The Yarn of Old Harbour TownRussell, William Clark
General
The Yarn of Old Harbour Town
Russell, William Clark
English fiction -- 20th century; Historical fiction; Sea stories
With that after a long penetrating look round he went below, leaving
Mr Eagle looking as if he was asleep with his eyes open and dreaming.
Indeed, Mr Eagle's mind was so shallow that all that he could think
of or conceive was simple even to silliness. He resumed his walk to
and fro on the quarter-deck, and every time that his face was turned
forward his eyes fastened upon Thomas Pledge, who was acting second
mate besides being boatswain and carpenter, and who just now was
superintending some shipboard business that was going on in the waist.
Mr Lawrence descended the steps into the cabin, which has already been
described, with its plain sea furniture and stand of arms, and entered
the after berth which he had pretended to convert into a sick bay.
Here were two rough bunks, one on top of the other, each containing a
mattress and bolster. It was the middle berth betwixt the Captain's and
the pantry. Mr Lawrence's sea-chest, clothes, and nautical instruments
were here collected. He stepped to a shelf and took from it a tin box
containing the ship's papers, and from this box he drew out a large,
portentous, heavily-sealed envelope, whose enclosure of stout paper
rendered it somewhat thick and bulky. He looked at the address. Upon
the envelope in a bold clerkly hand was written:
"To WALTER LAWRENCE, Esquire., R.N.,
in command of Captain Acton's barque-rigged
vessel named the _Minorca_.
"Secret instructions to be read to the officers and crew of the
above said _Minorca_ by Mr Lawrence whenever the ship shall have
arrived at twenty degrees of north latitude, and about thirty
degrees of west longitude."
He looked attentively at the seals, which were impressed with the
Acton crest. He mused for a little while over this document manifestly
thinking of other things. Though his brow was knit, his handsome face
was a-work with thought. Under that knitted brow the expression of the
idea in him came and went. There never could have been a finer study
for an artist than this tall and elegant creature, slightly bowed, his
beauty lighted up so to speak by the several colours of the moods which
inspired him, and which seemed by the occasional movement of his lips
to indicate the rehearsal of a passage that was to follow. With an
impulse almost passionate as an effect of stern resolution he replaced
the tin box, walked out of the berth, and dangling a key which he had
withdrawn from his pocket, stood listening for a few moments at the
door of the berth which adjoined the one he had quitted.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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