No. 2,and up shot a whole constellation of rockets and Roman candles, fromthe garden, whereat he fairly sprang off his chair, as if the explosionhad taken place in the cushion of it, or he had been hoisted out of hissocket by some sort of catamaran.
His first impulse was to run to the open window; whiz! a live rocket,or large squib, I forget which, flew in over his shoulder, and nearlypopped down the throat of the old serving-man, who stood like a statueopen mouthed before the sideboard, petrified with astonishment; as itwas, it scorched the powdered curl over his left ear, missing his headby a mere hair's breadth.
The guns I could account for, but the erratic course of this missilesurprised me exceedingly. At one fell swoop, it had cleared thesideboard of glasses, decanters, silver waiters, and the sinumbra lamp;driven my revered uncle to the top of the table for refuge; and then,as if still unsatisfied with all this mischief, it began to jump aboutunder it, blazing and hissing like a fiery serpent, first in thiscorner, then under that chair; while old Peregrine, the waiting-man(whose ice had at length thawed), and I were dancing after it; knockingour heads together, and breaking our shins against chairs and the edgesof the table, making glasses and decanters ring again, in a vainendeavour to seize hold of the stick. The row soon brought up theother servants, groom, cook, housemaid, &c. &c. &c., towards whom, asif possessed with some spirit of mischief, it fizzed through the door,in its transit, nearly taking one of the female domestics in reverse,whereat they all began to scream as if they had been murdered; then upstairs it rattled, as if desirous of visiting the drawing-room floor,poking its snout into every cranny, hissing and wriggling its tail, andputting the entire array to flight with its vagaries. It was tooabsurd to see a whole household of grown people thus chasing a livesky-rocket like so many children—"up stairs, down stairs, and in mylady's chamber"—so presently we were all, excepting the rocket itself,brought to a stand still, by fits of laughter.
Although it was clear the heroic firework was not to be captured alive,yet, at length, like the vapouring of a passionate man, it spluttereditself out, and was captured, stick and all, by the old cook, whosepropriety it had invaded; and I returned to the dining-room.
My uncle had by this time reseated himself at the table, looking asblack as thunder, with old Peregrine planted once more behind hischair, as stiff as if he had literally swallowed the rocketstick. Isat down, feeling not a little awkward; the dead silence becoming everymoment more and more irksome. The old gentleman seemed to suffer underthis, as well as myself, and to have come to the conclusion that itwould be more sociable, even to break out into a regular scold, thanhold his tongue any longer.
"So, Master Benjamin, a new piece of practical wit of yours, I presume."
"Indeed, my dear sir, I am very sorry—the guns I plead guilty to; butwho can have fired the rockets?"
"Ah—as if you did not know"—quoth uncle Peter.
"Indeed, uncle, I do not, unless the fusees have caught from thewadding of these cursed guns;" which, in fact, was the case—"I am sureI wish they had been at the bottom of the Mersey since they have madeyou angry, uncle."
There was another awful pause—during which, in came a message from MrPigwell, one of the neighbours, to ask if any accident hadoccurred—"No no," said uncle Peter testily—"no accident, only asmall mistake."
Another dead lull—presently the old servant, who had gone to the lobbyto deliver the message, returned into the room, and as he placed afresh bottle of wine on the table, he said—"The man says Mrs Pigwellhas got a sad fright, sir—taken in labour, sir."
"There, Master Benjamin, there—I am sure I wish you had gone to thecoast of Africa before this had happened—I was an old soft heartedfool to stand in the way."
"Well, my dear uncle, it is not too late yet"—said I, a good dealpiqued. Not a word from him—"I am sorry to see you have taken suchoffence where none was meant. It was a piece of folly, I admit, and Iam sincerely sorry for it." Still silent—"Jennings is still at anchordown below—I can easily be ready to-morrow, and there is no appearanceof the wind changing—so, pray, do let me go."
"You may go to the devil, sir, for me"—and off he started, fizzing,worse than the rocket itself, with rage to his dressing-room, where heoften used to pass an hour or two in the evenings alone.
I sat still, guzzling my wine in great wrath.—Enter Peregrine again.I was always a favourite with the old fellow, although he had beenseriously angry at first, when he saw that my absurd prank had put hisold master so cruelly out. Now, however, I perceived he was anxious tomake up for it.
"Lord, Master Benjamin, your uncle is in such a taking you neverse'ed—why, do you know, the first thing he did when he went to hisdressing-room was to hang his wig on the lighted candle, instead of thepillar of the looking glass; and then we were all i