A sea fog was blowing across the smooth surface of the Maas where that river is broad and shallow, and a steamer anchored in the channel, grim and motionless, gave forth2 a grunt3 of warning from time to time, while a boy with mittened4 hands rang the bell hung high on the forecastle with a dull monotony. The wind blowing from the south-east drove before it the endless fog which hummed through the rigging, and hung there in little icicles that pointed5 to leeward6. On the bridge of the steamer, looking like a huge woollen barrel surmounted7 by a comforter and a cap with ear-flaps, the Dutch pilot stood philosophically8 at his post. Near him the captain, mindful of the company's time-tables, walked with a quick, impatient step. The fog was blowing past at the rate of four or five miles an hour, but the supply of it, emanating9 from the low lands bordering the Scheldt, seemed to be inexhaustible. This fog, indeed, blows across Holland nearly the whole winter.
The steamer's deck was covered with ice, over which sand had been strewn. The passengers were below in the warm saloon. Only the blue-faced boy at the bell on the forecastle was on the main-deck. At times one of the watch hurried from the galley10 to the forecastle with a pannikin of steaming coffee. The vessel11 had been anchored since daybreak and the sound of other bells and other whistles far and near told that she was not alone in these waters. The distant boom of a steamer creeping cautiously down from Rotterdam seemed to promise that farther inland the fog was thinner. A silence, broken only by the whisper of the wind through the rigging, reigned12 over all, so that men listened with anticipations13 of relief for the sound of answering bells. The sky at length grew a little lighter14, and presently gaps made their appearance in the fog, allowing peeps over the green and still water.
The captain and the pilot exchanged a few words—the very shortest of consultations16. They had been on the bridge together all night, and had said all that there was to be said about wind and weather. The captain gave a sharp order in his gruff voice, and, as if by magic, the watch on deck appeared from all sides. The chief officer emerged from his cabin beneath the wheel-house, and went forward into the fog, turning up his collar. Presently the jerk and clink of the steam-winch told that the anchor was being got home. The fog had been humoured for six hours, and the time had now come to move on through thick or thin. What should Berlin, Petersburg, Vienna, know of a fog on the Maas? And there were mails and passengers on board this steamer. The clink of the winch brought one of these on deck. Within the high collar of his fur coat, beneath the brim of a felt hat pulled well down, the keen; fair face of Mr. Anthony Cornish came peering up the gangway to the upper bridge. He exchanged a nod with the captain and the pilot; for with these he had already been in conversation at the breakfast-table. He took his station on the bridge behind them, with his hands deep in the pockets of his loose coat, a cigarette between his lips. A shout from the forecastle soon intimated that the anchor was up, and the captain gave the order to the boy at the engine-room telegraph. Through the fog the forms of the three men on the look-out on the forecastle were dimly discernible. The great steamer crept cautiously forward into the fog. The second mate, with his hand on the whistle-line, blared out his warning note every half-minute. A dim shadow loomed17 up on the port-side, which presently took the form of a great steamer at anchor, and was left behind with a ringing bell and a booming whistle. Another shadow turned out to be a pilot-cutter, and the Dutch pilot exchanged a shouted consultation15 with an invisible person whom he called “Thou,” and who replied to the imperfectly heard questions with the words, “South East.” This shadow also was left behind, faintly calling, “South East,” “South East.”
“It is a white buoy18 that I seek,” said the pilot, turning to those on the bridge behind him, his jolly red face puckered19 with anxiety. And quite suddenly the second officer, a bright-red Scotchman with little blue eyes like tempered gimlets, threw out a red hand and pointing finger.
“There she rides,” he said. “There she rides; staar boarrrd your hellum!”
And a full thirty seconds elapsed before any other eyes could pierce that gloom and perceive a great white buoy bowing solemnly towards the steamer like a courtier bidding a sovereign welcome. One voice had seemed to be gradually dominating the din21 of the many warning whistles that sounded ahead, astern, and all around the steamer. This voice, like that of a strong man knowing his own mind in an assembly of excited and unstable22 counsellors, had long been raised with a persistence23 which at last seemed to command all others, and the steamer moved steadily24 towards it; for it was the siren fog-horn at the pier20-head. At one moment it seemed to be quite near, and at the next far away; for the ears, unaided by the eyes, can but imperfectly focus sound or measure its distance.
“At last!” said the captain, suddenly, the anxiety wiped away from his face as if by magic. “At last, I hear the cranes aworking on the quay25.”
The purser had come to the bridge, and now approached Cornish.
“Are you going to land them at the Hook or take them on to Rotterdam, sir?” he asked.
“Oh, land 'em at the Hook,” replied Cornish, readily. “Have you fed them?”
“Yes, sir. They have had their breakfast—such as it is. Poor eaters I call them, sir.”
“Yes.” said Cornish, turning and looking at his burly interlocutor. “Yes, I do not suppose they eat much.”
The purser shrugged26 his shoulders, and turned his attention to other affairs, thoughtfully. The little, beacon27 at the head of the pier had suddenly loomed out of the fog not fifty yards away—a very needle in a pottle of hay, which the cunning of the pilot had found.
“They are malgamite workers,” answered Cornish, cheerily. “And I am going to make men of them—not ghosts.”
The purser looked at him, laughed in rather a puzzled way, and quitted the bridge. Cornish remained there, taking a quick, intelligent interest in the manoeuvres by which the great steamer was being brought alongside the quay. He seemed to have already forgotten the hundred and twenty men in the second-class cabin. His touch was indeed hopelessly light. He understood how it was that the steamer was made to obey, but he could not himself have brought her alongside. Cornish was a true son of a generation which understands much of many things, but not quite sufficient of any one.
He stood at the upper end of the gangway as the malgamite workers filed off—a sorry crew, narrow-chested, hollow-eyed, with that half-hopeless, half-reckless air that tells of a close familiarity with disease and death. He nodded to them airily as they passed him. Some of them took the trouble to answer his salutation, others seemed indifferent. A few glanced at him with a sort of dull wonder. And indeed this man was not of the material of which great philanthropists are made. He was cheerful and heedless, shallow and superficial.
“Get 'em into the train,” he said to an official at his side; and then, seeing that he had not been understood, gave the order glibly29 enough in another language.
The ill-clad travellers shuffled30 up the gangway and through the custom-house. Few seemed to take an interest in their surroundings. They exchanged no comments, but walked side by side in silence—dumb and driven animals. Some of them bore signs of disease. A few stumbled as they went. One or two were half blind, with groping hands. That they were of different nationalities was plain enough. Here a Jew from Vienna, with the fear of the Judenhetze in his eyes, followed on the heels of a tow-headed giant from Stockholm. A cunning cockney touched his hat as he passed, and rather ostentatiously turned to help a white-haired little Italian over the inequalities of the gangway. One thing only they had in common—their deadly industry. One shadow lay over them all—the shadow of death. A momentary31 gravity passed across Cornish's face. These men were as far removed from him as the crawling beetle32 is from the butterfly. Who shall say, however, that the butterfly sees nothing but the flowers?
As they passed him, some of them edged away with a dull humility33 for fear their poor garments should touch his fur coat. One, carrying a bird-cage, half paused, with a sort of pride, that Cornish might obtain a fuller view of a depressed34 canary. The malgamite workers of this winter's morning on the pier of Hoek were not the interesting industrials of Lady Ferriby's drawing-room. There their lives had been spoken of as short and merry. Here the merriment was scarcely perceptible. The mystery of the dangerous industries is one of those mysteries of human nature which cannot be explained by even the youngest of novelists. That dangerous industries exist we all know and deplore36. That the supply of men and women ready to take employment in such industries is practically inexhaustible is a fact worth at least a moment's attention.
Cornish made the necessary arrangements with the railway officials, and carefully counted his charges, who were already seated in the carriages reserved for them. He must at all events be allowed the virtues37 of a generation which is eminently38 practical and capable of overcoming the small difficulties of everyday life. He was quick to decide and prompt to act.
Then he seated himself in a carriage alone, with a sigh of relief at the thought that in a few days he would be back in London. His responsibility ended at The Hague, where he was to hand over the malgamite workers to the care of Roden and Von Holzen. They were rather a depressing set of men, and Holland, as seen from the carriage window—a snow-clad plain intersected by frozen ditches and canals—was no more enlivening. The temperature was deadly cold; the dull houses were rime-covered and forbidding. The malgamite makers39 had been gathered together from all parts of the world in a home specially41 organized for them in London. A second detachment was awaiting their orders at Hamburg. But the principal workers were these now placed under Cornish's care.
During the days of their arrival, when they had to be met and housed and cared for, the visionary part of this great scheme had slowly faded before a somewhat grim reality. Joan Ferriby had found the malgamite workers less picturesque42 than she had anticipated.
“If they only washed,” she had confided43 to Major White, “I am sure they would be easier to deal with.” And after talking French very vivaciously44 and boldly with a man from Lyons, she hurried back to the West End, and to the numerous engagements which naturally take up much of one's time when Lent is approaching, and dilatory45 hospitality is stirred up by the startling collapse46 of the Epiphany Sundays.
Here, however, were the malgamite workers and they had to be dealt with. It was not quite what many had anticipated, perhaps, and Cornish was looking forward with undisguised pleasure to the moment when he could rid himself of these persons whom Joan had gaily47 designated as “rather gruesome,” and whom he frankly48 recognized as sordid49 and uninteresting. He did not even look, as Joan had looked, to the wives and children who were to follow as likely to prove more picturesque and engaging.
The train made its way cautiously over the fog-ridden plain, and Cornish shivered as he looked out of the window. “Schiedam,” the porters called. This, Schiedam? A mere50 village, and yet the name was so familiar. The world seemed suddenly to have grown small and sordid. A few other stations with historic names, and then The Hague.
Cornish quitted his carriage, and found himself shaking hands with Roden, who was awaiting him on the platform, clad in a heavy fur coat. Roden looked clever and capable—cleverer and more capable than Cornish had even suspected—and the organization seemed perfect. The reserved carriages had been in readiness at the Hook. The officials were prepared.
Cornish instinctively51 placed himself under Roden's orders. The man had risen immensely in his estimation since the arrival in London of the first malgamite maker40. The grim reality of the one had enhanced the importance of the other. Cornish had been engaged in so many charities pour rire that the seriousness of this undertaking52 was apt to exaggerate itself in his mind—if, indeed, the seriousness of anything dwelt there at all.
“I counted them all over at the Hook,” he said. “One hundred and twenty—pretty average scoundrels.”
“Yes; they are not much to look at,” answered Roden.
And the two men stood side by side watching the malgamite workers, who now quitted the train and stood huddled53 together in a dull apathy54 on the roomy platform.
“But you will soon get them into shape, no doubt,” said Cornish, with characteristic optimism. He was essentially55 of a class that has always some one at hand to whom to relegate56 tasks which it could do more effectually and more quickly for itself. The secret of human happiness is to be dependent upon as few human beings as possible.
“Oh yes! We shall soon get them into shape—the sea air and all that, you know.”
Roden looked at his protégés with large, sad eyes, in which there was alike no enthusiasm and no spark of human kindness. Cornish wondered vaguely57 what he was thinking about. The thoughts were certainly tinged58 with pessimism59, and lacked entirely60 the blindness of an enthusiasm by which men are urged to endeavour great things for the good of the masses, and to make, as far as a practical human perception may discern, huge and hideous61 mistakes.
“Von Holzen is down below,” said Roden, at length. “As soon as he comes up we will draft them off in batches62 of ten, and pack them into the omnibuses. The luggage can follow. Ah! Here comes Von Holzen. You don't know him, do you?”
“No; I don't know him.”
They both went forward to meet a man of medium height, with square shoulders, and a still, clean-shaven face. Otto von Holzen raised his hat, and remained bare-headed while he shook hands.
“The introduction is unnecessary,” he said. “We have worked together for many months—you on the other side of the North Sea, and I on this. And now we have, at all events, something to show for our work.”
This was a different sort of man to Roden—quicker to feel for others, to understand others; capable of greater good, and possibly of greater evil. He glanced at Cornish, nodded sympathetically, and then turned to look at the malgamite makers. These, standing64 in a group on the platform, holding in their hands their poor belongings65, returned the gaze with interest. The train which had brought them steamed out of the station, leaving the malgamite makers gazing in a dull wonder at the three men into whose hands they had committed their lives.
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1
vend
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| v.公开表明观点，出售，贩卖 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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mittened
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| v.（使）变得潮湿，变得湿润( moisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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emanating
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的现在分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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10
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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11
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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15
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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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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buoy
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| n.浮标；救生圈；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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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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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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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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deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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vivaciously
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| adv.快活地；活泼地；愉快地 | |
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dilatory
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| adj.迟缓的，不慌不忙的 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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50
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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52
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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53
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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56
relegate
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| v.使降级，流放，移交，委任 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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58
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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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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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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batches
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| 一批( batch的名词复数 )； 一炉； （食物、药物等的）一批生产的量； 成批作业 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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64
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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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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