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
"She never spoke nor smiled," answered the captain of the brig, "but
got quietly in and sat quietly down, and kept her eyes fixed upon
the thwart that was next her's whilst the water was being lowered;
but afterwards when I got her over the side and put her into the
best cabin we could accommodate her with, she began to talk, said she
thanked God for her deliverance, and was grateful indeed to Him for
now being on her way home. And she spoke as clear and collected as I
do, and is no more mad than I am. But she did not let me into the job
whatever it was. She hasn't given me an idea as to her elopement and
the reason of her being sent aboard me, and I'm always a-wondering what
the trick is."
The _Aurora's_ boat was swept alongside the brig, and Captain Acton and
the Admiral clambered over the side up a short flight of steps, and in
an instant Lucy was clasped in the devouring embrace of her father.
Such an old-world scene taxes the highest gifts of the pen or the
brush. This _Louisa Ann_ was about fifty years old; she was nearly as
broad as she was long. Her fore-mast was stepped far in the bows; her
decks were stained and grimy; the paint had faded out of the inside of
her bulwarks. Her sails were patched and so dingy that they might have
been coloured as a smack's. Her rusty sides were lined with yawning
seams amid which three little circular windows were merged with no
accentuation from the dirt-shrouded glass which prevented the sea from
entering the blistered, worn, mani-coloured hull. Her sailors looked as
though they were shipwrecked: long-haired, bearded, sallow, in clothes
considerably tattered, in aspect melancholy and dejected with lack of
nourishment, dullness of sailing and ceaseless motion: for here was
the tub wallowing like a buoy in a popple upon a smooth sea, and the
frightful weather she would make off Cape Horn or in a gale of wind the
imagination of a sailor could readily picture by witnessing her motions
now.
On the stage of this little marine theatre the father clasped his
daughter, whilst the Admiral, with emotion damp in his eyes, looked on.
Captain Acton released his child and surveyed her, whilst the Admiral
seizing both her hands, raised them to his lips, one after the other,
mumbling in broken tones: "May God bless you! I thank God we have found
thee!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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