"Conrad, Josph - Youth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Conrad Joseph)

at the time; a preference which life has only confirmed.
One was a man, and the other was either more--or less.
However, they are both dead, and Mrs. Beard is dead,
and youth, strength, genius, thoughts, achievements,
simple hearts--all die . . . . No matter.

"They loaded us at last. We shipped a crew. Eight
able seamen and two boys. We hauled off one evening
to the buoys at the dock-gates, ready to go out, and with
a fair prospect of beginning the voyage next day. Mrs.
Beard was to start for home by a late train. When the
ship was fast we went to tea. We sat rather silent
through the meal--Mahon, the old couple, and I. I
finished first, and slipped away for a smoke, my cabin
being in a deck-house just against the poop. It was high
water, blowing fresh with a drizzle; the double dock-
gates were opened, and the steam colliers were going in
and out in the darkness with their lights burning
bright, a great plashing of propellers, rattling of
winches, and a lot of hailing on the pier-heads. I watched
the procession of head-lights gliding high and of green
lights gliding low in the night, when suddenly a red
gleam flashed at me, vanished, came into view again, and
remained. The fore-end of a steamer loomed up close.
I shouted down the cabin, 'Come up, quick!' and then
heard a startled voice saying afar in the dark, 'Stop her,
sir.' A bell jingled. Another voice cried warningly,
'We are going right into that bark, sir.' The answer to
this was a gruff 'All right,' and the next thing was a
heavy crash as the steamer struck a glancing blow with
the bluff of her bow about our fore-rigging. There was
a moment of confusion, yelling, and running about.
Steam roared. Then somebody was heard saying, 'All
clear, sir.' . . . 'Are you all right?' asked the gruff
voice. I had jumped forward to see the damage, and
hailed back, 'I think so.' 'Easy astern,' said the gruff
voice. A bell jingled. 'What steamer is that?'
screamed Mahon. By that time she was no more to us
than a bulky shadow maneuvering a little way off. They
shouted at us some name--a woman's name, Miranda or
Melissa--or some such thing. 'This means another
month in this beastly hole,' said Mahon to me, as we
peered with lamps about the splintered bulwarks and
broken braces. 'But where's the captain?'

"We had not heard or seen anything of him all that
time. We went aft to look. A doleful voice arose hail-
ing somewhere in the middle of the dock, 'Judea ahoy!'
. . . How the devil did he get there? . . . 'Hallo!'
we shouted. 'I am adrift in our boat without oars,' he