Остров сокровищ

The Ebb-tide Runs

           IwasjustthinkinghowbusydrinkandthedevilwereatthatverymomentinthecabinoftheHispaniola,whenIwassurprisedbyasuddenlurchofthecoracle.Atthesamemoment,sheyawedsharplyandseemedtochangehercourse.Thespeedinthemeantimehadstrangelyincreased.

           Iopenedmyeyesatonce.Allroundmewerelittleripples,combingoverwithasharp,bristlingsoundandslightlyphosphorescent.TheHispaniolaherself,afewyardsinwhosewakeIwasstillbeingwhirledalong,seemedtostaggerinhercourse,andIsawhersparstossalittleagainsttheblacknessofthenight;nay,asIlookedlonger,Imadesureshealsowaswheelingtothesouthward.

           Iglancedovermyshoulder,andmyheartjumpedagainstmyribs.There,rightbehindme,wastheglowofthecamp-fire.Thecurrenthadturnedatrightangles,sweepingroundalongwithitthetallschoonerandthelittledancingcoracle;everquickening,everbubblinghigher,evermutteringlouder,itwentspinningthroughthenarrowsfortheopensea.

           Suddenlytheschoonerinfrontofmegaveaviolentyaw,turning,perhaps,throughtwentydegrees;andalmostatthesamemomentoneshoutfollowedanotherfromonboard;IcouldhearfeetpoundingonthecompanionladderandIknewthatthetwodrunkardshadatlastbeeninterruptedintheirquarrelandawakenedtoasenseoftheirdisaster.

           IlaydownflatinthebottomofthatwretchedskiffanddevoutlyrecommendedmyspirittoitsMaker.Attheendofthestraits,Imadesurewemustfallintosomebarofragingbreakers,whereallmytroubleswouldbeendedspeedily;andthoughIcould,perhaps,beartodie,Icouldnotbeartolookuponmyfateasitapproached.

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