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
"As the tide steadied, this said creek proved to be a smaller river,
apparently from the hilly country I had noticed beyond the woods, by the
clearness of its current, that showed the pale yellow reflection of the
close bamboo-brake on one side, deep down into the light--the huge,
sharp, green notched aloe-leaves and fern showing here and there out of
it--the close, rank, stifling smell of rotten weeds and fungi giving
place to the strange wild scent of the flowers, trailing and twisting in
thick snaky coils up the stems on our opposite hand, and across from
branch to branch, with showers of crimson and pink blossoms and white
stars; still, eager as the ladies were to put foot on land, 'twas no use
looking as yet for a spot of room, let alone going farther in.
"The cadets were not long in being blown, either; when the midshipman,
the bowman, and I, had to relieve them. However, _then_ I could look
straight toward Violet Hyde's face, the shade of the scarlet punkah
hanging over it, and her soft little straight nose and forehead catching
a flickering burst from the leaves as we sheered at times under cover of
the bank; while her eyelids, drooping from the glare, gave her bright
eyes a half-sleepy sort of violet look, and it was only her lips that
let you see how excited she felt. The griffin who had the tiller
steering with the judgment of a tailor's 'prentice on a picnic to
Twickenham, we came two or three times crash into the twigs of some
half-sunk tree; then a blue bird like a heron would rise direct ahead of
us, with its tall wet spindle legs and spurs glistening like steel
behind it into the light, and a young snake in its sharp bill; or a grey
crane rustled out of the cane from overhead, its long wings creaking in
the air out of sight. Suddenly, you heard a long chirruping croak from a
tree-frog, and the ground ones gave full chorus from farther in, whining
and cackling and peep-peep-peeping in one complete rush that died as
suddenly away again, like thousands of young turkeys. Then out in the
midst of the quiet would come a loud clear wheetle-wheetling note from
some curious fowl in an opening, with another of the same to match,
dimmer amongst the thick of the bush. However, everything of the kind
seemed to sink down with the heat at noon, the very buzz of flies round
every dark feather of the cocoas, and the mosquito-hum along the bank,
getting fainter; till one _heard_ the heat, as it were, creeping and
thrilling down through the woods, with the green light that steeped into
both edges of the long creek; every reed, cane, leaf, and twig,
seemingly, at last giving it back again with a whispering, hushing
crackle, and the broad fans of the palms tingling in it with rays from
them, as they trembled before you in the glare, back into the high
bundles of knotted and jointed bamboo, with their spiky-tufted crowns.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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