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
She made some answer, which her emotion rendered scarcely intelligible.
Her being suddenly awakened by the shock of the collision, her alarm on
seeing what might have passed in the gloom as a tall, black mass of bow
crushing into the raft; then the swiftness of our entry into the lugger,
and the sensations which would follow on her perception of our escape
from a terrible death--all this, combined with what she had gone
through, was too much for the brave little creature; she could scarcely
whisper; and, as I have said, her hand was cold as frost, and trembled
like an aged person's, as I gently brought her to one of the thwarts.
By this time I had made out that the boat carried only three of a crew.
One of them, holding the lantern, had sprung on to the raft, and was
busy in handing up to the others whatever he could lay his hands upon.
They did not spend many minutes over this business. Indeed, I was
astonished by their despatch. The fellow on the raft worked like one who
was very used to rummaging, and, as I knew afterwards by observing what
he had taken, it was certain not a single crevice escaped him.
'That's all,' I heard him shout. 'There's naught left that I can find,
unless so be as the parties have snugged any valuables away.'
'No!' I cried, 'there are no valuables, no money--nothing but food and
drink.'
'Come aboard, Jacob, arter ye've chucked up what's loose for firewood.'
Presently the lantern flashed as it was passed across the rail, and the
figure of the man followed.
'Shove her clear!' was bawled, and shortly afterwards, 'Up foresail!'
The dark square of sail mounted, and one of the men came aft to the
helm. Nothing was said until the sheet had been hauled aft, and the
little craft was softly rippling along over the smooth folds of the
swell, communicating a sensation so buoyant, so vital after the flat
mechanical swaying and slanting of the inert raft, that the mere feeling
of it to me was as potent in virtue as some life-giving dram.
The other two men came out of the bows and seated themselves, placing
the lighted lantern in the midst of us, and so we sat staring at one
another.
'Men,' said I, 'you have rescued us from a horrible situation. I thank
you for my life, and I thank you for this lady's life.'
'How long have ye been washing about, sir?' said the man at the helm.
'Since Monday night,' said I.
'A bad job!' said he; 'but you'll have had it foine since Monday night.
Anyone perish aboard your raft?'
'One,' I answered quickly. 'And now I'll tell you my story. But first I
must ask for a drop of spirits out of one of those jars you have
transhipped. A sudden change of this sort tries a man to the soul.'
'Ay, you're right,' growled one of the others. 'I know what it is to be
plucked by the hair o' the head out of the hopen jaws of Death, and the
sort of feelings what comes arter the plucking job's o'er. Which'll be
the particler jar, sir?'
'Any one of them,' said I.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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