Morgan Robertson

Morgan Robertson

Summary

Portrait of Morgan Robertson Morgan Robertson Down to the Sea — The Mutiny (1905)

The cries of the captain had ceased, but awful sounds of huge teeth snapping and grating and crunching, as the monster bit and burrowed, made a horrid accompaniment to the vengeful snarls. Then there was quiet for a moment, but for the noise of combat forward, and Spencer lifted his huge, ungainly shape—a black silhouette against the white paint work of the cabin-trunk—threw himself into a sudden contortion, and something passed over the cage, scattering warm, sticky drops of liquid, a few of which struck my hand.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Morgan Robertson Morgan Robertson Down to the Sea — The Mutiny (1905)

THE MUTINY WHEN you have been shipwrecked, and, sole survivor of the crew, have tramped through the African jungle seven days on the food you can pick from the bushes; when your clothing is in rags and ribbons, your feet blistered and bleeding, and your stomach in a state of unstable equilibrium, you are likely, on touching the coast again, to welcome the sight of a brig at anchor in the bay, and to more than welcome the offer of a berth from a man who sculls ashore at your hail, especially so when he imparts the information that the nearest settlement is still two hundred miles farther on.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Morgan Robertson Morgan Robertson Down to the Sea — The Mutiny (1905)

Jessie's white face and wide-open gray eyes, looking at me through the skylight—where she had probably climbed to watch us—was what nerved me to hold my senses; for I knew that I would need all my store of courage and strength to get her away from that brig and her unnatural father.
"You see," he said, when we had seated ourselves on the quarter-rail, "it's utter nonsense to say that animals can be controlled by kindness alone. You can't do it. Their nature will assert itself once in a while.
Source: Wikisource

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