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
Mr Lawrence made a step and quickly picked up the knife and drew back
again, conscious that the fixed gaze will often awake a slumberer even
from deep repose. He stood close to the door viewing this picture of
a sleeping girl in a ship's little cabin irradiated by a dim light,
whose motions, with the rolling and the pitching of the ship, filled
the darkling interior with a hundred dancing spectres. His marine
ear would take no heed of the voices of the ship in that cabin, the
groans and murmurs, the low whistlings and rusty strainings. This was
a concert which his seasoned sense of hearing must miss or overlook in
his perception of the picture he viewed.
He gazed at the sleeping figure for two or three minutes and then
left, again locking the door. He entered his own cabin and stretched
his form along the lower bunk; but used as he was to sleep well in an
hour betwixt one scene of slaughter, of belching broadsides, of fierce
and murderous boarding and another scene scarred by the cannon flame,
terrible with its thunder of guns whose muzzles yawned close to the
muzzles of the foe, slumber was not to be his.
Was it possible that Lucy's situation had driven her out of her mind?
Her behaviour throughout the day had been extraordinary. Features of
character had appeared in her in the extravagance of her moods and
humours which he never could have conceived would, though latent and
demanding the summons of insanity to become visible, have formed a part
of her nature. She, the gentle, the sweet, the refined, the tender, the
sympathetic had exhibited even coarseness. Could she be mad, and yet
slumber so soundly? How do the insane sleep?
He contrasted her wretched bed on that cabin floor with her home
bedchamber which he figured--he had never entered it; a room
sweet-scented with the flowers of the creepers at the windows, white
and fair in the apparel of a girl's bower of rest, elegant in its
equipment as were all the rooms of the home of the Actons.
He loved her passionately, even to madness, and must win her. But he
never would have sought to win her at the price of her reason, had he
foreseen the blow his stratagem must deal her. He must turn robber to
rescue himself from a life-term of imprisonment as a debtor, and he
could not steal his friend's ship without stealing his daughter too,
because he knew that his act of piracy would as effectually end all
chance of his possessing her as a wife as though she lay as dead as
Juliet in her tomb.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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