Guy Oscard was sitting on the natural terrace in front of Durnovo's house at Msala, and Marie attended to his simple wants with that patient dignity which suggested the recollection of better times, and appealed strongly to the manhood of her fellow-servant Joseph.
Oscard was not good at the enunciation2 of those small amenities3 which are supposed to soothe4 the feelings of the temporarily debased. He vaguely5 felt that this woman was not accustomed to menial service, but he knew that any suggestion of sympathy was more than he could compass. So he merely spoke7 to her more gently than to the men, and perhaps she understood, despite her chocolate-coloured skin.
They had inaugurated a strange, unequal friendship during the three days that Oscard had been left alone at Msala. Joseph had been promoted to the command of a certain number of the porters, and his domestic duties were laid aside. Thus Marie was called upon to attend to Guy Oscard's daily wants.
“I think I'll take coffee,” he was saying to her in reply to a question. “Yes—coffee, please, Marie.”
He was smoking one of his big wooden pipes, staring straight in front of him with a placidity8 natural to his bulk.
The woman turned away with a little smile. She liked this big man with his halting tongue and quiet ways. She liked his awkward attempts to conciliate the coquette Xantippe—to extract a smile from the grave Nestorius, and she liked his manner towards herself. She liked the poised9 pipe and the jerky voice as he said, “Yes—coffee, please, Marie.”
Women do like these things—they seem to understand them and to attach some strange, subtle importance of their own to them. For which power some of us who have not the knack10 of turning a pretty phrase or throwing off an appropriate pleasantry may well be thankful.
Presently she returned, bringing the coffee on a rough tray, also a box of matches and Oscard's tobacco pouch11. Noting this gratuitous12 attention to his comfort, he looked up with a little laugh.
“Er—thank you,” he said. “Very kind.”
He did not put his pipe back to his lips—keenly alive to the fact that the exigency13 of the moment demanded a little polite exchange of commonplace.
“Children gone to bed?” he asked anxiously.
“Yes,” she answered.
He nodded as if the news were eminently15 satisfactory. “Nestorius,” he said, adhering to Meredith's pleasantry, “is the jolliest little chap I have met for a long time.”
“Yes,” she answered softly. “Yes—but listen!”
“I hear the sound of paddles,” she said. “And you?”
“Not yet. My ears are not so sharp as yours.”
“I am accustomed to it,” the woman said, with some emotion in her voice which he did not understand then. “I am always listening.”
Oscard seemed to be struck with this description of herself. It was so very apt—so comprehensive. The woman's attitude before the world was the attitude of the listener for some distant sound.
She poured out his coffee, setting the cup at his elbow. “Now you will hear,” she said, standing17 upright with that untrammelled dignity of carriage which is found wherever African blood is in the veins18. “They have just come round Broken Tree Bend. There are two boats.”
He listened, and after a moment heard the regular glug-glug of the paddles stealing over the waters of the still tropic river, covering a wonderful distance.
“Yes,” he said, “I hear. Mr. Meredith said he would be back to-night.”
She gave a strange, little low laugh—almost the laugh of a happy woman.
“He is like that, Mr. Meredith,” she said; “what he says he does”—in the pretty English of one who has learnt Spanish first.
“Yes, Marie—he is like that.”
She turned, in her strangely subdued19 way, and went into the house to prepare some supper for the new-comers.
It was not long before the sound of the paddles was quite distinct, and then—probably on turning a corner of the river and coming in sight of the lights of Msala—Jack20 Meredith's cheery shout came floating through the night. Oscard took his pipe from his lips and sent back an answer that echoed against the trees across the river. He walked down to the water's edge, where he was presently joined by Joseph with a lantern.
The two boats came on to the sloping shore with a grating sound, and by the light of the waving lantern Oscard saw Durnovo and Jack land from the same boat.
The three men walked up to the house together. Marie was at the door, and bowed her head gravely in answer to Jack's salutation. Durnovo nodded curtly21 and said nothing.
In the sitting-room22, by the light of the paraffin lamp, the two Englishmen exchanged a long questioning glance, quite different from the quick interrogation of a woman's eyes. There was a smile on Jack Meredith's face.
“All ready to start to-morrow?” he inquired.
“Yes,” replied Oscard.
And that was all they could say. Durnovo never left them alone together that night. He watched their faces with keen, suspicious eyes. Behind the moustache his lips were pursed up in restless anxiety. But he saw nothing—learnt nothing. These two men were inscrutable.
At eleven o'clock the next morning the Simiacine seekers left their first unhappy camp at Msala. They had tasted of misfortune at the very beginning, but after the first reverse they returned to their work with that dogged determination which is a better spirit than the wild enthusiasm of departure, where friends shout and flags wave, and an artificial hopefulness throws in its jarring note.
They had left behind them with the artifice23 of civilisation24 that subtle handicap of a woman's presence; and the little flotilla of canoes that set sail from the terrace at Msala one morning in November, not so many years ago, was essentially25 masculine in its bearing. The four white men—quiet, self-contained, and intrepid—seemed to work together with a perfect unity26, a oneness of thought and action which really lay in the brain of one of them. No man can define a true leader; for one is too autocratic and the next too easily led; one is too quick-tempered, another too reserved. It would almost seem that the ideal leader is that man who knows how to extract from the brains of his subordinates all that is best and strongest therein—who knows how to suppress his own individuality, and merge27 it for the time being into that of his fellow-worker—whose influence is from within and not from without.
The most successful Presidents of Republics have been those who are, or pretend to be, nonentities28, content to be mere6 pegs29, standing still and lifeless, for things to be hung upon. Jack Meredith was, or pretended to be, this. He never assumed the airs of a leader. He never was a leader. He merely smoothed things over, suggested here, laughed there, and seemed to stand by, indifferent all the while.
In less than a week they left the river, hauling their canoes up on the bank, and hiding them in the tangle30 of the virgin31 underwood. A depot32 of provisions, likewise hidden, was duly made, and the long, weary march began.
The daily routine of this need not be followed, for there were weeks of long monotony, varied33 only by a new difficulty, a fresh danger, or a deplorable accident. Twice the whole company had to lay aside the baggage and assume arms, when Guy Oscard proved himself to be a cool and daring leader. Not twice, but two hundred times, the ring of Joseph's unerring rifle sent some naked savage34 crawling into the brake to die, with a sudden wonder in his half-awakened35 brain. They could not afford to be merciful; their only safeguard was to pass through this country, leaving a track of blood and fire and dread36 behind them.
This, however, is no record of travel in Central Africa. There are many such to be had at any circulating library, written by abler and more fantastic pens. Some of us who have wandered in the darkest continent have looked in vain for things seen by former travellers—things which, as the saying is, are neither here nor there. Indeed, there is not much to see in a vast, boundless37 forest with little life and no variety—nothing but a deadly monotony of twilit tangle. There is nothing new under the sun—even immediately under it in Central Africa. The only novelty is the human heart—Central Man. That is never stale, and there are depths still unexplored, heights still unattained, warm rivers of love, cold streams of hatred38, and vast plains where strange motives39 grow. These are our business.
We have not to deal so much with the finding of the Simiacine as with the finders, and of these the chief at this time was Jack Meredith. It seemed quite natural that one duty after another should devolve upon him, and he invariably had time to do them all, and leisure to comment pleasantly upon it. But his chief care was Victor Durnovo.
As soon as they entered the forest, two hundred miles above Msala, the half-breed was a changed man. The strange restlessness asserted itself again—the man was nervous, eager, sincere. His whole being was given up to this search; his whole heart and soul were enveloped40 in it. At first he worked steadily41, like a mariner42 treading his way through known waters; but gradually his composure left him, and he became incapable43 of doing other work.
Jack Meredith was at his side always. By day he walked near him as he piloted the column through the trackless forest. At night he slept in the same tent, stretched across the doorway44. Despite the enormous fatigue45, he slept the light sleep of the townsman, and often he was awakened by Durnovo talking aloud, groaning46, tossing on his narrow bed.
When they had been on the march for two months—piloted with marvellous instinct by Durnovo—Meredith made one or two changes in the organisation48. The caravan49 naturally moved slowly, owing to the enormous amount of baggage to be carried, and this delay seemed to irritate Victor Durnovo to such an extent that at last it was obvious that the man would go mad unless this enormous tension could be relieved.
“For God's sake,” he would shout, “hurry those men on! We haven't done ten miles to-day. Another man down—damn him!”
And more than once he had to be dragged forcibly away from the fallen porter, whom he battered50 with both fists. Had he had his will, he would have allowed no time for meals, and only a few hours' halt for rest. Guy Oscard did not understand it. His denser51 nerves were incapable of comprehending the state of irritation52 and unreasoning restlessness into which the climate and excitement had brought Durnovo. But Meredith, in his finer organisation, understood the case better. He it was who soothingly53 explained the necessity for giving the men a longer rest. He alone could persuade Durnovo to lie down at night and cease his perpetual calculations. The man's hands were so unsteady that he could hardly take the sights necessary to determine their position in this sea-like waste. And to Jack alone did Victor Durnovo ever approach the precincts of mutual54 confidence.
“I can't help it, Meredith,” he said one day, with a scared look, after a particularly violent outburst of temper. “I don't know what it is. I sometimes think I am going mad.”
And soon after that the change was made.
An advance column, commanded by Meredith and Durnovo, was selected to push on to the Plateau, while Oscard and Joseph followed more leisurely55 with the baggage and the slower travellers.
One of the strangest journeys in the vast unwritten history of commercial advance was that made by the five men from the camp of the main expedition across the lower slopes of a mountain range—unmarked on any map, unnamed by any geographer—to the mysterious Simiacine Plateau. It almost seemed as if the wild, bloodshot eyes of their guide could pierce the density56 of the forest where Nature had held unchecked, untrimmed sway for countless57 generations. Victor Durnovo noted58 a thousand indications unseen by his four companions. The journey no longer partook of the nature of a carefully calculated progress across a country untrodden by a white man's foot; it was a wild rush in a straight line through unbroken forest fastness, guided by an instinct that was stronger than knowledge. And the only Englishman in the party—Jack Meredith—had to choose between madness and rest. He knew enough of the human brain to be convinced that the only possible relief to this tension was success.
Victor Durnovo would never know rest now until he reached the spot where the Simiacine should be. If the trees were there, growing, as he said, in solitary59 state and order, strangely suggestive of human handiwork, then Victor Durnovo was saved. If no such spot was found, madness and death could only follow.
To save his companion's reason, Meredith more than once drugged his food; but when the land began to rise beneath their feet in tentative, billow-like inequalities—the deposit of a glacial age—Durnovo refused to stop for the preparation of food. Eating dry biscuits and stringy tinned meat as they went along, the four men—three blacks and one white—followed in the footsteps of their mad pilot.
“We're getting to the mountains—we're getting to the mountains! We shall be there to-night! Think of that, Meredith—to-night!” he kept repeating with a sickening monotony. And all the while he stumbled on. The perspiration60 ran down his face in one continuous stream; at times he paused to wipe it from his eyes with the back of his hands, and as these were torn and bleeding, there were smears61 of blood across his cheeks.
The night fell; the moon rose, red and glorious, and the beasts of this untrodden forest paused in their search for meat to watch with wondering, fearless eyes that strange, unknown animal—man.
It was Durnovo who, climbing wildly, first saw the break in the trees ahead. He gave a muffled62 cry of delight, and in a few minutes they were all rushing, like men possessed63, up a bare slope of broken shale64.
Durnovo reached the summit first. A faint, pleasant odour was wafted65 into their faces. They stood on the edge of a vast table-land melting away in the yellow moonlight. Studded all over, like sheep in a meadow, were a number of little bushes, and no other vegetation.
Victor Durnovo stooped over one of these. He buried his face among the leaves of it, and suddenly he toppled over.
“Yes,” he cried as he fell, “it's Simiacine!”
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收听单词发音
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1
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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2
enunciation
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| n.清晰的发音；表明，宣言；口齿 | |
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3
amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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7
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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8
placidity
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| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
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9
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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11
pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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12
gratuitous
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| adj.无偿的，免费的；无缘无故的，不必要的 | |
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13
exigency
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| n.紧急；迫切需要 | |
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14
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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15
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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16
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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21
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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22
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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merge
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| v.(使)结合，(使)合并，(使)合为一体 | |
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28
nonentities
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| n.无足轻重的人( nonentity的名词复数 )；蝼蚁 | |
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29
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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30
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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35
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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36
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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37
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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38
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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39
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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42
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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43
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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44
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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45
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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46
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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47
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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48
organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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49
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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50
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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51
denser
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| adj. 不易看透的, 密集的, 浓厚的, 愚钝的 | |
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52
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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53
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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54
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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55
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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56
density
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| n.密集，密度，浓度 | |
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57
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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58
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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59
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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60
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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61
smears
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| 污迹( smear的名词复数 )； 污斑； （显微镜的）涂片； 诽谤 | |
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62
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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63
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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64
shale
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| n.页岩，泥板岩 | |
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65
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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