University of Virginia Library

“This is the fax. Our Thomas Gellin',
For raisons best known to himself, has fell in
Love with a person they're callin' Quine—
Ellen; if I rightly mind.
Now, this gel was a sarvant in Captain Moore's,
That should have turned her out of doors
Long ago—but, however,—this Nancy—
Nelly, I mean, takes the Captain's fancy—
The young Captain's. They'd words—all right—
Him and the father—that's Wednesday night.
Thursday—that's yesterday—Nicky Freel
Brings the captain's yacht from Peel,
And anchors her inside the bay;
And there she was lyin' the whole of the day.
At six o'clock this everin'
This young pesson isn' in—
Nither's the Captain—can't be found—
And then, wherever she was bound,
This yacht they're callin' the Waterwitch
Is off to sea with every stitch—
And a woman aboord.—Well, it's nathral rather,
And, puttin' two and two together,
It isn' cuttin' it very fine
To think this woman is Ellen Quine—
No—so the people have got it they're off
To Scotland of course, and I'm tould their craft
Is small, and very bad prepar'd—
And certainly it's blowing hard—
And Gelling—that was allis short—
Don't take his affliction the way that he ought;
But's gone clane mad, and out on the shore,
And says he'll never come back no more—
See the carnal mind, see!
Where's his faith? perplexin' to me!”
And when he was speakin' there come a strain
That rocked the house—“It's blowin',” says Cain:
“Blowin'!” says I; “she'll never live!
That thing'll go down like an ould sieve,
If she tries her course—I know the boat;
But she'll never show the canvas to 't;
Her only chance is to run—d'ye hear!”
I was gettin' rather 'cited theer—
“And where'll she run to? I give you warnin'
That vessel'll be ashore afore mornin'.”