"
I turned away. It was unconscionable to cram the child's mind
with these preposterous fables. I pictured the poor little chap's
disappointment when the bleak reality came to stare him in the face.
To my mind, his father was worse than an idiot, and I could hardly
bring myself to greet him next morning, when we met.
My disgust did not seem to trouble him. In a timid way, even, his eyes
expressed satisfaction. For a week or two I let him alone, and then
was forced to speak.
It happened in this way. We had spun merrily along the tail of the
S.E. trades and glided slowly to a standstill on a glassy ocean, and
beneath a sun that at noon left us shadowless. A fluke or two of wind
had helped us across the line; but now, in 2 deg. 27' north latitude, the
_Midas_ slept like a turtle on the greasy sea. The heat of the near
African coast seemed to beat like steam against our faces. The pitch
bubbled like caviare in the seams of the white deck, and the shrouds
and ratlines ran with tears of tar. To touch the brass rail of the
poop was to blister the hand, to catch a whiff from the cook's galley
was to feel sick for ten minutes.
Pages:
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76