Tom Cringles Log | Page 4

them, than by describing one of the two North Sea
pilots whom we had on board. This pilot was a tall, raw--boned subject,
about six feet or so, with a blue face--I could not call it red--and a
hawk's--bill nose of the colour of bronze. His head was defended from
the weather by what is technically called a south--west, pronounced
sow--west,--cap, which is in shape like the thatch of a dustman,
composed of canvass, well tarred, with no snout, but having a long flap
hanging down the back to carry the rain over the cape of the jacket. His
chin was embedded in a red comforter that rose to his ears. His trunk
was first of all cased in a shirt of worsted stocking--net; over this he
had a coarse linen shirt, then a thick cloth waistcoat; a shag jacket was
the next layer, and over that was rigged the large cumbrous pea jacket,
reaching to his knees. As for his lower spars, the rig was still more
peculiar;--first of all, he had on a pair of most comfortable woollen
stockings, what we call fleecy hosiery--and the beauties are peculiarly
nice in this respect--then a pair of strong fearnaught trowsers; over
these again are drawn up another pair of stockings, thick, coarse,
rig--and--furrowed as we call them in Scotland, and above all this were
drawn a pair of long, well--greased, and liquored boots, reaching
half--way up the thigh, and altogether impervious to wet. However
comfortable this costume may be in bad weather in board, it is clear
enough that any culprit so swathed, would stand a poor chance of being
saved, were he to fall overboard. The wind now veered round and

round, and baffled, and checked us off, so that it was the sixth night
after we had taken our departure from Harwich before we saw
Heligoland light. We then bore away for Cuxhaven, and I now knew
for the first time that we had a government emissary of some kind or
another on board, although he had hitherto confined himself strictly to
the captain's cabin.
All at once it came on to blow frorn the north--east, and we were again
driven back among the English fishing boats. The weather was thick as
buttermilk, so we had to keep the bell constantly ringing, as we could
not see the jib--boom end from the forecastle. Every now and then we
heard a small, hard, clanking tinkle, from the fishing--boats, as if an old
pot had been struck instead of a bell, and a faint hollo,
"Fishing--smack," as we shot past them in the fog, while we could
scarcely see the vessels at all. The morning after this particular time to
which I allude, was darker than any which had gone before it;
absolutely you could not see the breadth of the ship from you; and as
we had not taken the sun for five days, we had to grope our way ahnost
entirely by the lead. I had the forenoon watch, during the whole of
which we were amongst a little fleet of fishing--boats, although we
could scarcely see them, but being unwilling to lose ground by lying to,
we fired a gun every half hour, to give the small craft notice of our
vicinity, that they might keep their bells agoing. Every three or four
minutes, the marine drum--boy, or some amateur performer,--for most
sailors would give a glass of grog any day to be allowed to beat a drum
for five minutes on endi--beat a short roll, and often as we drove along,
under a reefed foresail, and close reefed topsails, we could hear the
answering tinkle before we saw the craft from which it proceeded; and
when we did perceive her as we flew across her stern, we could only
see it, and her mast, and one or two well--swathed, hardy fishermen,
the whole of the little vessel forward being hid in a cloud.
I had been invited this day to dine with the Captain, Mr Splinter, the
first lieutenant being also of the party; the cloth had been withdrawn,
and we had all had a glass or two of wine a--piece, when the fog settled
down so thickly, although it was not more than five o'clock in the
afternoon, that the captain desired that the lamp might be lit. It was
done, and I was remarking the contrast between the dull, dusky, brown
light, or rather the palpable London fog that came through the skylight,

and the bright yellow sparkle of the lamp, when the second lieutenant,
Mr Treenail, came down the ladder.
"We have shoaled our water to five fathoms, sir--shells and
stones.--Here, Wilson, bring in the lead."
The leadsman, in his pea--jacket and shag trowsers, with the raindrop
hanging to his nose, and a large knot