Похищенный
Chapter 7
Yetitwasnosuchmatter;but(asIwasafterwardstold)acommonhabitofthecaptain’s,whichIheresetdowntoshowthateventheworstmanmayhavehiskindlierside.Wewerethenpassing,itappeared,withinsomemilesofDysart,wherethebrigwasbuilt,andwhereoldMrs.Hoseason,thecaptain’smother,hadcomesomeyearsbeforetolive;andwhetheroutwardorinwardbound,theCovenantwasneversufferedtogobythatplacebyday,withoutagunfiredandcoloursshown.
Ihadnomeasureoftime;dayandnightwerealikeinthatill-smellingcavernoftheship’sbowelswhereIlay;andthemiseryofmysituationdrewoutthehourstodouble.Howlong,therefore,Ilaywaitingtoheartheshipsplituponsomerock,ortofeelherreelheadforemostintothedepthsofthesea,Ihavenotthemeansofcomputation.Butsleepatlengthstolefrommetheconsciousnessofsorrow.
Iwasawakenedbythelightofahand-lanternshininginmyface.Asmallmanofaboutthirty,withgreeneyesandatangleoffairhair,stoodlookingdownatme.
“Well,”saidhe,“howgoesit?”
Iansweredbyasob;andmyvisitorthenfeltmypulseandtemples,andsethimselftowashanddressthewounduponmyscalp.
“Ay,”saidhe,“asoredunt.What,man?Cheerup!Theworld’snodone;you’vemadeabadstartofitbutyou’llmakeabetter.Haveyouhadanymeat?”
IsaidIcouldnotlookatit:andthereuponhegavemesomebrandyandwaterinatinpannikin,andleftmeoncemoretomyself.
