THE UNLUCKY SHIP.
THE British brig Janson, Thompson, master, laden with sugar,
pimento, &c. &c. left Kingston, Jamaica, in the early part of March,
in the present year, bound for Glasgow. The skipper, who was a
genuine son of the "Land o' Cakes," concluded to take the inside
passage, and run through the gulf. This might have been questioned
by seamen better acquainted with the windward passage; but as every
Scotchman likes to have his own way, the advice of the first
officer--an experienced salt in the West India waters--went to
leeward. On rounding Cape Antoine, it was evident that a strong blow
was approaching. The clouds hung their dark curtains in threatening
blackness; and, as the sharp flashes of lightning inflamed the
gloomy scene, the little bark seemed like a speck upon the bosom of
the sea. It was the first mate's watch on deck. The wind, then
blowing from the W.S.W., began to increase and veer into the
westward; from whence it suddenly chopped into the northward. The
mate paced the quarter wrapt in his fearnought jacket, and at every
turn giving a glance aloft, then looking at the compass, and again
to the man at the wheel, as if he had an instinct of what was
coming.
He was a fearless navigator, yet, like many others who had yielded
to the force of habit, was deeply imbued with that prevalent
superstition so common to sailors, which regards a particular ship
as unlucky.
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