Have any of you made a passage on board a steamer between London and
Leith? If you have, you will have seen no small number of brigs and
brigantines, with sails of all tints, from doubtful white to decided
black--some deeply=laden, making their way to the southward, others with
their sides high out of the water, heeling over to the slightest breeze,
steering north.
On board one of those delectable craft, a brig called the _Naiad_, I
found myself when about fourteen summers had passed over my head. She
must have been named after a negress naiad, for black was the prevailing
colour on board, from the dark, dingy forecastle to the captain's state
cabin, which was but a degree less dirty than the portion of the vessel
in which I was destined to live. The bulwarks, companion-hatch, and
other parts had, to be sure, once upon a time been painted green, but
the dust from the coal, which formed her usual cargo, had reduced every
portion to one sombre hue, which even the salt seas not unfrequently
breaking over her deck had failed to wash clean.
Captain Grimes, her commander, notwithstanding this, was proud of the
old craft; and he especially delighted to tell how she had once carried
a pennant when conveying troops to Corunna, or some other port in Spain.
I pitied the poor fellows confined to the narrow limits of her dark
hold, redolent of bilge-water and other foul odours. We, however, had
not to complain on that score, for the fresh water which came in through
her old sides by many a leak, and had to be pumped out every watch, kept
her hold sweet.