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
"'And no wonder!' thought I, from a Yankee schoolmaster as I had found
my late shipmate was, before he thought of travelling; but the valuable
Daniel turning his hand to help out some communication or other, no
doubt, with Napoleon Bonaparte in St Helena, took me at first as so
queer an affair, that I didn't know whether to laugh at him or admire
his Yankee coolness, when he ran such risks. As for the feasibleness of
actually getting the prisoner clear out of the island, our cruising on
guard was enough to show me it would be little short of a miracle; yet I
couldn't help thinking they meant to try it; and in case of a dark
night, which the south-easter was very likely to bring, if it shifted or
freshened a little, why, I knew you needn't call anything impossible
that a cool head and a bold heart had to do with, provided only they
could get their plans laid inside and out so as to tally. The more eager
I got for next day, when it would be easy enough for any of us to go up
inland after Lord Frederick, as far as Hut's Gate at least. Meantime,
the first lieutenant and I walked up together to where the little town
broke into a sort of suburb of fancy cottages, with verandahs and green
venetians in bungalow style, scattered to both sides of the rock amongst
little grass-plots and garden patches--every foot of ground made use of.
And a perfect gush of flowers and leaves it was, clustering over the
tiles of the low roofs, while you saw through a thicket of poplars and
plantains right into the back of the gully, with a ridge of black rock
closing it fair up, and Side Path, as they call the road to windward,
winding overhead along the crag behind the houses, out of sight round a
mass of cliffs. Every here and there, a runlet of water came trickling
down from above the trees to water their roots; you saw the mice in
hundreds scampering in and out of holes in the dry stone, with now and
then a big ugly rat that turned round to face you, being no doubt fine
game to the St Helena people, ill off as they all seemed for something
to do--except the Chinese with their huge hats, hoeing away under almost
every tree one saw, and the Yamstock fishermen to be seen bobbing for
mullet outside the ships, in a blaze of light sufficient to bake any
heads but their own. Every cottage had seven or eight parrots in it,
apparently; a cockatoo on a stand by the door, or a monkey up in a
box--not to speak of canaries in the window, and white goats feeding
about with bells round their necks: so you may suppose what a jabbering,
screaming, whistling, and tinkling there was up the whole hollow, added
to no end of children and young ladies making the most of the shade as
it got near nightfall--and all that were out of doors came flocking down
Side Path.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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