A blustering night.--Tedium of the language of the
compass.--Another excursion to Trefusis.
Falmouth, March 10, 1787.
I thought last night our thin pasteboard habitation would have been
blown into the sea, for never in my life did I hear such dreadful
blusterings. Perhaps the winds are celebrating the approach of the
equinox, or some high festival in Æolus’s calendar, with which we poor
mortals are unacquainted. How tired I am of the language of the compass,
of wind shifting to this point and veering to the other; of gales
springing up, and breezes freshening; of rough seas, clear berths, ships
driving, and anchors lifting. Oh! that I was rooted like a tree, in some
sheltered corner of an inland valley, where I might never hear more of
saltwater or sailing.
You cannot wonder at my becoming impatient, after eleven days’
captivity, nor at my wishing myself anywhere but where I am: I should
almost prefer a quarantine party at the new elegant Lazaretto off
Marseilles, to this smoky residence; at least, I might there learn some
curious particulars of the Levant, enjoy bright sunshine, and perfect
myself in Arabic. But what can a being of my turn do at Falmouth? I have
little taste for the explanation of fire-engines, Mr. Scott; the pursuit
of hares under the auspices of young Trefusis; or the gliding of
billiard-balls in the society of Barbadoes Creoles and packet-boat
captains. The Lord have mercy upon me! now, indeed, do I perform
penance.
Our dinner yesterday went off tolerably well. We had _on_ the table a
savoury pig, right worthy of Otaheite, and some of the finest poultry I
ever tasted; and _round_ the table two or three brace of odd Cornish
gentlefolks, not deficient in humour and originality.
About eight in the evening, six game-cocks were ushered into the
eating-room by two limber lads in scarlet jackets; and, after a flourish
of crowing, the noble birds set-to with surprising keenness. Tufts of
brilliant feathers soon flew about the apartment; but the carpet was
not stained with the blood of the combatants: for, to do Trefusis
justice, he has a generous heart, and takes no pleasure in cruelty. The
cocks were unarmed, had their spurs cut short, and may live to fight
fifty such harmless battles.