Дэвид Копперфильд

Tempest

           Inthedifficultyofhearinganythingbutwindandwaves,andinthecrowd,andtheunspeakableconfusion,andmyfirstbreathlesseffortstostandagainsttheweather,IwassoconfusedthatIlookedouttoseaforthewreck,andsawnothingbutthefoamingheadsofthegreatwaves.Ahalf-dressedboatman,standingnextme,pointedwithhisbarearm(atattoo’darrowonit,pointinginthesamedirection)totheleft.Then,OgreatHeaven,Isawit,closeinuponus!

           Onemastwasbrokenshortoff,sixoreightfeetfromthedeck,andlayovertheside,entangledinamazeofsailandrigging;andallthatruin,astheshiprolledandbeatwhichshedidwithoutamoment’spause,andwithaviolencequiteinconceivablebeatthesideasifitwouldstaveitin.Someeffortswereeventhenbeingmade,tocutthisportionofthewreckaway;for,astheship,whichwasbroadsideon,turnedtowardsusinherrolling,Iplainlydescriedherpeopleatworkwithaxes,especiallyoneactivefigurewithlongcurlinghair,conspicuousamongtherest.Butagreatcry,whichwasaudibleevenabovethewindandwater,rosefromtheshoreatthismoment;thesea,sweepingovertherollingwreck,madeacleanbreach,andcarriedmen,spars,casks,planks,bulwarks,heapsofsuchtoys,intotheboilingsurge.

           Thesecondmastwasyetstanding,withtheragsofarentsail,andawildconfusionofbrokencordageflappingtoandfro.Theshiphadstruckonce,thesameboatmanhoarselysaidinmyear,andthenliftedinandstruckagain.

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