The Captain of the Polestar, and Other TalesDoyle, Arthur Conan
General
The Captain of the Polestar, and Other Tales
Doyle, Arthur Conan
Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Short stories, English
After supper he went on to the poop once more, and I with him. The night
was dark and very still, save for the melancholy soughing of the wind
among the spars. A thick cloud was coming up from the north-west, and the
ragged tentacles which it threw out in front of it were drifting across
the face of the moon, which only shone now and again through a rift in
the wrack. The Captain paced rapidly backwards and forwards, and then
seeing me still dogging him, he came across and hinted that he thought
I should be better below--which, I need hardly say, had the effect of
strengthening my resolution to remain on deck.
I think he forgot about my presence after this, for he stood silently
leaning over the taffrail, and peering out across the great desert of
snow, part of which lay in shadow, while part glittered mistily in
the moonlight. Several times I could see by his movements that he was
referring to his watch, and once he muttered a short sentence, of which
I could only catch the one word “ready.” I confess to having felt an
eerie feeling creeping over me as I watched the loom of his tall figure
through the darkness, and noted how completely he fulfilled the idea of
a man who is keeping a tryst. A tryst with whom? Some vague perception
began to dawn upon me as I pieced one fact with another, but I was
utterly unprepared for the sequel.
By the sudden intensity of his attitude I felt that he saw something.
I crept up behind him. He was staring with an eager questioning gaze
at what seemed to be a wreath of mist, blown swiftly in a line with
the ship. It was a dim, nebulous body, devoid of shape, sometimes more,
sometimes less apparent, as the light fell on it. The moon was dimmed
in its brilliancy at the moment by a canopy of thinnest cloud, like the
coating of an anemone.
“Coming, lass, coming,” cried the skipper, in a voice of unfathomable
tenderness and compassion, like one who soothes a beloved one by some
favour long looked for, and as pleasant to bestow as to receive.
What followed happened in an instant. I had no power to interfere.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account