- end_line
- 1883
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:25.200Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 1819
- text
- their heads to make a convivial meal of a poor devil, who would have
no means of escape or defence: however, there was no help for it. I was
willing to encounter some risks in order to accomplish my object, and
counted much upon my ability to elude these prowling cannibals amongst
the many coverts which the mountains afforded. Besides, the chances
were ten to one in my favour that they would none of them quit their own
fastnesses.
I had determined not to communicate my design of withdrawing from the
vessel to any of my shipmates, and least of all to solicit any one to
accompany me in my flight. But it so happened one night, that being upon
deck, revolving over in my mind various plans of escape, I perceived one
of the ship’s company leaning over the bulwarks, apparently plunged in a
profound reverie. He was a young fellow about my own age, for whom I
had all along entertained a great regard; and Toby, such was the name
by which he went among us, for his real name he would never tell us, was
every way worthy of it. He was active, ready and obliging, of dauntless
courage, and singularly open and fearless in the expression of his
feelings. I had on more than one occasion got him out of scrapes into
which this had led him; and I know not whether it was from this cause,
or a certain congeniality of sentiment between us, that he had always
shown a partiality for my society. We had battled out many a long watch
together, beguiling the weary hours with chat, song, and story, mingled
with a good many imprecations upon the hard destiny it seemed our common
fortune to encounter.
Toby, like myself, had evidently moved in a different sphere of life,
and his conversation at times betrayed this, although he was anxious
to conceal it. He was one of that class of rovers you sometimes meet
at sea, who never reveal their origin, never allude to home, and go
rambling over the world as if pursued by some mysterious fate they
cannot possibly elude.
There was much even in the appearance of Toby calculated to draw me
towards him, for while the greater part of the crew were as coarse in
person as in mind, Toby was endowed with a remarkably prepossessing
exterior. Arrayed in his blue frock and duck trousers, he was as smart a
looking sailor as ever stepped upon a deck; he was singularly small
and slightly made, with great flexibility of limb. His naturally dark
complexion had been deepened by exposure to the tropical sun, and a mass
of jetty locks clustered about his temples, and threw a darker shade
into his large black eyes. He was a strange wayward being, moody,
fitful, and melancholy--at times almost morose. He had a quick and fiery
temper too, which, when thoroughly roused, transported him into a state
bordering on delirium.
It is strange the power that a mind of deep passion has over feebler
natures. I have seen a brawny, fellow, with no lack of ordinary courage,
fairly quail before this slender stripling, when in one of his curious
fits. But these paroxysms seldom occurred, and in them my big-hearted
shipmate vented the bile which more calm-tempered individuals get rid of
by a continual pettishness at trivial annoyances.
No one ever saw Toby laugh. I mean in the hearty abandonment of
broad-mouthed mirth. He did smile sometimes, it is true; and there was
a good deal of dry, sarcastic humour about him, which told the more from
the imperturbable gravity of his tone and manner.
Latterly I had observed that Toby’s melancholy had greatly increased,
and I had frequently seen him since our arrival at the island gazing
wistfully upon the shore, when the remainder of the crew would be
rioting below. I was aware that he entertained a cordial detestation
of the ship, and believed that, should a fair chance of escape present
itself, he would embrace it willingly.
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