My Shipmate Louise: The Romance of a Wreck, Volume 3 (of 3)Russell, William Clark
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My Shipmate Louise: The Romance of a Wreck, Volume 3 (of 3)
Russell, William Clark
Sea stories; Shipwrecks -- Fiction
It was not till then that Lush left the deck.
This little incident was as stern a warrant of the disposition of the
crew as they could have desired to make me understand. It proved their
possession of a quality of suspicion, of a character so ungovernably
insolent and daring, that I might well believe, were it transformed into
passion by disappointment or insincerity on my part, there was no infamy
it would not render them equal to. I often wonder in recalling this time
that I should have found strength to bear up under my anxieties. The
future lay absolutely in blackness. I had some hope, some vague fancy,
rather, let me call it, of lighting upon an island, should Braine’s
prove the chimera I feared it was, that might enable me to contrive a
stratagem to effect our deliverance from this unspeakable situation. But
there was nothing in such an imagination as this to cast the faintest
light upon the gloom ahead. I would cudgel my brains in my lonely
watches at night with vehement struggles in search of any idea that
might be shaped into a method of escape. At intervals I would secretly
and warily converse with Wetherly; but he had no other proposals to make
than the souldepressing one of patience, with regular assurances,
indeed, that he would stand by me if his help could be safely ventured.
In these despairful considerations I even went to the length of fixing
my thoughts upon the boats. When we should have rounded the Horn and
entered the mild parallels of the Pacific, sparkling nights of
tranquillity were sure to descend upon us, and furnish me with an
opportunity of leaving the barque with Miss Temple; an opportunity, I
say, so far as the weather and the peace of the sea might be concerned;
but how with my single pair of hands was I to lower a boat, provide that
Miss Temple should be in her, provide also that the little fabric should
be stored with food and water, then unhook her, and slide away into the
gloom, all so privily, all so noiselessly as to elude the vigilance of
the man at the helm and of the seamen in my own watch sprawling about
the decks forward?
It was not to be done. I did not even suggest this method of deliverance
to Wetherly, feeling perfectly convinced that he would not entertain it.
And suppose I should be able to successfully get away with the girl in
this manner, how dreadful would be our outlook! with oars, indeed, but
without masts or sails, lying exposed for God alone could tell how long
a time in the heart of one of old ocean’s mightiest deserts, not
traversed then, as in these days; scarcely penetrated, indeed, save at
long times between, by such a whaler as we had passed, or by some vessel
trading to the Polynesian groups from the western South American
seaboard.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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