The Mate of the Good Ship York; Or, The Ship's AdventureRussell, William Clark
General
The Mate of the Good Ship York; Or, The Ship's Adventure
Russell, William Clark
English fiction -- 20th century; Sea stories
The boatswain drank first. And again and again and again the measure
was filled until all hands of the sailors, saving the man at the wheel,
had swallowed the fiery draught, many with a smack and a smile of
relish. Then the wheel was relieved, and another bumper was swallowed
with a "Many 'appy returns of the day, sir."
"Drink," said the captain to the attendant, and the man drained a full
dose.
"Sweeten the measure for the two mates," said the captain.
This was quickly done. And then Hardy drank and then Candy, for both
had the throats of the sea, which seem lined with brass when 'tis ten
per cent. above proof. "Your health, sir"--and--"your health, sir," and
the mates took it down.
"Now, Miss Armstrong, you will drink my health," said the captain, and
with the gallantry of an old beau he took her by the hand and led her
into the cabin. She glanced at Hardy with a smile before she vanished.
The men scattered as they went forward to get their dinner. The captain
took a wine-glass from a rack, and a bottle from a locker, and filled
the glass with red wine.
"Drink to me and to the boy I am seeking, and then tell me where he
is," he exclaimed as he extended the glass. She took it, and said with
forced cheerfulness to humour him:
"Your health, Captain Layard, and many happy returns of this day, and
my heart's gratitude to you for your kindness to me. And God will some
day show you where your child is."
She drank half the contents of the glass. His eyes sparkled, and his
face was grotesque with the workings of his dreadful exultation.
"Oh, you must drain it--you must drain it, Miss Armstrong, or it'll be
bad luck and no pledge."
She drank the glass empty, and put it down upon the table. He gazed at
her with extraordinary intentness as though he listened to hear her
words, then swiftly entered his cabin, closed and bolted the door, and
pulling out a loaded revolver from under the pillow in his bunk, seated
himself, and with the weapon upon his knee in his grasp sat hearkening,
with his eyes fastened upon the door.
The time slowly passed and still he continued to sit, grasping the
pistol upon his knee, with his eyes of madness fixed upon the door.
His face was now revolting with its look of burning expectation and
triumph. Suddenly a stream of sunshine moved slowly, like a spoke of a
softly revolving wheel, over the carpeted deck of the captain's cabin,
and any one might have known by the motions of the ship that she was
not under command. You heard faint, vague sounds of trampling above, a
dim noise as of a sick crowd poisoned by vapour and feebly struggling
to escape, and in the midst of it the captain's door was struck: the
blow was languid and repeated three or four times only, and no noise
attended it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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