Of the five specters in the boat three were without life. Those whose faint breathing indicated that they had not yet reached the point of death were too weak and indifferent to rid the boat of the bodies of the others. Ever since the homeward-bound whaler had struck a derelict in a gale1 of wind north of the Falklands and foundered2, this little boat, surviving the shipwreck3 as by a miracle, had drifted on.
For three weeks in vain they had scanned the horizon for a sail. Their scanty4 supply of bread and water had been consumed in ten days. Thereafter they had nothing. The baby had died first, next a man whose arm had been broken by a falling spar in the disaster, and then the ship's cabin boy. The survivors5 were a man and a woman. They were both far gone. The woman was plainly dying. The man kept himself up by sheer exercise of will.
Their drifting had been northward6 toward warmer seas. It was winter in their home land and, though they knew it not, Christmas day. There the tropic sun blazed overhead from an absolutely cloudless sky. There was no vestige7 of breeze to stir the canvas of the solitary8 sail or ripple9 the glassy surface of the smoothed out ocean. The boat lay still. Not even the iron man at the helm could have lifted an oar10. It had been dead calm for days. Speech there was none except in the gravest necessity. To talk connectedly was impossible.
After scanning the horizon for the thousandth time the man's burning eyes sought those of the woman at his feet. He was astonished to find them open. Her mouth was working, her parched11 lips strove to form words. He dropped the tiller which his hand had grasped mechanically, and which was useless since there was no way on the boat, and bent12 his head lower. Some sudden recrudescence of strength which the dying sometimes receive came to the woman.
"Death," she whispered. "Glad." She turned her head slightly and saw the form of the child. "The Baby—and—I—together."
The man nodded. Tenderly he laid his hot wasted hand on the woman's fevered brow.
"A priest," she said, looking up at him uncomprehendingly.
She was evidently going fast yet she knew what she wanted although she was not conscious that she craved13 the impossible. It would appear that she had been a good churchwoman. The man could only stare. He was no priest, only a rough sailor.
"A priest," said the woman more clearly. "I want—a priest—the sacrament." By some nervous convulsive effort she lifted her arms up toward him beseeching14, appealing. There was another kind of agony in her voice that had not been present when she had moaned for water in the days before.
"The sacrament," she insisted, "I die."
The man looked away. Hard by the boat where there had been but a waste of sea rose a green island. A stretch of pleasant meadow met his eyes. It was so close to him that if he had leaned over the gunwale of the boat he could have laid his hand on the lush grass. Dumbly he wondered where it had been before, how he had come upon it so suddenly, why he had not seen it hours ago.
In front of him were hundreds of people, men, women, and children, plain people in strange simple garb15, the like of which he had never seen. In front of these people and with their backs toward him stood a little group of men, in the center a figure in white garments. A lad offered something in a basket.
The man watched, amazed, awe-stricken, yet with a strange peace in his soul. He made no movement to gain the shore. He only looked and looked. The white-robed figure bent over the basket. He lifted from it a crude rough loaf of bread. He raised his eyes to heaven, his lips moved. He broke the bread and gave it.
As the sailor watched the island disappeared as suddenly as it had come. The scene changed. Now he looked into a low room, dimly lighted with strange lamps. Through an open window he saw the stars. The few men that had stood about the man in the grassy16 meadow were alone with him in that upper chamber17 reclining about a table. The man lifted from the board a cup of silver. He blessed it and gave it. The fragrance18 of wine came to the watcher.
He rubbed his eyes and looked again and before him spread the smooth unbroken surface of the monotonous19 sea. The woman's voice smote20 his ear again, higher, shriller, with more painful entreaty21.
"A priest—for the love of God—the sacrament," she whispered.
The man tore open the last canvas bread-bag. It was tough material but it yielded to his insistence22. In the corner there was a single tiny crumb23 they had overlooked. He lifted it gently with his great hand. He held it up in the air a moment striving to think. He was an English sailor and in his boyhood had been a chorister in a great Cathedral. The mighty24 words came back to him. He bent over the woman.
The cry for bread.
The cry for bread.
"Bread," he whispered. "The body—"
He shattered the water breaker with his fist. There was a suggestion of moisture on the inside of the staves of the cask. He drew his finger across them and touched it to the woman's lips.
"Water," he said hoarsely25. "The blood—"
The terror, the yearning26, disappeared from the woman's eyes. She looked at the man sanely27, gratefully.
"God bless—" she faltered28 and then her lips stiffened29.
Some tag of quaint30 old Scripture31 that had impressed him when he first heard it because of its very strangeness, but of which he had never thought in all the years of his rough life since boyhood, came into the man's mind now. He lifted his head as if to see again that figure.
"A priest forever," he gasped32, "after the order of Melchis—"
He did not finish the word. The woman was dead. He knew now for what he had been kept alive. His task had been performed. He bowed his head in his hands and entered into life eternal with the others.
Presently a little cloud flecked the sky. Out of the south the wind blew softly. The smooth sea rippled33 blue and white in the gentle breeze. The little boat, cradling its dead, rocked gently as it drifted on.
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1
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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2
foundered
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| v.创始人( founder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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4
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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5
survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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6
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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7
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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8
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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9
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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10
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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11
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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12
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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13
craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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14
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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15
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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16
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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18
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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19
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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21
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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23
crumb
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| n.饼屑，面包屑，小量 | |
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24
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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sanely
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| ad.神志清楚地 | |
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28
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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29
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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30
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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31
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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32
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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33
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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