The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century
Scarcely had we passed the heads before the land closed around us. The
shores of North Inlet were as thickly wooded as those of the southern
anchorage; but the space was longer and narrower, and more like, what in
truth it was, the estuary of a river. Right before us, at the southern
end we saw the wreck of a ship in the last stages of dilapidation. It had
been a great vessel of three masts, but had lain so long exposed to the
injuries of the weather, that it was hung about with great webs of
dripping seaweed, and on the deck of it shore bushes had taken root, and
now flourished thick with flowers. It was a sad sight, but it showed us
that the anchorage was calm.
"Now," said Hands, "look there; there's a pet bit for to beach a ship in.
Fine flat sand, never a catspaw, trees all around of it, and flowers
a-blowing like a garding on that old ship."
"And once beached," I inquired, "how shall we get her off again?"
"Why, so," he replied: "you take a line ashore there on the other side at
low water: take a turn about one o' them big pines; bring it back, take a
turn around the capstan, and lie-to for the tide. Come high water, all
hands take a pull upon the line, and off she comes as sweet as natur'.
And now, boy, you stand by. We're near the bit now, and she's too much
way on her. Starboard a little--so--steady--starboard--larboard a
little--steady--steady!"
So he issued his commands, which I breathlessly obeyed; till, all of a
sudden, he cried, "Now, my hearty, luff!" And I put the helm hard up, and
the _Hispaniola_ swung round rapidly, and ran stem on for the low-wooded
shore.
The excitement of these last manoeuvres had somewhat interfered with
the watch I had kept hitherto, sharply enough, upon the coxswain. Even
then I was still so much interested, waiting for the ship to touch, that
I had quite forgot the peril that hung over my head, and stood craning
over the starboard bulwarks and watching the ripples spreading wide
before the bows. I might have fallen without a struggle for my life, had
not a sudden disquietude seized upon me, and made me turn my head.
Perhaps I had heard a creak, or seen his shadow moving with the tail of
my eye; perhaps it was an instinct like a cat's; but, sure enough, when I
looked round, there was Hands, already half-way towards me, with the dirk
in his right hand.
We must both have cried out aloud when our eyes met; but while mine was
the shrill cry of terror, his was a roar of fury like a charging bull's.
At the same instant he threw himself forward, and I leapt sideways
towards the bows. As I did so, I left hold of the tiller, which sprang
sharp to leeward; and I think this saved my life, for it struck Hands
across the chest, and stopped him, for the moment, dead.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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