CHAPTER 16
FIRTH OF TAY, MAY 1827
Or so I thought, but the gods of mischance were not yet finished playing with my hopes and dreams. The very instant I dipped my oars into the river, the wind rose. The Tay can be like that, one moment all silver and satin, smooth as cream and whispering sweet innocence, the next the wind roars in from the German Ocean, or across from the hills of Fife. That is what happened to me; as I guided Nabob's bows into the Firth, the wind rose from the east. It caught me by surprise, nearly capsizing the skiff, so I had to fight frantically to regain my balance.
Thrusting the oars deep into the water, I rowed, with the current taking hold of Nabob and propelling me downstream faster than I had a mind to go. I could see the lights of Dundee to my left and those o
