My Shipmate Louise: The Romance of a Wreck, Volume 3 (of 3)Russell, William Clark
General
My Shipmate Louise: The Romance of a Wreck, Volume 3 (of 3)
Russell, William Clark
Sea stories; Shipwrecks -- Fiction
At half-past twelve by my watch, which the starlight enabled me to read,
the man who had first entered the boat came out of it, and was replaced
by another, whose figure I followed with my sight as he passed across
the beach and disappeared in the little structure. For another hour I
continued to watch, to wait, to hearken with every sense in me strained
to its acutest limit; during which time the island continued sunk in the
profoundest stillness of this midnight, saving always the noise of the
rippling of waters and of the breezy stirring of the bushes. Then with a
few words of appeal to God for courage and support, I started to crawl
round past the spot where the men were sleeping, that I might arrive at
the beach under cover of the tall grass, which would hinder them from
observing my form as I approached the tree to which the boat’s line was
secured.
The soil ran in a sandy trail through the bushes hereabouts, and I got
along pretty nimbly, crawling noiselessly, feeling ready to burst at
times, owing to the almost unconscious holding of my breath, forced upon
me by my apprehension lest I should be observed or overheard. Presently,
coming to the trees at whose base the men had dug, I stood up, not
fearing detection here, and very rapidly gained the growth of bushes
which darkened a space of land to the north, betwixt the place where the
men lay and the broad shelf of white beach where, as the fellows had
supposed, the Spanish brigantine had driven ashore. I now dropped on my
knees and hands again, and in this posture skirted the high herbage that
grew down to where the coral grit provided no soil for such vegetation,
until I came to the tree, close up against which I rose, that my shape
might appear as a part of the trunk. Then, with an eager, trembling
hand, I cast the line adrift, and sinking again on my knees and hands,
crawled upon the dark surface of the verdure to where it went nearest to
the northern horn of the lagoon, where, still crouching, I remained for
a little space watching.
In a few minutes the liberated boat, feeling the action of the wind,
slowly floated off.
At every instant I was prepared to hear a shout from the shore or from
the fellow who was supposed to be at watch in the boat. Yet it soon grew
plain that my utmost hopes were to be confirmed by the heavy
rum-influenced slumber that had overtaken the watchman, and that lay in
lead upon the closed lids of the wearied sailors upon the grass. My
heart was loud in my ears as I crouched watching. Presently the boat had
slipped to some considerable distance from the shore, and was sliding
seawards out to the wide yawn of the lagoon broadside to the ripples and
the breeze. Then, pulling off my coat and waistcoat, and shoes and
smallclothes, I crawled down on to the clear gleam of the beach, waded
into the water, and struck out for the barque.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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