Hunting the Skipper: The Cruise of the «Seafowl» Sloop
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Fenn George Manville. Hunting the Skipper: The Cruise of the «Seafowl» Sloop
Chapter One. H.M.S. “Seafowl.”
Chapter Two. Bother the Fog
Chapter Three. The Cute Visitor
Chapter Four. The Yankee’s Food
Chapter Five. Trusting a Guide
Chapter Six. Into the Mist
Chapter Seven. Trapped
Chapter Eight. Amongst the Horrors
Chapter Nine “Fire! Fire!”
Chapter Ten. Hard Times
Chapter Eleven “The Smoke’s Lifting.”
Chapter Twelve. After the Lesson
Chapter Thirteen. A Visit from the Hornets
Chapter Fourteen. Dealing with a Fleet
Chapter Fifteen. The Doctor is Riled
Chapter Sixteen “Cold Pison.”
Chapter Seventeen. Overhauling a Stranger
Chapter Eighteen. Rather Fishy
Chapter Nineteen “Man Overboard!”
Chapter Twenty. In the Doctor’s Hands
Chapter Twenty One “Niggah, Sah.”
Chapter Twenty Two. The Overseer
Chapter Twenty Three. Murray’s Mission
Chapter Twenty Four “Seafowls Ahoy!”
Chapter Twenty Five. With Shot-Holes
Chapter Twenty Six. A Fight in the Dark
Chapter Twenty Seven. Lost
Chapter Twenty Eight “Where’s your Despatch?”
Chapter Twenty Nine. Where is the Slaver’s Lugger?
Chapter Thirty. Better Luck Next Time
Chapter Thirty One. Mr Allen’s Visit
Chapter Thirty Two. On Duty
Chapter Thirty Three. Boiling over
Chapter Thirty Four. The Lost Prisoner
Chapter Thirty Five. Black Caesar
Chapter Thirty Six “Berry much ’fraid.”
Chapter Thirty Seven. Obeah
Chapter Thirty Eight. A Night in the Woods
Chapter Thirty Nine. On the Strain
Chapter Forty. Dealing with the Wounded
Chapter Forty One. Hunted
Chapter Forty Two. Without a Doctor
Chapter Forty Three. Nocturnal Visitors
Chapter Forty Four “You Dah?”
Chapter Forty Five. A Friend in Need
Chapter Forty Six. Caesar’s Proposal
Chapter Forty Seven “Wait till Dark.”
Chapter Forty Eight “Let ’em have it.”
Chapter Forty Nine “Caesar don’t know.”
Chapter Fifty. Caesar finds the Key
Chapter Fifty One. Laying the Train
Chapter Fifty Two. What the Powder did
Chapter Fifty Three. The Captain’s last blow up
Отрывок из книги
A minute before those words were shouted from the main-top, the low-toned conversation carried on by the two young officers, with an occasional creak or rattle from a swinging sail was all that broke the silence of the drowsy vessel; now from everywhere came the buzz of voices and the hurrying trample of feet.
“It’s just as if some one had thrust a stick into a wasp’s nest,” whispered Frank Murray to his companion, as they saw that the captain and officers had hurried up on deck to follow the two lads’ example of bringing their spy-glasses to bear upon a faintly seen sail upon the horizon, where it was plainly marked for a few minutes – long enough to be made out as a low schooner with raking masts, carrying a heavy spread of canvas, which gradually grew fainter and fainter before it died away in the silvery haze. The time was short, but quite long enough for orders to be sharply given, men to spring up aloft, and the sloop’s course to be altered, when shuddering sails began to fill out, making the Seafowl careen over lightly, and a slight foam formed on either side of the cut-water.
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“Look here, sir,” said the lieutenant, ignoring the remark; “just listen to me. I want you to guide me and my men to the foul nest of this slave-trader and the town of the black chief.”
The American shook his head.
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