Birds of Prey - Smith Wilbur (версия книг TXT) 📗
There were other creatures, not as large as the elephant bulls, but massive and grey none the less, which at first he took for elephant also, but as they descended towards the low ground he was able to make out the black horns, some as long as a man is tall, that decorated their great creased grey snouts. He remembered then what Sabah had told him of these savage beasts, one of which had speared and killed Johannes" woman with its deadly horn. These "rhenosters" which was Sabah's name for them, seemed solitary in nature for they stood apart from others of the same kind, each in the shade of its own tree.
As Hal strode along at the head of the tiny column, he heard the light tread of feet coming up behind him, footsteps that he had come to know and love so well. Sukeena had left her place in the centre of the line, as she often did when she found some excuse to walk with him for a while.
She slipped her hand into his and kept pace with him. "I did not want to go alone into this new land. I wanted to walk beside you, she said softly, then looked up at the sky. "See the way the wind veers into the south and the clouds crouch on the mountain tops like a pack of wild beasts in ambush? There is a storm coming."
Her warning proved timely. Hal was able to lead them to a cave in the mountainside to shelter before the storm struck. They lay up there for three long days and nights while the storm raged without, but when they emerged at last, the land was washed clean and the sky was bright and burning blue.
Before the Golden Bough had made her offing from Good Hope and come onto her true course to round the Cape, Captain Christopher Llewellyn was already regretting having taken on board his paying passenger.
He had found out soon enough that Colonel Cornelius Schreuder was a difficult man to like, arrogant, outspoken and highly opinionated. He held firm and unwavering views on every subject that was raised, and was never diffident in giving expression to these. "He picks up enemies as a dog picks up fleas," Llewellyn told his mate.
The second day out from Table Bay, Llewellyn had invited Schreuder to dine with him and some of his officers in the stern cabin. He was a cultured man, and maintained a grand style even at sea. With the prize money that he had won in the recent Dutch war, he could afford to indulge his taste for fine things.
The GoLden Bough had cost almost two thousand pounds to build and launch, but she was probably the finest vessel of her class and burden afloat. Her culver ins were newly cast and her sails were of the finest canvas. The captain's quarters were fitted out with a taste and discrimination unparalleled in any navy, but her qualities as a fighting ship had not been sacrificed for luxury.
During the voyage down the Atlantic, Llewellyn had found, to his delight, that her sea-keeping qualities were all he had hoped. On a broad reach, with her sails full and the wind free, her hull sliced through the water like a blade, and she could point so high into the wind that it made his heart sing to feel her deck heel under his feet.
Most of his officers and petty-officers had served with him during the war and had proved their quality and courage, but he had on board one younger officer, the fourth son of George, Viscount Winterton.
Lord Winterton was the Master Navigator of the Order, one of the richest and most powerful men in England. He owned a fleet of privateers and trading ships. The Honourable Vincent Winterton was on his first privateering voyage, placed by his father under Llewellyn's tutelage. He was a comely youth, not yet twenty years of age but well educated, with a frank and winning manner that made him popular with both the seamen and his brother officers alike.
He was one of the other guests at Llewellyn's dinner table that second night out from Good Hope.
The dinner started out gay and lively, for all the Englishmen were merry, with a fine ship under them and the promise of glory and gold ahead. Schreuder, however, was aloof and gloomy. With the second glass of wine warming them all, Llewellyn called across the cabin, "Vincent, my lad, will you not give us a tune?"
"Could you bear to listen, yet again, to my caterwauling, sir?" The young man laughed modestly, but the rest of the company urged him on. "Come on, Vinny! Sing for us, man!
Vincent Winterton stood up and went to the small clavichord that was fastened with heavy brass screws to one of the main frames of the ship. He sat down, tossed back his long thick curling locks and struck a soft, silvery chord from the keyboard. "What would you have me sing?"
"Greensleeves!" suggested someone, but Vincent pulled a face. "You've heard that a hundred times and more since we sailed from home."
"Mother Mine'T." cried another. This time Vincent nodded, threw back his head and sang in a strong, true voice that transformed the mawkish lyrics and brought tears to the eyes of many of the company as they tapped their feet in time to the song.
Schreuder had taken an immediate and unreasoned dislike to the attractive youth, so comely and popular with his peers, so sure of himself and serene in his high rank and privileged birth. Schreuder, in comparison, felt himself ageing and overlooked. He had never attracted the natural admiration and affection of those about him, as this young man so obviously did.
He sat stiffly in a corner, ignored by these men who, not so long ago, had been his deadly enemies, and who, he knew, despised him as a dull foreigner and a foot soldier, not one of their brotherhood of the ocean. He found his dislike turning to active hatred of the young man, whose fine features were clear and unlined and whose voice had the timbre and tonal colour of a temple bell.
When the song ended, there was a moment of silence, attentive and awed. Then they all burst out clapping and applauding. "Oh, well done, lad!" and "Bravo, Vinny!" Schreuder felt his irritation become unbearable.
The applause went on too long for the liking of the singer, and Vincent rose from the clavichord with a deprecating wave of the hand that begged them to desist.
In the silence that followed, Schreuder said, softly but distinctly, "Caterwauling? No, sit, that was an insult to the feline species."
