Captains Courageous by Rudyard Kipling (e manga reader .txt) đ
- Author: Rudyard Kipling
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âJounce ye, anâ strip ye anâ trip ye!â yelled Uncle Abishal. âA livinâ galeâa livinâ gale. Yab! Cast up fer your last trip, all you Gloucester haddocks. You wonât see Gloucester no more, no more!â
âCrazy fullâas usual,â said Tom Platt. âWish he hadnât spied us, though.â
She drifted out of hearing while the gray-head yelled something about a dance at the Bay of Bulls and a dead man in the focâsle. Harvey shuddered. He had seen the sloven tilled decks and the savage-eyed crew.
âAnâ thatâs a fine little floatinâ hell fer her draught,â said Long Jack. âI wondher what mischief heâs been at ashore.â
âHeâs a trawler,â Dan explained to Harvey, âanâ he runs in fer bait all along the coast. Oh, no, not home, he donât go. He deals along the south anâ east shore up yonder.â He nodded in the direction of the pitiless Newfoundland beaches. âDad wonât never take me ashore there. Theyâre a mighty tough crowdâanâ Abishalâs the toughest. You saw his boat? Well, sheâs nigh seventy year old, they say; the last oâ the old Marblehead heel-tappers. They donât make them quarterdecks any more. Abishal donât use Marblehead, though. He ainât wanted there. He jesâ drifâs araound, in debt, trawlinâ anâ cussinâ like youâve heard. Bin a Jonah fer years anâ years, he hez. âGits liquor frum the Feecamp boats fer makinâ spells anâ selling winds anâ such truck. Crazy, I guess.â
ââTwonât be any use underrunninâ the trawl to-night,â said Tom Platt, with quiet despair. âHe come alongside special to cuss us. Iâd give my wage anâ share to see him at the gangway oâ the old Ohio âfore we quit flogginâ. Jest abaout six dozen, anâ Sam Mocatta layinâ âem on criss-cross!â
The disheveled âheel-tapperâ danced drunkenly down wind, and all eyes followed her. Suddenly the cook cried in his phonograph voice: âIt wass his own death made him speak so! He iss feyâfey, I tell you! Look!â She sailed into a patch of watery sunshine three or four miles distant. The patch dulled and faded out, and even as the light passed so did the schooner. She dropped into a hollow andâwas not.
âRun under, by the Great Hook-Block!â shouted Disko, jumping aft. âDrunk or sober, weâve got to help âem. Heave short and break her out! Smart!â
Harvey was thrown on the deck by the shock that followed the setting of the jib and foresail, for they hove short on the cable, and to save time, jerked the anchor bodily from the bottom, heaving in as they moved away. This is a bit of brute force seldom resorted to except in matters of life and death, and the little âWeâre Hereâ complained like a human. They ran down to where Abishalâs craft had vanished; found two or three trawl-tubs, a gin-bottle, and a stove-in dory, but nothing more. âLet âem go,â said Disko, though no one had hinted at picking them up. âI wouldnât hev a match that belonged to Abishai aboard. Guess she run clear under. Must haâ been spewinâ her oakum fer a week, anâ they never thought to pump her. Thatâs one more boat gone along oâ leavinâ port all hands drunk.â
âGlory be!â said Long Jack. âWeâd haâ been obliged to help âem if they was top oâ water.â
ââThinkinâ oâ that myself,â said Tom Platt.
âFey! Fey!â said the cook, rolling his eyes. âHe haas taken his own luck with him.â
âVerâ good thing, I think, to tell the Fleet when we see. Eh, wha-at?â said Manuel. âIf you runna that way before the âwind, and she work open her seamsââ He threw out his hands with an indescribable gesture, while Penn sat down on the house and sobbed at the sheer horror and pity of it all. Harvey could not realize that he had seen death on the open waters, but he felt very sick. Then Dan went up the crosstrees, and Disko steered them back to within sight of their own trawl-buoys just before the fog blanketed the sea once again.
âWe go mighty quick hereabouts when we do go,â was all he said to Harvey. âYou think on that fer a spell, young feller. That was liquor.â
âAfter dinner it was calm enough to fish from the decks,âPenn and Uncle Salters were very zealous this time,âand the catch was large and large fish.
âAbishal has shorely took his luck with him,â said Salters. âThe wind hainât backed ner riz ner nothinâ. How abaout the trawl? I despise superstition, anyway.â
Tom Platt insisted that they had much better haul the thing and make a new berth. But the cook said: âThe luck iss in two pieces. You will find it so when you look. I know.â This so tickled Long Jack that he overbore Tom Platt and the two went out together.
Underrunning a trawl means pulling it in on one side of the dory, picking off the fish, rebaiting the hooks, and passing them back to the sea againâsomething like pinning and unpinning linen on a wash-line. It is a lengthy business and rather dangerous, for the long, sagging line may twitch a boat under in a flash. But when they heard, âAnd naow to thee, 0 Capting,â booming out of the fog, the crew of the âWeâre Hereâ took heart. The dory swirled alongside well loaded, Tom Platt yelling for Manuel to act as relief-boat.
âThe luckâs cut square in two pieces,â said Long Jack, forking in the fish, while Harvey stood open-mouthed at the skill with which the plunging dory was saved from destruction. âOne half was jest punkins. Tom Platt wanted to haul her anâ haâ done wid ut; but I said, âIâll back the doctor that has the second sight, anâ the other half come up sagging full oâ big uns. Hurry, Manânle, anâ bringâs a tub oâ bait. Thereâs luck afloat to-night.â
The fish bit at the newly baited hooks from which their brethren had just been taken, and Tom Platt and Long Jack moved methodically up and down the length of the trawl, the boatâs nose surging under the wet line of hooks, stripping the sea-cucumbers that they called pumpkins, slatting off the fresh-caught cod against the gunwale, rebaiting, and loading Manuelâs dory till dusk.
âIâll take no risks,â said Disko thenâânot with him floatinâ around so near. Abishal wonât sink fer a week. Heave in the dories anâ weâll dress daown after supper.â
That was a mighty dressing-down, attended by three or four blowing grampuses. It lasted till nine oâclock, and Disko was thrice heard to chuckle as Harvey pitched the split fish into the hold.
âSay, youâre haulinâ ahead dretful fast,â said Dan, when they ground the knives after the men had turned in. âThereâs somethinâ of a sea to-night, anâ I hainât heard you make no remarks on it.â
âToo busy,â Harvey replied, testing a bladeâs edge. âCome to think of it, she is a high-kicker.â
The little schooner was gambolling all around her anchor among the silver-tipped waves. Backing with a start of affected surprise at the sight of the strained cable, she pounced on it like a kitten, while the spray of her descent burst through the hawse-holes with the report of a gun. Shaking her head, she would say: âWell, Iâm sorry I canât stay any longer with you. Iâm going North,â and would sidle off, halting suddenly with a dramatic rattle of her rigging. âAs I was just going to observe,â she would begin, as gravely as a drunken man addressing a lamp-post. The rest of the sentence (she acted her words in dumb-show, of course) was lost in a fit of the fidgets, when she behaved like a puppy chewing a string, a clumsy woman in a side-saddle, a hen with her head cut off, or a cow stung by a hornet, exactly as the whims of the sea took her.
âSee her sayinâ her piece. Sheâs Patrick Henry naow,â said Dan.
She swung sideways on a roller, and gesticulated with her jib-boom from port to starboard.
âBut-ez-fer me, give me liberty-er give me-death!â
Wop! She sat down in the moon-path on the water, courtesying with a flourish of pride impressive enough had not the wheel-gear sniggered mockingly in its box.
Harvey laughed aloud. âWhy, itâs just as if she was alive,â he said.
âSheâs as stiddy as a haouse anâ as dry as a herrinâ,â said Dan enthusiastically, as he was slung across the deck in a batter of spray. âFends âem off anâ fends âem off, anâ âDonât ye come anigh me,â she sez. Look at herâjest look at her! Sakes! You should see one oâ them toothpicks histinâ up her anchor on her spike outer fifteen-fathom water.â
âWhatâs a toothpick, Dan?â
âThem new haddockers anâ herrinâ-boats. Fineâs a yacht forward, with yacht sterns to âem, anâ spike bowsprits, anâ a haouse that âuâd take our hold. Iâve heard that Burgess himself he made the models fer three or four of âem. Dadâs sot agin âem on account oâ their pitchinâ anâ joltinâ, but thereâs heaps oâ money in âem. Dad can find fish, but he ainât no ways progressiveâhe donât go with the march oâ the times. Theyâre chockfull oâ labour-savinâ jigs anâ sech all. âEver seed the Elector oâ Gloucester? Sheâs a daisy, ef she is a toothpick.â
âWhat do they cost, Dan?â
âHills oâ dollars. Fifteen thousand, pâhaps; more, mebbe. Thereâs gold-leaf anâ everything you kin think of.â Then to himself, half under his breath, âGuess Iâd call her Hattie S., too.â
That was the first of many talks with Dan, who told Harvey why he would transfer his doryâs name to the imaginary Burgess-modelled haddocker. Harvey heard a good deal about the real Hattie at Gloucester; saw a lock of her hairâwhich Dan, finding fair words of no avail, had âhookedâ as she sat in front of him at school that winterâand a photograph. Hattie was about fourteen years old, with an awful contempt for boys, and had been trampling on Danâs heart through the winter. All this was revealed under oath of solemn secrecy on moonlit decks, in the dead dark, or in choking fog; the whining wheel behind them, the climbing deck before, and without, the unresting, clamorous sea. Once, of course, as the boys came to know each other, there was a fight, which raged from bow to stern till Penn came up and separated them, but promised not to tell Disko, who thought fighting on watch rather worse than sleeping. Harvey was no match for Dan physically, but it says a great deal for his new training that he took his defeat and did not try to get even with his conqueror by underhand methods.
That was after he had been cured of a string of boils between his elbows and wrists, where the wet jersey and oilskins cut into the flesh. The salt water stung them unpleasantly, but when they were ripe Dan treated them with Diskoâs razor, and assured Harvey that now he was a âblooded Bankerâ; the affliction of gurrysores being the mark of the caste that claimed him.
Since he was a boy and very busy, he did not bother his head with too much thinking. He was exceedingly sorry for his mother, and often longed to see her and above all to tell her of this wonderful new life, and how brilliantly he was acquitting himself in it. Otherwise he preferred not to wonder too much how she was bearing the shock of his supposed death. But one day, as he stood on the focâsle ladder, guying the cook, who had accused him and Dan of hooking
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