章节正文
his coat, washed his hands. Then the air of guilt left
him, and he sat down to wait.
He sat bolt upright and weighted with iron in his
chair. He had a hard, lumpy bulk against each hip,
felt the scrappy iron in his pockets touch his ribs at
every breath, the downward drag of all these pounds
hanging upon his shoulders. He looked very dull too,
sitting idle there, and his yellow face, with motionless
black eyes, had something passive and sad in its quiet-
ness.
When he heard eight bells struck above his head, he
rose and made ready to go out. His movements seemed
aimless, his lower lip had dropped a little, his eyes
roamed about the cabin, and the tremendoustension of
his will had robbed them of every vestige of intelligence.
With the last stroke of the bell the Serang appeared
noiselessly on the bridge to relieve the mate. Sterne
overflowed with good nature, since he had nothing more
to desire.
"Got your eyes well open yet, Serang? It's middling
dark; I'll wait till you get your sight properly."
The old Malay murmured, looked up with his worn
eyes, sidled away into the light of the binnacle, and,
crossing his hands behind his back, fixed his eyes on the
compass-card.
"You'll have to keep a good look-out ahead for
land, about half-past three. It's fairly clear, though.
You have looked in on the captain as you came
along--eh? He knows the time? Well, then, I am
off."
At the foot of the ladder he stood aside for the captain.
He watched him go up with an even, certain tread, and
remained thoughtful for a moment. "It's funny," he
said to himself, "but you can never tell whether that
man has seen you or not. He might have heard me
breathe this time."
He was a wonderful man when all was said and done.
They said he had had a name in his day. Mr. Sterne
could well believe it; and he concluded serenely that
Captain Whalley must be able to see people more or less
--as himself just now, for instance--but not being cer-
tain of anybody, had to keep up that unnoticing silence
of manner for fear of giving himself away. Mr. Sterne
was a shrewd guesser.
This necessity of every moment brought home to Cap-
tain Whalley's heart the humiliation of his falsehood.
He had drifted into it from paternal love, from in-
credulity, from boundless trust in divine justice meted
out to men's feelings on this earth. He would give his
poor Ivy the benefit of another month's work; perhaps
the affliction was only temporary. Surely God would
not rob his child of his power to help, and cast him
naked into a night without end. He had caught at
every hope; and when the evidence of his misfortune
was stronger than hope, he tried not to believe the mani-
fest thing.
In vain. In the steadily darkening universe a sinister
clearness fell upon his ideas. In the illuminating mo-
ments of suffering he saw life, men, all things, the whole
earth with all her burden of created nature, as he had
never seen them before.
Sometimes he was seized with a sudden vertigo and an
overwhelming terror; and then the image of his daughter
appeared. Her, too, he had never seen so clearly before.
Was it possible that he should ever be unable to do
anything whatever for her? Nothing. And not see
her any more? Never.
Why? The punishment was too great for a little pre-
sumption, for a little pride. And at last he came to
cling to his deception with a fiercedetermination to carry
it out to the end, to save her money intact, and behold
her once more with his own eyes. Afterwards--what?
The idea of suicide was revolting to the vigor of his
manhood. He had prayed for death till the prayers had
stuck in his throat. All the days of his life he had
prayed for daily bread, and not to be led into tempta-
tion, in a childlike humility of spirit. Did words mean
anything? Whence did the gift of speech come? The
violent beating of his heart reverberated in his head--
seemed to shake his brain to pieces.
He sat down heavily in the deck-chair to keep the pre-
tense of his watch. The night was dark. All the nights
were dark now.
"Serang," he said, half aloud.
"Ada, Tuan. I am here."
"There are clouds on the sky?"
"There are, Tuan."
"Let her be steered straight. North."
"She is going north, Tuan."
The Serang stepped back. Captain Whalley recog-
nized Massy's footfalls on the bridge.
The engineer walked over to port and returned, pass-
ing behind the chair several times. Captain Whalley
detected an unusualcharacter as of prudent care in this
prowling. The near presence of that man brought with
it always a recrudescence of moral suffering for Captain
Whalley. It was not remorse. After all, he had done
nothing but good to the poor devil. There was also
a sense of danger--the necessity of a greater care.
Massy stopped and said--
"So you still say you must go?"
"I must indeed."
"And you couldn't at least leave the money for a term
of years?"
"Impossible."
"Can't trust it with me without your care, eh?"
Captain Whalley remained silent. Massy sighed
deeply over the back of the chair.
"It would just do to save me," he said in a tremulous
voice.
"I've saved you once."
The chief engineer took off his coat with careful
movements, and proceeded to feel for the brass hook
screwed into the wooden stanchion. For this purpose he
placed himself right in front of the binnacle, thus hid-
ing completely the compass-card from the quarter-
master at the wheel. "Tuan!" the lascar at last mur-
mured softly, meaning to let the white man know that
he could not see to steer.
Mr. Massy had accomplished his purpose. The coat
was hanging from the nail, within six inches of the
binnacle. And directly he had stepped aside the quarter-
master, a middle-aged, pock-marked, Sumatra Malay,
almost as dark as a negro, perceived with amazement
that in that short time, in this smooth water, with no
wind at all, the ship had gone swinging far out of her
course. He had never known her get away like this
before. With a slight grunt of astonishment he turned
the wheel hastily to bring her head back north, which
was the course. The grinding of the steering-chains,
the chiding murmurs of the Serang, who had come over
to the wheel, made a slight stir, which attracted Cap-
tain Whalley's anxious attention. He said, "Take
better care." Then everything settled to the usual quiet
on the bridge. Mr. Massy had disappeared.
But the iron in the pockets of the coat had done its
work; and the Sofala, heading north by the compass,
made untrue by this simple device, was no longer mak-
ing a safe course for Pangu Bay.
The hiss of water parted by her stem, the throb of her
engines, all the sounds of her faithful and laborious life,
went on uninterrupted in the great calm of the sea join-
ing on all sides the motionless layer of cloud over the
sky. A gentle stillness as vast as the world seemed to
wait upon her path, enveloping her lovingly in a su-
preme caress. Mr. Massy thought there could be no
better night for an arranged shipwreck.
Run up high and dry on one of the reefs east of
Pangu--wait for daylight--hole in the bottom--out
boats--Pangu Bay same evening. That's about it. As
soon as she touched he would hasten on the bridge, get
hold of the coat (nobody would notice in the dark),
and shake it upside-down over the side, or even fling
it into the sea. A detail. Who could guess? Coat been
seen hanging there from that hook hundreds of times.
Nevertheless, when he sat down on the lower step of the
bridge-ladder his knees knocked together a little. The
waiting part was the worst of it. At times he would
begin to pant quickly, as though he had been running,
and then breathe largely, swelling with the intimate
sense of a mastered fate. Now and then he would hear
the shuffle of the Serang's bare feet up there: quiet, low
voices would exchange a few words, and lapse almost
at once into silence. . . .
"Tell me directly you see any land, Serang."
"Yes, Tuan. Not yet."
"No, not yet," Captain Whalley would agree.
The ship had been the best friend of his decline. He
had sent all the money he had made by and in the
Sofala to his daughter. His thought lingered on the
name. How often he and his wife had talked over the
cot of the child in the big stern-cabin of the Condor; she
would grow up, she would marry, she would love them,
they would live near her and look at her happiness--it
would go on without end. Well, his wife was dead, to
the child he had given all he had to give; he wished he
could come near her, see her, see her face once, live in
the sound of her voice, that could make the darkness of
the living grave ready for him supportable. He had
been starved of love too long. He imagined her tender-
ness.
The Serang had been peering forward, and now and
then glancing at the chair. He fidgeted restlessly, and
suddenly burst out close to Captain Whalley--
"Tuan, do you see anything of the land?"
The alarmed voice brought Captain Whalley to his feet
at once. He! See! And at the question, the curse of
his blindness seemed to fall on him with a hundredfold
force.
"What's the time?" he cried.
"Half-past three, Tuan."
"We are close. You MUST see. Look, I say. Look."
Mr. Massy, awakened by the sudden sound of talking
from a short doze on the lowest step, wondered why he
was there. Ah! A faintness came over him. It is one
thing to sow the seed of an accident and another to see
the monstrous fruit hanging over your head ready to
fall in the sound of agitated voices.
"There's no danger," he muttered thickly.
The horror of incertitude had seized upon Captain
Whalley, the miserablemistrust of men, of things--of
him, and he sat down to wait.
He sat bolt upright and weighted with iron in his
chair. He had a hard, lumpy bulk against each hip,
felt the scrappy iron in his pockets touch his ribs at
every breath, the downward drag of all these pounds
hanging upon his shoulders. He looked very dull too,
sitting idle there, and his yellow face, with motionless
black eyes, had something passive and sad in its quiet-
ness.
When he heard eight bells struck above his head, he
rose and made ready to go out. His movements seemed
aimless, his lower lip had dropped a little, his eyes
roamed about the cabin, and the tremendoustension of
his will had robbed them of every vestige of intelligence.
With the last stroke of the bell the Serang appeared
noiselessly on the bridge to relieve the mate. Sterne
overflowed with good nature, since he had nothing more
to desire.
"Got your eyes well open yet, Serang? It's middling
dark; I'll wait till you get your sight properly."
The old Malay murmured, looked up with his worn
eyes, sidled away into the light of the binnacle, and,
crossing his hands behind his back, fixed his eyes on the
compass-card.
"You'll have to keep a good look-out ahead for
land, about half-past three. It's fairly clear, though.
You have looked in on the captain as you came
along--eh? He knows the time? Well, then, I am
off."
At the foot of the ladder he stood aside for the captain.
He watched him go up with an even, certain tread, and
remained thoughtful for a moment. "It's funny," he
said to himself, "but you can never tell whether that
man has seen you or not. He might have heard me
breathe this time."
He was a wonderful man when all was said and done.
They said he had had a name in his day. Mr. Sterne
could well believe it; and he concluded serenely that
Captain Whalley must be able to see people more or less
--as himself just now, for instance--but not being cer-
tain of anybody, had to keep up that unnoticing silence
of manner for fear of giving himself away. Mr. Sterne
was a shrewd guesser.
This necessity of every moment brought home to Cap-
tain Whalley's heart the humiliation of his falsehood.
He had drifted into it from paternal love, from in-
credulity, from boundless trust in divine justice meted
out to men's feelings on this earth. He would give his
poor Ivy the benefit of another month's work; perhaps
the affliction was only temporary. Surely God would
not rob his child of his power to help, and cast him
naked into a night without end. He had caught at
every hope; and when the evidence of his misfortune
was stronger than hope, he tried not to believe the mani-
fest thing.
In vain. In the steadily darkening universe a sinister
clearness fell upon his ideas. In the illuminating mo-
ments of suffering he saw life, men, all things, the whole
earth with all her burden of created nature, as he had
never seen them before.
Sometimes he was seized with a sudden vertigo and an
overwhelming terror; and then the image of his daughter
appeared. Her, too, he had never seen so clearly before.
Was it possible that he should ever be unable to do
anything whatever for her? Nothing. And not see
her any more? Never.
Why? The punishment was too great for a little pre-
sumption, for a little pride. And at last he came to
cling to his deception with a fiercedetermination to carry
it out to the end, to save her money intact, and behold
her once more with his own eyes. Afterwards--what?
The idea of suicide was revolting to the vigor of his
manhood. He had prayed for death till the prayers had
stuck in his throat. All the days of his life he had
prayed for daily bread, and not to be led into tempta-
tion, in a childlike humility of spirit. Did words mean
anything? Whence did the gift of speech come? The
violent beating of his heart reverberated in his head--
seemed to shake his brain to pieces.
He sat down heavily in the deck-chair to keep the pre-
tense of his watch. The night was dark. All the nights
were dark now.
"Serang," he said, half aloud.
"Ada, Tuan. I am here."
"There are clouds on the sky?"
"There are, Tuan."
"Let her be steered straight. North."
"She is going north, Tuan."
The Serang stepped back. Captain Whalley recog-
nized Massy's footfalls on the bridge.
The engineer walked over to port and returned, pass-
ing behind the chair several times. Captain Whalley
detected an unusualcharacter as of prudent care in this
prowling. The near presence of that man brought with
it always a recrudescence of moral suffering for Captain
Whalley. It was not remorse. After all, he had done
nothing but good to the poor devil. There was also
a sense of danger--the necessity of a greater care.
Massy stopped and said--
"So you still say you must go?"
"I must indeed."
"And you couldn't at least leave the money for a term
of years?"
"Impossible."
"Can't trust it with me without your care, eh?"
Captain Whalley remained silent. Massy sighed
deeply over the back of the chair.
"It would just do to save me," he said in a tremulous
voice.
"I've saved you once."
The chief engineer took off his coat with careful
movements, and proceeded to feel for the brass hook
screwed into the wooden stanchion. For this purpose he
placed himself right in front of the binnacle, thus hid-
ing completely the compass-card from the quarter-
master at the wheel. "Tuan!" the lascar at last mur-
mured softly, meaning to let the white man know that
he could not see to steer.
Mr. Massy had accomplished his purpose. The coat
was hanging from the nail, within six inches of the
binnacle. And directly he had stepped aside the quarter-
master, a middle-aged, pock-marked, Sumatra Malay,
almost as dark as a negro, perceived with amazement
that in that short time, in this smooth water, with no
wind at all, the ship had gone swinging far out of her
course. He had never known her get away like this
before. With a slight grunt of astonishment he turned
the wheel hastily to bring her head back north, which
was the course. The grinding of the steering-chains,
the chiding murmurs of the Serang, who had come over
to the wheel, made a slight stir, which attracted Cap-
tain Whalley's anxious attention. He said, "Take
better care." Then everything settled to the usual quiet
on the bridge. Mr. Massy had disappeared.
But the iron in the pockets of the coat had done its
work; and the Sofala, heading north by the compass,
made untrue by this simple device, was no longer mak-
ing a safe course for Pangu Bay.
The hiss of water parted by her stem, the throb of her
engines, all the sounds of her faithful and laborious life,
went on uninterrupted in the great calm of the sea join-
ing on all sides the motionless layer of cloud over the
sky. A gentle stillness as vast as the world seemed to
wait upon her path, enveloping her lovingly in a su-
preme caress. Mr. Massy thought there could be no
better night for an arranged shipwreck.
Run up high and dry on one of the reefs east of
Pangu--wait for daylight--hole in the bottom--out
boats--Pangu Bay same evening. That's about it. As
soon as she touched he would hasten on the bridge, get
hold of the coat (nobody would notice in the dark),
and shake it upside-down over the side, or even fling
it into the sea. A detail. Who could guess? Coat been
seen hanging there from that hook hundreds of times.
Nevertheless, when he sat down on the lower step of the
bridge-ladder his knees knocked together a little. The
waiting part was the worst of it. At times he would
begin to pant quickly, as though he had been running,
and then breathe largely, swelling with the intimate
sense of a mastered fate. Now and then he would hear
the shuffle of the Serang's bare feet up there: quiet, low
voices would exchange a few words, and lapse almost
at once into silence. . . .
"Tell me directly you see any land, Serang."
"Yes, Tuan. Not yet."
"No, not yet," Captain Whalley would agree.
The ship had been the best friend of his decline. He
had sent all the money he had made by and in the
Sofala to his daughter. His thought lingered on the
name. How often he and his wife had talked over the
cot of the child in the big stern-cabin of the Condor; she
would grow up, she would marry, she would love them,
they would live near her and look at her happiness--it
would go on without end. Well, his wife was dead, to
the child he had given all he had to give; he wished he
could come near her, see her, see her face once, live in
the sound of her voice, that could make the darkness of
the living grave ready for him supportable. He had
been starved of love too long. He imagined her tender-
ness.
The Serang had been peering forward, and now and
then glancing at the chair. He fidgeted restlessly, and
suddenly burst out close to Captain Whalley--
"Tuan, do you see anything of the land?"
The alarmed voice brought Captain Whalley to his feet
at once. He! See! And at the question, the curse of
his blindness seemed to fall on him with a hundredfold
force.
"What's the time?" he cried.
"Half-past three, Tuan."
"We are close. You MUST see. Look, I say. Look."
Mr. Massy, awakened by the sudden sound of talking
from a short doze on the lowest step, wondered why he
was there. Ah! A faintness came over him. It is one
thing to sow the seed of an accident and another to see
the monstrous fruit hanging over your head ready to
fall in the sound of agitated voices.
"There's no danger," he muttered thickly.
The horror of incertitude had seized upon Captain
Whalley, the miserablemistrust of men, of things--of
- breath [breθ]
n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词) - passive [´pæsiv] a.被动的 n.被动性 (初中英语单词)
- tremendous [tri´mendəs] a.可怕的；巨大的 (初中英语单词)
- relieve [ri´li:v] v.救济，援救；减轻 (初中英语单词)
- divine [di´vain] a.神圣的 v.预言 (初中英语单词)
- steadily [´stedili] ad.坚定地；不断地 (初中英语单词)
- suffering [´sʌfəriŋ] n.痛苦；灾害 (初中英语单词)
- terror [´terə] n.恐怖；惊骇 (初中英语单词)
- unable [ʌn´eibəl] a.不能的；无能为力的 (初中英语单词)
- whatever [wɔt´evə] pron.&a.无论什么 (初中英语单词)
- punishment [´pʌniʃmənt] n.罚，刑罚 (初中英语单词)
- fierce [fiəs] a.残忍的；强烈的 (初中英语单词)
- throat [θrəut] n.咽喉；嗓子；出入口 (初中英语单词)
- unusual [ʌn´ju:ʒuəl] a.不平常的；异常的 (初中英语单词)
- character [´kæriktə] n.特性；性质；人物；字 (初中英语单词)
- wooden [´wudn] a.木制的；呆板的 (初中英语单词)
- softly [´sɔftli] ad.软化地；柔和地 (初中英语单词)
- astonishment [ə´stɔniʃmənt] n.吃惊；惊异 (初中英语单词)
- hastily [´heistili] ad.急速地；草率地 (初中英语单词)
- anxious [´æŋkʃəs] a.担忧的；渴望的 (初中英语单词)
- device [di´vais] n.装置；器具；策略 (初中英语单词)
- faithful [´feiθfəl] a.忠实的；可靠的 (初中英语单词)
- hasten [´heisən] vt.催促；促进 vi.赶紧 (初中英语单词)
- horror [´hɔrə] n.恐怖；战栗 (初中英语单词)
- miserable [´mizərəbəl] a.悲惨的；可怜的 (初中英语单词)
- upright [´ʌprait] a.直立的 ad.直立地 (高中英语单词)
- downward [´daunwəd] a.下降的，向下的 (高中英语单词)
- ladder [´lædə] n.梯子；阶梯 (高中英语单词)
- thoughtful [´θɔ:tfəl] a.深思的；体贴的 (高中英语单词)
- shrewd [ʃru:d] a.精明的；狡猾的 (高中英语单词)
- temporary [´tempərəri] a.暂时的 n.临时工 (高中英语单词)
- universe [´ju:nivə:s] n.天地；全人类；银河系 (高中英语单词)
- determination [di,tə:mi´neiʃən] n.决心；决定 (高中英语单词)
- suicide [´su:isaid, ´sju:-] n.&a.自杀(者)(的) (高中英语单词)
- prudent [´pru:dənt] a.谨慎的；精明的 (高中英语单词)
- hanging [´hæŋiŋ] n.绞刑 a.悬挂着的 (高中英语单词)
- motionless [´məuʃənləs] a.静止的；固定的 (高中英语单词)
- stillness [´stilnis] n.不动；无声，寂静 (高中英语单词)
- caress [kə´res] n.&vt.爱抚；接吻 (高中英语单词)
- monstrous [´mɔnstrəs] a.怪异的；庞大的 (高中英语单词)
- tension [´tenʃən] n.紧张；压力；拉力 (英语四级单词)
- bridge [bridʒ] n.桥(梁)；鼻梁；桥牌 (英语四级单词)
- boundless [´baundlis] a.无边无际的 (英语四级单词)
- humility [hju:´militi] n.谦逊，谦让 (英语四级单词)
- whence [wens] ad.从何处；从那里 (英语四级单词)
- remorse [ri´mɔ:s] n.懊悔；自责；同情 (英语四级单词)
- accomplished [ə´kʌmpliʃt] a.完成了的；熟练的 (英语四级单词)
- shuffle [´ʃʌf(ə)l] v.洗(牌) n.搅乱 (英语四级单词)
- blindness [´blaindnis] n.失明；愚味，文盲 (英语四级单词)
- vestige [´vestidʒ] n.形迹；痕迹；遗迹 (英语六级单词)
- humiliation [hju:,mili´eiʃən] n.羞辱，屈辱 (英语六级单词)
- paternal [pə´tə:nl] a.(象)父亲的；父方的 (英语六级单词)
- affliction [ə´flikʃən] n.痛苦，苦恼；折磨 (英语六级单词)
- deception [di´sepʃən] n.欺骗，诈骗；骗术 (英语六级单词)
- intact [in´tækt] a.未动过的，完整的 (英语六级单词)
- beating [´bi:tiŋ] n.敲；搅打；失败 (英语六级单词)
- middle-aged [´midl´eidʒid] a.中年的 (英语六级单词)
- untrue [ʌn´tru:] a.不真(忠)实的 (英语六级单词)
- laborious [lə´bɔ:riəs] a.吃力的 (英语六级单词)
- restlessly [´restlisli] ad.不安定地；烦躁地 (英语六级单词)
- mistrust [mis´trʌst] v.&n.不信任；怀疑 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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