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
He leaned his head over the cot, straining his hearing with a nervous
fluttering of his emaciated fingers. It was miserable to see how white
the skin of his sunken cheeks showed against the whiteness of the
canvas of his cot.
'I heard nothing,' I answered.
'It was the noise of a blow,' he exclaimed. 'Pray go and see if anything
is wrong,' he added, speaking out of his habit of giving orders, and
with a peremptoriness that forced a smile from me as I went to the door.
I made my way through the house on to the deck, and looked about me, but
it was the same scene to stare at and hearken to that I had viewed
before: the same thunder and shriek of wind, the same clouding of the
forward part of the barque in foam, the same miserable dismal picture of
water flashing from bulwark to bulwark, of high green frothing seas
towering past the line of the rail as the vessel swung in a smother of
seething yeast into the trough.
I caught sight of a long hencoop abaft the structure in which the
sailors had lived, with the red gleam of a cockscomb betwixt a couple of
the bars, and guessing that the wretched inmates must, by this time, be
in sore need of food and water, I very cautiously made my way to the
coop, holding on by something at every step. The coop was, indeed, full
of poultry, but all lay drowned.
I returned to the deck-house and mounted on top of it, where I should be
able to obtain a good view of as much of the ocean as was exposed, and
where also I should be out of the wet which, on the main deck, rolled
with weight enough at times to sweep a man off his legs. The roof of the
house, if I may so term it, was above the rail, and the whole fury of
the gale swept across it. I never could have guessed at the
hurricane-force of the wind while standing on the deck beneath. It was
impossible to face it; if I glanced but one instant to windward my eyes
seemed to be blown into my head.
I had not gained that elevation above a minute when I heard a sharp
rattling aloft, and, looking upwards, I perceived that the main royal
had blown loose. For the space of a breath or two it made the rattling
noise that had called my attention to it, then the whole bladder-like
body of it was swept in a flash away from the yard, and nothing remained
but a whip or two streaming straight out like white hair from the spar.
A moment later the maintopgallantsail, that had been, no doubt, hastily
and badly furled, was blown out of the gaskets. I thought to see it go
as the royal had, but while I watched, waiting for the flight of the
rags of it down into the leeward gloom of the sky, the mast snapped off
at the cap at the instant of the sail bursting and disappearing like a
gush of mist, and down fell the whole mass of hamper to a little below
the stay, under which it madly swung, held by its gear.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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