Tom Cringles Log

Tom Cringle's Log

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tom Cringle's Log, by Michael Scott
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Title: Tom Cringle's Log
Author: Michael Scott
Release Date: January, 2005 [EBook #7281] [This file was first posted
on April 6, 2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, TOM
CRINGLE'S LOG ***

Scanned by John Edward Heaton in Guatemala.
Tom Cringle's Log.
Michael Scott (1789--1835).

The Launching of the Log.
Dazzled by the glories of Trafalgar, I, Thomas Cringle, one fine
morning in the merry month of May, in the year one thousand eight
hundred and so and so, magnanimously determined in my own mind,
that the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland should no longer
languish under the want of a successor to the immortal Nelson, and
being then of the great perpendicular altitude of four feet four inches,
and of the mature age of thirteen years, I thereupon betook myself to
the praiseworthy task of tormenting, to the full extent of my small
ability, every man and woman who had the misfortune of being in any
way connected with me, until they had agreed to exert all their interest,
direct or indirect, and concentrate the same in one focus upon the head
and heart of Sir Barnaby Blueblazes, vice--admiral of the red squadrons
a Lord of the Admiralty, and one of the old plain K.B.'s (for he
flourished before the time when a gallant action or two tagged half of
the letters of the alphabet to a man's name, like the tail of a paper kite),
in order that he might be graciously pleased to have me placed on the
quarterdeck of one of his Majesty's ships of war without delay.
The stone I had set thus recklessly a--rolling, had not been in motion
above a fortnight, when it fell with unanticipated violence, and crushed
the heart of my poor mother, while it terribly bruised that of me,
Thomas; for as I sat at breakfast with the dear old woman, one fine
Sunday morning, admiring my new blue jacket and snow white
trowsers, and shining well soaped face, and nicely brushed hair, in the
pier glass over the chimney piece, I therein saw the door behind me
open, and Nicodemus, the waiting man, enter and deliver a letter to the
old lady, with a formidable looking seal.

I perceived that she first ogled the superscription, and then the seal,
very ominously, and twice made as if she would have broken the
missive open, but her heart seemed as often to fail her. At length she
laid it down--heaved a long deep sigh--took off her spectacles, which
appeared dim--wiped them, put them on again, and making a sudden
effort, tore open the letter, read it hastily over, but not so rapidly as to
prevent her hot tears falling with a small tiny tap tap on the crackling
paper.
Presently she pinched my arm, pushed the blistered manuscript under
my nose, and utterly unable to speak to me, rose, covered her face with
her hands, and left the room weeping bitterly. I could hear her praying
in a low, solemn, yet sobbing and almost inarticulate voice, as she
crossed the passage to her own dressing--room.--"Even as thou wilt, oh
Lord--not mine, but thy holy will be done--yet, oh! it is a bitter bitter
thing for a widowed mother to part with her only boy."
Now came my turn--as I read the following epistle three times over,
with a most fierce countenance, before thoroughly understanding
whether I was dreaming or awake--in truth, poor little fellow as I was, I
was fairly stunned.
"Admiralty, such a date.
"DEAR MADAM, It gives me very great pleasure to say that your son
is appointed to the Breeze frigate, now fitting at Portsmouth for foreign
service. Captain Wigemwell is a most excellent officer, and a good man,
and the schoolmaster on board is an exceedingly decent person