in a' yon saut wilderness o' a world oot wast
there, wi' the sea grasses growin', an' the sea beasts fechtin', an' the
sun glintin' down into it, day by day? Na; the sea's like the land, but
fearsomer. If there's folk ashore, there's folk in the sea--deid they
may be, but they're folk whatever; and as for deils, there's nane that's
like the sea deils. There's no sae muckle harm in the land deils, when
a's said and done. Lang syne, when I was a callant in the south country,
I mind there was an auld, bald bogle in the Peewie Moss. I got a glisk
o' him mysel', sittin' on his hunkers in a hag, as gray's a tombstane.
An', troth, he was a fearsome-like taed. But he steered naebody. Nae
doobt, if ane that was a reprobate, ane the Lord hated, had gane by there
wi' his sin still upon his stamach, nae doobt the creature would hae
lowped upo' the likes o' him. But there's deils in the deep sea would
yoke on a communicant! Eh, sirs, if ye had gane doon wi' the puir lads
in the _Christ-Anna_, ye would ken by now the mercy o' the seas. If ye
had sailed it for as lang as me, ye would hate the thocht of it as I do.
If ye had but used the een God gave ye, ye would hae learned the
wickedness o' that fause, saut, cauld, bullering creature, and of a'
that's in it by the Lord's permission: labsters an' partans, an' sic
like, howking in the deid; muckle, gutsy, blawing whales; an' fish--the
hale clan o' them--cauld-wamed, blind-eed uncanny ferlies. O, sirs,' he
cried, 'the horror--the horror o' the sea!'

We were all somewhat staggered by this outburst; and the speaker himself,
after that last hoarse apostrophe, appeared to sink gloomily into his own
thoughts. But Rorie, who was greedy of superstitious lore, recalled him
to the subject by a question.

'You will not ever have seen a teevil of the sea?' he asked.

'No clearly,' replied the other. 'I misdoobt if a mere man could see ane
clearly and conteenue in the body. I hae sailed wi' a lad--they ca'd him
Sandy Gabart; he saw ane, shure eneueh, an' shure eneueh it was the end
of him. We were seeven days oot frae the Clyde--a sair wark we had
had--gaun north wi' seeds an' braws an' things for the Macleod. We had
got in ower near under the Cutchull'ns, an' had just gane about by soa,
an' were off on a lang tack, we thocht would maybe hauld as far's
Copnahow. I mind the nicht weel; a mune smoored wi' mist; a fine gaun
breeze upon the water, but no steedy; an'--what nane o' us