List, Ye Landsmen! A Romance of IncidentRussell, William Clark
General
List, Ye Landsmen! A Romance of Incident
Russell, William Clark
English fiction -- 19th century; Sea stories
“Fielding,” he cried, as I stood viewing him from the bottom of the
companion ladder, “I can’t read prayers to the men. The devil’s right.
He’s put it into my head that I’m too wicked, that I’ve been too great a
sinner in the past, and am still altogether too vile to read prayers.”
“Do not attempt to do so then,” said I.
“I might be struck dead for profanity,” said he. “There’s a feeling
here”--he laid his hand upon his heart--“that warns me I shall drop if I
open my lips in the recital of a prayer to the men. Look how nervous I
am!” he exclaimed, with a wild, hard smile; and approaching me close he
extended his hands, which trembled violently, and then, turning up the
palms, he disclosed the channels or lines in them wet with perspiration.
“Tell the men,” said he, “that I am too ill to read prayers. Next
Sunday, perhaps----”
He threw himself upon a locker, and hid his face upon the table. I
watched him for a few minutes, then, going on deck, beckoned to Bol and
told him there would be no prayers that morning. The Dutchman threw a
suspicious look at the skylight and walked forward.
After this incident anxiety increased upon me until it became
indescribably great. I had supposed that the hurt Greaves had done
himself, through the connection which exists between the liver and the
brain, affected his mind; but now, when he was growing worse, I reckoned
he had struck his head as well as his side. Be this as it will, his
intellect was giving way, his health every day decaying, and I say that
when I grew sensible of this, when I understood that unless he took a
turn and mended apace he must die, anxiety made my days bitter.
My old fear of the crew revived. That fear had been hushed somewhat by
the behavior of the men, but it grew clamorous when I thought of Greaves
as dead and buried in the sea, of the treasure of half a million of
dollars in the lazarette, of myself as standing alone in the brig, with
no man in authority to support me, without even the moral backing of
good-will I might have got from the men had I shipped at Amsterdam and
formed one of the Tulp party.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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