Крижаний сфінкс
Chapter VI. An Ocean Waif
CaptainLenGuyliftedupthehair,whichhadbeenpreservedbythecold,raisedthehead,gazeduponthescaledeyelids,andfinallysaidwithasortofsob,—
“Patterson!Patterson!”
“Patterson?”Iexclaimed.
Thename,commonasitwas,touchedsomechordinmymemory.WhenhadIheardituttered?HadIreaditanywhere?
Atthismoment,JamesWest,onahintfromtheboatswain,searchedthepocketsofthedeadman,andtookoutofthemaknife,somestring,anemptytobaccobox,andlastlyaleatherpocket-bookfurnishedwithametallicpencil.
“Givemethat,”saidthecaptain.Someoftheleaveswerecoveredwithwriting,almostentirelyeffacedbythedamp.Hefound,however,somewordsonthelastpagewhichwerestilllegible,andmyemotionmaybeimaginedwhenIheardhimreadaloudinatremblingvoice:“TheJane...Tsalalisland...byeighty-three...There...elevenyears...Captain...fivesailorssurviving...Hastentobringthemaid.”
Andundertheselineswasaname,asignature,thenameofPatterson!
ThenIremembered!PattersonwasthesecondofficeroftheJane,themateofthatschoonerwhichhadpickedupArthurPymandDirkPetersonthewreckoftheGrampus,theJanehavingreachedTsalalIsland;theJanewhichwasattackedbynativesandblownupinthemidstofthosewaters.
