“There’s a great crowd on the beach. Captain Paul,” said Israel, looking through his glass. “There seems to be an old woman standing on a fish-barrel there, a sort of selling things at auction to the people, but I can’t be certain yet.”
“Let me see,” said Paul, taking the glass as they came nigher. “Sure enough, it’s an old lady—an old quack-doctress, seems to me, in a black gown, too. I must hail her.”
Ordering the ship to be kept on towards the port, he shortened sail within easy distance, so as to glide slowly by, and seizing the trumpet, thus spoke:
“Old lady, ahoy! What are you talking about? What’s your text?”
“The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance. He shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked.”
“Ah, what a lack of charity. Now hear mine:—God helpeth them that help themselves, as Poor Richard says.”
“Reprobate pirate, a gale shall yet come to drive thee in wrecks from our waters.”
“The strong wind of your hate fills my sails well. Adieu,” waving his bonnet—“tell us the rest at Leith.”
Next morning the ships were almost within cannon-shot of the town. The men to be landed were in the boats. Israel had the tiller of the foremost one, waiting for his commander to enter, when just as Paul’s foot was on the gangway, a sudden squall struck all three ships, dashing the boats against them, and causing indescribable confusion. The squall ended in a violent gale. Getting his men on board with all dispatch, Paul essayed his best to withstand the fury of the wind, but it blew adversely, and with redoubled power. A ship at a distance went down beneath it. The disappointed invader was obliged to turn before the gale, and renounce his project.
To this hour, on the shores of the Firth of Forth, it is the popular persuasion, that the Rev. Mr. Shirrer’s (of Kirkaldy) powerful intercession was the direct cause of the elemental repulse experienced off the endangered harbor of Leith.