—Pudd’nhead Wilson’s New Calendar.
On Monday and Tuesday at sunrise we again had fair-to-middling views of the stupendous mountains; then, being well cooled off and refreshed, we were ready to chance the weather of the lower world once more.
We traveled up hill by the regular train five miles to the summit, then changed to a little canvas-canopied hand-car for the 35-mile descent. It was the size of a sleigh, it had six seats and was so low that it seemed to rest on the ground. It had no engine or other propelling power, and needed none to help it fly down those steep inclines. It only needed a strong brake, to modify its flight, and it had that. There was a story of a disastrous1 trip made down the mountain once in this little car by the Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal, when the car jumped the track and threw its passengers over a precipice2. It was not true, but the story had value for me, for it made me nervous, and nervousness wakes a person up and makes him alive and alert, and heightens the thrill of a new and doubtful experience. The car could really jump the track, of course; a pebble3 on the track, placed there by either accident or malice4, at a sharp curve where one might strike it before the eye could discover it, could derail the car and fling it down into India; and the fact that the lieutenant-governor had escaped was no proof that I would have the same luck. And standing5 there, looking down upon the Indian Empire from the airy altitude of 7,000 feet, it seemed unpleasantly far, dangerously far, to be flung from a handcar.
But after all, there was but small danger—for me. What there was, was for Mr. Pugh, inspector6 of a division of the Indian police, in whose company and protection we had come from Calcutta. He had seen long service as an artillery7 officer, was less nervous than I was, and so he was to go ahead of us in a pilot hand-car, with a Ghurka and another native; and the plan was that when we should see his car jump over a precipice we must put on our (break) and send for another pilot. It was a good arrangement. Also Mr. Barnard, chief engineer of the mountain-division of the road, was to take personal charge of our car, and he had been down the mountain in it many a time.
Everything looked safe. Indeed, there was but one questionable8 detail left: the regular train was to follow us as soon as we should start, and it might run over us. Privately9, I thought it would.
The road fell sharply down in front of us and went corkscrewing in and out around the crags and precipices10, down, down, forever down, suggesting nothing so exactly or so uncomfortably as a crooked11 toboggan slide with no end to it. Mr. Pugh waved his flag and started, like an arrow from a bow, and before I could get out of the car we were gone too. I had previously12 had but one sensation like the shock of that departure, and that was the gaspy shock that took my breath away the first time that I was discharged from the summit of a toboggan slide. But in both instances the sensation was pleasurable—intensely so; it was a sudden and immense exaltation, a mixed ecstasy13 of deadly fright and unimaginable joy. I believe that this combination makes the perfection of human delight.
The pilot car’s flight down the mountain suggested the swoop14 of a swallow that is skimming the ground, so swiftly and smoothly15 and gracefully16 it swept down the long straight reaches and soared in and out of the bends and around the corners. We raced after it, and seemed to flash by the capes17 and crags with the speed of light; and now and then we almost overtook it—and had hopes; but it was only playing with us; when we got near, it released its brake, made a spring around a corner, and the next time it spun18 into view, a few seconds later, it looked as small as a wheelbarrow, it was so far away. We played with the train in the same way. We often got out to gather flowers or sit on a precipice and look at the scenery, then presently we would hear a dull and growing roar, and the long coils of the train would come into sight behind and above us; but we did not need to start till the locomotive was close down upon us—then we soon left it far behind. It had to stop at every station, therefore it was not an embarrassment19 to us. Our brake was a good piece of machinery20; it could bring the car to a standstill on a slope as steep as a house-roof.
The scenery was grand and varied21 and beautiful, and there was no hurry; we could always stop and examine it. There was abundance of time. We did not need to hamper22 the train; if it wanted the road, we could switch off and let it go by, then overtake it and pass it later. We stopped at one place to see the Gladstone Cliff, a great crag which the ages and the weather have sculptured into a recognizable portrait of the venerable statesman. Mr. Gladstone is a stockholder in the road, and Nature began this portrait ten thousand years ago, with the idea of having the compliment ready in time for the event.
We saw a banyan23 tree which sent down supporting stems from branches which were sixty feet above the ground. That is, I suppose it was a banyan; its bark resembled that of the great banyan in the botanical gardens at Calcutta, that spider-legged thing with its wilderness24 of vegetable columns. And there were frequent glimpses of a totally leafless tree upon whose innumerable twigs25 and branches a cloud of crimson26 butterflies had lighted—apparently. In fact these brilliant red butterflies were flowers, but the illusion was good. Afterward27 in South Africa, I saw another splendid effect made by red flowers. This flower was probably called the torch-plant—should have been so named, anyway. It had a slender stem several feet high, and from its top stood up a single tongue of flame, an intensely red flower of the size and shape of a small corn-cob. The stems stood three or four feet apart all over a great hill-slope that was a mile long, and make one think of what the Place de la Concorde would be if its myriad28 lights were red instead of white and yellow.
A few miles down the mountain we stopped half an hour to see a Thibetan dramatic performance. It was in the open air on the hillside. The audience was composed of Thibetans, Ghurkas, and other unusual people. The costumes of the actors were in the last degree outlandish, and the performance was in keeping with the clothes. To an accompaniment of barbarous noises the actors stepped out one after another and began to spin around with immense swiftness and vigor29 and violence, chanting the while, and soon the whole troupe30 would be spinning and chanting and raising the dust. They were performing an ancient and celebrated31 historical play, and a Chinaman explained it to me in pidjin English as it went along. The play was obscure enough without the explanation; with the explanation added, it was (opake). As a drama this ancient historical work of art was defective32, I thought, but as a wild and barbarous spectacle the representation was beyond criticism. Far down the mountain we got out to look at a piece of remarkable33 loop-engineering—a spiral where the road curves upon itself with such abruptness34 that when the regular train came down and entered the loop, we stood over it and saw the locomotive disappear under our bridge, then in a few moments appear again, chasing its own tail; and we saw it gain on it, overtake it, draw ahead past the rear cars, and run a race with that end of the train. It was like a snake swallowing itself.
Half-way down the mountain we stopped about an hour at Mr. Barnard’s house for refreshments35, and while we were sitting on the veranda36 looking at the distant panorama37 of hills through a gap in the forest, we came very near seeing a leopard38 kill a calf39.—[It killed it the day before.]—It is a wild place and lovely. From the woods all about came the songs of birds,—among them the contributions of a couple of birds which I was not then acquainted with: the brain-fever bird and the coppersmith. The song of the brain-fever demon41 starts on a low but steadily42 rising key, and is a spiral twist which augments43 in intensity44 and severity with each added spiral, growing sharper and sharper, and more and more painful, more and more agonizing45, more and more maddening, intolerable, unendurable, as it bores deeper and deeper and deeper into the listener’s brain, until at last the brain fever comes as a relief and the man dies. I am bringing some of these birds home to America. They will be a great curiosity there, and it is believed that in our climate they will multiply like rabbits.
The coppersmith bird’s note at a certain distance away has the ring of a sledge46 on granite47; at a certain other distance the hammering has a more metallic48 ring, and you might think that the bird was mending a copper40 kettle; at another distance it has a more woodeny thump49, but it is a thump that is full of energy, and sounds just like starting a bung. So he is a hard bird to name with a single name; he is a stone-breaker, coppersmith, and bung-starter, and even then he is not completely named, for when he is close by you find that there is a soft, deep, melodious50 quality in his thump, and for that no satisfying name occurs to you. You will not mind his other notes, but when he camps near enough for you to hear that one, you presently find that his measured and monotonous51 repetition of it is beginning to disturb you; next it will weary you, soon it will distress52 you, and before long each thump will hurt your head; if this goes on, you will lose your mind with the pain and misery53 of it, and go crazy. I am bringing some of these birds home to America. There is nothing like them there. They will be a great surprise, and it is said that in a climate like ours they will surpass expectation for fecundity54.
I am bringing some nightingales, too, and some cue-owls. I got them in Italy. The song of the nightingale is the deadliest known to ornithology55. That demoniacal shriek56 can kill at thirty yards. The note of the cue-owl is infinitely57 soft and sweet—soft and sweet as the whisper of a flute58. But penetrating—oh, beyond belief; it can bore through boiler-iron. It is a lingering note, and comes in triplets, on the one unchanging key: hoo-o-o, hoo-o-o, hoo-o-o; then a silence of fifteen seconds, then the triplet again; and so on, all night. At first it is divine; then less so; then trying; then distressing59; then excruciating; then agonizing, and at the end of two hours the listener is a maniac60.
And so, presently we took to the hand-car and went flying down the mountain again; flying and stopping, flying and stopping, till at last we were in the plain once more and stowed for Calcutta in the regular train. That was the most enjoyable day I have spent in the earth. For rousing, tingling61, rapturous pleasure there is no holiday trip that approaches the bird-flight down the Himalayas in a hand-car. It has no fault, no blemish62, no lack, except that there are only thirty-five miles of it instead of five hundred.
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1
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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3
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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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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6
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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7
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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8
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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9
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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10
precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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11
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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12
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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14
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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17
capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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18
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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19
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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20
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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21
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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hamper
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| vt.妨碍，束缚，限制；n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
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23
banyan
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| n.菩提树，榕树 | |
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24
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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25
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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26
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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30
troupe
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| n.剧团，戏班；杂技团；马戏团 | |
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31
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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32
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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33
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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34
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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35
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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36
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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37
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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38
leopard
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| n.豹 | |
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39
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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40
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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41
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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42
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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43
augments
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| 增加，提高，扩大( augment的名词复数 ) | |
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44
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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45
agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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46
sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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47
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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48
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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49
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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50
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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51
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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52
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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53
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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54
fecundity
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| n.生产力；丰富 | |
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55
ornithology
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| n.鸟类学 | |
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56
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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57
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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58
flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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59
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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60
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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61
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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62
blemish
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| v.损害；玷污；瑕疵，缺点 | |
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