Captains Courageous by Rudyard Kipling (e manga reader .txt) đ
- Author: Rudyard Kipling
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âTheyâve struck on good,â said Dan, between his half-shut eyes. âManuel hainât room fer another fish. Low ez a lily-pad in still water, Aeneid he?â
âWhich is Manuel? I donât see how you can tell âem âway off, as you do.â
âLast boat to the southâard. He fund you last night,â said Dan, pointing. âManuel rows Portugoosey; ye canât mistake him. East oâ himâheâs a heap betterân he rowsâis Pennsylvania. Loaded with saleratus, by the looks of him. East oâ himâsee how pretty they string out all alongâwith the humpy shoulders, is Long Jack. Heâs a Galway man inhabitinâ South Boston, where they all live mostly, anâ mostly them Galway men are good in a boat. North, away yonderâyouâll hear him tune up in a minute is Tom Platt. Man-oâ-warâs man he was on the old Ohio first of our navy, he says, to go araound the Horn. He never talks of much else, âcept when he sings, but he has fair fishinâ luck. There! What did I tell you?â
A melodious bellow stole across the water from the northern dory. Harvey heard something about somebodyâs hands and feet being cold, and then:
âBring forth the chart, the doleful chart, See where them mountings meet! The clouds are thick around their heads, The mists around their feet.â
âFull boat,â said Dan, with a chuckle. âIf he give us â0 Captainâ itâs toppingâ too!â
The bellow continued:
âAnd naow to thee, 0 Capting, Most earnestly I pray, That they shall never bury me In church or cloister gray.â
âDouble game for Tom Platt. Heâll tell you all about the old Ohio tomorrow. âSee that blue dory behind him? Heâs my uncle,âDadâs own brother,âanâ ef thereâs any bad luck loose on the Banks sheâll fetch up agin Uncle Salters, sure. Look how tender heâs rowinâ. Iâll lay my wage and share heâs the only man stung up to-day âanâ heâs stung up good.â
âWhatâll sting him?â said Harvey, getting interested.
âStrawberries, mostly. Pumpkins, sometimes, anâ sometimes lemons anâ cucumbers. Yes, heâs stung up from his elbows down. That manâs luckâs perfectly paralyzinâ. Naow weâll take a-holt oâ the tackles anâ hist âem in. Is it true what you told me jest now, that you never done a handâs turn oâ work in all your born life? Must feel kinder awful, donât it?â
âIâm going to try to work, anyway,â Harvey replied stoutly. âOnly itâs all dead new.â
âLay a-holt oâ that tackle, then. Behind ye!â
Harvey grabbed at a rope and long iron hook dangling from one of the stays of the mainmast, while Dan pulled down another that ran from something he called a âtopping-lift,â as Manuel drew alongside in his loaded dory. The Portuguese smiled a brilliant smile that Harvey learned to know well later, and with a short-handled fork began to throw fish into the pen on deck. âTwo hundred and thirty-one,â he shouted.
âGive him the hook,â said Dan, and Harvey ran it into Manuelâs hands. He slipped it through a loop of rope at the doryâs bow, caught Danâs tackle, hooked it to the stern-becket, and clambered into the schooner.
âPull!â shouted Dan, and Harvey pulled, astonished to find how easily the dory rose.
âHold on, she donât nest in the crosstrees!â Dan laughed; and Harvey held on, for the boat lay in the air above his head.
âLower away,â Dan shouted, and as Harvey lowered, Dan swayed the light boat with one hand till it landed softly just behind the mainmast. âThey donât weigh nothinâ empty. Thet was right smart fer a passenger. Thereâs more trick to it in a sea-way.â
âAh ha!â said Manuel, holding out a brown hand. âYou are some pretty well now? This time last night the fish they fish for you. Now you fish for fish. Eh, wha-at?â
âIâmâIâm ever so grateful,â Harvey stammered, and his unfortunate hand stole to his pocket once more, but he remembered that he had no money to offer. When he knew Manuel better the mere thought of the mistake he might have made would cover him with hot, uneasy blushes in his bunk.
âThere is no to be thankful for to me!â said Manuel. âHow shall I leave you dreeft, dreeft all around the Banks? Now you are a fisherman eh, wha-at? Ouh! Auh!â He bent backward and forward stiffly from the hips to get the kinks out of himself.
âI have not cleaned boat to-day. Too busy. They struck on queek. Danny, my son, clean for me.â
Harvey moved forward at once. Here was something he could do for the man who had saved his life.
Dan threw him a swab, and he leaned over the dory, mopping up the slime clumsily, but with great good-will. âHike out the foot-boards; they slide in them grooves,â said Dan. âSwab âem anâ lay âem down. Never let a foot-board jam. Ye may want her bad some day. Hereâs Long Jack.â
A stream of glittering fish flew into the pen from a dory alongside.
âManuel, you take the tackle. Iâll fix the tables. Harvey, clear Manuelâs boat. Long Jackâs nestinâ on the top of her.â
Harvey looked up from his swabbing at the bottom of another dory just above his head.
âJest like the Injian puzzle-boxes, ainât they?â said Dan, as the one boat dropped into the other.
âTakes to ut like a duck to water,â said Long Jack, a grizzly-chinned, long-lipped Galway man, bending to and fro exactly as Manuel had done. Disko in the cabin growled up the hatchway, and they could hear him suck his pencil.
âWan hunder anâ forty-nine anâ a half-bad luck to ye, Discobolus!â said Long Jack. âIâm murderinâ meself to fill your pockuts. Slate ut for a bad catch. The Portugee has bate me.â
Whack came another dory alongside, and more fish shot into the pen.
âTwo hundred and three. Letâs look at the passenger!â The speaker was even larger than the Galway man, and his face was made curious by a purple Cut running slant-ways from his left eye to the right corner of his mouth.
Not knowing what else to do, Harvey swabbed each dory as it came down, pulled out the foot-boards, and laid them in the bottom of the boat.
âHeâs caught on good,â said the scarred man, who was Toni Platt, watching him critically. âThere are two ways oâ doinâ everything. Oneâs fisher-fashionâany end first anâ a slippery hitch over allâanâ the otherâsââ
âWhat we did on the old Ohio!â Dan interrupted, brushing into the knot of men with a long board on legs. âGet out oâ here, Tom Platt, anâ leave me fix the tables.â
He jammed one end of the board into two nicks in the bulwarks, kicked out the leg, and ducked just in time to avoid a swinging blow from the man-oâ-warâs man.
âAnâ they did that on the Ohio, too, Danny. See?â said Tom Platt, laughing.
âGuess they was swivel-eyed, then, fer it didnât git home, and I know whoâll find his boots on the main-truck ef he donât leave us alone. Haul ahead! Iâm busy, canât ye see?â
âDanny, ye lie on the cable anâ sleep all day,â said Long Jack. âYouâre the hoight av impidence, anâ Iâm persuaded yeâll corrupt our supercargo in a week.â
âHis nameâs Harvey,â said Dan, waving two strangely shaped knives, âanâ heâll be worth five of any Souâ Boston clam-digger âfore long.â He laid the knives tastefully on the table, cocked his head on one side, and admired the effect.
âI think itâs forty-two,â said a small voice overside, and there was a roar of laughter as another voice answered, âThen my luckâs turned fer onct, âcaze Iâm forty-five, though I be stung outer all shape.â
âForty-two or forty-five. Iâve lost count,â the small voice said.
âItâs Penn anâ Uncle Salters caountinâ catch. This beats the circus any day,â said Dan. âJest look at âem!â
âCome inâcome in!â roared Long Jack. âItâs wet out yondher, children.â
âForty-two, ye said.â This was Uncle Salters.
âIâll count again, then,â the voice replied meekly. The two dories swung together and bunted into the schoonerâs side.
âPatience oâ Jerusalem!â snapped Uncle Salters, backing water with a splash. âWhat possest a farmer like you to set foot in a boat beats me. Youâve nigh stove me all up.â
âI am sorry, Mr. Salters. I came to sea on account of nervous dyspepsia. You advised me, I think.â
âYou anâ your nervis dyspepsy be drowned in the Whale-hole,â roared Uncle Salters, a fat and tubby little man. âYouâre cominâ down on me agin. Did ye say forty-two or forty-five?â
âIâve forgotten, Mr. Salters. Letâs count.â
âDonât see as it could be forty-five. Iâm forty-five,â said Uncle Salters. âYou count keerful, Penn.â
Disko Troop came out of the cabin. âSalters, you pitch your fish in naow at once,â he said in the tone of authority.
âDonât spile the catch, Dad,â Dan murmured. âThem two are onây jest beginninâ.â
âMother av delight! Heâs forkinâ them wan by wan,â howled Long Jack, as Uncle Salters got to work laboriously; the little man in the other dory counting a line of notches on the gunwale.
âThat was last weekâs catch,â he said, looking up plaintively, his forefinger where he had left off.
Manuel nudged Dan, who darted to the after-tackle, and, leaning far overside, slipped the hook into the stern-rope as Manuel made her fast forward. The others pulled gallantly and swung the boat inâman, fish, and all.
âOne, two, four-nine,â said Tom Platt, counting with a practised eye. âForty-seven. Penn, youâre it!â Dan let the after-tackle run, and slid him out of the stern on to the deck amid a torrent of his own fish.
âHold on!â roared Uncle Salters, bobbing by the waist. âHold on, Iâm a bit mixed in my caount.â
He had no time to protest, but was hove inboard and treated like âPennsylvania.â
âForty-one,â said Tom Platt. âBeat by a farmer, Salters. Anâ you sech a sailor, too!â
ââTwerenât fair caount,â said he, stumbling out of the pen; âanâ Iâm stung up all to pieces.â
His thick hands were puffy and mottled purply white.
âSome folks will find strawberry-bottom,â said Dan, addressing the newly risen moon, âef they hev to dive fer it, seems to me.â
âAnâ others,â said Uncle Salters, âeats the fat oâ the land in sloth, anâ mocks their own blood-kin.â
âSeat ye! Seat ye!â a voice Harvey had not heard called from the focâsle. Disko Troop, Tom Platt, Long Jack, and Salters went forward on the word. Little Penn bent above his square deep-sea reel and the tangled cod-lines; Manuel lay down full length on the deck, and Dan dropped into the hold, where Harvey heard him banging casks with a hammer.
âSalt,â he said, returning. âSoon as weâre through supper we git to dressing-down. Youâll pitch to Dad. Tom Platt anâ Dad they stow together, anâ youâll hear âem arguinâ. Weâre second haâaf, you anâ me anâ Manuel anâ Pennâthe youth anâ beauty oâ the boat.â
âWhatâs the good of that?â said Harvey. âIâm hungry.â
âTheyâll be through in a minute. Suff! She smells good to-night. Dad ships a good cook ef he do suffer with his brother. Itâs a full catch today, Aeneid it?â He pointed at the pens piled high with cod. âWhat water did ye hev, Manuel?â
âTwenty-fife father,â said the Portuguese, sleepily. âThey strike on good anâ queek. Some day I show you, Harvey.â
The moon was beginning to walk on the still sea before the elder men came aft. The cook had no need to cry âsecond half.â Dan and Manuel were down the hatch and at table ere Tom Platt, last and most deliberate of the elders, had finished wiping his mouth
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