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- Эдгар Райс Берроуз
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There
was
in
the
whole
atmosphere
of
the
craft
that
undefinable
something
which
presages
disaster
.
Outwardly
,
to
the
knowledge
of
the
Claytons
,
all
went
on
as
before
upon
the
little
vessel
;
but
that
there
was
an
undertow
leading
them
toward
some
unknown
danger
both
felt
,
though
they
did
not
speak
of
it
to
each
other
.
On
the
second
day
after
the
wounding
of
Black
Michael
,
Clayton
came
on
deck
just
in
time
to
see
the
limp
body
of
one
of
the
crew
being
carried
below
by
four
of
his
fellows
while
the
first
mate
,
a
heavy
belaying
pin
in
his
hand
,
stood
glowering
at
the
little
party
of
sullen
sailors
.
Clayton
asked
no
questions
--
he
did
not
need
to
--
and
the
following
day
,
as
the
great
lines
of
a
British
battleship
grew
out
of
the
distant
horizon
,
he
half
determined
to
demand
that
he
and
Lady
Alice
be
put
aboard
her
,
for
his
fears
were
steadily
increasing
that
nothing
but
harm
could
result
from
remaining
on
the
lowering
,
sullen
Fuwalda
.
Toward
noon
they
were
within
speaking
distance
of
the
British
vessel
,
but
when
Clayton
had
nearly
decided
to
ask
the
captain
to
put
them
aboard
her
,
the
obvious
ridiculousness
of
such
a
request
became
suddenly
apparent
.
What
reason
could
he
give
the
officer
commanding
her
majesty
's
ship
for
desiring
to
go
back
in
the
direction
from
which
he
had
just
come
!
What
if
he
told
them
that
two
insubordinate
seamen
had
been
roughly
handled
by
their
officers
?
They
would
but
laugh
in
their
sleeves
and
attribute
his
reason
for
wishing
to
leave
the
ship
to
but
one
thing
--
cowardice
.
John
Clayton
,
Lord
Greystoke
,
did
not
ask
to
be
transferred
to
the
British
man-of-war
.
Late
in
the
afternoon
he
saw
her
upper
works
fade
below
the
far
horizon
,
but
not
before
he
learned
that
which
confirmed
his
greatest
fears
,
and
caused
him
to
curse
the
false
pride
which
had
restrained
him
from
seeking
safety
for
his
young
wife
a
few
short
hours
before
,
when
safety
was
within
reach
--
a
safety
which
was
now
gone
forever
.
It
was
mid-afternoon
that
brought
the
little
old
sailor
,
who
had
been
felled
by
the
captain
a
few
days
before
,
to
where
Clayton
and
his
wife
stood
by
the
ship
's
side
watching
the
ever
diminishing
outlines
of
the
great
battleship
.
The
old
fellow
was
polishing
brasses
,
and
as
he
came
edging
along
until
close
to
Clayton
he
said
,
in
an
undertone
:
"
'
Ell
's
to
pay
,
sir
,
on
this
'
ere
craft
,
an
'
mark
my
word
for
it
,
sir
.
'
Ell
's
to
pay
.
"
"
What
do
you
mean
,
my
good
fellow
?
"
asked
Clayton
.
