Be a realist. The world is made up of two classes--the hunters and the huntees. Luckily, you and I are hunters. Do you think we've passed that island yet? Even cannibals wouldn't live in such a God-forsaken place. But it's gotten into sailor lore, somehow. Didn't you notice that the crew's nerves seemed a bit jumpy today? Those fishy blue eyes held a look I never saw there before. Now, you mustn't laugh when I tell you this--I did feel something like a sudden chill.
The sea was as flat as a plate-glass window. We were drawing near the island then. What I felt was a--a mental chill; a sort of sudden dread.
But sometimes I think sailors have an extra sense that tells them when they are in danger. He strained his eyes in the direction from which the reports had come, but it was like trying to see through a blanket. He leaped upon the rail and balanced himself there, to get greater elevation; his pipe, striking a rope, was knocked from his mouth. He lunged for it; a short, hoarse cry came from his lips as he realized he had reached too far and had lost his balance.
The cry was pinched off short as the blood-warm waters of the Caribbean Sea closed over his head. Now, you mustn't laugh when I tell you this--I did feel something like a sudden chill. The sea was as flat as a plate-glass window. We were drawing near the island then.
What I felt was a--a mental chill; a sort of sudden dread. But sometimes I think sailors have an extra sense that tells them when they are in danger. Sometimes I think evil is a tangible thing--with wave lengths, just as sound and light have. An evil place can, so to speak, broadcast vibrations of evil. Anyhow, I'm glad we're getting out of this zone. Well, I think I'll turn in now, Rainsford.
There was no sound in the night as Rainsford sat there but the muffled throb of the engine that drove the yacht swiftly through the darkness, and the swish and ripple of the wash of the propeller. Rainsford, reclining in a steamer chair, indolently puffed on his favorite brier. The sensuous drowsiness of the night was on him. An abrupt sound startled him.
Off to the right he heard it, and his ears, expert in such matters, could not be mistaken. Again he heard the sound, and again.
Somewhere, off in the blackness, someone had fired a gun three times. He strained his eyes in the direction from which the reports had come, but it was like trying to see through a blanket. He leaped upon the rail and balanced himself there, to get greater elevation; his pipe, striking a rope, was knocked from his mouth. He lunged for it; a short, hoarse cry came from his lips as he realized he had reached too far and had lost his balance.
The cry was pinched off short as the blood-warm waters of the Caribbean Sea closed over his head.
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