Chapter 32

           Iawoke,oppressedbyamysterioussensation.Thereseemedsomethingmissinginmyenvironment.Butthemysteryandoppressivenessvanishedafterthefirstfewsecondsofwaking,whenIidentifiedthemissingsomethingasthewind.Ihadfallenasleepinthatstateofnervetensionwithwhichonemeetsthecontinuousshockofsoundormovement,andIhadawakened,stilltense,bracingmyselftomeetthepressureofsomethingwhichnolongerboreuponme.

           ItwasthefirstnightIhadspentundercoverinseveralmonths,andIlayluxuriouslyforsomeminutesundermyblankets(foroncenotwetwithfogorspray),analysing,first,theeffectproduceduponmebythecessationofthewind,andnext,thejoywhichwasminefromrestingonthemattressmadebyMaud’shands.WhenIhaddressedandopenedthedoor,Iheardthewavesstilllappingonthebeach,garrulouslyattestingthefuryofthenight.Itwasaclearday,andthesunwasshining.Ihadsleptlate,andIsteppedoutsidewithsuddenenergy,bentuponmakinguplosttimeasbefittedadwelleronEndeavourIsland.

           Andwhenoutside,Istoppedshort.Ibelievedmyeyeswithoutquestion,andyetIwasforthemomentstunnedbywhattheydisclosedtome.There,onthebeach,notfiftyfeetaway,bowon,dismasted,wasablack-hulledvessel.Mastsandbooms,tangledwithshrouds,sheets,andrentcanvas,wererubbinggentlyalongside.IcouldhaverubbedmyeyesasIlooked.Therewasthehome-madegalleywehadbuilt,thefamiliarbreakofthepoop,thelowyacht-cabinscarcelyrisingabovetherail.ItwastheGhost.

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