Adventure stories; British -- Portugal -- Fiction; Lisbon (Portugal) -- Fiction; Love stories
My advantage was that I was as fresh as paint after the hours of sleep
I had had during the night; and I felt that if I could hold my own in
the first minutes of the affair, the frantic efforts he was making
would tire him out and give me the victory. Time would give me another
advantage. The _Stella_ would soon be alongside, when Burroughs would
quickly have command of the _Rampallo_.
The struggle between us began in a somewhat curious fashion. The attack
had taken me by surprise, as I have said, and forced me back against
the side of the cabin. As he grabbed for the revolver, I shot my right
hand up as high as I could stretch it, to hold the weapon out of his
reach. You may have seen one child use a similar tactic when teasing
another, and you may know how difficult it is to bend an arm held rigid
in such a position, when there is no marked advantage in height.
That was the problem the captain had to solve, and he fought with
tremendous energy. He held my right wrist in his left, tugging and
straining to lever it down so that he might venture to release his
right, which held my left in a grip of steel, and grab the prize.
His shouts to the others to break the door open were not answered, and
he soon ceased to call, concentrating all his strength in the struggle
for my weapon.
He displayed such strength that I realized he would beat me before the
energy which frenzy gave him was exhausted; and as I was convinced that
the first use he would make of his victory would be to put a bullet
into my head, I resolved to empty the revolver as a defensive measure.
I fired three shots in rapid succession when he suddenly released my
left arm and fastened both hands on my right wrist and tugged and
strained at it in the desperate effort to drag the weapon within his
reach.
This was more than I could resist, and I thought he would dislocate my
shoulder and wrench the sinews. But I succeeded in discharging two more
cartridges before my power of resistance was broken, and then I let the
weapon fall and at the same moment I got my left hand on his throat and
pressing my foot against the wall pushed him violently backwards.
The manœuvre took him by surprise and he slipped and fell, dragged me
down with him, to resume the struggle under different conditions. I had
some advantage now, however. I was top dog. But he writhed and wriggled
with such agility that I could make little use of my position.
He fought at this stage like a savage. He kicked me viciously, butted
my face with his head, tried every trick to get his hands on my throat,
writhing the while like a snake to change his position so that he could
wriggle back to the spot where the revolver lay, the possession of
which meant life or death to me and freedom or ruin to him.
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.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account