Kidnapped / Похищенный. Книга для чтения на английском языке

I did not dream of hanging back; I thought (the poor fool!) that I had found a good friend and helper, and I was rejoiced to see the ship.

As soon as we were alongside, Hoseason, declaring that he and I must be the first aboard, ordered a tackle to be sent down from the main-yard. In this I was whipped into the air and set down again on the deck, where the captain stood ready waiting for me, and instantly slipped back his arm under mine.

�But where is my uncle?’ said I suddenly.

�Ay,’ said Hoseason, with a sudden grimness, �that’s the point.

I felt I was lost. With all my strength, I plucked myself clear of him and ran to the bulwarks. Sure enough, there was the boat pulling for the town, with my uncle sitting in the stern. I gave a piercing cry – �Help, help! Murder!’ – so that both sides of the anchorage rang with it, and my uncle turned round where he was sitting, and showed me a face full of cruelty and terror.

It was the last I saw. Already strong hands had been plucking me back from the ship’s side; and now a thunderbolt seemed to strike me; I saw a great flash of fire, and fell senseless.

Chapter VII

I Go to Sea in the Brig Covenant of Dysart

I came to myself in darkness, in great pain, bound hand and foot, and deafened by many unfamiliar noises. The whole world now heaved giddily up, and now rushed giddily downward; and so sick and hurt was I in body, and my mind so much confounded, that it took me a long while, chasing my thoughts up and down, and ever stunned again by a fresh stab of pain, to realise that I must be lying somewhere bound in the belly of that unlucky ship, and that the wind must have strengthened to a gale.

I had no measure of time; day and night were alike in that ill-smelling cavern of the ship’s bowels where, I lay; but sleep at length stole from me the consciousness of sorrow.

I was awakened by the light of a hand-lantern shining in my face.

�Well,’ said he, �how goes it?’

I answered by a sob; and my visitor then felt my pulse and temples, and set himself to wash and dress the wound upon my scalp.

�Ay,’ said he, �a sore dunt[40 - dunt = stroke]. What, man? Cheer up! The world’s no done; you’ve made a bad start of it but you’ll make a better.