Graham's Magazine, Vol. XL, No. 6, June 1852Various
General
Graham's Magazine, Vol. XL, No. 6, June 1852
Various
Literature -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
“I shall never forget the feeling of satisfaction which arose within
me—when some one threw the folds of a turban over the face—as I
thought that every blow he struck had been home; only if he had cloven
the eunuch’s hard head to the jaw, I had been almost happy, in a sort of
religious submission to fate, as if all who loved too well on earth,
must pay the penalty in some shape or other, at last.
“It appeared that the cabins had been twice searched before I was
brought down, but Catherton had hidden the fugitives under a false
bulkhead, so artfully contrived, that had not Hadji and the guard been
so hard on Ben Hamet’s track after the attempt to assassinate the sultan
had failed, they might have escaped detection. The little animal, which
had revealed their presence, after all, was a pet of Zuma’s, a flying
lemur from one of the Indian archipelago: woman-like, she had brought it
away in her dress, and by the knowledge which black Hadji had of its
habits, it was thus made instrumental in betraying the pair.
“Neither Catherton nor the steward were to be found below, after the
murderous fracas was over. I had no particular desire to remain myself,
as you may suppose, and no opposition being offered to the movement,
accordingly I went on deck.
“The wind was now at its height, having blown every thing moveable off
the poop into the seat which was breaking in awful rollers at the bottom
of the cove, the squall having come from the north-west. The ship, with
two anchors down under the lee of Muscat Island, rode safely enough
after the first danger was over; but the Arab frigate was lying
broadside on to the rocks, grinding to pieces, with nothing standing but
her lower masts. She could plainly be seen, not only by the flashes, but
by a strong phosphorescent gleam which pervaded the atmosphere,
reflected, perhaps, from the sea, each gigantic surge sparkling with
living fire, heaped up in the smothering foam of its crests, as it
rolled down on the wreck. I could even see the brine pouring from her
lower deck-ports, as she lifted bodily against the rocks, and fancied I
could hear the despairing cries of her crew, as one by one, her heavy
guns, torn from their tackles, were hurled across the decks.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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