Dogs -- Fiction; Great Britain. Royal Navy -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Seafaring life -- Fiction
But the corporal's miseries were to be prolonged; the flood-time of
water was now spent, and the ebb commenced flowing against the wind and
sea. This created what is called boiling water, that is, a contest
between the wind forcing the waves one way, and the tide checking them
the other, which makes the waves to lose their run, and they rise, and
dance, and bubble into points. The consequence was, that the boat, as
she was borne down by the tide against them, shipped a sea every moment,
which the wind threw against the carcass of the corporal, who was now
quite exhausted with more than four hours' exposure to a wintry night,
the temperature being nearly down to zero. All the corporal's stoicism
was gone; he talked wildly, crouched and gibbered in his fear, when he
was suddenly roused by a heavy shock. He raised his head, which had sunk
upon his chest, and beheld something close to him, and to the gunnel of
the boat. It was a thin, tall figure, holding out his two arms at right
angles, and apparently stooping over him. It was just in the position
that Smallbones lay on the forecastle of the cutter on that day morning,
when he was about to keel-haul him, and the corporal, in his state of
mental and bodily depression, was certain that it was the ghost of the
poor lad whom he had so often tortured. Terror raised his hair
erect--his mouth was wide open--he could not speak--he tried to analyse
it, but a wave dashed in his face--his eyes and mouth were filled with
salt water, and the corporal threw himself down on the thwarts of the
boat, quite regardless whether it went to the bottom or not; there he
lay, half groaning, half praying, with his hands to his eyes, and his
huge nether proportion raised in the air, every limb trembling with
blended cold and fright. One hour more, and there would have been
nothing but corporal parts of Corporal Spitter.
The reason why the last movement of the corporal did not swamp the boat,
was simply that it was aground on one of the flats; and the figure which
had alarmed the conscience-stricken corporal, was nothing more than the
outside beacon of a weir for catching fish, being a thin post with a
cross bar to it, certainly not unlike Smallbones in figure, supposing
him to have put his arms in that position.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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