Heart of Oak: A Three-Stranded Yarn, vol. 3Russell, William Clark
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Heart of Oak: A Three-Stranded Yarn, vol. 3
Russell, William Clark
English fiction -- 19th century; Sea stories
As he spoke he whipped out his watch: as it lay in his hand I saw the
hour; the time was two, we had therefore a long afternoon of daylight
before us.
'We must take the mortar in the boat and communicate with it,' answered
Bland. 'There's a big piece of ice to anchor the boat to,' said he,
pointing to the lump I had observed him look at. 'We shall want a
cradle.'
'A cask 'll answer,' said Cliffe.
'Better have both boats in the water,' said Bland.
They exchanged further remarks to this effect, but I was no sailor
and could not follow them. No time, however, was lost. In less than
half-an-hour both boats were alongside, rising and falling singly
under the lee of the brig. In one boat was the mortar, with a complete
apparatus of gear and cradle for connection with the wreck. The cradle
consisted of a large cask cleverly slung, and so contrived as to
slide along a line when the rope attached to it was pulled. We were
nobly favoured by the weather. The send of the swell was as steady as
the tick of a clock: the seas ran short and small, with a rich sunny
feathering of foam that made a wonder of the ice, so tropic was it with
the blue overhead where floated a few large white clouds of a coppery
effulgence of swollen breast.
We got away by a quarter to three, one boat in tow of the other; the
wind and seas helped us, and we quickly entered the bay. We were of the
same number as before, and the same people. We drove with lifted oars
to the former talking place, and Bland hailed the man, and, with his
loudest roar, told him we were going to fire the end of a line to the
wreck and send him a tackle by it for a cradle. Did he understand?
The man responded with a peculiar flourish of his arm, and Bland
instantly said to me, 'He is a sailor.'
I had no eyes save for Marie. She had showed on a sudden at the rail
on the quarter as we entered the bay, and stood as still as a statue
watching us. Before Bland hailed I kissed my hand and flourished my hat
to her, and extended my arms; and she then stretched her hands, lifting
them immediately afterwards.
The surf held us several hundreds of feet away from the beach: the
hull stood about forty feet above; no cry I was capable of could have
reached her through the noise of the trembling combers; but the wind,
however, was brilliant, and Marie's form stood clear cut against the
white background; nevertheless, I could not distinguish her features.
The boat, with the other in tow, now pulled for the lee of the large
mass of ice that lay floating abreast of the wreck. The water swung
foamless and quiet under the shelter of this block. A couple of men
jumped out, and between them carried an anchor to some near crevice, in
which they half sank it. Thus were the boats solidly secured.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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