Miles Wallingford | Page 7

dear girl--truth
unadulterated and unalloyed.
"Certainly, my dear Mrs. Drewett," the dear girl said, as she stood
supporting the old lady, who leaned on her arm, gazing at the glorious
sunset, "the Highlands have nothing to equal this! To me this seems all
that art could achieve; while I confess the views in the mountains have
ever appeared to want something that the mind can imagine."
Mrs. Drewett, though a respectable, was a common-place woman. She
belonged to the vast class that do most of their thinking by proxy; and it
was a sort of heresy in her eyes to fancy anything could surpass the
Highlands. Poor Mrs. Drewett! She was exceedingly cockney, without
having the slightest suspicion of it. Her best ought to be everybody
else's best. She combated Lucy's notion warmly, therefore, protesting
that the Highlands could not have a superior. This is a sort of argument
it is not easy to overcome; and her companion was content to admire
the scene before her, in silence, after urging one or two reasons, in
support of her opinion, in her own quiet, unpretending manner.

I overheard this little argument, and was a close observer of the manner
of the parlies. Mrs. Drewett was extremely indulgent, even while
warmest, seeming to me to resist Lucy's opinion as an affectionate
mother would contend with the mistaken notions of a very favourite
child. On the other hand, Lucy appeared confiding, and spoke as the
young of her sex are most apt to do, when they utter their thoughts to
ears they feel must be indulgent.
A sunset cannot last for ever; and even this, sweet as it had been, soon
became tame and tasteless to me. As the ladies now disappeared, I
determined to anchor, the wind failing, and the tide coming ahead.
Marble and myself had a sort of state-room fitted up for us in the hold;
and thither I was glad to retire, standing really in need of rest, after the
terrible exertions of that day. What passed in the cabins that evening, I
had no opportunity of knowing, though I heard laughing, and happy
female voices, through the bulkheads, hours after my own head was on
its pillow. When Marble came down to turn in, he told me the cabin
party had revived, and that there had been much pleasant discourse
among the young people; and this in a way to cause even him to derive
great satisfaction as a listener.
Neb gave us a call at daylight. The wind was fresh at west-north-west,
but the tide was just beginning to run on the flood. I was so impatient to
be rid of my guests, that all hands were called immediately, and we got
the sloop under-way. The pilot professed himself willing to beat up
through the narrow passages above, and, the Wallingford's greatest
performance being on the wind, I was determined to achieve my
deliverance that very tide. The sloop drew more water than was usual
for the up-river craft, it is true, but she was light, and, just at the
moment, could go wherever the loaded Albany vessels went. Those
were not the days of vast public works; and as for sea-going craft, none
had ever crossed the Overslaugh, so far as had come to my knowledge.
Times have changed greatly, since; but the reader will remember I am
writing of that remote period in American history, the year of our Lord
1803.
The anchor was no sooner aweigh, than the deck became a scene of

activity. The breeze was stiff, and it enabled me to show the
Wallingford off to advantage among the dull, flat-bottomed craft of that
day. There were reaches in which the wind favoured us, too; and, by
the time the ladies reappeared, we were up among the islands, worming
our way through the narrow channels with rapidity and skill. To me,
and to Marble also, the scene was entirely novel; and between the
activity that our evolutions required, and the constant change of scene,
we had little leisure to attend to those in the cabin. Just as breakfast was
announced, indeed, the vessel was approaching the more difficult part
of the river; and all we got of that meal, we took on deck, at snatches,
between the many tacks we made. As good-luck would have it,
however, the wind backed more to the westward about eight o'clock;
and we were enabled to stem the ebb that began to make at the same
time. This gave us the hope of reaching the end of our passage without
again anchoring.
At length we reached the Overslaugh, which, as was apt to be the case,
was well sprinkled with vessels aground. The pilot carried us through
them all, however; if not literally with flying colours, which would