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Conrad, Joseph, 1857-1924

"A Tale Of The Forecastle"


Suddenly some one cried:--"Where's Jimmy?" and we were appalled once
more. On the end of the row the boatswain shouted hoarsely:--"Has any
one seed him come out?" Voices exclaimed dismally:--"Drowned--is he?...
No! In his cabin!... Good Lord!... Caught like a bloomin' rat in a
trap.... Couldn't open his door... Aye! She went over too quick and
the water jammed it... Poor beggar!... No help for 'im.... Let's go and
see..." "Damn him, who could go?" screamed Donkin.--"Nobody expects you
to," growled the man next to him: "you're only a thing."--"Is there half
a chance to get at 'im?" inquired two or three men together. Belfast
untied himself with blind impetuosity, and all at once shot down to
leeward quicker than a flash of lightning. We shouted all together with
dismay; but with his legs overboard he held and yelled for a rope. In
our extremity nothing could be terrible; so we judged him funny kicking
there, and with his scared face. Some one began to laugh, and, as if
hysterically infected with screaming merriment, all those haggard men
went off laughing, wild-eyed, like a lot of maniacs tied up on a wall.
Mr. Baker swung off the binnacle-stand and tendered him one leg.


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