Captains Courageous by Rudyard Kipling (e manga reader .txt) đ
- Author: Rudyard Kipling
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âClang! clang! clang!â Harvey kept it up, varied with occasional rub-a-dubs, for another half-hour. There was a bellow and a bump alongside. Manuel and Dan raced to the hooks of the dory-tackle; Long Jack and Tom Platt arrived on deck together, it seemed, one half the North Atlantic at their backs, and the dory followed them in the air, landing with a clatter.
âNary snarl,â said Tom Platt as he dripped. âDanny, youâll do yet.â
âThe pleasure av your compâny to the banquit,â said Long Jack, squelching the water from his boots as he capered like an elephant and stuck an oil-skinned arm into Harveyâs face. âWe do be condescending to honour the second half wid our presence.â And off they all four rolled to supper, where Harvey stuffed himself to the brim on fish-chowder and fried pies, and fell fast asleep just as Manuel produced from a locker a lovely two-foot model of the Lucy Holmes, his first boat, and was going to show Harvey the ropes. Harvey never even twiddled his fingers as Penn pushed him into his bunk.
âIt must be a sad thingâa very sad thing,â said Penn, watching the boyâs face, âfor his mother and his father, who think he is dead. To lose a childâto lose a man-child!â
âGit out oâ this, Penn,â said Dan. âGo aft and finish your game with Uncle Salters. Tell Dad Iâll stand Harveâs watch ef he donât keer. Heâs played aout.â
âVerâ good boy,â said Manuel, slipping out of his boots and disappearing into the black shadows of the lower bunk. âExpecâ he make good man, Danny. I no see he is any so mad as your parpa he says. Eh, wha-at?â
Dan chuckled, but the chuckle ended in a snore.
It was thick weather outside, with a rising wind, and the elder men stretched their watches. The hour struck clear in the cabin; the nosing bows slapped and scuffed with the seas; the focâsle stovepipe hissed and sputtered as the spray caught it; and the boys slept on, while Disko, Long Jack, Tom Platt, and Uncle Salters, each in turn, stumped aft to look at the wheel, forward to see that the anchor held, or to veer out a little more cable against chafing, with a glance at the dim anchor-light between each round.
Harvey waked to find the âfirst halfâ at breakfast, the focâsle door drawn to a crack, and every square inch of the schooner singing its own tune. The black bulk of the cook balanced behind the tiny galley over the glare of the stove, and the pots and pans in the pierced wooden board before it jarred and racketed to each plunge. Up and up the focâsle climbed, yearning and surging and quivering, and then, with a clear, sickle-like swoop, came down into the seas. He could hear the flaring bows cut and squelch, and there was a pause ere the divided waters came down on the deck above, like a volley of buckshot. Followed the woolly sound of the cable in the hawse-hole; and a grunt and squeal of the windlass; a yaw, a punt, and a kick, and the âWeâre Hereâ gathered herself together to repeat the motions.
âNow, ashore,â he heard Long Jack saying, âyeâve chores, anâ ye must do thim in any weather. Here weâre well clear of the fleet, anâ weâve no choresâanâ thatâs a blessinâ. Good night, all.â He passed like a big snake from the table to his bunk, and began to smoke. Tom Platt followed his example; Uncle Salters, with Penn, fought his way up the ladder to stand his watch, and the cook set for the âsecond half.â
It came out of its bunks as the others had entered theirs, with a shake and a yawn. It ate till it could eat no more; and then Manuel filled his pipe with some terrible tobacco, crotched himself between the pawl-post and a forward bunk, cocked his feet up on the table, and smiled tender and indolent smiles at the smoke. Dan lay at length in his bunk, wrestling with a gaudy, gilt-stopped accordion, whose tunes went up and down with the pitching of the âWeâre Hereâ. The cook, his shoulders against the locker where he kept the fried pies (Dan was fond of fried pies), peeled potatoes, with one eye on the stove in event of too much water finding its way down the pipe; and the general smell and smother were past all description.
Harvey considered affairs, wondered that he was not deathly sick, and crawled into his bunk again, as the softest and safest place, while Dan struck up, âI donât want to play in your yard,â as accurately as the wild jerks allowed.
âHow long is this for?â Harvey asked of Manuel.
âTill she get a little quiet, and we can row to trawl. Perhaps to-night. Perhaps two days more. You do not like? Eh, wha-at?â
âI should have been crazy sick a week ago, but it doesnât seem to upset me nowâmuch.â
âThat is because we make you fisherman, these days. If I was you, when I come to Gloucester I would give two, three big candles for my good luck.â
âGive who?â
âTo be sureâthe Virgin of our Church on the Hill. She is very good to fishermen all the time. That is why so few of us Portugee men ever are drowned.â
âYouâre a Roman Catholic, then?â
âI am a Madeira man. I am not a Porto Pico boy. Shall I be Baptist, then? Eh, wha-at? I always give candlesâtwo, three more when I come to Gloucester. The good Virgin she never forgets me, Manuel.â
âI donât sense it that way,â Tom Platt put in from his bunk, his scarred face lit up by the glare of a match as he sucked at his pipe. âIt stands to reason the seaâs the sea; and youâll get jest about whatâs goinâ, candles or kerosene, fer that matter.â
ââTis a mighty good thing,â said Long Jack, âto have a friend at coort, though. Iâm oâ Manuelâs way oâ thinkinâ About tin years back I was crew to a Souâ Boston market-boat. We was off Minotâs Ledge wid a northeaster, butt first, atop of us, thickerân burgoo. The ould man was dhrunk, his chin wagginâ on the tiller, anâ I sez to myself, âIf iver I stick my boat-huk into T-wharf again, Iâll show the saints fwhat manner oâ craft they saved me out av.â Now, Iâm here, as ye can well see, anâ the model of the dhirty ould Kathleen, that took me a month to make, I gave ut to the priest, anâ he hung ut up forninst the altar. Thereâs more sense in givinâ a model thatâs by way oâ beinâ a work av art than any candle. Ye can buy candles at store, but a model shows the good saints yeâve tuk trouble anâ are grateful.â
âDâyou believe that, Irish?â said Tom Platt, turning on his elbow.
âWould I do ut if I did not, Ohio?â
âWa-al, Enoch Fuller he made a model oâ the old Ohio, and sheâs to Calem museum now. Mighty pretty model, too, but I guess Enoch he never done it fer no sacrifice; anâ the way I take it isââ
There were the makings of an hour-long discussion of the kind that fishermen love, where the talk runs in shouting circles and no one proves anything at the end, had not Dan struck up this cheerful rhyme:
âUp jumped the mackerel with his stripeâd back. Reef in the mainsail, and haul on the tack; For itâs windy weatherââ
Here Long Jack joined in:
And itâs blowy weather; When the winds begin to blow, pipe all hands together!â
Dan went on, with a cautious look at Tom Platt, holding the accordion low in the bunk:
âUp jumped the cod with his chuckle-head, Went to the main-chains to heave at the lead; For itâs windy weather,â etc.
Tom Platt seemed to be hunting for something. Dan crouched lower, but sang louder:
âUp jumped the flounder that swims to the ground. Chuckle-head! Chuckle-head! Mind where ye sound!â
Tom Plattâs huge rubber boot whirled across the focâsle and caught Danâs uplifted arm. There was war between the man and the boy ever since Dan had discovered that the mere whistling of that tune would make him angry as he heaved the lead.
âThought Iâd fetch yer,â said Dan, returning the gift with precision. âEf you donât like my music, git out your fiddle. I ainât goinâ to lie here all day anâ listen to you anâ Long Jack arguinâ âbaout candles. Fiddle, Tom Platt; or Iâll learn Harve here the tune!â
Tom Platt leaned down to a locker and brought up an old white fiddle. Manuelâs eye glistened, and from somewhere behind the pawl-post he drew out a tiny, guitar-like thing with wire strings, which he called a machette.
ââTis a concert,â said Long Jack, beaming through the smoke. âA regâlar Boston concert.â
There was a burst of spray as the hatch opened, and Disko, in yellow oilskins, descended.
âYeâre just in time, Disko. Fwhatâs she doinâ outside?â
âJest this!â He dropped on to the lockers with the push and heave of the âWeâre Hereâ.
âWeâre singinâ to kape our breakfasts down. Yeâll lead, av course, Disko,â said Long Jack.
âGuess there ainât moreân âbaout two old songs I know, anâ yeâve heerd them both.â
His excuses were cut short by Tom Platt launching into a most dolorous tune, like unto the moaning of winds and the creaking of masts. With his eyes fixed on the beams above, Disko began this ancient, ancient ditty, Tom Platt flourishing all round him to make the tune and words fit a little:
âThere is a crack packetâcrack packet oâ fame, She hails from Noo York, anâ the Dreadnoughtâs her name.
You may talk oâ your fliersâSwallowtail and Black Ballâ But the Dreadnoughtâs the packet that can beat them all.
âNow the Dreadnought she lies in the River Mersey, Because of the tug-boat to take her to sea;
But when sheâs off soundings you shortly will know
(Chorus.)
Sheâs the Liverpool packetâ Lord, let her go!
âNow the Dreadnought sheâs howlinâ crost the Banks oâNewfoundland, Where the waterâs all shallow and the bottomâs all sand. Sez all the little fishes that swim to and fro:
(Chorus.)
âSheâs the Liverpool packetâ Lord, let her go!ââ,
There were scores of verses, for he worked the Dreadnought every mile of the way between Liverpool and New York as conscientiously as though he were on her deck, and the accordion pumped and the fiddle squeaked beside him. Tom Platt followed with something about âthe rough and tough McGinn, who would pilot the vessel in.â Then they called on Harvey, who felt very flattered, to contribute to the entertainment; but all that he could remember were some pieces of âSkipper Iresonâs Rideâ that he had been taught at the camp-school in the Adirondacks. It seemed that they might be appropriate to the time and place, but he had no more than mentioned the title when Disko brought down one foot with a bang, and cried, âDonât go on, young feller. Thatâs a mistaken jedgmentâone oâ the worst kind, too, becaze itâs catchinâ to the ear.â
âI orter haâ warned you,â said Dan. âThet allus fetches Dad.â
âWhatâs wrong?â said Harvey, surprised and a little angry.
âAll youâre goinâ to say,â said Disko. âAll dead wrong from start to finish, anâ Whittier heâs to blame. I have no special call to right any Marblehead man, but âtwerenât no fault oâ Iresonâs. My father he told me the tale time anâ again, anâ this is the way âtwuz.â
âFor the wan hundredth time,â put in Long Jack under his
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