Graham's Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 1, July 1841Various
General
Graham's Magazine, Vol. XIX, No. 1, July 1841
Various
Literature -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
“Swab her out there,” said the imperturbable old sea-dog, without
flinching in the least, “and we’ll revenge poor Harry Ratline. By the
Lord above, I’ll make them pay for this. Work faster, you lubberly
scoundrel,” he continued, cuffing the powder-boy. “There, that will do.
And now let’s see what damage you’ll do, old red-mouth!” and patting his
piece familiarly, he applied the match, and stooping on his knees after
the recoil, glanced along the gun to mark the path of his ball. It
struck the ninety-four just by the fore-chains, entering the first port
aft. It needed nothing to tell the deadly revenge of the shot. Even amid
the roar of the contest we could almost fancy we heard the shrieks of
the wounded and dying from that fatal discharge.
So intensely occupied had been every thought, during these last few
minutes, that I had not noticed the gradual subsidence in the wind; but
my attention was at this moment aroused to it by an exclamation of
O’Shaughnessy at my side, and turning my gaze to leeward, I saw at once
the cause of his wonder.
How long had elapsed since we had noticed the speck on the horizon to
which the old quarter-master had called our attention I have no means of
determining; but, owing perhaps to the rapidity with which all the
subsequent events had transpired, it seemed to be scarcely five minutes.
In that interval a radical change had come over the heavens. The whole
of the larboard horizon was covered with a dense black cloud, extending
to the very zenith, and spreading with incredible velocity around the
seaboard and over the vault of heaven. Even as I gazed, the rising
clouds began to encroach on the western firmament, until only a narrow
speck of sky, through which the declining sun shone out with a ghastly
lustre was seen in that quarter of the horizon. In a moment more the
massy curtain of cloud obscured even this opening, and nothing was seen
above or around us but the wild and ominous darkness, which, reflected
from the unruffled surface of the deep, and struggling with the few
faint gleams of light that yet remained, wrapt everything in its own
sepulchral gloom. Never shall I forget the expression of my companions’
faces in that death-like obscurity.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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