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

and it lasted till we were three hundred miles or so to the
westward of the Lizards: then the wind went round to
the sou'west and began to pipe up. 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 foam-
ing 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.
We pumped all the four hours. We pumped all night,
all day, all the week,--watch and watch. She was work-
ing herself loose, and leaked badly--not enough to
drown us at once, but enough to kill us with the work at
the pumps. And while we pumped the ship was going
from us piecemeal: the bulwarks went, the stanchions
were torn out, the ventilators smashed, the cabin-door
burst in. There was not a dry spot in the ship. She was
being gutted bit by bit. The long-boat changed, as if
by magic, into matchwood where she stood in her gripes.
I had lashed her myself, and was rather proud of my
handiwork, which had withstood so long the malice of
the sea. And we pumped. And there was no break in
the weather. The sea was white like a sheet of foam,
like a caldron of boiling milk; there was not a break in
the clouds, no--not the size of a man's hand--no, not