Читать книгу The Captain from Connecticut онлайн

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On the starboard beam the sun was setting in a glory of red. Three bars of cloud, as straight as if drawn by parallel rulers, hung over the western horizon above the dying sun; typical trade-wind clouds bearing the promise of unchanged weather, thought Peabody, noting them. He watched the red disk sink slowly into the sea while the light faded from the sky--in the east it was already dark. The young moon was just in sight in the western sky now that its light was not submerged in that of the sun.

"Deck there!" from the main top-gallant masthead. A pause.

"What is it?" hailed Hubbard.

"I thought I saw a sail. Yes, there she is, on the starboard bow, sir! Right to leeward, sir!"

All Peabody's instincts exploded into action. He did not stop to calculate that with night coming down so fast every second was of value, and he did not consciously allow for the waste of time if a junior had to report to him; his reactions were quicker than his thoughts. He snatched the glass and threw himself into the main rigging. Up the ratlines he went, up the futtock shrouds back downwards without pausing for breath, up to the maintopmast crosstrees, hand over hand to the top-gallant masthead. He was hard and lean despite his heavy shoulders, and his pumping heart and quickened respiration did nothing to unsteady him.