Am I No A Bonny Fighter?
Alan drew a dirk, which he held in his left hand in case they should
run in under his sword. I, on my part, clambered up into the berth with
an armful of pistols and something of a heavy heart, and set open the
window where I was to watch. It was a small part of the deck that I
could overlook, but enough for our purpose. The sea had gone down, and
the wind was steady and kept the sails quiet; so that there was a great
stillness in the ship, in which I made sure I heard the sound of
muttering voices. A little after, and there came a clash of steel upon
the deck, by which I knew they were dealing out the cutlasses and one
had been let fall; and after that, silence again. I do not know
if I was what you call afraid; but my heart beat like a bird’s, both
quick and little; and there was a dimness came before my eyes which I
continually rubbed away, and which continually returned. As for hope, I
had none; but only a darkness of despair and a sort of anger against all
the world that made me long to sell my life as dear as I was able. I
tried to pray, I remember, but that same hurry of my mind, like a man
running, would not suffer me to think upon the words; and my chief wish
was to have the thing begin and be done with it. It came all of
a sudden when it did, with a rush of feet and a roar, and then a shout
from Alan, and a sound of blows and some one crying out as if hurt. I
looked back over my shoulder, and saw Mr. Shuan in the doorway, crossing
blades with Alan.
“That’s him that killed the boy!” I cried.
“Look to your window!” said Alan; and as I turned back to my place, I saw him pass his sword through the mate’s body.
Kidnapped, Robert Louis Stevenson. 1886. Illustration by Lynd Ward, 1948.
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