Twilight1 was settling into gloom, and the first faint stars were struggling to show themselves above the distant line of dark fir and spruce trees that marked the edge of the forest bordering Eskimo Bay. Dark cloud patches scudding2 across the sky, now and again obscured the face of the rising moon. A brisk northwest breeze was blowing, and though it was mid-July the air had grown chill with the setting of the sun.
Ungava Bob, alone in his boat, arose, buttoned his jacket, trimmed sail, and by force of habit stood with his left hand resting upon the tiller while he scanned the moonlit waters of the bay before resuming his seat.
He was a tall, square-shouldered, well-developed lad of seventeen, straight and lithe3 as an Indian, with keen, gray-blue eyes, which seemed ever alert and observant. Exposure to sun and wind had tanned his naturally fair skin a rich bronze, and his thick, dark-brown hair, with a tendency to curl up at the ends, where it fell below his cap, gave his round, full face an appearance of boyish innocence4.
He was now homeward bound to Wolf Bight from the Hudson's Bay Company's post on the north shore, where he had purchased a supply of steel traps and other equipment preparatory to his next winter's campaign upon the trapping trails of the far interior wilderness5; for Bob Gray, though but seventeen years of age, was already an experienced hunter and trapper.
Suddenly, as he looked over the troubled sea, a small black object rising upon the crest6 of a wave far to leeward7 caught his eye. The small black object was Shad's canoe, and one with less keen vision might have passed it unnoticed, or seeing it have supposed it belated debris8 cast into the bay by the rivers, for the spring floods had hardly yet fully9 subsided10. But Bob's training as a hunter taught him to take nothing for granted, and, watching intently for its reappearance from the trough of the sea, he presently discerned in the moonlight the faint glint of a paddle.
"A canoe!" he exclaimed, as he sat down. "An' what, now, be an Injun doin' out there this time o' night? An' Injuns never crosses where this un be. I'll see, now, who it is, an' what he's up to, whatever," and, suiting the action to the resolve, he shifted his course to bear down upon the stranger.
The hunter instinctively11 attributes importance to every sign, sound, or action that is not in harmony with the usual routine of his world, and by actual investigation12 he must needs satisfy himself of its meaning. This is not idle curiosity, but an instinct born of necessity and life-long training, and it was this instinct that prompted Ungava Bob's action in turning from his direct course homeward.
"'Tis no Injun," he presently said, as with a nearer approach he observed the stroke. "'Tis too long an' slow a paddle-stroke."
This puzzled him, for he knew well every white settler of the Bay within a hundred miles of his home, and he knew, too, that only some extraordinary mission could have called one of them abroad so late in the evening, and particularly upon the course this canoe was taking at a season of the year when all were employed upon their fishing grounds.
Gradually he drew down upon the canoe, until at length he could make out its lines, and observed that it was not a birch bark, the only sort of canoe in use in the Bay by either Indians or white natives. The canoeist, too, was a stranger in the region. Of this he had no doubt, though he could not see his features.
He was well within hailing distance, though it was evident the stranger in the canoe had not yet discovered his approach, when a black cloud passed over the face of the moon, plunging14 the sea into darkness, and when the moon again lighted the waters canoe and canoeist had vanished as by magic.
Like a flash, realising what had happened, Bob seized a coil of rope, made one end fast to the stern of his boat, grasped the coil in his right hand, and, tense and expectant, scanned the sea for the reappearance of the unfortunate stranger.
Presently he discovered the submerged canoe directly ahead, and an instant later saw Shad rise to the surface, strike out for it, and catch and cling to the gunwale.
Bob poised15 himself for the effort, and as he scudded16 past, measuring the distance to a nicety, deftly17 cast the line directly across the canoe and within the reach of Shad's hand, shouting as he did so:
"Make un fast!"
Without looking for the result, he sprang forward, lowered sail, shipped the oars18, pulled the boat about, and Shad, who had caught the rope, had scarcely time to thrust it under a thwart19 and secure it before Bob, drawing alongside, caught him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him aboard the boat. Seizing the oars again, and pulling safely free from danger of collision with the canoe, Bob hoisted20 sail, brought the boat before the wind, and resuming his seat astern had his first good look at his thus suddenly acquired passenger.
Shad, amidships, was engaged in drawing off his outer flannel21 shirt, from which he coolly proceeded to wring22, as thoroughly23 as possible, the excess water, before donning it again.
Not a word had passed between them, and neither spoke24 until Shad had readjusted his shirt, when, by way of opening conversation, Bob remarked:
"You'm wet, sir."
"Naturally," admitted Shad. "I've been in the Bay, and the bay water is surprisingly wet."
"Aye," agreed Bob, "'tis that."
"And surprisingly cold."
"Aye, 'tis wonderful cold."
"And I'm profoundly grateful to you for pulling me out of it."
"'Twere fine I comes up before your canoe founders25, or I'm thinkin' you'd be handy t' drownded by now."
"A sombre thought, but I guess you're right. A fellow couldn't swim far or stick it out long in there," said Shad, waving his arm toward the dark waters. "I'm sure I owe my life to you. It was lucky for me you saw me."
"'Tweren't luck, sir; 'twere Providence26. 'Twere th' Lord's way o' takin' care o' you."
"Well, it was a pretty good way, anyhow. But where did you drop from? I didn't see you till you threw me that line a few minutes ago."
"I were passin' t' wind'ard, sir, when I sights you, an' not knowin' who 'twere, I sails close in till I makes you out as a stranger, an' then you goes down an' I picks you up."
"That sounds very simple, but it was a good stunt27, just the same, to get me the line and come around in this chop the way you did, and then haul me aboard before I knew what you were about--you kept your head beautifully, and knew what to do--and you only a kid, too!" added Shad, in surprise, as the moonlight fell full on Bob's face.
"A--kid?" asked Bob, not quite certain what "kid" might be.
"Yes--just a youngster--a boy."
"I'm seventeen," Bob asserted, in a tone which resented the imputation28 of extreme youth. "You don't look much older'n that yourself."
"But I am--much older--I'm eighteen," said Shad, grinning. "My name's Trowbridge--Shad Trowbridge, from Boston. What is your name? Let's get acquainted," and Shad extended his hand.
"I'm Bob Gray, o' Wolf Bight," said Bob, taking Shad's hand.
"Not Ungava Bob?" exclaimed Shad.
"Aye, they calls me Ungava Bob here-abouts sometimes."
"Why, I was on my way to Wolf Bight to see you!"
"T' see me, sir?"
"Yes, I came up from Fort Pelican29 to Porcupine30 Cove13 with two trappers named Blake and Matheson, and they told me about you. They said I might induce you to take a trip with me."
"A trip with you, sir?"
"Yes. I want to take a little canoe and fishing trip into the country, and Blake and Matheson suggested that you might have two or three weeks to spare and could go along with me. I'll pay you well for your services. What do you think of it?"
"I'm--not just knowin'," Bob hesitated. "I leaves for my trappin' grounds th' first o' August t' be gone th' winter, an'--I'm thinkin' I wants t' stay home till I goes--an' my folks'll be wantin' me home."
"Well, let's not decide now. We'll talk it over to-morrow."
"You'm cold," said Bob, after a moment's silence, reaching into a locker31 under his seat and bringing out a moleskin adicky. "Put un on. She's fine and warm."
"Thank you. I'm thoroughly chilled," Shad admitted, gratefully accepting the adicky and drawing it on over his wet clothing.
"Pull th' hood32 up," suggested Bob. "'Twill help warm you."
"There, that's better; I'll soon be quite comfortable."
"We don't seem to be making much headway," Shad remarked, observing the shore after a brief lapse33 in conversation.
"No," said Bob, "th' canoe bein' awash 'tis a heavy drag towin' she, but we'll soon be in th' lee, an' out o' danger o' th' sea smashin' she ag'in' th' boat, an' then I'll haul she alongside an' bring your outfit34 aboard."
They were slowly approaching the south shore and presently, as Bob had predicted, ran under the lee of a long point of land, where in calmer water the canoe was manoeuvred alongside, and Shad's outfit, so fortunately and securely lashed35 fast by Ed Matheson, was found intact, save the paddle which Shad had been using.
The things were quickly transferred to the boat, and, this accomplished36, Bob bailed37 the canoe free of water, dropped it astern, now a light and easy tow, and catching38 the breeze again in the open, turned at length into Wolf Bight, where he made a landing on a sandy beach.
"That's where I lives," said Bob, indicating a little log cabin, sharply silhouetted39 against the moonlit sky, on a gentle rise above them.
When the canoe, quite unharmed, was lifted from the water and all made snug40, Shad silently followed up the path and into the door of the darkened cabin, where Bob lighted a candle, displaying a large square room, the uncarpeted floor scoured41 to immaculate whiteness, as were also the home-made wooden chairs, a chest of drawers, and uncovered table.
There were two windows on the south side and one on the north side, all gracefully42 draped with snowy muslin. A clock ticked cheerfully on a rude mantel behind a large box stove. To the left of the door, a rough stairway led to the attic43, and the rear of the room was curtained off into two compartments44, the spotlessly clean curtains of a pale blue and white checked print, giving a refreshing45 touch of colour to the room which, simply as it was furnished, possessed46 an atmosphere of restfulness and homely47 comfort that impressed the visitor at once as cosy48 and wholesome49.
"My folks be all abed," explained Bob, as he placed the candle on the table, "but we'll put a fire on an' boil th' kettle. A drop o' hot tea'll warm you up after your cold souse."
"I would appreciate it," said Shad, his teeth chattering50.
"Be that you, Bob?" asked a voice from behind the curtain.
"Aye, Father," answered Bob, "an' I has a gentleman with me, come t' visit us."
"Now that be fine. I'll be gettin' right up," said the voice.
"Put a fire on, lad, an' set th' kettle over," suggested a woman's voice, "an' I'll be gettin' a bite t' eat."
"Please don't leave your bed," pleaded Shad. "It will make me feel that I am causing a lot of trouble. Bob and I will do very nicely."
"'Tis no trouble, sir--'tis no trouble at all," the man's voice assured.
"Oh, no, sir; 'tis no trouble," echoed the woman's voice. "'Tis too rare a pleasure t' have a visitor."
Both spoke in accents of such honest welcome and hospitality that Shad made no further objection.
The fire was quickly lighted, and Shad, as the stove began to send out its genial51 warmth, had but just removed his borrowed adicky when the curtain parted and Mr. and Mrs. Gray appeared.
"Mr. Trowbridge, this be Father and Mother," said Bob; adding as a second thought, "Mr. Trowbridge lives in Boston."
"'Tis fine t' see a stranger, sir," welcomed Richard Gray, as he shook Shad's hand warmly, "an' from Boston, too! I have hearn th' fishermen o' th' coast tell o' Boston more'n once, but I never were thinkin' we'd have some one from Boston come t' our house! An' you comes all th' way from Boston, now?"
"Yes," admitted Shad, "but I feel sure I'm causing you and Mrs. Gray no end of inconvenience, coming at this time of night."
"Oh, no, sir! 'Tis no inconvenience in th' least. We're proud t' have you," assured Mrs. Gray, taking his hand. "Why, you'm wet, sir!" she exclaimed, noticing Shad's clinging garments, and her motherly instinct at once asserted itself. "You must have a change. Bob, lad, hold th' candle, now, whilst I get some dry clothes."
"Please don't trouble yourself. I'm very comfortable by the fire; indeed, I am," Shad protested.
But Bob nevertheless held the candle while his mother selected a suit of warm underwear, a pair of woollen socks, a flannel outer shirt, and a pair of freshly washed white moleskin trousers from the chest of drawers.
"These be Bob's clothes, but they'll be a handy fit for you, I'm thinkin', for Bob an' you be as like in size as two duck's eggs," she commented, looking the two over for comparison. "Now, Bob, light a candle an' show Mr. Trowbridge above stairs. When you're changed, sir, bring your wet things down, an' we'll hang un by th' stove t' dry."
"You're very kind, Mrs. Gray," said Shad gratefully, turning to follow Bob.
In the attic were three bunks53 spread with downy Hudson's Bay Company blankets, two stools, and a small table. It contained no other furniture, but was beautifully clean. There was an open window at either end, one looking toward the water, the other toward the spruce forest, and the atmosphere, bearing the perfume of balsam and fir, was fresh and wholesome.
"I sleeps here," informed Bob, placing the candle on the table and indicating one of the bunks, "an' you may have either o' th' other beds you wants. Now whilst you changes, sir, I'll bring up th' things from th' boat. Here's a pair o' deerskin moccasins. Put un on," he added, selecting a new pair from several hanging on a peg54.
Shad made his toilet leisurely55, and as he turned to descend56 the stairs with his wet garments on his arm he met the appetising odour of frying fish, which reminded him that he had eaten nothing since mid-day and was ravenously57 hungry.
In the room below he found the table spread with a white cloth. A plate of bread and a jar of jam were upon it, and at the stove Mrs. Gray was transferring from frying-pan to platter some deliciously browned brook58 trout59. Bob, with his father's assistance, had brought up Shad's belongings60 from the boat, and Richard was critically examining Shad's repeating rifle.
"Let me have un," said he, putting down the gun, and reaching for the wet garments on Shad's arm proceeded at once to spread them upon a line behind the stove.
"Set in an' have a bite, now. You must be wonderful hungry after your cruise," invited Mrs. Gray.
"'Tis only trout an' a bit o' bread an' jam an' a drop o' tea," Richard apologised, as he joined Shad and Bob at the table, "but we has t' do wi' plain eatin' in this country, an' be content with what th' Lord sends us."
"Trout are a real luxury to me," assured Shad. "We are seldom able to get them at home, and a trout supper is a feast to be remembered."
"Well, now! Trout a luxury!" exclaimed Richard. "About all we gets t' eat in th' summer is trout an' salmon61, an' we're glad enough when th' birds flies in th' fall."
"What birds do you get?" asked Shad.
"Duck and geese, and there's plenty of partridge in the winter," explained Richard.
"An' I were thinkin', now, you might not care for un," said Mrs. Gray. "I'm wonderful glad you likes un."
Richard asked the blessing62, and then invited Shad to "fall to," and frequently urged him to take more trout and not to be "afraid of un," a quite unnecessary warning in view of Shad's long fast and naturally vigorous appetite.
"Mr. Trowbridge wants me t' go on a fortnight's trip up th' country with he," remarked Bob, as they ate.
"A trip up th' country?" inquired Richard.
"Yes," said Shad, "a fishing and canoeing trip."
"But Bob's t' be wonderful busy makin' ready for th' trappin'," Richard objected.
"So he tells me," said Shad, "but perhaps if we talk it over to-morrow you can make some suggestion."
"Aye," agreed Richard, with evident relief, "we'll talk un over to-morrow."
When the meal was finished, Richard devoutly63 offered thanks, after the manner of the God-fearing folk of the country.
The mantel clock struck two as they arose from the table. Dawn was breaking, for at this season of the year the Labrador nights are short, and Shad, at the end of his long and eventful day, was quite content to follow Bob above stairs to his attic bunk52.
收听单词发音 |
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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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scudding
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| n.刮面v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的现在分词 ) | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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scudded
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| v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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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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founders
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| n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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pelican
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| n.鹈鹕，伽蓝鸟 | |
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porcupine
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| n.豪猪， 箭猪 | |
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locker
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| n.更衣箱，储物柜，冷藏室，上锁的人 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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bailed
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| 保释，帮助脱离困境( bail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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compartments
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| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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50
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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51
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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52
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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54
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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57
ravenously
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| adv.大嚼地，饥饿地 | |
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58
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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59
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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60
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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61
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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62
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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63
devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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