In a steamer chair, and other shipboard storiesBarr, Robert
General
In a steamer chair, and other shipboard stories
Barr, Robert
Ocean travel -- Fiction; Sea stories; Short stories
In the dense silence that was around me, I
could not tell whether the water was running out or not; but gazing up
towards the ceiling I thought I saw the surface gradually sinking down
and down and down. Of course it couldn’t have been more than a few
seconds, but it seemed to be years and years and years. I knew that if
once I let my breath go I would be drowned, merely by the spasmodic
action of my lungs trying to recover air. I felt as if I should burst.
It was a match against time, with life or death as the stake. At first,
as I said, my senses were abnormally sharp, but, by and by, I began to
notice that they were wavering. I thought the glassy surface of the
water, which I could see above me, was in reality a great sheet of
crystal that somebody was pressing down upon me, and I began to think
that the moment it reached my face I would smother. I tried to
struggle, but was held with a grip of steel. Finally, this slab of
crystal came down to my nose, and seemed to split apart. I could hold
on no longer, and with a mighty expiration blew the water up towards
the ceiling, and drew in a frightful smothering breath of salt water,
that I blew in turn upwards, and the next breath I took in had some air
with the water. I felt the water tickling the corners of my mouth, and
receding slower and slower down my face and neck. Then I think I must
have become insensible until just before you entered the room. Of
course there is something wrong with the electric fittings, and there
is a leak of electricity; but I think liquor is at the bottom of all
this. I don’t believe it would have affected me like this if I had not
been soaked in whiskey.”
“If I were you,” I said, “I would leave whiskey alone.”
“I intend to,” he answered solemnly, “and baths too.”
A Case Of Fever
“O, underneath the blood red sun,
No bloodier deed was ever done!
Nor fiercer retribution sought
The hand that first red ruin wrought.”
This is the doctor’s story—
The doctors on board the Atlantic liners are usually young men. They
are good-looking and entertaining as well, and generally they can play
the violin or some other instrument that is of great use at the
inevitable concert which takes place about the middle of the Atlantic.
They are urbane, polite young men, and they chat pleasantly and nicely
to the ladies on board. I believe that the doctor on the Transatlantic
steamer has to be there on account of the steerage passengers. Of
course the doctor goes to the steerage; but I imagine, as a general
thing, he does not spend any more time there than the rules of the
service compel him to. The ladies, at least, would be unanimous in
saying that the doctor is one of the most charming officials on board
the ship.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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