Heart of Oak: A Three-Stranded Yarn, vol. 2. — John Shaqi
Heart of Oak: A Three-Stranded Yarn, vol. 2.Russell, William Clark
General
Heart of Oak: A Three-Stranded Yarn, vol. 2.
Russell, William Clark
English fiction -- 19th century; Sea stories
The daylight was small, but the snow along the decks made a whiteness
in the air, so that perhaps even in the darkest hour you would be able
to detect anything in motion betwixt the rails. Here and there about
the leaden rolling ocean broke sudden glares of froth. The shadow had
blended the sea-circle with sky, and nothing was visible save a smoky
thickness of vapour breaking up to windward where it soared, and ashy
in places with rain or snow. I stood in the hatch and looked along the
deck and saw nobody. This so frightened me that I shrieked out Mrs.
Burke's name. Nothing answered. I trembled with dread and the bitter
cold of the wind, and crossing the deck that I might have something
to hold by, went forward, occasionally screaming out the name of Mrs.
Burke, but never getting an answer.
The galley door was open: nobody was in it. I was half fainting with
terror; I could not imagine what had become of my companions. Was
I alone in the ship? Oh, never could I make you understand what my
feelings were whilst I stood running my eyes first forward and then
aft, straining along the ghostly slanting glimmer of the decks for a
sight of one or another of my friends, hearing nothing but a strange
moaning noise of wind in the sky, and the long rolling thunder of
moving mountains of water, the early night darkening fast down all
round, the closing in upon the ghastly, weary, tumbling hull, lifting
its bowsprit and splintered stumps of masts in postures of agony
defined as existence itself could make them!
I had just sucked in my breath to send forth another scream, when I saw
a figure in the little hatch called the forescuttle, which led into the
forecastle.
'Who is that?' I cried.
'Is that you, Miss Marie?' called the voice of Mrs. Burke, and she rose
through the hatch.
'I thought you were lost. I thought I was alone,' I cried, beginning to
sob with a sudden passion of hysteric relief.
'My husband went down into the forepeak to get some coal,' said she,
not perceiving that I cried. 'He asked me to help him by pulling up
some buckets as he filled them. We are not quite done, but do not stay
on deck, my dear. We shall be with you in a very few minutes now.'
On this I returned to the cabin, but much shaken, and so low-spirited,
I had never before felt more miserable.
I entered the cabin with eyes a-search for the rat, and could not sit
still beside the stove for thinking of the beast, for at every moment
I was coining the lights of its eyes, the gaunt crouched shape of it,
out of some shadow here or there; and if I saw it not in imagination,
I figured it as under my chair. However, soon after I had returned,
the captain and Mrs. Burke entered the cabin, the captain bearing two
buckets and his wife one, full of coals.
'Now,' he exclaimed, 'for a little wash after that job!' and he took
a kettle of water off the stove and carried it to his cabin. His wife
followed him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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