FullReads

“No, I was NOT wrong. He DID of set purpose throw the mop overboard. What a fellow! “

A bell sounded from the engine-room.

“Slow!” someone shouted with a cheerful hail.

Upon that, steam issued with such resounding shrillness that the woman awoke with a jerk of her head; and as she put up her left hand to feel her armpit, her crumpled features gathered themselves into wrinkles. Then she glanced at the lamp, raised herself to a sitting position, and, fingering the place where the hair had been destroyed, said softly to herself:

“Oh, holy Mother of God!”

Presently the steamer drew to a wharf, and, with a loud clattering, firewood was dragged forth and cast into the stokehole with uncouth, warning cries of ” Tru-us-sha! ” [The word means ship’ s hold or stokehole, but here is, probably, equivalent to the English ” Heads below!”]

Over a little town which had its back pressed against a hill the waning moon was rising and brightening all the black river, causing it to gather life as the radiance laved, as it were, the landscape in warm water.

Walking aft, I seated myself among some bales and contemplated the town’s frontage. Over one end of it rose, tapering like a walking-stick, a factory chimney, while at the other end, as well as in the middle, rose belfries, one of which had a gilded steeple, and the other one a steeple either green or blue, but looking black in the moonlight, and shaped like a ragged paint-brush.

Opposite the wharf there was stuck in the wide gable of a two-storied building a lantern which, flickering, diffused but a dull, anaemic light from its dirty panes, while over the long strip of the broken signboard of the building there could be seen straggling, and executed in large yellow letters, the words, “Tavern and -” No more of the legend than this was visible.

Lanterns were hanging in two or three other spots in the drowsy little town; and wherever their murky stains of light hung suspended in the air there stood out in relief a medley of gables, drab-tinted trees, and false windows in white paint, on walls of a dull slate colour.

Somehow I found contemplation of the scene depressing.

Meanwhile the vessel continued to emit steam as she rocked to and fro with a creaking of wood, a slap-slapping of water, and a scrubbing of her sides against the wharf. At length someone ejaculated surlily:

“Fool, you must be asleep! The winch, you say? Why, the winch is at the stern, damn you!”

“Off again, thank the Lord!” added the rasping voice already heard from behind the bales, while to it an equally familiar voice rejoined with a yawn:

“It’s time we WERE off!”

Said a hoarse voice:

“Look here, young fellow. What was it he shouted?”

Hastily and inarticulately, with a great deal of smacking of the lips and stuttering, someone replied:

“He shouted: ‘Kinsmen, do not kill me! Have some mercy, for Christ’s sake, and I will make over to you everything–yes, everything into your good hands for ever! Only let me go away, and expiate my sins, and save my soul through prayer. Aye, I will go on a pilgrimage, and remain hidden my life long, to the very end. Never shall you hear of me again, nor see me.’ Then Uncle Peter caught him a blow on the head, and his blood splashed out upon me. As he fell I–well, I ran away, and made for the tavern, where I knocked at the door and shouted: ‘Sister, they have killed our father!’ Upon that, she put her head out of the window, but only said: ‘That merely means that the rascal is making an excuse for vodka.’ . . . Aye, a terrible time it was–was that night! And how frightened I felt! At first, I made for the garret, but presently thought to myself: ‘No; they would soon find me there, and put me to an end as well, for I am the heir direct, and should be the first to succeed to the property.’ So I crawled on to the roof, and there lay hidden behind the chimney-stack, holding on with arms and legs, while unable to speak for sheer terror.”