Rites of Passage – William Golding - bzelbublive.info

Wheeler tells me the wind will veer during the night and weshall get a-weigh make sail, be off, start on our vast journeywhen the tide turns. I have told him I am a good sailor andhave observed that same peculiar light. which is not quite asmile but rather an involuntary expansiveness. Bit acrosshis face. I made an immediate resolution to teach the mana lesson i n manners a t the first opportunity-but a s I writethese very words the pattern of our wooden world changes.There is a volleying and thundering up there from what mustbe the loosened canvas. There is the shrilling of pipes.Good God. can human throats emit such noises? But thata n d that must be signal guns! Outside my hutch apassenger has fallen with many oaths and the ladies areshrieking. the cattle are lowing and the sheep baaing. All isconfusion. Perhaps then the cows are baaing, the sheeplowing and the ladies damning the ship and her timbers toall hell fire? The canvas bowl into which Wheeler pouredwater for me has shifted i n its gimbals and now lies a t aslight angle.Our anchor has been plucked out of the sand and gravel ofOld England. I shall have no connection with my native soilfor three, or it may be four or five, years. I own that even withthe prospect of interesting and advantageous employmentbefore me it is a solemn thought.How else, since we are being solemn, should I conclude theaccount of my first day at sea than with an expression of myprofound gratitude? You have set my foot on the ladder and