Adventure stories; Fiction; Mystery fiction; Short stories
My reception on board the _Nemorosa_ (for so the yacht was named) partook
of the same mingled nature. We were scarcely within hail of that great
and elegant fabric, where she lay rolling gunwale under and churning the
blue sea to snow, before the bulwarks were lined with the heads of a
great crowd of seamen, black, white, and yellow; and these and the few
who manned the boat began exchanging shouts in some _lingua franca_
incomprehensible to me. All eyes were directed on the passenger; and
once more I saw the negroes toss up their hands to heaven, but now as if
with passionate wonder and delight.
At the head of the gangway, I was received by another officer, a
gentlemanly man with blond and bushy whiskers; and to him I addressed my
demand to see Sir George.
‘But this is not—’ he cried, and paused.
‘I know it,’ returned the other officer, who had brought me from the
shore. ‘But what the devil can we do? Look at all the niggers!’
I followed his direction; and as my eye lighted upon each, the poor
ignorant Africans ducked, and bowed, and threw their hands into the air,
as though in the presence of a creature half divine. Apparently the
officer with the whiskers had instantly come round to the opinion of his
subaltern; for he now addressed me with every signal of respect.
‘Sir George is at the island, my lady,’ said he: ‘for which, with your
ladyship’s permission, I shall immediately make all sail. The cabins are
prepared. Steward, take Lady Greville below.’
Under this new name, then, and so captivated by surprise that I could
neither think nor speak, I was ushered into a spacious and airy cabin,
hung about with weapons and surrounded by divans. The steward asked for
my commands; but I was by this time so wearied, bewildered, and
disturbed, that I could only wave him to leave me to myself, and sink
upon a pile of cushions. Presently, by the changed motion of the ship, I
knew her to be under way; my thoughts, so far from clarifying, grew the
more distracted and confused; dreams began to mingle and confound them;
and at length, by insensible transition, I sank into a dreamless slumber.
When I awoke, the day and night had passed, and it was once more morning.
The world on which I reopened my eyes swam strangely up and down; the
jewels in the bag that lay beside me chinked together ceaselessly; the
clock and the barometer wagged to and fro like pendulums; and overhead,
seamen were singing out at their work, and coils of rope clattering and
thumping on the deck. Yet it was long before I had divined that I was at
sea; long before I had recalled, one after another, the tragical,
mysterious, and inexplicable events that had brought me where was.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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