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 handed her up the last of the jars, and grasped the coaming of the
hatch to clamber on to the deck, for the cargo came high. As I did this,
something seemed to touch and claw me upon the back, and a huge black
rat of the size of a kitten leapt from my shoulder on to the deck and
vanished in a breath. Helga screamed, and indeed, for the moment, my own
nerves were not a little shaken, for I distinctly felt the wire-like
whisker of the horrible creature brush my cheek as it sprang from my
shoulder.
'If there be truth in the proverb,' said I, 'we need no surer hint of
what is coming than the behaviour of that rat.'
The girl shuddered, and gazed, with eyes bright with alarm, into the
hold, recoiling as she did so. I believe the prospect of drifting about
on a raft was less terrible to her than the idea of a second rat leaping
upon one or the other of us.
CHAPTER VIII.
ADRIFT.
It was necessary that we should have everything in readiness before we
carried poor Captain Nielsen out of his cabin. I unshipped the gangway,
and watching an opportunity as the swell lifted the raft against the
side of the barque stooping to it, I sprang; but I could not have
imagined the weight and volume of the swell until I had gained the frail
platform. Indeed, one could feel that the wrath kindled by the tempest
still lived in the deep bosom of the ocean. It was like a stern,
revengeful breathing; but the wind was light, and the water but
delicately brushed, and it was easy to foresee that if no more wind blew
the swell would have greatly flattened down by sunset. Yet the manner in
which the hull and the raft came together terrified me with a notion of
our contrivance going to pieces. I called to Helga, as she threw to me
or handed the several parcels and articles we had collected upon the
deck, that there was not a moment of time to waste--that we must get her
father on to the raft without delay; and then, when I had hastily stowed
the last of the things, I sprang aboard again, and was going straight to
the Captain's berth, when I suddenly stopped, and exclaimed: 'First, how
is he to be removed?'
She eyed me piteously. Perhaps her seamanship did not reach to _that_
height; or maybe her fear that we should cause her father pain impaired
her perception of what was to be done.
'Let me think, now,' said I. 'It is certain that he must be lowered to
the deck as he lies in his cot. Does he swing by hooks? I did not
observe.'
'Yes,' she answered, 'what you would call the clews come together to a
point as in a hammock, and spread at the foot and head.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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