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Some Reminiscences-Part21_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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put the pilot on board while our boat, fanned by the faint air



which had attended us all through the night, went on gliding

gently past the black glistening length of the ship. A few



strokes brought us alongside, and it was then that, for the very

first time in my life, I heard myself addressed in English--the



speech of my secret choice, of my future, of long friendships, of

the deepest affections, of hours of toil and hours of ease, and



of solitary hours too, of books read, of thoughts pursued, of

remembered emotions--of my very dreams! And if (after being thus



fashioned by it in that part of me which cannot decay) I dare not

claim it aloud as my own, then, at any rate the speech of my



children. Thus small events grow memorable by the passage of

time. As to the quality of the address itself I cannot say it



was very striking. Too short for eloquence and devoid of all

charm of tone, it consisted precisely of the three words "Look



out there," growled out huskily above my head.

It proceeded from a big fat fellow (he had an obtrusive, hairy



double chin) in a blue woollen shirt and roomy breeches pulled up

very high, even to the level of his breast-bone, by a pair of



braces quite exposed to public view. As where he stood there was

no bulwark but only a rail and stanchions I was able to take in



at a glance the whole of his voluminous person from his feet to

the high crown of his soft black hat, which sat like an absurd



flanged cone on his big head. The grotesque and massive space of

that deck hand (I suppose he was that--very likely the lamp-



trimmer) surprised me very much. My course of reading, of

dreaming and longing for the sea had not prepared me for a sea-



brother of that sort. I never met again a figure in the least

like his except in the illustrations to Mr. W.W. Jacobs' most



entertaining tales of barges and coasters; but the inspired

talent of Mr. Jacobs for poking endless fun at poor, innocent



sailors in a prose which, however extravagant in its felicitous

invention, is always artistically adjusted to observed truth, was



not yet. Perhaps Mr. Jacobs himself was not yet. I fancy that,

at most, if he had made his nurse laugh it was about all he had



achieved at that early date.

Therefore, I repeat, other disabilities apart, I could not have



been prepared for the sight of that husky old porpoise. The

object of his concise address was to call my attention to a rope



which he incontinently flung down for me to catch. I caught it,

though it was not really necessary, the ship having no way on her



by that time. Then everything went on very swiftly. The dinghy

came with a slight bump against the steamer's side, the pilot,



grabbing the rope ladder, had scrambled halfway up before I knew

that our task of boarding was done; the harsh, muffled clanging



of the engine-room telegraph struck my ear through the iron

plate; my companion in the dinghy was urging me to "shove off--



push hard"; and when I bore against the smooth flank of the first

English ship I ever touched in my life, I felt it already



throbbing under my open palm.

Her head swung a little to the west, pointing towards the



miniature lighthouse of the Jolliette breakwater, far away there,

hardly distinguishable against the land. The dinghy danced a



squashy, splashy jig in the wash of the wake and turning in my

seat I followed the "James Westoll" with my eyes. Before she had



gone in a quarter of a mile she hoisted her flag as the harbour

regulations prescribe for arriving and departing ships. I saw it



suddenly flicker and stream out on the flagstaff. The Red

Ensign! In the pellucid, colourlessatmosphere bathing the drab



and grey masses of that southern land, the livid islets, the sea

of pale glassy blue under the pale glassy sky of that cold



sunrise, it was as far as the eye could reach the only spot of

ardent colour--flame-like, intense, and presently as minute as



the tiny red spark the concentrated reflection of a great fire

kindles in the clear heart of a globe of crystal. The Red



Ensign--the symbolic, protecting warm bit of bunting flung wide

upon the seas, and destined for so many years to be the only roof






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