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قراءة كتاب The White Squall: A Story of the Sargasso Sea
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were valleys and gorges of the richest green, with here and there a tall silk-cotton tree or graceful palm elevating itself above the other wood-nymphs, the smoke of charcoal burners dotting the landscape from amid the thickest part of the forest growth of green with curling wreaths of grey.
We soon reached a wide plateau just above Government House, where the best view in the whole island was to be obtained, above which towered the old battery on Richmond Hill, armed with obsolete and worm-eaten thirty-two pounders, once deemed sufficient protection for the Carenage or harbour below, which it commanded. Fort George, another fortification equally powerless nowadays either for attack or defence, lay on the right; and looking beyond, over a series of terraces of villas and gardens, and negro provision grounds, the open sea could be seen stretching away to the Boccas of the Gulf of Paria and the Serpent Passage which divides the island of Trinidad from the main coast of British Guiana.
I could see, on arriving at this point, the English mail steamer coaling at the jetty below, with gangs of negroes and negresses busily engaged going to and fro along the wharf, carrying baskets of fuel on their heads; so, setting spurs to Master Prince, I made him race down the road as if a drove of wild bulls were after him, heedless of every obstacle in my path and only intent on reaching the quay.
“Top, Mass’ Tom, ’top!” shouted out Jake behind me, putting Dandy into a heavy trot. “De road am berry slippy, an’ you go one big fall soon!”
But, Jake’s caution was all in vain, for the steamer was there, and the passengers had probably already landed with my father amongst them, so there was every reason for my hastening on quickly.
I did not waste time, I can assure you!
Cantering past groups of coloured people of every hue, from the palest copper tint up to the jettiest black, all returning to their huts in the hills after disposing of their market produce for the day and each giving me the customary patois greeting, “Bon j’u’, massa, ken nou’?” as I raced by them; past cottage doors and overseers’ houses I went on at full speed, until I came to a long street that sloped down with a gradient like that of one of those sharp-pointed, heavy-gabled roofs of Queen Anne’s time.
Even this, however, did not arrest my headlong course.
I was much too anxious to get below to the harbour side before the coaling of the steamer should be completed and the vessel start off again on her intercolonial trip amongst the islands to deliver her mails from Europe; and so, deaf to all my darkey attendant’s prayers and expostulations, I hit poor Prince over the head with my supple jack and galloped as if a drove of wild bulls was after me down the dangerous incline, which was paved with smooth slippery fixed boulders to make it all the more treacherous to a horse’s hoofs unless rough-shod.
“Golly, Mass’ Tom, you break um neck for suah,” I heard the terrified Jake call out far away in my rear; but I could not have stopped then even had I wished, Prince having too much “way” on him.
“Come on!” I cried. “Come on!”
These were the last words I remember uttering, for at that moment, the pony, with me clinging to his back with might and main, was tearing down the slope at a terrific pace; and then, just as we were passing the school-house at the corner of the market-place, some boys who were outside suddenly set up a loud yell at something or other.
This frightened Prince so that he shied.
The pony bounded up in the air first like a goat, lifting all his legs from the ground at once in true buck-jumper fashion, after which he came to a dead halt as if he had been shot; and then, placing his fore-feet straight out before him he sent me flying over his head right through the window of a little shop opposite with such force that I was picked up insensible.
Chapter Three.
Convalescent.
The first face I saw when I came to myself was that of my father. He was bending over me and looking very anxious. I think he had been crying.
“Better, Tom?” he said softly, as if afraid of making a noise and frightening me back into unconsciousness—everything seeming to be strangely still around me!
“Oh, I’m all right,” I answered joyfully, much pleased at seeing him. “Why, how did you come here?” and I tried to get up from the sofa on which I discovered that I Was lying. But it was only an attempt, for I fell back again in a heap, feeling pain all over me. It seemed just as if I had been broken into little pieces and somebody was now separating the bits!
“Bress de Lor’, him ’peak again!” I heard Jake ejaculate, and then I noticed his black face behind dad’s, while there was another gentleman there too. The latter now took hold of my hand and felt my pulse, I suppose, although he didn’t ask me to put out my tongue, as he generally did when he came up to Mount Pleasant specially to prescribe for me!
“Hallo, Doctor Martin!” I exclaimed, recognising him. “What’s the matter with me? I can’t rise, or move my legs, or do anything.”
“You confounded young rascal!” he rejoined in his hearty voice, “a nice mess you have got yourself into, alarming us all in this way. What do you mean by galloping down Constitution Hill as if you were after a pack of foxhounds? It’s a mercy you haven’t broken every bone in your body.”
“Poor Prince isn’t hurt, is he?” I asked abruptly, without answering him directly.
“No, Mass’ Tom,” eagerly cried out Jake, glad of saying something to me in order to show his sympathy; “he berry well, no scrape um knees or nuffin’, he—”
“There, that will do,” said Doctor Martin, interrupting the flow of the good-natured darkey’s eloquence, “you mustn’t agitate Master Tom now; he’s in a very critical state, and any excitement is bad for him. You’d better go and see after the horses.”
“Me no want agg-agg-tate um, Mass’ Doctor,” pitifully expostulated Jake, almost blubbering at the accusation of his possibly wanting to do me harm, “I’se only glad to hear him ’peak again, dat all;” and he went out of the room quite crest-fallen.
“Oh, doctor!” I cried, but then, all at once, a sort of sick sensation came over me. Dad and Doctor Martin seemed to be waltzing round me, with the furniture and everything else following suit, and I fainted away again, I fancy; although I could hear their whispering voices, as of people who were far away in the distance. Then, there was a blank.
When I next opened my eyes, strange to say, I was in my own little bed at home, with my mother sitting by my side.
I felt very weak, and one of my arms was tied up in bandages, while my other limbs didn’t seem to belong to me; but, at first, I had no recollection of what had happened.
I could not imagine what was the reason for my being laid up like that; and, seeing my mother there, I fancied for the moment that I had overslept myself, as was frequently the case, and that she had come to call me for breakfast.
“Why, mother,” I said, “I’m sorry I’m so late.”
“You’ve been ill, Tom,” she replied soothingly, without referring to my laziness as I expected; “I’m glad, though, you’re recovering at last.”
“Hi!” I exclaimed, much astonished.
“Yes, my dear, very ill,” she repeated.
“Dear me! and for how long?” I asked, in wonder still.
“Well, it is more than three weeks since you were brought here, dear; but take this now, Tom,” she added, before telling me anything further, putting her arm round me and lifting me up in a sitting position, so as to be better able to swallow something in a wine-glass which she held to my lips.
“Medicine, eh?” I said, making a wry face.
“Yes, dear, but it doesn’t taste