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It was in this very connection that an A.D.C. to an Indian Governor, fresh from a West Indian appointment and Society somewhat on "Tom Cringle's Log" conditions, by issuing invitations to a Quality Dance, gave rise, in Southern India, to a social commotion which reacted very unfavourably as regards the efficient working of various departments of his Chief's general administration.
This was no light task, for as Michael Scott, the British author of Tom Cringle's Log, candidly expressed it: In the field, or grappling in mortal combat on the blood-slippery deck of an enemy's vessel, a British soldier or sailor is the bravest of the brave. No soldier or sailor of any other country, saving and excepting those damned Yankees, can stand against them... I don't like Americans.
Of its kind, "Tom Cringle's Log" is a veritable masterpiece. Humour and pathos and gorgeous descriptions are woven into a thrilling narrative. Scott wrote many other things beside "Tom Cringle," but only one story, "The Cruise of the Midge" , is in any way comparable with his first and most famous romance. I. The Quenching of the Torch
This was probably due to my having read and re-read Peter Simple and Tom Cringle's Log over and over again, until I knew them almost by heart; indeed I will confess that even at the present day the glamour of these books is almost as strong as it used to be, and that hardly a year passes without my thumbing once again their familiar pages.
The daring chapters of Michael Scott's picaresque romance of the tropics were that telescope and that window. In the spring of this year, I began to walk about the village and even proceed for considerable distances into the country by myself, and after reading Tom Cringle's Log those expeditions were accompanied by a constant hope of meeting with some adventures.
I do not want to do duty yet, as I've got a hundred pages more of `Tom Cringle's Log' to read, and I cannot gallop over a book as some people do." "Well, well, possibly the ship may manage to take care of itself without you," said the doctor, as he passed on. Whereupon Desmond began to put on his clothes, a task which he accomplished with Tom's assistance.
A large snake, about ten feet long, had closed up the path in our rear, sliding slowly from one branch to another, and hissing and striking out its forked tongue, as it twisted itself, at the height of my head from the ground, amongst the trees and bushes, round and round about, occasionally twining its neck round a tree as thick as my body, on one side of the path, and its tail round another, larger in girth than my leg, on the other; when it would, with prodigious strength, but the greatest ease, and the most oily smoothness, bend the smaller tree like a hoop, until the trunks nearly touched, although growing full six feet asunder; as if a tackle fall, or other strong purchase, had been applied; but continuing all the while it was putting forth its power, to glide soapily along, quite unconcernedly, and to all appearance as pliant as a leather thong, shooting out its glancing neck, and glowering about with its little blasting fiery eyes, and sliding the forepart of the body onwards without pausing, as if there had been no strain on the tail whatsoever, until the stems of the two trees were at length brought together, when it let the smaller go with a loud spank, that shook the dew off the neighbouring branches, and the perspiration from Tom Cringle's forehead whose nerves were not more steady than the tree like rain, and frightened all the birds in the neighbourhood; while it, the only unstartled thing, continued steadily and silently on its course, turning and looking at us, and poking its head within arm's length, and raising it with a loud hiss, and a threatening attitude, on our smallest motion.
The naked woods, trees, rocks, lake, river, mountain, would have done the business just as well, and saved a deal of writing and of printing. The most successful artist in this line I know of is Michael Scott, whose tropical sketches in 'Tom Cringle's Log' are unequalled by any landscape-painter, past or present, who uses pen and ink instead of canvas and colors."
I was fairly beginning to lose countenance, when up jumped Sneezer to my relief out of the boat, with an old cocked hat lashed on his head, a marine's jacket buttoned round his body, and his coalblack muzzle bedaubed with pipe clay, regularly monkeyfied, the momentary handiwork of some wicked little reefers, while a small pipe sung out quietly, as if not intended to reach the quarterdeck, although it did do so, "And here comes the last joint of Mr Cringle's Tail."
They're small enough to stir the appetite, but not to satisfy it. Rather an irritant and one wants no irritant.... I used to imagine reading was meant to be a stimulant. Out here it has to be an anodyne.... "Have you heard of a book called 'Tom Cringle's Log'? "War is an exciting game that I never wanted to play. It excites once in a couple of months.
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