"The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym..." - читать интересную книгу автора (Poe Edgar Allan)

agitated to think of taking it myself. By good luck, however, she
kept steady, and gradually I recovered some degree of presence of
mind. Still the wind was increasing fearfully, and whenever we rose
from a plunge forward, the sea behind fell combing over our counter,
and deluged us with water. I was so utterly benumbed, too, in every
limb, as to be nearly unconscious of sensation. At length I summoned
up the resolution of despair, and rushing to the mainsail let it go
by the run. As might have been expected, it flew over the bows, and,
getting drenched with water, carried away the mast short off by the
board. This latter accident alone saved me from instant destruction.
Under the jib only, I now boomed along before the wind, shipping heavy
seas occasionally over the counter, but relieved from the terror of
immediate death. I took the helm, and breathed with greater freedom
as I found that there yet remained to us a chance of ultimate escape.
Augustus still lay senseless in the bottom of the boat; and as there
was imminent danger of his drowning (the water being nearly a foot
deep just where he fell), I contrived to raise him partially up, and
keep him in a sitting position, by passing a rope round his waist,
and lashing it to a ringbolt in the deck of the cuddy. Having thus
arranged every thing as well as I could in my chilled and agitated
condition, I recommended myself to God, and made up my mind to bear
whatever might happen with all the fortitude in my power.
Hardly had I come to this resolution, when, suddenly, a loud and
long scream or yell, as if from the throats of a thousand demons,
seemed to pervade the whole atmosphere around and above the boat.
Never while I live shall I forget the intense agony of terror I
experienced at that moment. My hair stood erect on my head- I felt
the blood congealing in my veins- my heart ceased utterly to beat,
and without having once raised my eyes to learn the source of my
alarm, I tumbled headlong and insensible upon the body of my fallen
companion.
I found myself, upon reviving, in the cabin of a large
whaling-ship (the Penguin) bound to Nantucket. Several persons were
standing over me, and Augustus, paler than death, was busily
occupied in chafing my hands. Upon seeing me open my eyes, his
exclamations of gratitude and joy excited alternate laughter and tears
from the rough-looking personages who were present. The mystery of our
being in existence was now soon explained. We had been run down by the
whaling-ship, which was close-hauled, beating up to Nantucket with
every sail she could venture to set, and consequently running almost
at right angles to our own course. Several men were on the look-out
forward, but did not perceive our boat until it was an impossibility
to avoid coming in contact- their shouts of warning upon seeing us
were what so terribly alarmed me. The huge ship, I was told, rode
immediately over us with as much ease as our own little vessel would
have passed over a feather, and without the least perceptible
impediment to her progress. Not a scream arose from the deck of the
victim- there was a slight grating sound to be heard mingling with
the roar of wind and water, as the frail bark which was swallowed up
rubbed for a moment along the keel of her destroyer- but this was all.