章节正文
last the Titanic streets became deserted. The
frontges of the buildings grew plain and harsh; he seemed
to have come to a district of vacant warehouses.
Solitude crept upon him--his pace slackened.
He became aware of a growing fatigue. At times
he would turn aside and seat himself on one of the
numerous seats of the upper ways. But a feverish
restlessness, the knowledge of his vital implication in
his struggle, would not let him rest in any place for
long. Was the struggle on his behalf alone?
And then in a desolate place came the shock of an
earthquake--a roaring and thundering--a mighty
wind of cold air pouring through the city, the smash
of glass, the slip and thud of falling masonry--a
sieries of gigantic concussions. A mass of glass and
ironwork fell from the remote roofs into the middle
gallery, not a hundred yards away from him, and in
the distance were shouts and running. He, too, was
startled to an aimless activity, and ran first one way
and then as aimlessly back.
A man came running towards him. His self-control
returned. "What have they blown up?" asked the
man breathlessly. "That was an explosion," and before
Graham could speak he had hurried on.
The great buildings rose dimly, veiled by a perplexing
twilight, albeit the rivulet of sky above was now
bright with day. He noted many strange features,
understanding none at the time; he even spelt out
many of the inscriptions in Phonetic lettering. But
what profits it to decipher a confusion of odd-looking
letters resolving itself, after painfulstrain of eye and
mind, into "Here is Eadhamite," or, "Labour Bureau--
Little Side?" Grotesque thought, that in all
probability some or all of these cliff-like houses were
his!
The perversity of his experience came to him vividly.
In actual fact he had made such a leap in time
as romancers have imagined again and again. And
that fact realised, he had been prepared, his mind had,
as it were, seated itself for a spectacle. And no
spectacle, but a great vague danger, unsympathetic
shadows and veils of darkness. Somewhere through
the labyrinthine obscurity his death sought him.
Would he, after all, be killed before he saw? It might
be that even at the next shadowy corner his destruction
ambushed. A great desire to see, a great longing
to know, arose in him.
He became fearful of corners. It seemed to him
that there was safety in concealment. Where could
he hide to be inconspicuous when the lights returned?
At last he sat down upon a seat in a recess on one
of the higher ways, conceiving he was alone there.
He squeezed his knuckles into his weary eyes.
Suppose when he looked again he found the dark through
of parallel ways and that intolerablealtitude of edifice,
gone? Suppose he were to discover the whole story
of these last few days, the awakening, the shouting
multitudes, the darkness and the fighting, a
phantasmagoria, a new and more vivid sort of dream. It
must be a dream; it was so inconsecutive, so
reasonless. Why were the people fighting for him? Why
should this saner world regard him as Owner and
Master?
So he thought, sitting blinded, and then he looked
again, half hoping in spite of his ears to see some
familiar aspect of the life of the nineteenth century, to
see, perhaps, the little harbour of Boscastle about him,
the cliffs of Pentargen, or the bedroom of his home.
But fact takes no heed of human hopes. A squad
of men with a black banner tramped athwart the
nearer shadows, intent on conflict, and beyond rose
that giddy wall of frontage, vast and dark, with the dim
incomprehensible lettering showing faintly on its face.
"It is no dream," he said, "no dream." And he
bowed his face upon his hands.
CHAPTER XI
THE OLD MAN WHO KNEW EVERYTHING
He was startled by a cough close at hand.
He turned sharply, and peering, saw a small,
hunched-up figure sitting a couple of yards off in the
shadow of the enclosure.
"Have ye any news? " asked the high-pitched
wheezy voice of a very old man.
Graham hesitated." None," he said.
"I stay here till the lights come again," said the old
man." These blue scoundrels are everywhere--
everywhere."
Graham's answer was inarticulate assent. He tried
to see the old man but the darkness hid his face. He
wanted very much to respond, to talk, but he did not
know how to begin.
"Dark and damnable," said the old man suddenly.
"Dark and damnable. Turned out of my room among
all these dangers."
"That's hard," ventured Graham. "That's hard on
you."
"Darkness. An old man lost in the darkness. And
all the world gone mad. War and fighting. The
police beaten and rogues abroad. Why don't they
bring some negroes to protect us? . . . No more
dark passages for me. I fell over a dead man."
"You're safer with company," said the old man, "if
it's company of the right sort," and peered frankly.
He rose suddenly and came towards Graham.
Apparently the scrutiny was satisfactoy. The old
man sat down as if relieved to be no longer alone.
"Eh!" he said, "but this is a terrible time! War and
fighting, and the dead Iying there--men, strong men,
dying in the dark. Sons! I have three sons. God
knows where they are tonight."
The voice ceased. Then repeated quavering: "God
knows where they are tonight."
Graham stood revolving a question that should not
betray his ignorance. Again the old man's voice
ended the pause.
"This Ostrog will win," he said. "He will win. And
what the world will be like under him no one can
tell. My sons are under the wind-vanes, all three.
One of my daughters-in-law was his mistress for a
while. His mistress! Were not common people.
Though they've sent me to wander tonight and take
my chance. . . . I knew what was going on. Before
most people. But this darkness! And to fall
over a dead body suddenly in the dark!"
His wheezy breathing could be heard.
"Ostrog!" said Graham.
"The greatest Boss the world has ever seen," said
the voice.
Graham ransacked his mind. "The Council has few
friends among the people," he hazarded.
"Few friends. And poor ones at that. They've
had their time. Eh! They should have kept to the
clever ones. But twice they held election. And
Ostrog. And now it has burst out and nothing can
stay it, nothing can stay it. Twice they rejected
Ostrog--Ostrog the Boss. I heard of his rages at
the time--he was terrible. Heaven save them! For
nothing on earth can now, he has raised the Labour
Companies upon them. No one else would have
dared. All the blue canvas armed and marching! He
will go through with it. He will go through."
He was silent for a little while. "This Sleeper," he
said, and stopped.
"Yes," said Graham. "Well?"
The senile voice sank to a confidentialwhisper, the
dim, pale face came close. "The real Sleeper--"
"Yes," said Graham.
"Died years ago."
"What? " said Graham, sharply.
"Years ago. Died. Years ago."
"You don't say so!" said Graham.
"I do. I do say so. He died. This Sleeper who's
woke up--they changed in the night. A poor,
drugged insensible creature. But I mustn't tell all I
know. I mustn't tell all I know."
For a little while he muttered inaudibly. His secret
was too much for him. "I don't know the ones that
put him to sleep--that was before my time--but I
know the man who injected the stimulants and woke
him again. It was ten to one--wake or kill. Wake
or kill. Ostrog's way."
Graham was so astonished at these things that he
had to interrupt, to make the old man repeat his
words, to re-question vaguely, before he was sure of
the meaning and folly of what he heard. And his
awakening had not been natural! Was that an old
man's senile superstition, too, or had it any truth in it?
Feeling in the dark corners of his memory, he presently
came on something that might conceivably be
an impression of some such stimulating effect. It
dawned upon him that he had happened upon a lucky
encounter, that at last he might learn something of
the new age. The old man wheezed a while and spat,
and then the piping, reminiscent voice resumed:
"The first time they rejected him. I've followed
it all."
"Rejected whom?" said Graham. "The Sleeper?"
"Sleeper? No. Ostrog. He was terrible--terrible!
And he was promised then, promised certainly
the next time. Fools they were--not to be more
afraid of him. Now all the city's his millstone, and
such as we dust ground upon it. Dust ground upon
it. Until he set to work--the workers cut each other's
throats, and murdered a Chinaman or a Labour policeman
at times, and left the rest of us in peace. Dead
bodies! Robbing! Darkness! Such a thing hasn't
been this gross of years. Eh!--but 'tis ill on small
folks when the great fall out! It's ill."
"Did you say--there had not been what?--for
a gross of years? "
"Eh?" said the old man.
The old man said something about clipping his
words, and made him repeat this a third time. "Fighting
and slaying, and weapons in hand, and fools bawling
freedom and the like," said the old man. "Not in
all my life has there been that. These are like the old
days--for sure--when the Paris people broke out--
three gross of years ago. That's what I mean hasn't
been. But it's the world's way. It had to come back.
I know. I know. This five years Ostrog has been
working, and there has been trouble and trouble, and
frontges of the buildings grew plain and harsh; he seemed
to have come to a district of vacant warehouses.
Solitude crept upon him--his pace slackened.
He became aware of a growing fatigue. At times
he would turn aside and seat himself on one of the
numerous seats of the upper ways. But a feverish
restlessness, the knowledge of his vital implication in
his struggle, would not let him rest in any place for
long. Was the struggle on his behalf alone?
And then in a desolate place came the shock of an
earthquake--a roaring and thundering--a mighty
wind of cold air pouring through the city, the smash
of glass, the slip and thud of falling masonry--a
sieries of gigantic concussions. A mass of glass and
ironwork fell from the remote roofs into the middle
gallery, not a hundred yards away from him, and in
the distance were shouts and running. He, too, was
startled to an aimless activity, and ran first one way
and then as aimlessly back.
A man came running towards him. His self-control
returned. "What have they blown up?" asked the
man breathlessly. "That was an explosion," and before
Graham could speak he had hurried on.
The great buildings rose dimly, veiled by a perplexing
twilight, albeit the rivulet of sky above was now
bright with day. He noted many strange features,
understanding none at the time; he even spelt out
many of the inscriptions in Phonetic lettering. But
what profits it to decipher a confusion of odd-looking
letters resolving itself, after painfulstrain of eye and
mind, into "Here is Eadhamite," or, "Labour Bureau--
Little Side?" Grotesque thought, that in all
probability some or all of these cliff-like houses were
his!
The perversity of his experience came to him vividly.
In actual fact he had made such a leap in time
as romancers have imagined again and again. And
that fact realised, he had been prepared, his mind had,
as it were, seated itself for a spectacle. And no
spectacle, but a great vague danger, unsympathetic
shadows and veils of darkness. Somewhere through
the labyrinthine obscurity his death sought him.
Would he, after all, be killed before he saw? It might
be that even at the next shadowy corner his destruction
ambushed. A great desire to see, a great longing
to know, arose in him.
He became fearful of corners. It seemed to him
that there was safety in concealment. Where could
he hide to be inconspicuous when the lights returned?
At last he sat down upon a seat in a recess on one
of the higher ways, conceiving he was alone there.
He squeezed his knuckles into his weary eyes.
Suppose when he looked again he found the dark through
of parallel ways and that intolerablealtitude of edifice,
gone? Suppose he were to discover the whole story
of these last few days, the awakening, the shouting
multitudes, the darkness and the fighting, a
phantasmagoria, a new and more vivid sort of dream. It
must be a dream; it was so inconsecutive, so
reasonless. Why were the people fighting for him? Why
should this saner world regard him as Owner and
Master?
So he thought, sitting blinded, and then he looked
again, half hoping in spite of his ears to see some
familiar aspect of the life of the nineteenth century, to
see, perhaps, the little harbour of Boscastle about him,
the cliffs of Pentargen, or the bedroom of his home.
But fact takes no heed of human hopes. A squad
of men with a black banner tramped athwart the
nearer shadows, intent on conflict, and beyond rose
that giddy wall of frontage, vast and dark, with the dim
incomprehensible lettering showing faintly on its face.
"It is no dream," he said, "no dream." And he
bowed his face upon his hands.
CHAPTER XI
THE OLD MAN WHO KNEW EVERYTHING
He was startled by a cough close at hand.
He turned sharply, and peering, saw a small,
hunched-up figure sitting a couple of yards off in the
shadow of the enclosure.
"Have ye any news? " asked the high-pitched
wheezy voice of a very old man.
Graham hesitated." None," he said.
"I stay here till the lights come again," said the old
man." These blue scoundrels are everywhere--
everywhere."
Graham's answer was inarticulate assent. He tried
to see the old man but the darkness hid his face. He
wanted very much to respond, to talk, but he did not
know how to begin.
"Dark and damnable," said the old man suddenly.
"Dark and damnable. Turned out of my room among
all these dangers."
"That's hard," ventured Graham. "That's hard on
you."
"Darkness. An old man lost in the darkness. And
all the world gone mad. War and fighting. The
police beaten and rogues abroad. Why don't they
bring some negroes to protect us? . . . No more
dark passages for me. I fell over a dead man."
"You're safer with company," said the old man, "if
it's company of the right sort," and peered frankly.
He rose suddenly and came towards Graham.
Apparently the scrutiny was satisfactoy. The old
man sat down as if relieved to be no longer alone.
"Eh!" he said, "but this is a terrible time! War and
fighting, and the dead Iying there--men, strong men,
dying in the dark. Sons! I have three sons. God
knows where they are tonight."
The voice ceased. Then repeated quavering: "God
knows where they are tonight."
Graham stood revolving a question that should not
betray his ignorance. Again the old man's voice
ended the pause.
"This Ostrog will win," he said. "He will win. And
what the world will be like under him no one can
tell. My sons are under the wind-vanes, all three.
One of my daughters-in-law was his mistress for a
while. His mistress! Were not common people.
Though they've sent me to wander tonight and take
my chance. . . . I knew what was going on. Before
most people. But this darkness! And to fall
over a dead body suddenly in the dark!"
His wheezy breathing could be heard.
"Ostrog!" said Graham.
"The greatest Boss the world has ever seen," said
the voice.
Graham ransacked his mind. "The Council has few
friends among the people," he hazarded.
"Few friends. And poor ones at that. They've
had their time. Eh! They should have kept to the
clever ones. But twice they held election. And
Ostrog. And now it has burst out and nothing can
stay it, nothing can stay it. Twice they rejected
Ostrog--Ostrog the Boss. I heard of his rages at
the time--he was terrible. Heaven save them! For
nothing on earth can now, he has raised the Labour
Companies upon them. No one else would have
dared. All the blue canvas armed and marching! He
will go through with it. He will go through."
He was silent for a little while. "This Sleeper," he
said, and stopped.
"Yes," said Graham. "Well?"
The senile voice sank to a confidentialwhisper, the
dim, pale face came close. "The real Sleeper--"
"Yes," said Graham.
"Died years ago."
"What? " said Graham, sharply.
"Years ago. Died. Years ago."
"You don't say so!" said Graham.
"I do. I do say so. He died. This Sleeper who's
woke up--they changed in the night. A poor,
drugged insensible creature. But I mustn't tell all I
know. I mustn't tell all I know."
For a little while he muttered inaudibly. His secret
was too much for him. "I don't know the ones that
put him to sleep--that was before my time--but I
know the man who injected the stimulants and woke
him again. It was ten to one--wake or kill. Wake
or kill. Ostrog's way."
Graham was so astonished at these things that he
had to interrupt, to make the old man repeat his
words, to re-question vaguely, before he was sure of
the meaning and folly of what he heard. And his
awakening had not been natural! Was that an old
man's senile superstition, too, or had it any truth in it?
Feeling in the dark corners of his memory, he presently
came on something that might conceivably be
an impression of some such stimulating effect. It
dawned upon him that he had happened upon a lucky
encounter, that at last he might learn something of
the new age. The old man wheezed a while and spat,
and then the piping, reminiscent voice resumed:
"The first time they rejected him. I've followed
it all."
"Rejected whom?" said Graham. "The Sleeper?"
"Sleeper? No. Ostrog. He was terrible--terrible!
And he was promised then, promised certainly
the next time. Fools they were--not to be more
afraid of him. Now all the city's his millstone, and
such as we dust ground upon it. Dust ground upon
it. Until he set to work--the workers cut each other's
throats, and murdered a Chinaman or a Labour policeman
at times, and left the rest of us in peace. Dead
bodies! Robbing! Darkness! Such a thing hasn't
been this gross of years. Eh!--but 'tis ill on small
folks when the great fall out! It's ill."
"Did you say--there had not been what?--for
a gross of years? "
"Eh?" said the old man.
The old man said something about clipping his
words, and made him repeat this a third time. "Fighting
and slaying, and weapons in hand, and fools bawling
freedom and the like," said the old man. "Not in
all my life has there been that. These are like the old
days--for sure--when the Paris people broke out--
three gross of years ago. That's what I mean hasn't
been. But it's the world's way. It had to come back.
I know. I know. This five years Ostrog has been
working, and there has been trouble and trouble, and
- vacant [´veikənt]
a.空虚的，无表情的 (初中英语单词) - remote [ri´məut] a.遥远的；偏僻的 (初中英语单词)
- running [´rʌniŋ] a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词)
- aimless [´eimlis] a.没有目标；无目的的 (初中英语单词)
- confusion [kən´fju:ʒən] n.混乱(状态)；骚乱 (初中英语单词)
- actual [´æktʃuəl] a.现实的；实际的 (初中英语单词)
- spectacle [´spektəkəl] n.展览；表演；景象 (初中英语单词)
- fearful [´fiəfəl] a.可怕的；担心的 (初中英语单词)
- parallel [´pærəlel] a.平行的 n.平行线 (初中英语单词)
- altitude [´æltitju:d] n.高度；海拨 (初中英语单词)
- aspect [´æspekt] n.面貌；神色；方向 (初中英语单词)
- banner [´bænə] n.旗(帜)；头号标题 (初中英语单词)
- intent [in´tent] a.专心致志的 n.意图 (初中英语单词)
- conflict [´kɔnflikt, kən´flikt] n.&vi.战斗；抵触 (初中英语单词)
- sharply [´ʃɑ:pli] ad.锋利地；剧烈地 (初中英语单词)
- respond [ri´spɔnd] v.回答；响应；有反应 (初中英语单词)
- beaten [´bi:tn] beat 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- abroad [ə´brɔ:d] ad.海外；到处；广泛 (初中英语单词)
- ignorance [´ignərəns] n.无知，愚昧 (初中英语单词)
- mistress [´mistris] n.女主人；情妇；女能手 (初中英语单词)
- wander [´wɔndə, ´wɑ:n:dər] v.徘徊；流浪 (初中英语单词)
- election [i´lekʃən] n.选举；选择 (初中英语单词)
- canvas [´kænvəs] n.帆布；油画(布) (初中英语单词)
- whisper [´wispə] v.耳语 n.低语；沙沙声 (初中英语单词)
- interrupt [,intə´rʌpt] v.中断；打扰 (初中英语单词)
- impression [im´preʃən] n.印刷；印象；效果 (初中英语单词)
- fatigue [fə´ti:g] n.&vt.(使)疲劳(劳累) (高中英语单词)
- behalf [bi´hɑ:f] n.利益 (高中英语单词)
- desolate [´desəleit] a.荒凉的；孤独的 (高中英语单词)
- gigantic [dʒai´gæntik] a.巨大的 (高中英语单词)
- hurried [´hʌrid] a.仓促的，慌忙的 (高中英语单词)
- painful [´peinfəl] a.痛(苦)的；费力的 (高中英语单词)
- strain [strein] vt.拉紧 vi.拖 n.张力 (高中英语单词)
- shadowy [´ʃædəui] a.有阴影的；模糊的 (高中英语单词)
- recess [ri´ses] n.休息；休会 (高中英语单词)
- faintly [´feintli] ad.微弱地，软弱无力的 (高中英语单词)
- assent [ə´sent] vi.&n.同意，赞成 (高中英语单词)
- repeated [ri´pi:tid] a.反复的；重复的 (高中英语单词)
- superstition [,su:pə´stiʃən, ,sju:-] n.迷信(行为) (高中英语单词)
- breathlessly [´breθlisli] ad.气喘吁吁地 (英语四级单词)
- grotesque [grəu´tesk] a.奇异的，想象中的 (英语四级单词)
- obscurity [əb´skjuəriti] n.暗(淡)；朦胧；含糊 (英语四级单词)
- intolerable [in´tɔlərəb(ə)l] a.无法忍受的 (英语四级单词)
- graham [´greiəm] a.&n.用全麦粉做的 (英语四级单词)
- confidential [,kɔnfi´denʃəl] a.极受信任的；心腹的 (英语四级单词)
- vaguely [´veigli] ad.含糊地，暖昧地 (英语四级单词)
- implication [,impli´keiʃən] n.牵过；暗示；含蓄 (英语六级单词)
- albeit [ɔ:l´bi:it] conj.即使；纵使；虽然 (英语六级单词)
- rivulet [´rivjulit] n.小河，溪流 (英语六级单词)
- concealment [kən´si:lmənt] n.隐藏，隐瞒 (英语六级单词)
- awakening [ə´weikəniŋ] n.&a.觉醒(中的) (英语六级单词)
- sleeper [´sli:pə] n.睡眠者；(铁路)枕木 (英语六级单词)
- insensible [in´sensəbəl] a.麻木的；冷淡的 (英语六级单词)
- millstone [´milstəun] n.磨石；重担 (英语六级单词)
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