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قراءة كتاب The Death Ship Vol. I A Strange Story
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THE DEATH SHIP
A STRANGE STORY;
AN ACCOUNT OF A CRUISE IN "THE FLYING DUTCHMAN," COLLECTED
FROM THE PAPERS OF THE LATE MR. GEOFFREY FENTON, OF POPLAR,
MASTER MARINER.
BY
W. CLARK RUSSELL,
AUTHOR OF
"THE WRECK OF THE GROSVENOR," "THE GOLDEN HOPE," "A SEA QUEEN,"
ETC., ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. I
LONDON
HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET
1888
All Rights Reserved
TILLOTSON AND SON, MAWDSLEY STREET
BOLTON
CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.
| CHAPTER | PAGE | |
| I.— | I SAIL AS SECOND MATE IN THE SARACEN | 1 |
| II.— | WE MEET AND SPEAK THE LOVELY NANCY, SNOW | 7 |
| III.— | THE CAPTAIN AND I TALK OF THE DEATH SHIP | 18 |
| IV.— | WE ARE CHASED AND NEARLY CAPTURED | 33 |
| V.— | WE ARRIVE AT TABLE BAY AND PROCEED THENCE | |
| ON OUR VOYAGE | 50 | |
| VI.— | THE CAPTAIN SPEAKS AGAIN OF THE DEATH SHIP | 62 |
| VII.— | I CONVERSE WITH THE SHIP'S CARPENTER ABOUT | |
| THE DEATH SHIP | 75 | |
| VIII.— | A TRAGICAL DEATH | 88 |
| IX.— | MR. HALL HARANGUES THE CREW | 98 |
| X.— | WE DRAW CLOSE TO A STRANGE AND LUMINOUS SHIP | 110 |
| XI.— | A CRUEL DISASTER BEFALLS ME | 122 |
| XII.— | I AM RESCUED BY THE DEATH SHIP | 136 |
| XIII.— | WY ZYN AL VERDOMD | 147 |
| XIV.— | MY FIRST NIGHT IN THE DEATH SHIP | 168 |
| XV.— | I INSPECT THE FLYING DUTCHMAN | 177 |
| XVI.— | VANDERDECKEN SHOWS ME HIS PRESENT FOR | |
| LITTLE MARGARETHA | 194 | |
| XVII.— | I TALK WITH MISS IMOGENE DUDLEY ABOUT THE | |
| DEATH SHIP | 211 | |
| XVIII.— | THE DEATH SHIP MUST BE SLOW AT PLYING | 245 |
| XIX.— | I WITNESS THE CAPTAIN'S ENTRANCEMENT | 259 |
| XX.— | I HOLD A CONVERSATION WITH THE CREW | 270 |
CHAPTER I.
I SAIL AS SECOND MATE IN THE SARACEN.
I will pass by all the explanations concerning the reasons of my going to sea, as I do not desire to forfeit your kind patience by letting this story stand. Enough if I say that after I had been fairly well grounded in English, arithmetic and the like, which plain education I have never wearied of improving by reading everything good that came in my way, I was bound apprentice to a respectable man named Joshua Cox, of Whitby, and served my time in his vessel, the Laughing Susan—a brave, nimble brigantine.
We traded to Riga, Stockholm, and Baltic ports, and often to Rotterdam, where, having a quick ear, which has sometimes served me for playing upon the fiddle for my mates to dance or sing to, I picked up enough of Dutch to enable me to hold my own in conversing with a Hollander, or Hans Butterbox, as those people used to be called; that is to say, I had sufficient words at command to qualify me to follow what was said and to answer so as to be intelligible;