The Rev. Dr. Pringle to Mr.
Micklewham, Schoolmaster and Session-Clerk,
Garnock
London, 49 Norfolk Street, Strand.
London, 49 Norfolk Street, Strand.
Dear Sir—On the first Sunday
forthcoming after the receiving hereof, you will not fail to
recollect in the remembering prayer, that we return thanks for
our safe arrival in London, after a dangerous voyage. Well,
indeed, is it ordained that we should pray for those who go down
to the sea in ships, and do business on the great deep; for what
me and mine have come through is unspeakable, and the hand of
Providence was visibly manifested.
On the day of our embarkation at Leith, a fair wind took us
onward at a blithe rate for some time; but in the course of that
night the bridle of the tempest was slackened, and the curb of
the billows loosened, and the ship reeled to and fro like a
drunken man, and no one could stand therein. My wife and
daughter lay at the point of death; Andrew Pringle, my son, also
was prostrated with the grievous affliction; and the very soul
within me was as if it would have been cast out of the body.
On the following day the storm abated, and the wind blew
favourable; but towards the heel of the evening it again came
vehement, and there was no help unto our distress. About
midnight, however, it pleased Him,
whose breath is the tempest, to be more sparing with the whip of
His displeasure on our poor bark, as she hirpled on in her
toilsome journey through the waters; and I was enabled, through
His strength, to lift my head from the pillow of sickness, and
ascend the deck, where I thought of Noah looking out of the
window in the ark, upon the face of the desolate flood, and of
Peter walking on the sea; and I said to myself, it matters not
where we are, for we can be in no place where Jehovah is not
there likewise, whether it be on the waves of the ocean, or the
mountain tops, or in the valley and shadow of death.
The third day the wind came contrary, and in the fourth, and
the fifth, and the sixth, we were also sorely buffeted; but on
the night of the sixth we entered the mouth of the river Thames,
and on the morning of the seventh day of our departure, we cast
anchor near a town called Gravesend, where, to our exceeding
great joy, it pleased Him, in whom alone there is salvation, to
allow us once more to put our foot on the dry land.
When we had partaken of a repast, the first blessed with the
blessing of an appetite, from the day of our leaving our native
land, we got two vacancies in a stage-coach for my wife and
daughter; but with Andrew Pringle, my son, I was obligated to
mount aloft on the outside. I had some scruple of
conscience about this, for I was afraid of my decorum. I
met, however, with nothing but the height of discretion from the
other outside passengers, although I jealoused that one of them
was a light woman. Really I had no notion that the English
were so civilised; they were so well bred, and the very duddiest
of them spoke such a fine style of language, that when I looked
around on the country, I thought myself in the land of
Canaan. But it’s extraordinary what a power of drink
the coachmen drink, stopping and going into every change-house,
and yet behaving themselves with the greatest sobriety. And
then they are all so well dressed, which is no doubt owing to the
poor rates. I am thinking, however, that for all they cry
against them, the poor rates are but a small evil, since they
keep the poor folk in such food and raiment, and out of the
temptations to thievery; indeed, such a thing as a common beggar
is not to be seen in this land, excepting here and there a sorner
or a ne’er-do-weel.
When we had got to the outskirts of London, I began to be
ashamed of the sin of high places, and would gladly have got into
the inside of the coach, for fear of anybody knowing me; but
although the multitude of by-goers was like the kirk scailing at
the Sacrament, I saw not a kent face, nor one that took the least
notice of my situation. At last we got to an inn, called
The White Horse, Fetter-Lane, where we hired a hackney to
take us to the lodgings provided for us here in Norfolk Street,
by Mr. Pawkie, the Scotch solicitor, a friend of Andrew Pringle,
my son. Now it was that we began to experience the sharpers
of London; for it seems that there are divers Norfolk
Streets. Ours was in the Strand (mind that when you
direct), not very far from Fetter-Lane; but the hackney driver
took us away to one afar off, and when we knocked at the number
we thought was ours, we found ourselves at a house that should
not be told. I was so mortified, that I did not know what
to say; and when Andrew Pringle, my son, rebuked the man for the
mistake, he only gave a cunning laugh, and said we should have
told him whatna Norfolk Street we wanted. Andrew stormed at
this—but I discerned it was all owing to our own
inexperience, and put an end to the contention, by telling the
man to take us to Norfolk Street in the Strand, which was the
direction we had got. But when we got to the door, the
coachman was so extortionate, that another hobbleshaw
arose. Mrs. Pringle had been told that, in such disputes,
the best way of getting redress was to take the number of the
coach; but, in trying to do so, we found it fastened on, and I
thought the hackneyman would have gone by himself with
laughter. Andrew, who had not observed what we were doing,
when he saw us trying to take off the number, went like one
demented, and paid the man, I cannot tell what, to get us out,
and into the house, for fear we should have been mobbit.
I have not yet seen the colonel’s agents, so can say
nothing as to the business of our coming; for, landing at
Gravesend, we did not bring our trunks with us, and Andrew has
gone to the wharf this morning to get them, and, until we get
them, we can go nowhere, which is the occasion of my writing so
soon, knowing also how you and the whole parish would be anxious
to hear what had become of us; and I remain, dear sir, your
friend and pastor,
Zachariah
Pringle.
On Saturday evening, Saunders Dickie, the Irvine postman,
suspecting that this letter was from the Doctor, went with it
himself, on his own feet, to Mr. Micklewham, although the
distance is more than two miles, but Saunders, in addition to the
customary twal pennies on the postage, had a dram for his
pains. The next morning being wet, Mr. Micklewham had not
an opportunity of telling any of the parishioners in the
churchyard of the Doctor’s safe arrival, so that when he
read out the request to return thanks (for he was not only
school-master and session-clerk, but also precentor), there was a
murmur of pleasure diffused throughout the congregation, and the
greatest curiosity was excited to know what the dangers were,
from which their worthy pastor and his whole family had so
thankfully escaped in their voyage to London; so that, when the
service was over, the elders adjourned to the session-house to
hear the letter read; and many of the heads of families, and
other respectable parishioners, were admitted to the honours of
the sitting, who all sympathised, with the greatest sincerity, in
the sufferings which their minister and his family had
endured. Mr. Daff, however, was justly chided by Mr. Craig,
for rubbing his hands, and giving a sort of sniggering laugh, at
the Doctor’s sitting on high with a light woman. But
even Mr. Snodgrass was seen to smile at the incident of taking
the number off the coach, the meaning of which none but himself
seemed to understand.
When the epistle had been thus duly read, Mr. Micklewham
promised, for the satisfaction of some of the congregation, that
he would get two or three copies made by the best writers in his
school, to be handed about the parish, and Mr. Icenor remarked,
that truly it was a thing to be held in remembrance, for he had
not heard of greater tribulation by the waters since the
shipwreck of the Apostle Paul.
