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Typhoon-Part8_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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searching and insidious fatigue that penetrates deep into a man's



breast to cast down and sadden his heart, which is incorrigible,

and of all the gifts of the earth -- even before life itself



-aspires to peace.

Jukes was benumbed much more than he supposed. He held on -- very



wet, very cold, stiff in every limb; and in a momentary

hallucination of swift visions (it is said that a drowning man



thus reviews all his life) he beheld all sorts of memories

altogether unconnected with his present situation. He remembered



his father, for instance: a worthy business man, who at an

unfortunate crisis in his affairs went quietly to bed and died



forthwith in a state of resignation. Jukes did not recall these

circumstances, of course, but remaining otherwise unconcerned he



seemed to see distinctly the poor man's face; a certain game of

nap played when quite a boy in Table Bay on board a ship, since



lost with all hands; the thick eyebrows of his first skipper; and

without any motion" target="_blank" title="n.感情；情绪；激动">emotion, as he might years ago have walked listlessly



into her room and found her sitting there with a book, he

remembered his mother -- dead, too, now -- the resolute woman,



left badly off, who had been very firm in his bringing up.

It could not have lasted more than a second, perhaps not so much.



A heavy arm had fallen about his shoulders; Captain MacWhirr's

voice was speaking his name into his ear.



"Jukes! Jukes!"

He detected the tone of deep concern. The wind had thrown its



weight on the ship, trying to pin her down amongst the seas.

They made a clean breach over her, as over a deep-swimming log;



and the gathered weight of crashes menaced monstrously from afar.

The breakers flung out of the night with a ghostly light on their



crests -- the light of sea-foam that in a ferocious, boiling-up

pale flash showed upon the slender body of the ship the toppling



rush, the downfall, and the seething mad scurry of each wave.

Never for a moment could she shake herself clear of the water;



Jukes, rigid, perceived in her motion the ominous sign of

haphazard floundering. She was no longer struggling



intelligently. It was the beginning of the end; and the note of

busy concern in Captain MacWhirr's voice sickened him like an



exhibition of blind and pernicious folly.

The spell of the storm had fallen upon Jukes. He was penetrated



by it, absorbed by it; he was rooted in it with a rigour of dumb

attention. Captain MacWhirr persisted in his cries, but the wind



got between them like a solid wedge. He hung round Jukes' neck

as heavy as a millstone, and suddenly the sides of their heads



knocked together.

"Jukes! Mr. Jukes, I say!"



He had to answer that voice that would not be silenced. He

answered in the customary manner: ". . . Yes, sir."



And directly, his heart, corrupted by the storm that breeds a

craving for peace, rebelled against the tyranny of training and



command.

Captain MacWhirr had his mate's head fixed firm in the crook of



his elbow, and pressed it to his yelling lips mysteriously.

Sometimes Jukes would break in, admonishing hastily: "Look out,



sir!" or Captain MacWhirr would bawl an earnestexhortation to

"Hold hard, there!" and the whole black universe seemed to reel



together with the ship. They paused. She floated yet. And

Captain MacWhirr would r锟絪um?his shouts. ". . . . Says . . .



whole lot . . . fetched away. . . . Ought to see . . . what's

the matter."



Directly the full force of the hurricane had struck the ship,

every part of her deck became untenable; and the sailors, dazed



and dismayed, took shelter in the port alleyway under the bridge.

It had a door aft, which they shut; it was very black, cold, and



dismal. At each heavy fling of the ship they would groan all




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