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A Personal Record-Part13_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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"Oh, nonsense! He's all right now. He can't move."

By that time the cargo-chain had been hooked to the broad canvas



belt round the pony's body; the kalashes sprang off

simultaneously in all directions, rolling over each other; and



the worthy serang, making a dash behind the winch, turned the

steam on.



"Steady!" I yelled, in great apprehension of seeing the animal

snatched up to the very head of the derrick.



On the wharf Almayer shuffled his straw slippers uneasily. The

rattle of the winch stopped, and in a tense, impressive silence



that pony began to swing across the deck.

How limp he was! Directly he felt himself in the air he relaxed



every muscle in a most wonderful manner. His four hoofs knocked

together in a bunch, his head hung down, and his tail remained



pendent in a nerveless and absolute immobility. He reminded me

vividly of the pathetic little sheep which hangs on the collar of



the Order of the Golden Fleece. I had no idea that anything in

the shape of a horse could be so limp as that, either living or



dead. His wild mane hung down lumpily, a mere mass of inanimate

horsehair; his aggressive ears had collapsed, but as he went



swaying slowly across the front of the bridge I noticed an astute

gleam in his dreamy, half-closed eye. A trustworthy



quartermaster, his glance anxious and his mouth on the broad

grin, was easing over the derrick watchfully. I superintended,



greatly interested.

"So! That will do."



The derrick-head stopped. The kalashes lined the rail. The rope

of the halter hung perpendicular and motionless like a bell-pull



in front of Almayer. Everything was very still. I suggested

amicably that he should catch hold of the rope and mind what he



was about. He extended a provokingly casual and superior hand.

"Look out, then! Lower away!"



Almayer gathered in the rope intelligently enough, but when the

pony's hoofs touched the wharf he gave way all at once to a most



foolish optimism. Without pausing, without thinking, almost

without looking, he disengaged the hook suddenly from the sling,



and the cargo-chain, after hitting the pony's quarters, swung

back against the ship's side with a noisy, rattling slap. I



suppose I must have blinked. I know I missed something, because

the next thing I saw was Almayer lying flat on his back on the



jetty. He was alone.

Astonishment deprived me of speech long enough to give Almayer



time to pick himself up in a leisurely and painful manner. The

kalashes lining the rail all had their mouths open. The mist



flew in the light breeze, and it had come over quite thick enough

to hide the shore completely.



"How on earth did you manage to let him get away?" I asked,

scandalized.



Almayer looked into the smarting palm of his right hand, but did

not answer my inquiry.



"Where do you think he will get to?" I cried. "Are there any

fences anywhere in this fog? Can he bolt into the forest?



What's to be done now?"

Almayer shrugged his shoulders.



"Some of my men are sure to be about. They will get hold of him

sooner or later."



"Sooner or later! That's all very fine, but what about my canvas

sling?--he's carried it off. I want it now, at once, to land two



Celebes cows."

Since Dongola we had on board a pair of the pretty little island



cattle in addition to the pony. Tied up on the other side of the

fore-deck they had been whisking their tails into the other door



of the galley. These cows were not for Almayer, however; they

were invoiced to Abdullah bin Selim, his enemy. Almayer's



disregard of my requirements was complete.

"If I were you I would try to find out where he's gone," I



insisted. "Hadn't you better call your men together or

something? He will throw himself down and cut his knees. He may



even break a leg, you know."

But Almayer, plunged in abstracted thought, did not seem to want



that pony any more. Amazed at this sudden indifference, I turned

all hands out on shore to hunt for him on my own account, or, at






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