Captains Courageous by Rudyard Kipling (e manga reader .txt) đ
- Author: Rudyard Kipling
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Here the skipper lost his temper and said things. Instantly fishing was suspended to answer him, and he heard many curious facts about his boat and her next port of call. They asked him if he were insured; and whence he had stolen his anchor, because, they said, it belonged to the Carrie Pitman; they called his boat a mud-scow, and accused him of dumping garbage to frighten the fish; they offered to tow him and charge it to his wife; and one audacious youth slipped up almost under the counter, smacked it with his open palm, and yelled: âGid up, Buck!â
The cook emptied a pan of ashes on him, and he replied with cod-heads. The barkâs crew fired small coal from the galley, and the dories threatened to come aboard and ârazeeâ her. They would have warned her at once had she been in real peril; but, seeing her well clear of the Virgin, they made the most of their chances. The fun was spoilt when the rock spoke again, a half-mile to windward, and the tormented bark set everything that would draw and went her ways; but the dories felt that the honours lay with them.
All that night the Virgin roared hoarsely; and next morning, over an angry, white-headed sea, Harvey saw the Fleet with flickering masts waiting for a lead. Not a dory was hove out till ten oâclock, when the two Jeraulds of the Dayâs Eye, imagining a lull which did not exist, set the example. In a minute half the boats were out and bobbing in the cockly swells, but Troop kept the âWeâre Heresâ at work dressing down. He saw no sense in âdaresâ; and as the storm grew that evening they had the pleasure of receiving wet strangers only too glad to make any refuge in the gale. The boys stood by the dory-tackles with lanterns, the men ready to haul, one eye cocked for the sweeping wave that would make them drop everything and hold on for dear life. Out of the dark would come a yell of âDory, dory!â They would hook up and haul in a drenched man and a half-sunk boat, till their decks were littered down with nests of dories and the bunks were full. Five times in their watch did Harvey, with Dan, jump at the foregaff where it lay lashed on the boom, and cling with arms, legs, and teeth to rope and spar and sodden canvas as a big wave filled the decks. One dory was smashed to pieces, and the sea pitched the man head first on to the decks, cutting his forehead open; and about dawn, when the racing seas glimmered white all along their cold edges, another man, blue and ghastly, crawled in with a broken hand, asking news of his brother. Seven extra mouths sat down to breakfast: A Swede; a Chatham skipper; a boy from Hancock, Maine; one Duxbury, and three Provincetown men.
There was a general sorting out among the Fleet next day; and though no one said anything, all ate with better appetites when boat after boat reported full crews aboard. Only a couple of Portuguese and an old man from Gloucester were drowned, but many were cut or bruised; and two schooners had parted their tackle and been blown to the southward, three daysâ sail. A man died on a Frenchmanâit was the same bark that had traded tobacco with the âWeâre Heresâ. She slipped away quite quietly one wet, white morning, moved to a patch of deep water, her sails all hanging anyhow, and Harvey saw the funeral through Diskoâs spy-glass. It was only an oblong bundle slid overside. They did not seem to have any form of service, but in the night, at anchor, Harvey heard them across the star-powdered black water, singing something that sounded like a hymn. it went to a very slow tune.
âLa brigantine Qui va tourner, Roule et sâincline Pour mâentrainer. Oh, Vierge Marie, Pour moi priez Dieu! Adieu, patrie; Quebec, adieu!â
Tom Platt visited her, because, he said, the dead man was his brother as a Freemason. It came out that a wave had doubled the poor fellow over the heel of the bowsprit and broken his back. The news spread like a flash, for, contrary to general custom, the Frenchman held an auction of the dead manâs kit,âhe had no friends at St Malo or Miquelon,âand everything was spread out on the top of the house, from his red knitted cap to the leather belt with the sheath-knife at the back. Dan and Harvey were out on twenty-fathom water in the Hattie S., and naturally rowed over to join the crowd. It was a long pull, and they stayed some little time while Dan bought the knife, which had a curious brass handle. When they dropped overside and pushed off into a drizzle of rain and a lop of sea, it occurred to them that they might get into trouble for neglecting the lines.
âGuess âtwonât hurt us any to be warmed up,â said Dan, shivering under his oilskins, and they rowed on into the heart of a white fog, which, as usual, dropped on them without warning.
âThereâs too much blame tide hereabouts to trust to your instinks,â he said. âHeave over the anchor, Harve, and weâll fish a piece till the thing lifts. Bend on your biggest lead. Three pound ainât any too much in this water. See how sheâs tightened on her rodinâ already.â
There was quite a little bubble at the bows, where some irresponsible Bank current held the dory full stretch on her rope; but they could not see a boatâs length in any direction. Harvey turned up his collar and bunched himself over his reel with the air of a wearied navigator. Fog had no special terrors for him now. They fished a while in silence, and found the cod struck on well. Then Dan drew the sheath-knife and tested the edge of it on the gunwale.
âThatâs a daisy,â said Harvey. âHow did you get it so cheap?â
âOn account oâ their blame Cathâlic superstitions,â said Dan, jabbing with the bright blade. âThey donât fancy takinâ iron from off a dead man, so to speak. âSee them Arichat Frenchmen step back when I bid?â
âBut an auction ainât taking anythink off a dead man. Itâs business.â
âWe know it ainât, but thereâs no goinâ in the teeth oâ superstition. Thatâs one oâ the advantages oâ livinâ in a progressive country.â And Dan began whistling:
âOh, Double Thatcher, how are you? Now Eastern Point comes inter view. The girls anâ boys we soon shall see, At anchor off Cape Ann!â
âWhy didnât that Eastport man bid, then? He bought his boots. Ainât Maine progressive?â
âMaine? Pshaw! They donât know enough, or they hainât got money enough, to paint their haouses in Maine. Iâve seen âem. The Eastport man he told me that the knife had been usedâso the French captain told himâused up on the French coast last year.â
âCut a man? Heave âs the muckle.â Harvey hauled in his fish, rebaited, and threw over.
âKilled him! Course, when I heard that I was keenerân ever to get it.â
âChristmas! I didnât know it,â said Harvey, turning round. âIâll give you a dollar for it when Iâget my wages. Say, Iâll give you two dollars.â
âHonest? Dâyou like it as much as all that?â said Dan, flushing. âWell, to tell the truth, I kinder got it for youâto give; but I didnât let on till I saw how youâd take it. Itâs yours and welcome, Harve, because weâre dory-mates, and so on and so forth, anâ so followinâ. Catch a-holt!â
He held it out, belt and all.
âBut look at here. Dan, I donât seeââ
âTake it. âTainât no use to me. I wish you to hev it.â The temptation was irresistible. âDan, youâre a white man,â said Harvey. âIâll keep it as long as I live.â
âThatâs good hearinâ,â said Dan, with a pleasant laugh; and then, anxious to change the subject: ââLookâs if your line was fast to somethinâ.â
âFouled, I guess,â said Harve, tugging. Before he pulled up he fastened the belt round him, and with deep delight heard the tip of the sheath click on the thwart. âConcern the thing!â he cried. âShe acts as though she were on strawberry-bottom. Itâs all sand here, ainât it?â
Dan reached over and gave a judgmatic tweak. âHollbutâll act that way âf heâs sulky. Thetâs no strawberry-bottom. Yank her once or twice. She gives, sure. Guess weâd better haul up anâ make certain.â
They pulled together, making fast at each turn on the cleats, and the hidden weight rose sluggishly.
âPrize, oh! Haul!â shouted Dan, but the shout ended in a shrill, double shriek of horror, for out of the sea came the body of the dead Frenchman buried two days before! The hook had caught him under the right armpit, and he swayed, erect and horrible, head and shoulders above water. His arms were tied to his side, andâhe had no face. The boys fell over each other in a heap at the bottom of the dory, and there they lay while the thing bobbed alongside, held on the shortened line.
âThe tideâthe tide brought him!â said Harvey with quivering lips, as he fumbled at the clasp of the belt.
âOh, Lord! Oh, Harve!â groaned Dan, âbe quick. Heâs come for it. Let him have it. Take it off.â
âI donât want it! I donât want it!â cried Harvey. âI canât find the bu-buckle.â
âQuick, Harve! Heâs on your line!â
Harvey sat up to unfasten the belt, facing the head that had no face under its streaming hair. âHeâs fast still,â he whispered to Dan, who slipped out his knife and cut the line, as Harvey flung the belt far overside. The body shot down with a plop, and Dan cautiously rose to his knees, whiter than the fog.
âHe come for it. He come for it. Iâve seen a stale one hauled up on a trawl and I didnât much care, but he come to us special.â
âI wishâI wish I hadnât taken the knife. Then heâd have come on your line.â
âDunno as thet would baâ made any differ. Weâre both scared out oâ ten yearsâ growth. Oh, Harve, did ye see his head?â
âDid I? Iâll never forget it. But look at here, Dan; it couldnât have been meant. It was only the tide.â
âTide! He come for it, Harve. Why, they sunk him six miles to southâard oâ the Fleet, anâ weâre two miles from where sheâs lyinâ now. They told me he was weighted with a fathom anâ a half oâ chain-cable.â
âWonder what he did with the knifeâup on the French coast?â
âSomething bad. âGuess heâs bound to take it with him to the Judgment, anâ soâ What are you doinâ with the fish?â
âHeaving âem overboard,â said Harvey.
âWhat for? We shaânât eat âem.â
âI donât care. I had to look at his face while I was takinâ the belt off. You can keep your catch if you like. Iâve no use for mine.â
Dan said nothing, but threw his fish over again.
âGuess itâs best to be on the safe side,â he murmured at last. âIâd give a monthâs pay if this fog âuâd lift. Things go abaout in a fog that ye donât see in clear weatherâyo-hoes anâ hollerers and such like. Iâm sorter relieved he come the way he did instid oâ walkinâ. He might haâ walked.â
âDonât, Dan! Weâre right on top of him now. âWish I was safe aboard, hemâ pounded by Uncle Salters.â
âTheyâll be lookinâ fer us in a little. Gimme the tooter.â Dan took the tin dinner-horn, but paused before he blew.
âGo on,â said Harvey. âI donât want to stay here all nightâ
âQuestion is, haow
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