THE CRUISE OF THE MIDGE.

BY THE

AUTHOR OF "TOM CRINGLE'S LOG."

[Transcriber's note: Author is Michael Scott]

"ON LIFE'S VAST OCEAN DIVERSELY WE SAIL,
REASON THE CARD, BUT PASSION IS THE GALE."
                                                        ESSAY ON MAN

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH;
AND T. CADELL, STRAND, LONDON.
MDCCCXXXVI.

EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND CO., PAUL'S WORK.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME SECOND.

CHAP.

I. A HAIRBREADTH ESCAPE
II. A VISION—THE DYING BUCANIER
III. SCENES IN HAVANNA
IV. A CRUISE IN THE MOUNTAINS—EL CAFETAL
V. THE MOSQUITO
VI. SPIRITING AWAY—WHERE IS THE BALLAHOO?
VII. THE DEVIL'S GULLY
VIII. MY UNCLE
IX. OCCIDENTAL VAGARIES
X. THE MOONBEAM
XI. THE BREAKING WAVE
XII. THE END OF THE YARN

THE CRUISE OF THE MIDGE

CHAPTER I.

A HAIRBREADTH ESCAPE.

I must either have been weaker, or the opiate stronger than the doctor expected, for it was near midnight before I awoke. Although still very low and faint, I felt much refreshed and invigorated. For some time I lay enjoying the coolness of the night air, and listening to the chirping of the crickets, in the crevices of the lofty roof. There was not the smallest noise besides to be heard in the house, and every thing without was equally still. At my bedside, on the right hand, there stood a small old-fashioned ebony table, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, with several phials, a bottle of wine, and glasses on it, an open book, the leaves kept down on one side by a most enticing uncut pine-apple, and a large brown wax candle, burning dimly in its tall massive silver candlestick. A chair of the same substance and antique character, and richly carved, was set beside this table, over the high perpendicular back of which hung a seaman's jacket, and a black silk neckerchief, as if the wearer had recently been reading beside me, and very possibly watching me. I listened—all continued silent; and I turned, but still with great pain, towards the open window or balcony that projected into and overhung the neighbouring thoroughfare. The moonlight streamed through the casement, and, with a sensation of ineffable pleasure, I gloated on the bright stars beyond, deep set into the dark blue sky, while the cool night breeze, charged with the odour of the pine-apple, breathed gently, and oh! how passing sweetly, on my feverish temples!

From the pain experienced in moving, I only turned half-round, and therefore lay in a position that prevented my seeing more than the upper part of the large window; but I gradually slewed myself, so as to lie more on my side. "Heaven and earth, there he is again!" My heart fluttered and beat audibly. My breathing became impeded and irregular, and large drops of ice-cold perspiration burst from my forehead and face; for there, with his head leaning on his hand, his arm resting on the window sill, and motionless as the timber on which he reclined, his beautiful features upturned towards the pale cold moon, and full in the stream of her mild effulgence, sat the apparition of young Henry De Walden! I tried to speak, but my breath failed, and a sudden giddiness came over me. "I am gone at last," thought I. "I know what his coming twice betokens—Henry, I will soon be with you!"

*****

I had fainted away. When I again opened my eyes, I was so dizzy and confused, that I did not know where I was. My wound was giving me great pain, and I turned with difficulty on my other side, towards where the table stood. Believing that I was fast dying, and that I should soon be "a thing immortal as itself," I did not even start when I saw the same figure, whose appearance had so agitated me before, now seated at the table, apparently reading. "The third time," thought I—"it should be so—it should be so—Heaven receive my repentant soul!"

At this moment the door opened, and some one, dressed like a seaman, slid into the room. As he approached the table, the apparition of the young midshipman slowly lifted its head, and peered into the darkness. From the dimness of the taper it appeared unable to make out what approached, for the ghost now took up the snuffers, and snuffed the candle as scientifically as if it had once inhabited the tallow-tainted carcass of a scene-shifter.

"Confound these old-fashioned snuffers, the spring is broken!"

My eyes opened at this, wider, I believe, than they had ever done before, and my ears tingled. "What a speech from an inhabitant of the other world!" thought I.

"Oh! is it you, Joe Peak?" quoth the handsome spectre; "why do you steal in and startle one so, you little villain? Hush—off with these heavy shoes of yours, and come and sit down, will ye?"

Master Joey, who, I knew, was in the body as yet at any rate, now came forward into the light, and drawing a chair, sat down fronting the apparition.

"Well, Henry, my lad, how is master Benjamin—better?"

"A good deal—if that old French medico has not poisoned him outright with laudanum. He has slept since twelve at noon—and what's the hour now, Joey?"

"Gone eight bells—so go and turn in, De Walden, and I will take my spell here."

"Thank you, and so I will. But here, take a glass of vin-de-grave;" and, to my great wonderment, the spectre and man of flesh hobbed and nobbed together with all the comfort in life. "Have you seen Lennox this afternoon?"

"Yes, I saw him about eight o'clock," said Peak; "the alcalde has given up all the money that was taken from"—here he nodded towards me—"when he was stabbed by the raggamuffin he had fleeced."

"If ever I set foot within a gambling-house again," thought