famous for their good looks—they are Gallinas with a dash of European blood that dates from the days of Vasco da Gama and the English slave-traders, and the Porroh
man, too, was possibly inspired by a faint Caucasian taint3 in his composition. (It’s a curious thing to think that some of us may have distant cousins eating men on
Sherboro Island or raiding with the Sofas.) At any rate, the Porroh man stabbed the woman to the heart as though he had been a mere4 low-class Italian, and very
narrowly missed Pollock. But Pollock, using his revolver to parry the lightning stab which was aimed at his deltoid muscle, sent the iron dagger5 flying, and, firing,
hit the man in the hand.
He fired again and missed, knocking a sudden window out of the wall of the hut. The Porroh man stooped in the doorway7, glancing under his arm at Pollock. Pollock
caught a glimpse of his inverted8 face in the sunlight, and then the Englishman was alone, sick and trembling with the excitement 417of the affair, in the twilight9 of
the place. It had all happened in less time than it takes to read about it.
The woman was quite dead, and having ascertained10 this, Pollock went to the entrance of the hut and looked out. Things outside were dazzling bright. Half a dozen of the
porters of the expedition were standing11 up in a group near the green huts they occupied, and staring towards him, wondering what the shots might signify. Behind the
little group of men was the broad stretch of black fetid mud by the river, a green carpet of rafts of papyrus12 and water-grass, and then the leaden water. The mangroves
beyond the stream loomed14 indistinctly through the blue haze15. There were no signs of excitement in the squat16 village, whose fence was just visible above the cane-grass.
Pollock came out of the hut cautiously and walked towards the river, looking over his shoulder at intervals17. But the Porroh man had vanished. Pollock clutched his
One of his men came to meet him, and as he came, pointed20 to the bushes behind the hut in which the Porroh man had disappeared. Pollock had an irritating persuasion21 of
having made an absolute fool of himself; he felt bitter, savage22, at the turn things had taken. At the same time, he would have to tell Waterhouse—the moral,
exemplary, 418cautious Waterhouse—who would inevitably23 take the matter seriously. Pollock cursed bitterly at his luck, at Waterhouse, and especially at the West Coast
of Africa. He felt consummately24 sick of the expedition. And in the back of his mind all the time was a speculative25 doubt where precisely26 within the visible horizon the
Porroh man might be.
It is perhaps rather shocking, but he was not at all upset by the murder that had just happened. He had seen so much brutality27 during the last three months, so many
dead women, burnt huts, drying skeletons, up the Kittam River in the wake of the Sofa cavalry28, that his senses were blunted. What disturbed him was the persuasion that
this business was only beginning.
He swore savagely29 at the black, who ventured to ask a question, and went on into the tent under the orange-trees where Waterhouse was lying, feeling exasperatingly
like a boy going into the headmaster’s study.
Waterhouse was still sleeping off the effects of his last dose of chlorodyne, and Pollock sat down on a packing-case beside him, and, lighting30 his pipe, waited for him
to awake. About him were scattered31 the pots and weapons Waterhouse had collected from the Mendi people, and which he had been repacking for the canoe voyage to Sulyma.
Presently Waterhouse woke up, and after judicial32 stretching, decided33 he was all right again. 419Pollock got him some tea. Over the tea the incidents of the afternoon
were described by Pollock, after some preliminary beating about the bush. Waterhouse took the matter even more seriously than Pollock had anticipated. He did not
simply disapprove34, he scolded, he insulted.
“You’re one of those infernal fools who think a black man isn’t a human being,” he said. “I can’t be ill a day without you must get into some dirty scrape or
other. This is the third time in a month that you have come crossways-on with a native, and this time you’re in for it with a vengeance35. Porroh, too! They’re down
upon you enough as it is, about that idol36 you wrote your silly name on. And they’re the most vindictive37 devils on earth! You make a man ashamed of civilisation38. To
think you come of a decent family! If ever I cumber39 myself up with a vicious, stupid young lout40 like you again—”
At that Waterhouse became speechless. He jumped to his feet.
“Look here, Pollock,” he said, after a struggle to control his breath. “You must go home. I won’t have you any longer. I’m ill enough as it is through you—”
“Keep your hair on,” said Pollock, staring in front of him. “I’m ready enough to go.”
420Waterhouse became calmer again. He sat down on the camp-stool. “Very well,” he said. “I don’t want a row, Pollock, you know; but it’s confoundedly annoying to
have one’s plans put out by this kind of thing. I’ll come to Sulyma with you, and see you safe aboard—”
“You needn’t,” said Pollock. “I can go alone. From here.”
“Not far,” said Waterhouse. “You don’t understand this Porroh business.”
“How should I know she belonged to a Porrohman?” said Pollock, bitterly.
“Well, she did,” said Waterhouse; “and you can’t undo43 the thing. Go alone, indeed! I wonder what they’d do to you. You don’t seem to understand that this Porroh
hokey-pokey rules this country, is its law, religion, constitution, medicine, magic—They appoint the chiefs. The Inquisition, at its best, couldn’t hold a candle to
these chaps. He will probably set Awajale, the chief here, on to us. It’s lucky our porters are Mendis. We shall have to shift this little settlement of ours—
Confound you, Pollock! And, of course, you must go and miss him.”
He thought, and his thoughts seemed disagreeable. Presently he stood up and took his rifle. “I’d keep close for a bit, if I were you,” he said, over his shoulder,
as he went out. “I’m going out to see what I can find out about it.”
Pollock remained sitting in the tent, meditating44. 421“I was meant for a civilised life,” he said to himself, regretfully, as he filled his pipe. “The sooner I get
back to London or Paris the better for me.”
His eye fell on the sealed case in which Waterhouse had put the featherless poisoned arrows they had bought in the Mendi country. “I wish I had hit the beggar
somewhere vital,” said Pollock, viciously.
Waterhouse came back after a long interval18. He was not communicative, though Pollock asked him questions enough. The Porroh man, it seems, was a prominent member of
that mystical society. The village was interested, but not threatening. No doubt the witch-doctor had gone into the bush. He was a great witch-doctor. “Of course, he
’s up to something,” said Waterhouse, and became silent.
“But what can he do?” asked Pollock, unheeded.
“I must get you out of this. There’s something brewing46, or things would not be so quiet,” said Waterhouse, after a gap of silence. Pollock wanted to know what the
brew45 might be. “Dancing in a circle of skulls,” said Waterhouse; “brewing a stink48 in a copper49 pot.” Pollock wanted particulars. Waterhouse was vague, Pollock
pressing. At last Waterhouse lost his temper. “How the devil should I know?” he said to Pollock’s twentieth inquiry50 what the Porroh 422man would do. “He tried to
kill you off-hand in the hut. Now, I fancy he will try something more elaborate. But you’ll see fast enough. I don’t want to help unnerve you. It’s probably all
nonsense.”
That night, as they were sitting at their fire, Pollock again tried to draw Waterhouse out on the subject of Porroh methods. “Better get to sleep,” said Waterhouse,
when Pollock’s bent51 became apparent; “we start early to-morrow. You may want all your nerve about you.”
“But what line will he take?”
“Can’t say. They’re versatile52 people. They know a lot of rum dodges53. You’d better get that copper-devil, Shakespear, to talk.”
There was a flash and a heavy bang out of the darkness behind the huts, and a clay bullet came whistling close to Pollock’s head. This, at least, was crude enough.
The blacks and half-breeds sitting and yarning54 round their own fire jumped up, and some one fired into the dark.
“Better go into one of the huts,” said Waterhouse, quietly, still sitting unmoved.
Pollock stood up by the fire and drew his revolver. Fighting, at least, he was not afraid of. But a man in the dark is in the best of armour55. Realising the wisdom of
Waterhouse’s advice, Pollock went into the tent and lay down there.
What little sleep he had was disturbed by dreams, variegated56 dreams, but chiefly of the Porroh 423man’s face, upside down, as he went out of the hut, and looked up
under his arm. It was odd that this transitory impression should have stuck so firmly in Pollock’s memory. Moreover, he was troubled by queer pains in his limbs.
In the white haze of the early morning, as they were loading the canoes, a barbed arrow suddenly appeared quivering in the ground close to Pollock’s foot. The boys
After these two occurrences, there was a disposition58 on the part of the expedition to leave Pollock to himself, and Pollock became, for the first time in his life,
anxious to mingle59 with blacks. Waterhouse took one canoe, and Pollock, in spite of a friendly desire to chat with Waterhouse, had to take the other. He was left all
alone in the front part of the canoe, and he had the greatest trouble to make the men—who did not love him—keep to the middle of the river, a clear hundred yards or
more from either shore. However, he made Shakespear, the Freetown half-breed, come up to his own end of the canoe and tell him about Porroh, which Shakespear, failing
in his attempts to leave Pollock alone, presently did with considerable freedom and gusto.
The day passed. The canoe glided60 swiftly along the ribbon of lagoon water, between the drift of water-figs, fallen trees, papyrus, and palm-wine palms, and with the
dark mangrove13 swamp 424to the left, through which one could hear now and then the roar of the Atlantic surf. Shakespear told, in his soft blurred61 English, of how the
Porroh could cast spells; how men withered62 up under their malice63; how they could send dreams and devils; how they tormented64 and killed the sons of Ijibu; how they
kidnapped a white trader from Sulyma who had maltreated one of the sect65, and how his body looked when it was found. And Pollock after each narrative66 cursed under his
breath at the want of missionary67 enterprise that allowed such things to be, and at the inert68 British Government that ruled over this dark heathendom of Sierra Leone.
In the evening they came to the Kasi Lake, and sent a score of crocodiles lumbering69 off the island on which the expedition camped for the night.
The next day they reached Sulyma, and smelt70 the sea breeze; but Pollock had to put up there for five days before he could get on to Freetown. Waterhouse, considering
him to be comparatively safe here, and within the pale of Freetown influence, left him and went back with the expedition to Gbemma, and Pollock became very friendly
with Perera, the only resident white trader at Sulyma—so friendly, indeed, that he went about with him everywhere. Perera was a little Portuguese71 Jew, who had lived
in England, and he appreciated the Englishman’s friendliness72 as a great compliment.
425For two days nothing happened out of the ordinary; for the most part Pollock and Perera played Nap—the only game they had in common—and Pollock got into debt.
Then, on the second evening, Pollock had a disagreeable intimation of the arrival of the Porroh man in Sulyma by getting a flesh-wound in the shoulder from a lump of
filed iron. It was a long shot, and the missile had nearly spent its force when it hit him. Still it conveyed its message plainly enough. Pollock sat up in his
hammock, revolver in hand, all that night, and next morning confided73, to some extent, in the Anglo-Portuguese.
Perera took the matter seriously. He knew the local customs pretty thoroughly74. “It is a personal question, you must know. It is revenge. And of course he is hurried
by your leaving de country. None of de natives or half-breeds will interfere75 wid him very much—unless you make it wort deir while. If you come upon him suddenly, you
“Den dere’s dis—infernal magic,” said Perera. “Of course, I don’t believe in it—superstition76; but still it’s not nice to tink dat wherever you are, dere is a
black man, who spends a moonlight night now and den a-dancing about a fire to send you bad dreams—Had any bad dreams?”
“Rather,” said Pollock. “I keep on seeing the beggar’s head upside down grinning at me and 426showing all his teeth as he did in the hut, and coming close up to
me, and then going ever so far off, and coming back. It’s nothing to be afraid of, but somehow it simply paralyses me with terror in my sleep. Queer things—dreams. I
know it’s a dream all the time, and I can’t wake up from it.”
“It’s probably only fancy,” said Perera. “Den my niggers say Porroh men can send snakes. Seen any snakes lately?”
“Only one. I killed him this morning, on the floor near my hammock. Almost trod on him as I got up.”
“Ah!” said Perera, and then, reassuringly77, “Of course it is a—coincidence. Still I would keep my eyes open. Den dere’s pains in de bones.”
“I thought they were due to miasma,” said Pollock.
“Probably dey are. When did dey begin?”
Then Pollock remembered that he first noticed them the night after the fight in the hut. “It’s my opinion he don’t want to kill you,” said Perera—“at least not
yet. I’ve heard deir idea is to scare and worry a man wid deir spells, and narrow misses, and rheumatic pains, and bad dreams, and all dat, until he’s sick of life.
Of course, it’s all talk, you know. You mustn’t worry about it—But I wonder what he’ll be up to next.”
“I shall have to be up to something first,” said 427Pollock, staring gloomily at the greasy78 cards that Perera was putting on the table. “It don’t suit my dignity
to be followed about, and shot at, and blighted79 in this way. I wonder if Porroh hokey-pokey upsets your luck at cards.”
He looked at Perera suspiciously.
That afternoon Pollock killed two snakes in his hammock, and there was also an extraordinary increase in the number of red ants that swarmed81 over the place; and these
annoyances82 put him in a fit temper to talk over business with a certain Mendi rough he had interviewed before. The Mendi rough showed Pollock a little iron dagger, and
demonstrated where one struck in the neck, in a way that made Pollock shiver; and in return for certain considerations Pollock promised him a double-barrelled gun with
an ornamental83 lock.
In the evening, as Pollock and Perera were playing cards, the Mendi rough came in through the doorway, carrying something in a blood-soaked piece of native cloth.
“Not here!” said Pollock, very hurriedly. “Not here!”
But he was not quick enough to prevent the man, who was anxious to get to Pollock’s side of the bargain, from opening the cloth and throwing the head of the Porroh
man upon the table. It bounded from there on to the floor, leaving a red 428trail on the cards, and rolled into a corner, where it came to rest upside down, but
glaring hard at Pollock.
Perera jumped up as the thing fell among the cards, and began in his excitement to gabble in Portuguese. The Mendi was bowing, with the red cloth in his hand. “De
gun!” he said. Pollock stared back at the head in the corner. It bore exactly the expression it had in his dreams. Something seemed to snap in his own brain as he
looked at it.
Then Perera found his English again.
“You got him killed?” he said. “You did not kill him yourself?”
“Why should I?” said Pollock.
“But he will not be able to take it off now!”
“Take what off?” said Pollock.
“And all dese cards are spoiled!”
“What do you mean by taking off?” said Pollock.
“You must send me a new pack from Freetown. You can buy dem dere.”
“But—‘take it off’?”
“It is only superstition. I forgot. De niggers say dat if de witches—he was a witch—But it is rubbish—You must make de Porroh man take it off, or kill him yourself
—It is very silly.”
Pollock swore under his breath, still staring hard at the head in the corner.
“I can’t stand that glare,” he said. Then suddenly 429he rushed at the thing and kicked it. It rolled some yards or so, and came to rest in the same position as
before, upside down, and looking at him.
“He is ugly,” said the Anglo-Portuguese. “Very ugly. Dey do it on deir faces with little knives.”
Pollock would have kicked the head again, but the Mendi man touched him on the arm. “De gun?” he said, looking nervously at the head.
“Two—if you will take that beastly thing away,” said Pollock.
The Mendi shook his head, and intimated that he only wanted one gun now due to him, and for which he would be obliged. Pollock found neither cajolery nor bullying85 any
good with him. Perera had a gun to sell (at a profit of three hundred per cent.), and with that the man presently departed. Then Pollock’s eyes, against his will,
were recalled to the thing on the floor.
“It is funny dat his head keeps upside down,” said Perera, with an uneasy laugh. “His brains must be heavy, like de weight in de little images one sees dat keep
always upright wid lead in dem. You will take him wiv you when you go presently. You might take him now. De cards are all spoilt. Dere is a man sell dem in Freetown.
De room is in a filty mess as it is. You should have killed him yourself.”
Pollock pulled himself together, and went and 430picked up the head. He would hang it up by the lamp-hook in the middle of the ceiling of his room, and dig a grave for
it at once. He was under the impression that he hung it up by the hair, but that must have been wrong, for when he returned for it, it was hanging by the neck upside
down.
He buried it before sunset on the north side of the shed he occupied, so that he should not have to pass the grave after dark when he was returning from Perera’s. He
killed two snakes before he went to sleep. In the darkest part of the night he awoke with a start, and heard a pattering sound and something scraping on the floor. He
sat up noiselessly, and felt under his pillow for his revolver. A mumbling86 growl87 followed, and Pollock fired at the sound. There was a yelp88, and something dark passed
In the early dawn he awoke again with a peculiar90 sense of unrest. The vague pain in his bones had returned. For some time he lay watching the red ants that were
swarming91 over the ceiling, and then, as the light grew brighter, he looked over the edge of his hammock and saw something dark on the floor. He gave such a violent
start that the hammock overset and flung him out.
He found himself lying, perhaps, a yard away from the head of the Porroh man. It had been disinterred by the dog, and the nose was grievously 431battered. Ants and
flies swarmed over it. By an odd coincidence, it was still upside down, and with the same diabolical92 expression in the inverted eyes.
Pollock sat paralysed, and stared at the horror for some time. Then he got up and walked round it,—giving it a wide berth—and out of the shed. The clear light of the
sunrise, the living stir of vegetation before the breath of the dying land-breeze, and the empty grave with the marks of the dog’s paws, lightened the weight upon his
mind a little.
He told Perera of the business as though it was a jest,—a jest to be told with white lips. “You should not have frighten de dog,” said Perera, with poorly simulated
The next two days, until the steamer came, were spent by Pollock in making a more effectual disposition of his possession. Overcoming his aversion to handling the
thing, he went down to the river mouth and threw it into the sea-water, but by some miracle it escaped the crocodiles, and was cast up by the tide on the mud a little
way up the river, to be found by an intelligent Arab half-breed, and offered for sale to Pollock and Perera as a curiosity, just on the edge of night. The native hung
about in the brief twilight, making lower and lower offers, and at last, getting scared in some way by the evident dread95 these wise white men had for the thing, went
off, 432and, passing Pollock’s shed, threw his burden in there for Pollock to discover in the morning.
At this Pollock got into a kind of frenzy96. He would burn the thing. He went out straightway into the dawn, and had constructed a big pyre of brushwood before the heat
of the day. He was interrupted by the hooter of the little paddle steamer from Monrovia to Bathurst, which was coming through the gap in the bar. “Thank Heaven!”
said Pollock, with infinite piety97, when the meaning of the sound dawned upon him. With trembling hands he lit his pile of wood hastily, threw the head upon it, and
went away to pack his portmanteau and make his adieux to Perera.
That afternoon, with a sense of infinite relief, Pollock watched the flat swampy foreshore of Sulyma grow small in the distance. The gap in the long line of white
surge became narrower and narrower. It seemed to be closing in and cutting him off from his trouble. The feeling of dread and worry began to slip from him bit by bit.
At Sulyma belief in Porroh malignity98 and Porroh magic had been in the air, his sense of Porroh had been vast, pervading99, threatening, dreadful. Now manifestly the
domain100 of Porroh was only a little place, a little black band between the sea and the blue cloudy Mendi uplands.
“Good-bye, Porroh!” said Pollock. “Good-bye—certainly not au revoir.”
433The captain of the steamer came and leant over the rail beside him, and wished him good evening, and spat101 at the froth of the wake in token of friendly ease.
“I picked up a rummy curio on the beach this go,” said the captain. “It’s a thing I never saw done this side of Indy before.”
“What might that be?” said Pollock.
“Pickled ’ed,” said the captain.
“What?” said Pollock.
“’Ed—smoked. ’Ed of one of these Porroh chaps, all ornamented102 with knife-cuts. Why! What’s up? Nothing? I shouldn’t have took you for a nervous chap. Green in
the face. By gosh! you’re a bad sailor. All right, eh? Lord, how funny you went! Well, this ’ed I was telling you of is a bit rum in a way. I’ve got it, along with
some snakes, in a jar of spirit in my cabin what I keeps for such curios, and I’m hanged if it don’t float upsy down. Hullo!”
Pollock had given an incoherent cry, and had his hands in his hair. He ran towards the paddle-boxes with a half-formed idea of jumping into the sea, and then he
realised his position and turned back towards the captain.
“Here!” said the captain. “Jack Philips, just keep him off me! Stand off! No nearer, mister! What’s the matter with you? Are you mad?”
Pollock put his hand to his head. It was no 434good explaining. “I believe I am pretty nearly mad at times,” he said. “It’s a pain I have here. Comes suddenly. You
’ll excuse me, I hope.”
He was white and in a perspiration103. He saw suddenly very clearly all the danger he ran of having his sanity104 doubted. He forced himself to restore the captain’s
confidence, by answering his sympathetic inquiries105, noting his suggestions, even trying a spoonful of neat brandy in his cheek, and, that matter settled, asking a
number of questions about the captain’s private trade in curiosities. The captain described the head in detail. All the while Pollock was struggling to keep under a
preposterous106 persuasion that the ship was as transparent107 as glass, and that he could distinctly see the inverted face looking at him from the cabin beneath his feet.
Pollock had a worse time almost on the steamer than he had at Sulyma. All day he had to control himself in spite of his intense perception of the imminent108 presence of
that horrible head that was overshadowing his mind. At night his old nightmare returned, until, with a violent effort, he would force himself awake, rigid109 with the
He left the actual head behind at Bathurst, where he changed ship for Teneriffe, but not his dreams nor the dull ache in his bones. At Teneriffe Pollock transferred to
a Cape94 liner, but the head followed him. He gambled, he tried chess, 435he even read books; but he knew the danger of drink. Yet whenever a round black shadow, a round
black object came into his range, there he looked for the head, and—saw it. He knew clearly enough that his imagination was growing traitor111 to him, and yet at times
it seemed the ship he sailed in, his fellow-passengers, the sailors, the wide sea, were all part of a filmy phantasmagoria that hung, scarcely veiling it, between him
and a horrible real world. Then the Porroh man, thrusting his diabolical face through that curtain, was the one real and undeniable thing. At that he would get up and
touch things, taste something, gnaw112 something, burn his hand with a match, or run a needle into himself.
So, struggling grimly and silently with his excited imagination, Pollock reached England. He landed at Southampton, and went on straight from Waterloo to his banker’s
in Cornhill in a cab. There he transacted113 some business with the manager in a private room; and all the while the head hung like an ornament84 under the black marble
mantel and dripped upon the fender. He could hear the drops fall, and see the red on the fender.
“Very,” said Pollock; “a very pretty fern. And that reminds me. Can you recommend me a physician for mind troubles? I’ve got a little—what is it?—hallucination.
”
436The head laughed savagely, wildly. Pollock was surprised the manager did not notice it. But the manager only stared at his face.
With the address of a doctor, Pollock presently emerged in Cornhill. There was no cab in sight, and so he went on down to the western end of the street, and essayed
the crossing opposite the Mansion115 House. The crossing is hardly easy even for the expert Londoner; cabs, vans, carriages, mailcarts, omnibuses go by in one incessant
stream; to any one fresh from the malarious116 solitudes117 of Sierra Leone it is a boiling, maddening confusion. But when an inverted head suddenly comes bouncing, like an
india-rubber ball, between your legs, leaving distinct smears118 of blood every time it touches the ground, you can scarcely hope to avoid an accident. Pollock lifted his
feet convulsively to avoid it, and then kicked at the thing furiously. Then something hit him violently in the back, and a hot pain ran up his arm.
He had been hit by the pole of an omnibus, and three of the fingers of his left hand smashed by the hoof119 of one of the horses,—the very fingers, as it happened, that
he shot from the Porroh man. They pulled him out from between the horses’ legs, and found the address of the physician in his crushed hand.
For a couple of days Pollock’s sensations were full of the sweet, pungent120 smell of chloroform, of painful operations that caused him no pain, of lying 437still and
being given food and drink. Then he had a slight fever, and was very thirsty, and his old nightmare came back. It was only when it returned that he noticed it had left
him for a day.
“If my skull47 had been smashed instead of my fingers, it might have gone altogether,” said Pollock, staring thoughtfully at the dark cushion that had taken on for the
time the shape of the head.
Pollock at the first opportunity told the physician of his mind trouble. He knew clearly that he must go mad unless something should intervene to save him. He
explained that he had witnessed a decapitation in Dahomey, and was haunted by one of the heads. Naturally, he did not care to state the actual facts. The physician
looked grave.
“Very little,” said Pollock.
A shade passed over the physician’s face. “I don’t know if you have heard of the miraculous122 cures—it may be, of course, they are not miraculous—at Lourdes.”
“Faith-healing will hardly suit me, I am afraid,” said Pollock, with his eye on the dark cushion.
The head distorted its scarred features in an abominable123 grimace124. The physician went upon a new track. “It’s all imagination,” he said, speaking with sudden
briskness125. “A fair case for faith-healing, anyhow. Your nervous system has 438run down, you’re in that twilight state of health when the bogles come easiest. The
strong impression was too much for you. I must make you up a little mixture that will strengthen your nervous system—especially your brain. And you must take
exercise.”
“I’m no good for faith-healing,” said Pollock.
“And therefore we must restore tone. Go in search of stimulating126 air—Scotland, Norway, the Alps—”
“Jericho, if you like,” said Pollock, “where Naaman went.”
However, so soon as his fingers would let him, Pollock made a gallant127 attempt to follow out the doctor’s suggestion. It was now November. He tried football; but to
Pollock the game consisted in kicking a furious inverted head about a field. He was no good at the game. He kicked blindly, with a kind of horror, and when they put
him back into goal, and the ball came swooping128 down upon him, he suddenly yelled and got out of its way. The discreditable stories that had driven him from England to
wander in the tropics shut him off from any but men’s society, and now his increasingly strange behaviour made even his man friends avoid him. The thing was no longer
a thing of the eye merely; it gibbered at him, spoke to him. A horrible fear came upon him that presently, when he took hold of the apparition129, it would no longer
become some mere article of 439furniture, but would feel like a real dissevered head. Alone, he would curse at the thing, defy it, entreat130 it; once or twice, in spite
of his grim self-control, he addressed it in the presence of others. He felt the growing suspicion in the eyes of the people that watched him,—his landlady131, the
servant, his man.
One day early in December his cousin Arnold—his next of kin—came to see him and draw him out, and watch his sunken, yellow face with narrow, eager eyes. And it
seemed to Pollock that the hat his cousin carried in his hand was no hat at all, but a Gorgon132 head that glared at him upside down, and fought with its eyes against his
reason. However, he was still resolute133 to see the matter out. He got a bicycle, and, riding over the frosty road from Wandsworth to Kingston, found the thing rolling
along at his side, and leaving a dark trail behind it. He set his teeth and rode faster. Then suddenly, as he came down the hill towards Richmond Park, the apparition
rolled in front of him and under his wheel, so quickly that he had no time for thought, and, turning quickly to avoid it, was flung violently against a heap of stones
and broke his left wrist.
The end came on Christmas morning. All night he had been in a fever, the bandages encircling his wrist like a band of fire, his dreams more vivid and terrible than
ever. In the cold, colourless, uncertain light that came before the sunrise, 440he sat up in his bed, and saw the head upon the bracket in the place of the bronze jar
that had stood there overnight.
“I know that is a bronze jar,” he said, with a chill doubt at his heart. Presently the doubt was irresistible134. He got out of bed slowly, shivering, and advanced to
the jar with his hand raised. Surely he would see now his imagination had deceived him, recognise the distinctive135 sheen of bronze. At last, after an age of hesitation,
his fingers came down on the patterned cheek of the head. He withdrew them spasmodically. The last stage was reached. His sense of touch had betrayed him.
Trembling, stumbling against the bed, kicking against his shoes with his bare feet, a dark confusion eddying136 round him, he groped his way to the dressing-table, took
his razor from the drawer, and sat down on the bed with this in his hand. In the looking-glass he saw his own face, colourless, haggard, full of the ultimate
bitterness of despair.
He beheld137 in swift succession the incidents in the brief tale of his experience. His wretched home, his still more wretched schooldays, the years of vicious life he
had led since then, one act of selfish dishonour138 leading to another; it was all clear and pitiless now, all its squalid folly139, in the cold light of the dawn. He came
to the hut, to the fight with the Porroh man, to the retreat 441down the river to Sulyma, to the Mendi assassin and his red parcel, to his frantic140 endeavours to
destroy the head, to the growth of his hallucination. It was a hallucination! He knew it was. A hallucination merely. For a moment he snatched at hope. He looked away
from the glass, and on the bracket, the inverted head grinned and grimaced141 at him—With the stiff fingers of his bandaged hand he felt at his neck for the throb142 of his
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1
swampy
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| adj.沼泽的，湿地的 | |
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lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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3
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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12
papyrus
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| n.古以纸草制成之纸 | |
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mangrove
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| n.(植物)红树，红树林 | |
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14
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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15
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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16
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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17
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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18
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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19
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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20
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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21
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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22
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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23
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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consummately
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| adv.完成地，至上地 | |
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speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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29
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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30
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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31
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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32
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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33
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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34
disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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35
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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36
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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37
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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38
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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39
cumber
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| v.拖累，妨碍；n.妨害；拖累 | |
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40
lout
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| n.粗鄙的人；举止粗鲁的人 | |
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41
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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42
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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43
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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44
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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45
brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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46
brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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47
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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48
stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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49
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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50
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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51
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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52
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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53
dodges
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| n.闪躲( dodge的名词复数 )；躲避；伎俩；妙计v.闪躲( dodge的第三人称单数 )；回避 | |
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54
yarning
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| vi.讲故事（yarn的现在分词形式） | |
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55
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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56
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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57
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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58
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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59
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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60
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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61
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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62
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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63
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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64
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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65
sect
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| n.派别，宗教，学派，派系 | |
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66
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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67
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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68
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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69
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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70
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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71
Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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72
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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73
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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74
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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75
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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76
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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77
reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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78
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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79
blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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80
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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81
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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82
annoyances
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| n.恼怒( annoyance的名词复数 )；烦恼；打扰；使人烦恼的事 | |
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83
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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84
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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85
bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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86
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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87
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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88
yelp
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| vi.狗吠 | |
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89
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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90
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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91
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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92
diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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93
hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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94
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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95
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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96
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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97
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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98
malignity
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| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
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99
pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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100
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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101
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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102
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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104
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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105
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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106
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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107
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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108
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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109
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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110
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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111
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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112
gnaw
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| v.不断地啃、咬；使苦恼，折磨 | |
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113
transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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114
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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115
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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116
malarious
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| （患）疟疾的，（有）瘴气的 | |
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117
solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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118
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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119
hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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120
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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121
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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122
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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123
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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124
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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125
briskness
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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126
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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127
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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128
swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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129
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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130
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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131
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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132
gorgon
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| n.丑陋女人，蛇发女怪 | |
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133
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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134
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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135
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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136
eddying
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| 涡流，涡流的形成 | |
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137
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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138
dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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139
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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140
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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141
grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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142
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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143
arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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