Heart of Oak: A Three-Stranded Yarn, vol. 3 — John Shaqi
Heart of Oak: A Three-Stranded Yarn, vol. 3Russell, William Clark
General
Heart of Oak: A Three-Stranded Yarn, vol. 3
Russell, William Clark
English fiction -- 19th century; Sea stories
'Yes. She looks it, sir. See the boats at her cranes. What sort of
daylight filters through those greasy grimy scuttles in her side, I
wonder? She is an American, and draws decently; three years out by the
looks of her, fresh from parts where its always too hot or always too
cold, and with how many barrels aboard, ha! It's said no seaman thinks
anything of a man as a sailor who's learnt his trade in a greaser.
For my part I look upon 'em with respect and admiration. What Jack of
us all sees the like of their seafaring? Let alone the weather, and
that touches the extremes. What magnificent work in boats! what nerve
and determination! To think of one of those egg-shells,' said he,
nodding at the boats at the whaler's cranes, 'being in tow of a rushing
mountain of stinking black flesh, shooting blood and brine sky high,
every thrash of the tail a Niagara drench of rearing white water--ha!'
He sucked in his cheeks, blew them out again in a low whistle of
admiration, and walked off.
I did not land till four o'clock in the afternoon. Mr. Hoskins, when we
parted, put his card into my hand, with an address at Cape Town upon
it, and begged me to let him know the house I put up at, that he might
communicate in case I should think proper to confirm the revelation of
the photographs by an inspection of the remains.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE SHIP SEEN ON THE ICE
I was advised against the two or three bad hotels in Cape Town, and
whilst in the ship had obtained the address of a boarding-house. It was
a comfortable big Dutch-built house, low, without chimneys; it stood
in a garden full of moon-lilies, and many lovely flowers, the fairest
of them scentless. Here I found a colonel from India for his health, a
Dutch couple, and one or two others. From the stoep of this house you
saw the grand mass of Table Mountain, seemingly close to; the shadow
of its noble bulk seemed to fill the heavens and swell with sensible,
usurping presence into the far reaches of the country. I had travelled
in mountainous parts in Europe, but never before witnessed such a
tyrannous domination as this. The colossal ramparts caught up the whole
prospect whilst you looked in a swinging sweep of their length, till
'twas all mountain with the steam-like vapour shredding away from the
boiling whiteness atop, and the houses clustering into the base like
things of life shuddering back into the giant refuge.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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