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
"Suddenly the fog began to clear by degrees from over Longwood, till it
was fairly before me, nearer than I thought; and just as I rode up a
rising ground, out came the roof of a house on the slope amongst some
trees, glittering wet as if the sun laid a finger on it; with a low
bluish-coloured stretch of wood farther off, bringing out the white
tents of the soldiers' camp pitched about the edge of it. Nearly to
windward there was one sail in sight on the horizon, over an opening in
the rocks beyond Longwood House, that seemingly let down toward the
coast; however, I just glanced back to notice the telegraph on the
signal-post at work, signalling to the _Podargus_ in the offing, and
next minute Hut's Gate was right ahead of me, not a quarter of a mile
off--a long-shaped bungalow of a cottage, inside of a wall with a gate
in it, where I knew I needn't try farther, unless I wanted the sentries
to take me under arrest. Betwixt me and it, however, in the low ground,
was a party of man-o'war's-men under charge of a midshipman, carrying
some timber and house-furniture for Longwood, as I remembered, from
seeing them come ashore from the _Podargus_ that morning; so I stood
over to give my late shipmates a hail. But the moment I got up with
them, it struck me not a little, as things stood, to find three of the
four blacks we had taken aboard from that said burnt barque of the
American mate's trudging patiently enough under the heaviest loads of
the gang. Jetty-black, savage-looking fellows they were, as strong as
horses, and reminded me more of our wild friends in the Nouries River,
than of States niggers; still, what caught my notice most wasn't so much
their being there at all, as the want of the fourth one, and where _he_
might be. I don't know yet how this trifling bit of a puzzle got hold on
me, but it was the sole thing that kept me from what might have turned a
scrape to myself--namely, passing myself in as officer of the party;
which was easy enough at the time, and the tars would have entered into
the frolic as soon as I started it. On second thoughts, nevertheless, I
bade them good-day, steering my animal away round the slant of the
ground, to see after a good perch as near as possible; and I daresay I
was getting within the bounds before I knew it when another sentry sung
out to me off the heights to keep lower down, first bringing his musket
to salute for my uniform's sake, then letting it fall level with a
ringing slap of his palm, as much as to say it was all the distinction
I'd get over plain clothes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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