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End of the Tether-Part5_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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looked after by a Queen's ship. A big slice of time.



Individuals were of some account then. Men like him-

self; men, too, like poor Evans, for instance, with his



red face, his coal-black whiskers, and his restless eyes,

who had set up the first patent slip for repairing small



ships, on the edge of the forest, in a lonely bay three

miles up the coast. Mr. Denham had encouraged that



enterprise too, and yet somehow poor Evans had ended

by dying at home deucedly hard up. His son, they said,



was squeezing oil out of cocoa-nuts for a living on some

God-forsaken islet of the Indian Ocean; but it was from



that patent slip in a lonelywooded bay that had sprung

the workshops of the Consolidated Docks Company, with



its three graving basins carved out of solid rock, its

wharves, its jetties, its electric-light plant, its steam-



power houses--with its gigantic sheer-legs, fit to lift the

heaviest weight ever carried afloat, and whose head could



be seen like the top of a queer white monument peeping

over bushy points of land and sandy promontories, as



you approached the New Harbor from the west.

There had been a time when men counted: there were



not so many carriages in the colony then, though Mr.

Denham, he fancied, had a buggy. And Captain Whal-



ley seemed to be swept out of the great avenue by the

swirl of a mental backwash. He remembered muddy



shores, a harbor without quays, the one solitary wooden

pier (but that was a public work) jutting out crookedly,



the first coal-sheds erected on Monkey Point, that caught

fire mysteriously and smoldered for days, so that



amazed ships came into a roadstead full of sulphurous

smoke, and the sun hung blood-red at midday. He re-



membered the things, the faces, and something more

besides--like the faint flavor of a cup quaffed to the



bottom, like a subtle sparkle of the air that was not

to be found in the sphere" target="_blank" title="n.大气；空气；气氛">atmosphere of to-day.



In this evocation, swift and full of detail like a flash

of magnesium light into the niches of a dark memorial



hall, Captain Whalley contemplated things once impor-

tant, the efforts of small men, the growth of a great



place, but now robbed of all consequence by the great-

ness of accomplished facts, by hopes greater still; and



they gave him for a moment such an almost physical

grip upon time, such a comprehension of our unchange-



able feelings, that he stopped short, struck the ground

with his stick, and ejaculated mentally, "What the devil



am I doing here!" He seemed lost in a sort of surprise;

but he heard his name called out in wheezy tones once,



twice--and turned on his heels slowly.

He beheld then, waddling towards him autocratically,



a man of an old-fashioned and gouty aspect, with hair

as white as his own, but with shaved, florid cheeks, wear-



ing a necktie--almost a neckcloth--whose stiff ends pro-

jected far beyond his chin; with round legs, round arms,



a round body, a round face--generally producing the

effect of his short figure having been distended by means



of an air-pump as much as the seams of his clothing

would stand. This was the Master-Attendant of the



port. A master-attendant is a superior sort of harbor-

master; a person, out in the East, of some consequence



in his sphere; a Government official, a magistrate for

the waters of the port, and possessed of vast but ill-



defined disciplinary authority over seamen of all classes.

This particular Master-Attendant was reported to con-



sider it miserably inadequate, on the ground that it

did not include the power of life and death. This was



a jocular exaggeration. Captain Eliott was fairly satis-

fied with his position, and nursed no inconsiderable sense






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