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Conrad, Joseph, 1857-1924

"A Tale Of The Forecastle"

Vy donch
'ee 'it 'im--one ov yer? 'It 'im. 'It 'im! Comin' the mate over us.
We are as good men as 'ee! We're all goin' to 'ell now. We 'ave been
starved in this rotten ship, an' now we're goin' to be drowned for them
black 'earted bullies! 'It 'im!" He shrieked in the deepening gloom, he
blubbered and sobbed, screaming:--"'It 'im! 'It 'im!" The rage and fear
of his disregarded right to live tried the steadfastness of hearts
more than the menacing shadows of the night that advanced through the
unceasing clamour of the gale. From aft Mr. Baker was heard:--"Is one
of you men going to stop him--must I come along?" "Shut up!"... "Keep
quiet!" cried various voices, exasperated, trembling with cold.--"You'll
get one across the mug from me directly," said an invisible seaman, in
a weary tone, "I won't let the mate have the trouble." He ceased and lay
still with the silence of despair. On the black sky the stars, coming
out, gleamed over an inky sea that, speckled with foam, flashed back at
them the evanescent and pale light of a dazzling whiteness born from the
black turmoil of the waves. Remote in the eternal calm they glittered
hard and cold above the uproar of the earth; they surrounded the
vanquished and tormented ship on all sides: more pitiless than the eyes
of a triumphant mob, and as unapproachable as the hearts of men.


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