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'Twixt Land & Sea-Part31_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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was one of our warships on the coast. But those Englishmen are so



impudent that perhaps he thought that nothing would be done to him

for it. Our courts do let off these fellows too often, on some



miserable excuse or other. But, at any rate, there's an end of the

famous Bonito. I have just heard in the harbour-office that she



must have gone on at the very top of high-water; and she is in

ballast, too. No human power, they think, can move her from where



she is. I only hope it is so. It would be fine to have the

notorious Bonito stuck up there as a warning to others."



Mr. J. Mesman, a colonial-born Dutchman, a kind, paternal old

fellow, with a clean-shaven, quiet, handsome fade, and a head of



fine iron-grey hair curling a little on his collar, did not say a

word in defence of Jasper and the Bonito. He rose from his arm-



chair suddenly. His face was visibly troubled. It had so happened

that once, from a business talk of ways and means, island trade,



money matters, and so on, Jasper had been led to open himself to

him on the subject of Freya; and the excellent man, who had known



old Nelson years before and even remembered something of Freya, was

much astonished and amused by the unfolding of the tale.



"Well, well, well! Nelson! Yes; of course. A very honest sort of

man. And a little child with very fair hair. Oh, yes! I have a



distinct recollection. And so she has grown into such a fine girl,

so very determined, so very - " And he laughed almost



boisterously. "Mind, when you have happily eloped with your future

wife, Captain Allen, you must come along this way, and we shall



welcome her here. A little fair-headed child! I remember. I

remember."



It was that knowledge which had brought trouble to his face at the

first news of the wreck. He took up his hat.



"Where are you going, Mr. Mesman?"

"I am going to look for Allen. I think he must be ashore. Does



anybody know?"

No one of those present knew. And Mr. Mesman went out on the



"front" to make inquiries.

The other part of the town, the part near the church and the fort,



got its information in another way. The first thing disclosed to

it was Jasper himself, walking rapidly, as though he were pursued.



And, as a matter of fact, a Chinaman, obviously a sampan man, was

following him at the same headlong pace. Suddenly, while passing



Orange House, Jasper swerved and went in, or, rather, rushed in,

startling Gomez, the hotel clerk, very much. But a Chinaman



beginning to make an unseemly noise at the door claimed the

immediate attention of Gomez. His grievance was that the white man



whom he had brought on shore from the gunboat had not paid him his

boat-fare. He had pursued him so far, asking for it all the way.



But the white man had taken no notice whatever of his just claim.

Gomez satisfied the coolie with a few coppers, and then went to



look for Jasper, whom he knew very well. He found him standing

stiffly by a little round table. At the other end of the verandah



a few men sitting there had stopped talking, and were looking at

him in silence. Two billiard-players, with cues in their hands,



had come to the door of the billiard-room and stared, too.

On Gomez coming up to him, Jasper raised one hand to point at his



own throat. Gomez noted the somewhat soiled state of his white

clothes, then took one look at his face, and fled away to order the



drink for which Jasper seemed to be asking.

Where he wanted to go - or what purpose - where he, perhaps, only



imagined himself to be going, when a sudden impulse or the sight of

a familiar place had made him turn into Orange House - it is



impossible to say. He was steadying himself lightly with the tips

of his fingers on the little table. There were on that verandah



two men whom he knew well personally, but his gaze roaming

incessantly as though he were looking for a way of escape, passed



and repassed over them without a sign of recognition. They, on

their side, looking at him, doubted the evidence of their own eyes.



It was not that his face was distorted. On the contrary, it was

still, it was set. But its expression, somehow, was



unrecognisable. Can that be him? they wondered with awe.

In his head there was a wild chaos of clear thoughts. Perfectly



clear. It was this clearness which was so terrible in conjunction

with the utter inability to lay hold of any single one of them all.



He was saying to himself, or to them: "Steady, steady." A China

boy appeared before him with a glass on a tray. He poured the






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