Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 7Sylvester, Charles Herbert
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Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 7
Sylvester, Charles Herbert
Children's literature; Literature -- Collections
Right before us, at the southern end, we saw the wreck of a ship in the
last stages of dilapidation. It had been a great vessel of three masts,
but had lain so long exposed to the injuries of the weather that it was
hung about with great webs of dripping seaweed, and on the deck of it
shore bushes had taken root, and now flourished thick with flowers. It
was a sad sight, but it showed us that the anchorage was calm.
"Now," said Hands, "look there; there's a pet bit for to beach a ship
in. Fine flat sand, never a catspaw, trees all around of it, and flowers
a-blowing like a garding on that old ship."
"And once beached," I inquired, "how shall we get her off again?"
"Why, so," he replied: "you take a line ashore there on the other side
at low water; take a turn about one o' them big pines; bring it back,
take a turn round the capstan, and lie-to for the tide. Come high water,
all hands take a pull upon the line, and off she comes as sweet as
natur'. And now, boy, you stand by. We're near the bit now, and she's
too much way on her. Starboard a little--so--steady--starboard--larboard
a little--steady--steady!"
So he issued his commands, which I breathlessly obeyed; till, all of a
sudden, he cried: "Now, my hearty, luff!" And I put the helm hard up,
and the _Hispaniola_ swung round rapidly, and ran stem on for the low
wooded shore.
The excitement of these last maneuvers had somewhat interfered with the
watch I had kept hitherto, sharply enough, upon the coxswain. Even then
I was still so much interested, waiting for the ship to touch, that I
had quite forgot the peril that hung over my head, and stood craning
over the starboard bulwarks and watching the ripples spreading wide
before the bows. I might have fallen without a struggle for my life, had
not a sudden disquietude seized upon me, and made me turn my head.
Perhaps I had heard a creak, or seen his shadow moving with the tail of
my eye; perhaps it was an instinct like a cat's; but, sure enough, when
I looked round, there was Hands, already halfway toward me, with the
dirk in his right hand.
We must both have cried out aloud when our eyes met; but while mine was
the shrill cry of terror, his was a roar of fury like a charging
bull's. At the same instant he threw himself forward, and I leaped
sideways toward the bows. As I did so I let go of the tiller, which
sprang sharp to leeward; and I think this saved my life, for it struck
Hands across the chest and stopped him, for the moment, dead.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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