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
I went with Helga on deck, and instantly saw the stars shining to
windward betwixt the edges of clouds which were flying across our
mastheads with the velocity of smoke. The heaven of vapour that had hung
black and brooding over the ocean for two days was broken up; where the
sky showed it was pure, and the stars shone in it with a frosty
brilliance. The atmosphere had wonderfully cleared; the froth glanced
keenly upon the hurling shadows of the seas, and I believed I could
follow the clamorous mountainous breast of the ocean to the very throb
of the horizon, over which the clouds were pouring in loose masses,
scattering scud-like as they soared, but all so plentiful that the
heavens were thick with the flying wings.
But there was no sobering of the wind. It blew with its old dreadful
violence, and the half-smothered barque climbed and plunged and rolled
amid clouds of spray in a manner to make the eyes reel after a minute of
watching her. Yet the mere sight of the stars served as a sup of cordial
to us. We strove at the pump, and then Helga lay down; and in this
manner the hours passed till about four o'clock in the morning, when
there happened a sensible decrease in the wind. At dawn it was still
blowing hard, but long before this, had we had sailors, we should have
been able to expose canvas, and start the barque upon her course.
I stood on top of the deck-house watching the dawn break. The bleak gray
stole over the frothing sea and turned ashen the curve of every running
surge. To windward the ocean-line went twisting like a corkscrew upon
the sky and seemed to boil and wash along it as though it were the base
of some smoking wall. There was nothing in sight. I searched every
quarter with a passionate intensity, but there was nothing to be seen.
But now the sea had greatly moderated, and, though the deck still sobbed
with wet, it was only at long intervals that the foam flew forwards. The
barque looked fearfully wrecked, stranded and sodden. All her rigging
was slack, the decks were encumbered with the ends of ropes, the weather
side of the mainsail had blown loose and was fluttering in rags, though
to leeward the canvas lay furled.
I went on to the quarter deck and sounded the well. Practice had
rendered me expert, and the cast, I did not doubt, gave me the true
depth, and I felt all the blood in me rush to my heart when I beheld
such an indication of increase as was the same as hearing one's funeral
knell rung, or of a verdict of death pronounced upon one.
I entered the deck-house with my mind resolved, and seated myself at the
table over against where Helga lay sleeping upon the locker, to consider
a little before arousing her. She showed very wan, almost haggard, by
the morning light; her parted lips were pale, and she wore a restless
expression even in her sleep. It might be that my eyes being fixed upon
her face aroused her; she suddenly looked at me, and then sat up. Just
then a gleam of misty sunshine swept the little windows.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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