With each disappointment, he grew more and more depressed2. He began to look upon the art of the Terrace Man as a myth; a fanciful creation of his own brain. He became moody3 and irritable4 and wished himself back in the Vézère. Then from a solitary5 hunter, he learned of men who lived on the banks of a river lying beyond the great Channel Valley to the north. His spirits rose and he lived in hope once more. He led his two animal friends across the Somme River, over hills and valleys to the great Boulogne-Calais ridge6 or heights overlooking the broad isthmus7 connecting Britain and France.
Near Boulogne, the trio descended8 from the heights into the valley, across which man and beast[108] might travel dry shod; no small convenience, for none knew of boats or rafts or how logs might be used as transports across the water. But the great valley was dry so the Ape Boy and his companions passed over it with no inconvenience save from the choking chalk-dust stirred up by their own feet. A day’s journey with a week more added, brought them first into Britain, then through the Kentish Downs to the London Basin. Before them, in the distance, flowed the Thames River, winding9 its way leisurely10 towards the North Sea from the direction of the setting sun. Such a stream were scarcely broad or swift enough to bar the trio’s northward11 march. A swim to the opposite bank meant no more than a bit of exercise calculated to make the red blood of a Mammoth12 and Rhinoceros13 flow fast. Strangely enough neither one made any effort to cross the river, both merely contenting themselves with strolling along the valley’s southern border. Their behavior was suddenly become care-free and without purpose. The cool breezes sweeping15 down from the Scottish glaciers16 and North Sea, gave the air that life and snap which Hairi and Wulli considered indispensable to their bodily comfort. These hardy17 wanderers could make themselves at home in any country whose food-supply and climate accorded with their standards. To them, Kent[109] seemed a land of charm, so now they slowed their pace and proceeded to enjoy themselves.
Pic too found much to occupy his mind. The stepped banks or terraces of the Thames reminded him of those he had seen lining18 both sides of the Somme; the low, middle and high terraces—three successive water levels, beginning with the highest at a time when the river was first carving19 its way through the valley. And there were places where flint-workers gathered during the spring and summer months; so when his companions stopped to graze, he shouldered his ax and walked along the slopes keeping a sharp lookout20 for those whom he wished most to see. He was feeling a wee bit homesick and hungry too, for a sight of human faces,—not because he felt any friendly feeling for his own kind, he assured himself; but only from Terrace Men could he learn aught of how blades, such as the one he bore, were so finely made. He had not gone far when he observed a group of flint-workers on the bank below him; so down he went to make their closer acquaintance.
They squatted21 on the slope with only their heads visible and faces turned towards the river. As Pic drew nearer, their shoulders and bodies came into view. He recognized in them, beings like himself—the race of Moustier. His heart sank. His mind had pictured the Terrace Man as something different.[110] His ax,—the blade of Ach Eul—represented an ideal—a perfection of flint-working art. The artisan must be constituted of more than common clay. Did the genius of the Terraces stalk abroad in the guise22 of such humble23 folk? He hoped; but something within him, foretold24 bitter disappointment.
The Men of Kent were so busy with their flint-making that they paid little attention to the approaching figure, doubtless considering it one of their own number. Not until Pic stood amongst them did they realize that he was a stranger. All stopped work and eyed him with disfavor. Pic gazed boldly about him. He saw none but old men and boys. “Where are your warriors25?” he demanded.
A youth pointed26 eastward27.
“Hunting?” Pic asked curiously28; then muttered to himself: “Of course; some must find food while the others work.”
The youth nodded civilly enough. His courtesy was due to a glimpse of the Ape Boy’s wonderful ax.
“Have no fear; I come as a friend,” said Pic as he observed the other’s concerned expression. “Are you Men of the Terraces?”
The youth shook his head: “No; we are cave-folk.[111] We live among the hills. Only in the warm season, do we come here.”
Pic sighed, took a deep breath and turned his attention to the work in which the group was engaged. He almost dreaded29 to look down and see what he most feared.
Before each artisan was a small pile of flint-lumps. Thin chips covered the ground between each pair of feet; small, roughly-fractured flakes lay together on one side. Pic dropped on one knee and examined the flakes.
“Are these your best work?” he asked at last in a voice that trembled. He did not even raise his eyes as one of the men answered: “Yes, they are the best.”
“Enough;” he still gazed dreamily at the flakes,—small, shapeless things—but his thoughts were elsewhere. “I have failed,” he said bitterly. “These would shame a child. The Terrace Man is not here.”
As he arose to his feet, thinking, striving to gather courage for fresh hopes, dark figures loomed30 about him on all sides as though sprung from the earth. With a startled exclamation31, he raised his ax and squared back, determined32 to sell his life dearly. But as he glanced behind him, he saw how vain would be his efforts. A dozen flint-axes were held ready to strike him down. One step forward[112] or backward and the blades would crush his skull33.
His muscles relaxed. He lowered his weapon. His captors in turn lowered theirs and crowded more closely about him. In a moment Pic had recovered from his surprise and was boldly returning the fierce looks directed upon him from all sides. Then one of his captors, who appeared to be the leader, a giant in bulk and strength, stepped forward and eyed Pic so threateningly that the latter shrank back with half-raised ax.
A human race more brutal34 the Ape Boy had never beheld35. Its overhanging brows, sloping forehead and projecting muzzle36 were so exaggerated that the entire head resembled that of a huge monkey. This likeness37 was increased by the monster’s broad, flat nose which was crushed in and marred38 by a ragged39 scar extending far into one cheek. The thick body, crooked40 limbs and hairy skin were even more animal-like than the hideous41 head above them.
Pic took in all of these details at a glance and found them far from reassuring42. Nor—judging by his scowling43 face—was the Man of Kent improved in temper at sight of the youth before him.
“Who are you?” he growled44 in a voice that sounded like the mouthing of a famished45 wolf. Pic’s lips tightened46 as he returned the monster’s piercing stare.
[113]
“A man.” He was about to add the words: “like yourself;” but withheld47 them as inappropriate.
“For what are you here?” demanded the chieftain, enraged48 by this fearless reply.
“I came alone, as you see me, to learn how these people made their flints,” answered Pic, pointing to the old men and boys to whom he had first spoken. “I thought them Terrace Men. That is why I came.”
“Terrace Men? Bah!” snarled49 the monster glaring fiercely at the strange fish that lay so calmly in his net. He had expected a struggle or cringing51 howls for mercy. The flint-ax would mend either; but now he held his hand, confounded by the Ape Boy’s reply and manner and yet all the more enraged because of his own perplexity.
“Bah!” he roared again. “May you and your Terrace Men find rest in a lion’s stomach. We permit no strangers amongst us; therefore begone. You may thank your good fortune that we do no worse by you;” and he ground his teeth as though angered and disappointed at having shown such unusual clemency52.
Pic made no response. His captors shuffled53 back on both sides to let him pass. As he looked into their scowling faces, he felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness; a sudden realization54 that he was an[114] outcast in a strange land, in spite of the people of his own race gathered about him.
The brutal chieftain watched him narrowly, half hoping that by some word or act the Ape Boy would provoke his further wrath55. In this, he was disappointed. Without a word, Pic shouldered his ax and prepared to go his way. As the great blade flashed in the sunlight, the Man of Kent started with amazement56. So large and fine a flint, his eyes had never seen. He looked down at the head of his own clumsy weapon, then at the other with envious57 eyes.
“Hold; what have you there?” and he pointed a finger at the cause of his sudden interest.
Pic turned, surprised by this outburst. In a moment he saw its meaning.
“This is my ax,” he replied calmly; “my father’s,—made by a man of the Terraces;” and he held the weapon proudly aloft in his two hands.
The Kentish chieftain looked down again upon his own battle-ax, then at the blade of Ach Eul. His teeth were bared threateningly as he strode forward.
“You lie,” he yelled. “For now it is mine. Give it to me;” and he stretched forth58 an arm like one exacting59 tribute from a conquered foe60.
Pic fell back a step and his hands closed firmly about the haft. His lips set themselves tightly together[115] as he glared unabashed at the monster. For a moment neither moved. Those about them drew in deep breaths of wonder as they witnessed the youth’s open defiance61 of their leader.
“That ax,” roared the Man of Kent, withdrawing his hand and gripping his own weapon. “Can you fight with it—you an untried boy?”
“Yes.”
“And for it?” added the monster with a fiendish hyena62 laugh as he thrust his great head almost into the other’s face.
Pic’s eyes blazed like fire. His lips parted in a furious snarl50.
“I have said the ax is mine,” he cried hoarsely63. “No man lives who can take it from me,” and he made ready for the clash which he now saw was impossible to avoid.
The Kentish Men grunted64 noisy approval. Personal quarrels were of frequent occurrence; blood-shed a thing to amuse and while away the passing time. But this contest promised something unusual; better because of its novelty—a giant versus65 a dwarf66. Their sympathies, or rather their brutal preference, favored the smaller contestant67 who faced such odds68 with so little concern for his own skin. They had no love for their chief. By the power of his arm alone had he attained69 a commanding position over them. All had felt the weight[116] of his hand and feared his gigantic strength. That a stranger—a mere14 lad—dared try conclusions with him, was enough to arouse their interest to the highest pitch. They admired, they wondered; but the Ape Boy was clearly overmatched and that he would put up a good fight before having his skull cracked was about the most that could be expected. They took comfortable positions in a semi-circle about the contestants70 with backs to the terrace like an audience before a stage. Without a thought of interfering71, they squatted down to enjoy the entertainment now being served before them.
The Man of Kent leered upon the Ape Boy with such tenderness as a cat bestows72 upon a mouse caught in the toils73. He took fiendish relish74 in prolonging his victim’s agony before applying the finishing touch. Low murmurs75 arose. The spectators were growing impatient of his inaction. The Man of Kent turned savagely76 upon them.
“Be quiet,” he snarled. “Would you have me treat as a man one who cannot properly grip his ax because of his soft baby hands?”
Pic heard the insult and the hot blood surged into his face. With a bowl of fury, he sprang nimbly forward and dealt the Man of Kent a resounding77 whack78 across the chest with the flat of his ax.
His audience growled noisy approval and wonder,[117] too, for a blow with the flat blade was a warrior’s expression of deepest scorn for an unworthy foe. They craned their heads eagerly forward and awaited Pic’s next move with breathless interest. The chieftain roared with pain and surprised rage. Lurching forward with a labored79 jump, he swung back and his blade whizzed through the air above the other’s head. As Pic dodged80, he shifted the hold on his weapon from right to left and struck his adversary81 edge-on over the right shoulder before he could recover himself.
Maddened by this wound and infuriated by the applause which greeted this second display of skill, the Man of Kent flew into a rage terrible to see. Pic retreated a step, dismayed by his foe’s beast-like fury and ability to withstand punishment. Perhaps the tide of battle might have turned against him at that moment had not a great uproar82 arisen among the spectators and drawn83 the attention of both combatants.
On the terrace above them loomed a monster head armed with long curling tusks84. Beside it stood another and smaller head, bearing a long sharp-pointed horn on its lowered snout. This pair on the terrace balcony comprised a second audience of silent and amazed observers.
A great commotion85 ensued. Believing themselves attacked, the Men of Kent sprang to their[118] feet and began backing down the slope to the river. With a parting howl of rage their chieftain made off in the same direction while the Mammoth and Rhinoceros continued staring and wondering what it all meant. Finding himself alone Pic mounted the terrace and joined his friends who as yet had spoken no word nor moved a muscle.
“When did you come?” he asked. “I had no idea that you were watching us.”
“So that is how you Trog-men fight,” said the Rhinoceros with a twinkle of his small eyes. “We saw you hit the big one twice. He made a queer noise. Was he angry?”
“He was,” Pic replied; “very angry; and so big and strong I could not hurt him although I struck him my hardest blow. He might have beaten me, had not you and Hairi frightened him away.”
Wulli listened with the greatest interest. He had enjoyed watching the fight although not fully86 understanding the fine points involved in an encounter between two human beings, where stones fastened to wooden sticks were the sole weapons employed. However he had determined in his own mind that the Ape Boy excelled at this peculiar87 style and he was therefore duly impressed.
“We might follow them—we three. They would fly before us like a flock of crows.”
“No,” said Pic. “We have no quarrel with them. I would rather see them our good friends.”
[119]
“Friends? Oo-wee! Hear that!” Wulli replied as his sharp ears caught the sound of a commotion in the valley below. The three looked down.
In the distance, the Man of Kent stood at the head of his followers88, waving his ax aloft and howling defiance at the Ape Boy and his companions. His first astonishment89, as he witnessed such an unheard-of intimacy90, had given place to furious rage against all three. Not daring to attack such a formidable combination,—Man, Mammoth and Rhinoceros—he proceeded to relieve his injured feelings from a safe distance, with threats and insults, none of which the trio could hear or understand.
“He is a fiend,” thought Pic. “I know that he will never forgive me. War it is from now on.”
The truth of this remark soon became apparent. The Kentish Cave Men grew more hostile each day. Inflamed91 with a desire for revenge, their fierce leader urged his followers on and the trio found themselves the center of a systematic92 and relentless93 persecution94. Had it not been for Pic’s constant foresight95 and vigilance, none of the trio could have escaped destruction. Time and time again, he warned his friends away from hills and crags where enemies lay hidden, awaiting their chance to overwhelm the party with showers of stones and darts96. He led them safely clear of traps set near clumps[120] of trees and watercourses where the tread of a heavy foot on vine or stick would have sent a huge log or stone crashing down. In their turn the Men of Kent redoubled their efforts, imbued97 with a two-fold purpose. The Mammoth and Rhinoceros were not merely objects of their bitter resentment98, but also a great waste of fresh meat in their living state; so they persisted with every form of attack their minds could devise; and each time, such attempts were thwarted99 by the trio’s combined might and resourcefulness.
Pic and his friends chafed100 restlessly under the constantly increasing pressure to which they were subjected. When men or animals become fully aware that they are being persistently101 hunted, they grow excessively cautious and timid.
“Would that we could leave here,” said the Mammoth. “These Trog-men give us little time to seek food and rest.”
“Would that they could leave us in peace,” sniffed102 the aggrieved103 Wulli. “Why should we be so ill-treated? They will not stand and fight. What can we do?”
“The fault is mine,” Pic said bitterly. “But for me, they would trouble you and Hairi no more”; which was far from true, considering that the Men of Kent looked upon his friends as desirable articles of food. “Why should we stay here and be hunted[121] to death? I have seen all that there is to be seen of these flint-workers. I have found no Terrace Man——”
“Nor treasure,” the Mammoth interrupted.
“Not even a cave,” added Wulli.
The upshot of the matter was that all three agreed to leave the country. The glacial summer was nearing its close and the return journey, if made leisurely, would bring them none too soon to winter quarters in the Vézère. So they made haste to depart from a region, once all sunshine and promise, but now become cheerless and full of peril104. The brief period of happiness following their arrival was forgotten in the indignities105 now thrust upon them. The country had welcomed them; by its inhabitants were they now expelled. They turned their backs upon the lowlands of the great London Basin with no fond memories of its former hospitality. The river and terraces sank from sight behind the retiring pilgrims and the Valley of the Thames saw them no more.
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1
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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2
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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isthmus
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| n.地峡 | |
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8
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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9
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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10
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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12
mammoth
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| n.长毛象；adj.长毛象似的，巨大的 | |
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13
rhinoceros
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| n.犀牛 | |
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14
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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15
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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16
glaciers
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| 冰河，冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
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17
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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18
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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19
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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20
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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21
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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22
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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23
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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24
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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26
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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28
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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29
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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30
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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31
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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32
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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33
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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34
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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35
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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36
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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37
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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38
marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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40
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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41
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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42
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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43
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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44
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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45
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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46
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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47
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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48
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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49
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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50
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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51
cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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52
clemency
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| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
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53
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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54
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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55
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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56
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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57
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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58
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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59
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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60
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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61
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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62
hyena
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| n.土狼，鬣狗 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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versus
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| prep.以…为对手，对；与…相比之下 | |
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dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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contestant
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| n.竞争者，参加竞赛者 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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contestants
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| n.竞争者，参赛者( contestant的名词复数 ) | |
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interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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bestows
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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toils
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| 网 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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whack
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| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
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labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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tusks
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| n.（象等动物的）长牙( tusk的名词复数 )；獠牙；尖形物；尖头 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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foresight
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| n.先见之明，深谋远虑 | |
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darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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102
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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indignities
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| n.侮辱，轻蔑( indignity的名词复数 ) | |
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