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Typhoon-Part11_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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The chief's arm, long like a tentacle, and straightening as if



worked by a spring, went out to meet him, and deflected his rush

into a spin towards the speaking-tubes. At the same time Mr.



Rout repeated earnestly:

"You've got to hurry up, whatever it is."



Jukes yelled "Are you there, sir?" and listened. Nothing.

Suddenly the roar of the wind fell straight into his ear, but



presently a small voice shoved aside the shouting hurricane

quietly.



"You, Jukes? -- Well?"

Jukes was ready to talk: it was only time that seemed to be



wanting. It was easy enough to account for everything. He could

perfectly imagine the coolies battened down in the reeking



'tween-deck, lying sick and scared between the rows of chests.

Then one of these chests -- or perhaps several at once --



breaking loose in a roll, knocking out others, sides splitting,

lids flying open, and all these clumsy Chinamen rising up in a



body to save their property. Afterwards every fling of the ship

would hurl that tramping, yelling mob here and there, from side



to side, in a whirl of smashed wood, torn clothing, rolling

dollars. A struggle once started, they would be unable to stop



themselves. Nothing could stop them now except main force. It

was a disaster. He had seen it, and that was all he could say.



Some of them must be dead, he believed. The rest would go on

fighting. . . .



He sent up his words, tripping over each other, crowding the

narrow tube. They mounted as if into a silence of an enlightened



comprehension dwelling alone up there with a storm. And Jukes

wanted to be dismissed from the face of that odious trouble



intruding on the great need of the ship.

V



HE WAITED. Before his eyes the engines turned with slow labour,

that in the moment of going off into a mad fling would stop dead



at Mr. Rout's shout, "Look out, Beale!" They paused in an

intelligent immobility, stilled in mid-stroke, a heavy crank



arrested on the cant, as if conscious of danger and the passage

of time. Then, with a "Now, then!" from the chief, and the sound



of a breath expelled through clenched teeth, they would

accomplish the interrupted revolution and begin another.



There was the prudentsagacity of wisdom and the deliberation of

enormous strength in their movements. This was their work -- this



patient coaxing of a distracted ship over the fury of the waves

and into the very eye of the wind. At times Mr. Rout's chin



would sink on his breast, and he watched them with knitted

eyebrows as if lost in thought.



The voice that kept the hurricane out of Jukes' ear began: "Take

the hands with you . . . ," and left off unexpectedly.



"What could I do with them, sir?"

A harsh, abrupt, imperious clang exploded suddenly. The three



pairs of eyes flew up to the telegraph dial to see the hand jump

from FULL to STOP, as if snatched by a devil. And then these



three men in the engineroom had the intimatesensation of a check

upon the ship, of a strange shrinking, as if she had gathered



herself for a desperate leap.

"Stop her!" bellowed Mr. Rout.



Nobody -- not even Captain MacWhirr, who alone on deck had caught

sight of a white line of foam coming on at such a height that he



couldn't believe his eyes -nobody was to know the steepness of

that sea and the awful depth of the hollow the hurricane had



scooped out behind the running wall of water.

It raced to meet the ship, and, with a pause, as of girding the



loins, the Nan-Shan lifted her bows and leaped. The flames in

all the lamps sank, darkening the engine-room. One went out.



With a tearing crash and a swirling, raving tumult, tons of water

fell upon the deck, as though the ship had darted under the foot



of a cataract.

Down there they looked at each other, stunned.



"Swept from end to end, by God!" bawled Jukes.

She dipped into the hollow straight down, as if going over the



edge of the world. The engine-room toppled forward menacingly,

like the inside of a tower nodding in an earthquake. An awful



racket, of iron things falling, came from the stokehold. She

hung on this appalling slant long enough for Beale to drop on his



hands and knees and begin to crawl as if he meant to fly on all

fours out of the engine-room, and for Mr. Rout to turn his head






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