The North Pacific: A Story of the Russo-Japanese WarAllen, Willis Boyd
History
The North Pacific: A Story of the Russo-Japanese War
Allen, Willis Boyd
Russo-Japanese War, 1904-1905 -- Fiction
The boat pulled up to the leeward side of the ship--the engines having
been stopped--and a line was thrown to her. This was deftly caught by
the bow oarsman and a turn taken around the forward thwart. The boat, by
means of this line and skilful management of the steering oar in the
hands of the coxswain, was sheered in under her falls, which had
already been overhauled down so that the lower blocks were within easy
reach of the men in the boat. The ship in the meantime was forging
slowly ahead. A line was thrown from her stern to a man in the stern of
the boat, who took a turn and held on, to keep the boat from swinging
violently forward when she should leave the water.
The falls were now hooked on, having been previously manned on deck by a
long row of men reaching half the length of the ship, ready to run the
boat up quickly, at the order.
"Haul taut!" commanded Liddon, who was standing on the ship's rail,
watching affairs. "Hoist away!"
Up came the boat, crew and all, to the davits. The men clambered out
and, with some difficulty, passed down the dog, who seemed disinclined
for further adventures.
"Full speed ahead!" jingled the engine-room bell, at Staples's command,
and the _Osprey_, brought to her old course, once more started for
Chemulpo.
The dog, a big, shaggy Newfoundland, soon regained his composure, and
wagged his way along the deck with the greatest good-humour.
"He's a fine fellow, anyway," said Dave, patting the broad head. "I'm
glad we hove to for him."
"What's this written on his collar," queried Liddon, taking the wet
leather band in his hands and turning it, so as to read some rude
characters apparently scratched with the point of a knife.
Dave glanced down carelessly, then sprang up the steps to the bridge.
"Starboard, Quartermaster," he ordered in sharp, quick tones. "Mr.
Staples, head her dead for that junk!"
Liddon was already by his side. After the first instant he did not
wonder at the commander's sudden change of course. He, too, had read the
two words, scrawled on the dripping leather collar.
"_Shanghaied--Scupp._"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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