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
After going a little way, during which I thought I should be unable to
command my tongue or collect my wits, so heart-staggering had been that
leap of fancy in me, I said:
'You have given me an extraordinary piece of news. I am deeply
interested in a ship that was abandoned in a dismasted state in the
neighbourhood of the Horn.'
'By gad! then,' said he, halting me with a violent, nervous pull at my
arm, 'you had better go aboard and get a description at first hand, for
the whaler's here to refresh only; she's been in the bay a fortnight
and sails to-morrow.'
Without exchanging a word I walked, almost ran, to the waterside.
A number of boats lay rippling close in to the beach. A couple of Malay
or Africander boatmen seeing me coming jumped into one of the little
craft, and in a few minutes I was being rowed in the direction of the
whaler.
It was about half-past four o'clock in the afternoon; the light of
the high South African midsummer sun fell on the water in a blaze
that made one think of a sky-wide bolt of flame; the scorching heat
steamed to the face off the surface in tingling red-hot needles; there
was not a breath of air; along the polished surface, breathing with
the swell of the sea, slipped the small thunder of the distant surf.
We drew close to the whaler and I read her name upon her counter 'Sea
Queen, Nantucket.' Her sides were blistered and honeycombed with heat
and conflict; her cabin scuttles or windows, in a row of three above
her green sheathing, stared in their dirt blearedly across the water,
like the eyes of a blind man; a number of seamen of several dyes of
complexion and queerly attired overhung the bulwark rails.
She was a little ship of about four hundred tons and looked to be
dropping to pieces with use, so deeply was she seamed, so ill were her
masts stayed, so rusty and pale was her rigging, so worn and ragged the
complexion and suggestion of the canvas heaped clumsily and negligently
bound. When the boat was alongside I looked up at a copper-coloured
face covered with black prickles of hair, and asked if the captain was
aboard.
'Ay,' was the answer.
'I wish to see him on very particular business,' said I.
The man stared stupidly and lounged off.
'You gittee on board, boss,' said one of the boatmen. 'You hab welcome
allee same as other gents,'
I took the man's advice, and putting my foot on to the shelf or
projection of main channels, sprang and gained the deck in a jump from
the bulwark rail.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account