My Danish Sweetheart: A Novel. Volume 1 of 3Russell, William Clark
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My Danish Sweetheart: A Novel. Volume 1 of 3
Russell, William Clark
Adventure stories; Fiction; Love stories; Sea stories
About this time five men launched a swift, powerful boat of a whaling
pattern off the sand on to which it had been dragged that morning, far
beyond high-water mark. They ran the little fabric over a line of
well-greased planks or skids, and sprang into her as her bow met the
first roll of water, and in a breath their oars were out and they were
sweeping the boat towards the barque, making the spray spit from the
stem to the herculean sweep of the blades. She was a boat that was
mainly used for these errands--for putting help aboard ships which
wanted it--for taking pilots off and bringing them ashore, and the like.
So slow was the motion of the barque that she was still floating into
the bay with her anchors at the catheads, and a few heads of men along
the yards furling the lighter canvas, when the boat dashed alongside of
her. When the stranger was about a mile and a half distant from the
point of pier which I watched her from, she let go her topsail
halliards--she carried single sails--and a few minutes later her anchor
fell, and she swung slowly, with her head to the swell and the light
wind.
Scarcely was she straining to the scope of cable that had been paid out,
when the boat which had gone to her left her side. The men rowed
leisurely; one could tell by the rise and fall of the oars that their
errand had proved a disappointment, that there was nothing to be earned,
nothing to be done, neither help nor counsel wanted. I walked down to
that part of the sands where she would come ashore, but had to wait
until her crew had walked her up out of the water before I could get any
news. Our town was so dull, our habits of thought so primitive as to be
almost childlike--the bay for long spells at a time so barren of all
interests, that the arrival of a vessel, if it were not a smack or a
collier, excited the sort of curiosity among us that a new-comer raises
in a little village. A ship bringing up in the bay was something to
look at, something to speculate upon; and then, again, there was always
the expectation among the 'longshoremen of earning a few pounds out of
her.
I called to one of the crew of the boat after she had been secured high
and dry, and asked him the name of the vessel.
'The _Anine_', says he.
'What's wrong with her?' said I.
'Nothing but fear of the weather, I allow,' said he; 'she's from
Cuxhaven, bound to Party Alleggy, or some such a hole away down in the
Brazils.'
'Porto Allegre, is it?' said I.
'Ay,' he answered, 'that zounds nearer to the name that vur given to us.
She's got a general cargo aboard. The master's laid up in the cabin; the
chief mate broke un's leg off Texel, and they zent him into Partsmouth
aboard of a zmack. The chap in charge calls himself Damm. I onderstood
he'z carpenter, acting as zecond mate. But who's to follow such a lingo
as he talks?'
'He's brought up here with the master's sanction, I suppose?'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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