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
"It wasn't an hour before we could see the very waves splashing up under
her black weather-side, and over her high bows, as she slanted right
through it and rose to windward again, standing up to cross our
course--a fine frigate-built Indiaman, sharper stemmed than her kind in
ordinary, and square in her spread; one yard-arm just looking over the
other as they ranged aloft, and all signs of a weatherly craft. 'That's
the _Duke o' Bedford_!' said a sailor at the braces to his companions,
'all oak planks, and not a splinter of teak in _her_! No chance!' Out
flew the British colours from her mizzen-peak, and next the Company's
striped ensign at her fore-royal mast-head, as a signal to speak.
However, the _Seringapatam_ only answered by showing her colours, and
held on. All of a sudden the other Indiaman was seen slowly falling off
before the wind, as if in scorn at such rude manners, and sure of
passing us if she chose. For a moment the red sunset glanced through
betwixt all three of her masts, every rope as fine as wire! then the
canvas swung broad against it, blood-red from the sun, and she showed us
her quarter-gallery, with a glimpse of her stern-windows glittering--you
even made out the crowd of passengers and soldiers on her poop, and a
man or two going up her rigging. The sea beyond her lay as blue as blue
could be, what with the crimson streak that came zigzag on both sides of
her shadow, and gleamed along the smooth troughs, taking a crest or two
to dance on by the way; and what with the rough of it near hand, where
the tops of the dark waves ran hither and thither in broad white flakes,
we surging heavily over them.
"In a few minutes more the sun was not only down, but the clouds banked
up to westward of a deep purple; and almost at once you saw nothing of
the other ship except when a stray streak somehow or other caught her
rising, or her mast-heads came across a pale line in the clouds. The
breeze got pleasanter as the night went on, and the _Seringapatam_
rattled away in fine style, careening to it by herself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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