In two days it
blew a gale. The _Judea_, hove to, wallowed on the Atlantic like an old
candlebox. It blew day after day: it blew with spite, without interval,
without mercy, without rest. The world was nothing but an immensity of
great foaming waves rushing at us, under a sky low enough to touch
with the hand and dirty like a smoked ceiling. In the stormy space
surrounding us there was as much flying spray as air. Day after day and
night after night there was nothing round the ship but the howl of the
wind, the tumult of the sea, the noise of water pouring over her deck.
There was no rest for her and no rest for us. She tossed, she pitched,
she stood on her head, she sat on her tail, she rolled, she groaned, and
we had to hold on while on deck and cling to our bunks when below, in a
constant effort of body and worry of mind.
"One night Mahon spoke through the small window of my berth. It opened
right into my very bed, and I was lying there sleepless, in my boots,
feeling as though I had not slept for years, and could not if I tried.
He said excitedly--
"'You got the sounding-rod in here, Marlow? I can't get the pumps to
suck. By God! it's no child's play.'
"I gave him the sounding-rod and lay down again, trying to think of
various things--but I thought only of the pumps. When I came on deck
they were still at it, and my watch relieved at the pumps. By the light
of the lantern brought on deck to examine the sounding-rod I caught a
glimpse of their weary, serious faces.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25