From the time that I finally identified our visitor Digby with Achille Wolff, the diamond robber, my resolution was taken. Some might have been squeamish in the matter, and thought that because he had shaken their hand and broken their bread he had earned some sort of grace from them. I was not troubled with sentimentality of this sort. He was a criminal escaping from justice. Some providence6 had thrown him into our hands, and an enormous reward awaited his betrayers. I never hesitated for a moment as to what was to be done.
The more I thought of it the more I admired the cleverness with which he had managed the whole business. He was clear that he had a vessel7 ready, manned either by confederates or by unsuspecting fishermen. Hence he would be independent of all those parts where the police would be on the lookout8 for him. Again, if he had made for England or for America, he could hardly have escaped ultimate capture, but by choosing one of the most desolate9 and lonely spots in Europe he had thrown them off his track for a time, while the destruction of the brig seemed to destroy the last clue to his whereabouts. At present ho was entirely10 at our mercy, since he could not move from the island without our help. There was no necessity for us to hurry, therefore, and we could mature our plans at our leisure. But my father and I showed no change in our manner toward our guest, and he himself was as cheery and light-hearted as ever. It was pleasant to hear him singing as we mended the nets or calked the boat. His voice was a very high tenor11 and one of the most melodious12 I ever listened to. I am convinced that he could have made a name upon the operatic stage, but like most versatile13 scoundrels he placed small account upon the genuine talents which he possessed14, and cultivated the worst portion of his nature. My father used sometimes to eye him sideways in a strange manner, and I thought I knew what he was thinking about—but there I made a mistake.
One day, about a week after our conversation, I was fixing up one of the rails of our fence, which had been snapped in the gale15, when my father came along the seashore, plodding16 heavily among the pebbles17, and sat down on a stone at my elbow. I went on knocking in the nails, but looked at him from the corner of my eyes as he pulled away at his short black pipe. I could see that he had something weighty on his mind, for he knitted his brows and his lips projected.
“D’ye mind what was in yon paper?” he said at last, knocking his ashes out against the stone.
“Yes,” I answered shortly.
“Well, what’s your opeenion?” he asked.
“Why, that we should have the reward, of course!” I replied.
“The reward!” he said with a fierce snarl18. “You would tak’ the reward. You’d let the stane that’s worth thoosands an’ thoosands gang awa’ back tae some furrin Papist, an a’ for the sake o’ a few pund that they’d fling till ye, as they fling a bane to a dog when the meat’s a’ gone. It’s a clean flingin’ awa o’ the gifts o’ Providence.”
“Well, father,” I said, laying down the hammer, “you must be satisfied with what you can get. You can only have what is offered.”
“But if we got the stane itsel’,” whispered my father, with a leer on his face.
“He’d never give it up,” I said.
“But if he deed while he’s here—if he was suddenly”
“drop it, father, drop it!” I cried, for the old man looked like a fiend out of the pit. I saw now what he was aiming at.
“If he deed,” he shouted, “wha saw him come, and wha wad speer where he’d ganged till? If an accident happened, if he came by a dud on the heid, or woke some nicht to find a knife at his trapple, wha wad be the wiser?”
“You mustn’t speak so, father,” I said, though I was thinking many things at the same time.
“It may as well be oot as in,” he answered, and went away rather sulkily, turning around after a few yards and holding up his finger toward me to impress the necessity of caution.
My father did not speak of this matter to me again, but what he said rankled19 in my mind. I could hardly realize that he meant his words, for he had always, as far as I knew, been an upright, righteous man, hard in his ways and grasping in his nature, but guiltless of any great sin. Perhaps it was that he was removed from temptation, for isothermal lines of crime might be drawn20 on the map through places where it is hard to walk straight, and there are others where it is as hard to fall. It was easy to be a saint in the Island of Uffa.
One day we were finishing breakfast when our guest asked if the boat was mended (one of the tholepins had been broken). I answered that it was.
“I want you two,” he said, “to take me round to Lamlash to-day. You shall have a couple of sovereigns for tho job. I don’t know that I may not come back with you—but I may stay.”
My eyes met those of my father for a flash. “There’s no’ vera much wind,” he said.
“What there is is in the right direction,” returned Digby, as I must call him.
“The new foresail has no’ been bent,” persisted my father.
“There’s no use throwing difficulties in the way,” said our visitor angrily. “If you won’t come, I’ll get Tommy Gibbs and his father, but go I shall. Is it a bargain or not?”
“I’ll gang,” my father replied sullenly21, and went down to get the boat ready. I followed, and helped him to bend on the new foresail. I felt nervous and excited.
“What do you intend to do?” I asked.
“I dinna ken,” he said irritably22. “Gin the worst come to the worst we can gie him up at Lamlash—but oh, it wad be a peety, an awfu’ peety. You’re young an strong, laddie; can we no’ master him between us?”
“No,” I said, “I’m ready to give him up, but I’m damned if I lay a hand on him.”
“You’re a cowardly, white livered loon23!” he cried, but I was not to be moved by taunts24, and left him mumbling25 to himself and picking at the sail with nervous fingers. It was about two o’clock before tho boat was ready, but as there was a slight breeze from the north we reckoned on reaching Lamlash before nightfall. There was just a pleasant ripple26 upon the dark blue water, and as we stood on the beach before shoving off we could see the Carlin’s Leap and Goatfell bathed in a purple mist, while beyond them along the horizon loomed28 the long line of the Argyleshire hills. Away to the south the great bald summit of Ailsa Crag glittered in the sun, and a single white fleck29 showed where a fishing boat was beating up from the Scotch30 coast. Digby and I stepped into the boat, but my father ran back to where I had been mending the rails and came back with the hatchet31 in his hand, which he stowed away under the thwarts32.
“What d’ye want with the axe33?” our visitor asked.
“It’s a handy thing to hae aboot a boat,” my father answered with averted34 eyes, and shoved us off. We set the foresail, jib and mainsail and shot away across the Roost, with the blue water splashing merrily under our bows. Looking back I saw the coast line of our little island extend rapidly on either side. There was Carravoe which we had left, and our own beach of Carracuil, and the steep, brown face of the Coinbera, and away behind the rugged35 crests36 of Beg-na-phail and Beg-na-sacher I could see the red tiles of the byre of our homesteading, and across the moor37 a thin blue reek38 in the air which marked the position of Corriemains. My heart warmed toward the place which had been my home since childhood.
We were about half way across the Roost when it fell a dead calm, and the sails flapped against the mast. We were perfectly39 motionless except for the drift of the current, which runs from north to south. I had been steering40 and my father managing the sails, while the stranger smoked his eternal cigarettes and admired the scenery; but at his suggestion we now got the sculls out to row. I shall never know how it began, but as I was stooping down to pick up an oar41 I heard our visitor give a great scream that he was murdered, and looking up I saw him with his face all in a sputter42 of blood leaning against the mast, while my father made at him with the hatchet. Before I could move hand or foot Digby rushed at the old man and caught him round the waist. “You gray-headed devil,” he cried in a husky voice, “I feel that you have done for me; but you’ll never get what you want. No—never! never! never!” Nothing can ever erase43 from my memory the intense and concentrated malice44 of those words. My father gave a raucous45 cry, they swayed and balanced for a moment, and then over they went into the sea. I rushed to the side, boathook in hand, but they never came up. As the long rings caused by the splash widened out, however, and left an unruffled space in the center, I saw them once again. The water was very clear, and far, far down I could see the shimmer46 of two white faces coming and going, faces which seemed to look up at me with an expression of unutterable horror. Slowly they went down, revolving47 in each other’s embrace until they were nothing but a dark loom27 and then faded from my view forever. There they shall lie, the Frenchman and the Scot, till the great trumpet48 shall sound, and the sea give up its dead. Storms may rage above them and great ships labor49 and creak, but their slumber50 shall be dreamless and unruffled in the silent green depths of the Roost of Uffa. I trust when the great day shall come that they will bring up the cursed stone with them that they may show the sore temptation which the devil had placed in their way as some slight extenuation51 of their errors while in this mortal flesh.
It was a weary and lonesome journey back to Carravoe. I remember tug-tugging at the oars52 as though to snap them in trying to relieve the tension of my mind. Towards evening a breeze sprang up and helped me on my way, and before nightfall I was back in the lonely homesteading once more, and all that had passed that Spring afternoon lay behind me like some horrible nightmare.
I did not remain in Uffa. The croft and the boat were sold by public roup in the market place of Androssan, and the sum realized was sufficient to enable me to continue my medical studies at the university. I fled from the island as from a cursed place, nor did I ever set foot on it again. Gibbs and his son, and even Minnie Fullarton, too, passed out of my life completely and forever. She missed me for a time no doubt, but I have heard that young McBane, who took the farm, went a-wooing to Corriemains after the white-fishing, and, as he was a comely53 fellow enough, he may have consoled her for my loss. As for myself, I have settled quietly down into a large middle-class practice in Paisley. It has been in the brief intervals54 of professional work that I have jotted55 down these reminiscences of the events which lead up to my father’s death. Achille Wolff and the Rochevieille diamond are things of the past now, but there may be some who will care to hear of how they visited the Island of Uffa.
The End
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1
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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nonentity
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| n.无足轻重的人 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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depict
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| vt.描画，描绘；描写，描述 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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7
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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13
versatile
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| adj.通用的，万用的；多才多艺的，多方面的 | |
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14
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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15
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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16
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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17
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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18
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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19
rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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loon
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| n.狂人 | |
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taunts
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| 嘲弄的言语，嘲笑，奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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25
mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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26
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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27
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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28
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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29
fleck
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| n.斑点，微粒 vt.使有斑点，使成斑驳 | |
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30
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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31
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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32
thwarts
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| 阻挠( thwart的第三人称单数 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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33
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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34
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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35
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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36
crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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37
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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38
reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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39
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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40
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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41
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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42
sputter
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| n.喷溅声；v.喷溅 | |
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43
erase
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| v.擦掉；消除某事物的痕迹 | |
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44
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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45
raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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46
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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47
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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48
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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49
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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50
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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51
extenuation
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| n.减轻罪孽的借口；酌情减轻；细 | |
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52
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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53
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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54
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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55
jotted
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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