As she touched the water the red wine ran down her side, and I cried, “I name her Ethel Tweedie, and wish her all luck.”
“May the evil eye ne’er take upon her,” called Mrs. Murray, as the red wine mingled with the crested waves.
Into the water with a cheer both men and women went, right up to their waists, the waves breaking over their shoulders; but every time they got the Ethel Tweedie launched, a huge wave brought her back again.
“Come and drink her health before you put her into the sea,” I called. “Has anyone a glass?”
“Oi, oi,” replied Mrs. Murray; and unfastening the front of her blue cotton blouse, she brought forth a wine-glass, evidently brought down in anticipation. The chief members of the party drank the health of the boat and her namesake in Gaelic, and then one lad replied, when the glass was offered to him, “I’m no’ for the tasting the dee.”
Had he a cold, or why couldn’t he taste? So I offered the glass to his neighbour.
“I’m no’ for the tasting the dee,” he likewise replied; and we afterwards learnt they were teetotallers, and that was their way of expressing the fact.
“The hooks is baited, and ye shall catch the first haddie for luck yersel’, mem,” resounded in our ears; and the roar of the sea kept up a strange accompaniment, as a seagull shrieked in triumph at our discomfiture.
I dare not say no; I must risk disgracing myself, endure any agony of mind or body, but I must for the honour of Old England go and catch that first haddie.
How the wretched folk struggled to get that boat into the sea! I remonstrated at the women going into the water and working so hard on my account, feeling particularly sympathetic when I thought of the rough sea awaiting us outside, but all to no avail. I assured them I should not be disappointed if I could not catch the haddie to-day, I could easily come again; but no, they would struggle on, a few feet only at a time, always to be rebuffed again and again by the waves.