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Conrad, Joseph, 1857-1924

"A Tale Of The Forecastle"

The stars burned steadily over the
inclined mastheads. Trails of light lay on the water, broke before the
advancing hull, and, after she had passed, trembled for a long time as
if in awe of the murmuring sea.
Meantime the helmsman, anxious to know what the row was about, had let
go the wheel, and, bent double, ran with long, stealthy footsteps to the
break of the poop. The _Narcissus_, left to herself, came up gently in
to the wind without any one being aware of it. She gave a slight roll,
and the sleeping sails woke suddenly, coming all together with a mighty
flap against the masts, then filled again one after another in a quick
succession of loud reports that ran down the lofty spars, till the
collapsed mainsail flew out last with a violent jerk. The ship trembled
from trucks to keel; the sails kept on rattling like a discharge of
musketry; the chain sheets and loose shackles jingled aloft in a thin
peal; the gin blocks groaned. It was as if an invisible hand had given
the ship an angry shake to recall the men that peopled her decks to the
sense of reality, vigilance, and duty.--"Helm up!" cried the master,
sharply.


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