The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06Stevenson, Robert Louis
General
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century
I had scarce gained a position on the bowsprit, when the flying jib
flapped and filled upon the other tack, with a report like a gun. The
schooner trembled to her keel under the reverse; but next moment, the
other sails still drawing, the jib flapped back again, and hung idle.
This had nearly tossed me off into the sea; and now I lost no time,
crawled back along the bowsprit, and tumbled head-foremost on the deck.
I was on the lee side of the forecastle, and the main-sail, which was
still drawing, concealed from me a certain portion of the after-deck. Not
a soul was to be seen. The planks, which had not been swabbed since the
mutiny, bore the print of many feet; and an empty bottle, broken by the
neck, tumbled to and fro like a live thing in the scuppers.
Suddenly the _Hispaniola_ came right into the wind. The jibs behind me
cracked aloud; the rudder slammed-to; the whole ship gave a sickening
heave and shudder, and at the same moment the main-boom swung inboard,
the sheet groaning in the blocks, and showed me the lee after-deck.
There were the two watchmen, sure enough: red-cap on his back, as stiff
as a handspike, with his arms stretched out like those of a crucifix, and
his teeth showing through his open lips; Israel Hands propped against the
bulwarks, his chin on his chest, his hands lying open before him on the
deck, his face as white, under its tan, as a tallow-candle.
For a while the ship kept bucking and sidling like a vicious horse, the
sails filling, now on one tack, now on another, and the boom swinging to
and fro till the mast groaned aloud under the strain. Now and again, too,
there would come a cloud of light sprays over the bulwark, and a heavy
blow of the ship's bows against the swell: so much heavier weather was
made of it by this great rigged ship than by my home-made, lop-sided
coracle, now gone to the bottom of the sea.
At every jump of the schooner, red-cap slipped to and fro; but--what was
ghastly to behold--neither his attitude nor his fixed teeth-disclosing
grin was anyway disturbed by this rough usage. At every jump, too, Hands
appeared still more to sink into himself and settle down upon the deck,
his feet sliding ever the farther out, and the whole body canting towards
the stern, so that his face became, little by little, hid from me; and at
last I could see nothing beyond his ear and the frayed ringlet of one
whisker.
At the same time, I observed, around both of them, splashes of dark blood
upon the planks, and began to feel sure that they had killed each other
in their drunken wrath.
While I was thus looking and wondering, in a calm moment, when the ship
was still, Israel Hands turned partly round, and, with a low moan,
writhed himself back to the position in which I had seen him first. The
moan, which told of pain and deadly weakness, and the way in which his
jaw hung open, went right to my heart. But when I remembered the talk I
had overheard from the apple-barrel, all pity left me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account