The Green Hand: Adventures of a Naval LieutenantCupples, George
General
The Green Hand: Adventures of a Naval Lieutenant
Cupples, George
Sea stories; Seafaring life -- Juvenile fiction; Voyages and travels -- Juvenile fiction
Jack, but the calm held that night too, and blowed if the brigs would
sell another breaker--what we had we couldn't spare to the poor devils
under hatches, and the next day, why they died off like rotten sheep,
till we hove the last on 'em o'board; and frighterful enough it was,
mind ye, for to see about fifty sharks at work all round the schooner at
once, as long as it lasted.
"'Well, in the arternoon we'd just commenced squabbling aboard amongst
ourselves, round the dreg water, or whether to board one o' the brigs
and have a fair fight, when off come a bit of a breeze, betwixt the two
high peaks on Fernandy Po, both the brigs set stensails, and begins
slipping quietly off--our skipper gived orders to brace after them, and
clear away the long gun amidships; but all on a suddent we made out a
lump of a brig dropping down before it round the ileyand, which we
knowed her well enough for a Bristol craft as had lost half her hands up
the Callebar, in the gould an' iv'ry trade. Down she comed, wonderful
fast for the light breeze, if there hadn't been one o' yer currents
besides off the ileyand, till about half-a-mile away she braces up,
seemingly to sheer across it and steer clear of us. Out went our boat,
an' the skipper bids every man of her crew to shove a short cutlash
inside his trousers. Says he, "I guess we'll first speak 'em fair, but
if we don't ha' water enough, it'll be 'tarnall queer, that's all,"
says he--an' Job was a man never swore, but he _looked_ mighty _bad_
that time, I must say; so we outs oars and pulls right aboard the
trader, without answerin' ever a hail, when up the side we bundled on
deck, one arter the other, mad for a drink, and sees the master with
five or six of a crew, all as white as ghostesses, and two or three
Kroomen, besides a long-legged young feller a-sittin' and kicking his
feet over the kimpanion hatch, with a tumblerful o' grog in his fist, as
fresh to all seemin' as a fish, like a supper-cargo or some'at o' the
sort, as them craft commonly has.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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