One beautiful evening in autumn, many years ago, a sailor was observed to approach an English village which lay embosomed among trees, near the margin3 of a small stream whose waters gleamed in the rays of the setting sun.
The village was an inland one, far removed alike from the roar and the influences of the briny4 ocean. It must have cost the sailor some pain to reach it; for he walked with a crutch5, and one of his bare feet was bandaged, and scarcely touched the ground at each step. He looked dusty and fatigued6, yet he was a stout7, well-favoured, robust8 young fellow, so that his hapless condition was evidently the result of recent misfortune and accident—not of prolonged sickness or want. He wore the picturesque9 blue jacket, wide trousers, and straw hat of a man-of-war’s man; and exposed a large amount of brown chest beneath his blue flannel10 shirt, the broad collar of which was turned well over.
Going straight to the inn of the village, he begged for a night’s food and lodging11. Told a sad story, in off-hand fashion, of how he had been shipwrecked on the western isles14 of Scotland, where he had lost all he possessed15, and had well-nigh lost his life too; but a brave fisherman had pulled him out of the surf by the hair of the head, and so he was saved alive, though with a broken leg, which took many weeks to mend. When he was able to travel, he had set out with his crutch, and had walked two hundred miles on his way to Liverpool, where his poor wife and two helpless children were living in painful ignorance of his sad fate!
Of course this was enough to arouse all the sympathies of the villagers, few of whom had ever seen a real sailor of any kind in their lives—much less a shipwrecked one. So the poor fellow was received with open arms, entreated16 hospitably17, lodged18 and fed at the public expense, and in the morning sent on his way rejoicing.
All the forenoon of that day the shipwrecked sailor limped on his way through a populous19 district of old England in the midst of picturesque scenery, gathering20 pence and victuals21, ay, and silver and even gold too, from the pitying inhabitants as he went along. Towards the afternoon he came to a more thinly peopled district, and after leaving a small hamlet in which he had reaped a rich harvest he limped to the brow of the hill at the foot of which it lay, and gazed for a few minutes at the prospect22 before him.
It was a wide stretch of moorland, across which the road went in almost a straight line. There were slight undulations in the land, but no houses or signs of the presence of man.
Having limped on until the village was quite hidden from view, the sailor quietly put his crutch across his broad shoulder, and brightening up wonderfully, walked across the moor23 at the rate of full five miles an hour, whistling gaily24 in concert with the larks25 as he sped along.
An hour and a half of such walking brought him to a small patch of scrubby underwood, from the neighbourhood of which a large town could be seen looming26 against the evening sky in the far distance. The sailor entered the underwood with the air of a man who had aimed at the spot as a goal, and who meant to rest there a while. He reached an open space, in the centre of which grew a stunted27 tree. Here he sat down, and taking off his wallet, ate a hearty28 supper of scraps29 of excellent bread, cheese, and meat, which he washed down with a draught30 of gin. Afterwards he lit his pipe, and, while enjoying himself thus, reclining at the foot of the tree, proceeded to increase his enjoyment31 by counting out his gains.
While thus agreeably engaged, a rustling32 of the bushes caused him to bundle the gains hastily up in a handkerchief, which he thrust into his pocket, while he leaped nimbly to his feet, and seized his crutch.
“Oh, it’s only you, Bill! why, I declare I thought it was—well, well, never mind. How have ye got on?”
The individual addressed entered the enclosure, and sat down at the foot of the tree with a sigh, which might, without much exaggeration, have been termed a growl33. Bill was also, strange to say, a sailor, and a wounded one, (doubtless a shipwrecked one), because his left arm was in a sling34.
“It’s tough work, Jim, an’ little pay,” said the newcomer. “Why, I’ve walked twenty mile good, an’ only realised two pun’ ten. If it don’t improve, I’ll take to a better trade.”
“You’re a discontented dog,” replied Jim, spreading out his treasures. “Here have I limped the same distance, an’ bin35 an’ got five pun’ two.”
“Whew!” whistled the other. “You don’t say that? Well—we go ’alves, so I’m better—’ere pass that bottle. I’ll drink to your good ’ealth. ’Ow did you ever come by it, Bill?”
To this Bill replied that he had fallen in with several ladies, whose hearts were so touched by his pitiful tale that most of them gave him crown pieces, while two, who actually shed tears while he spoke36, gave him half a sovereign each!
“I drink to them ’ere two ladies,” exclaimed Bill, applying the gin bottle to his mouth, which was already full of bread and beef.
“So does I,” said Jim, snatching the bottle from his comrade, “not so much for the sake of them there ladies, ’owever, as to get my fair share o’ the tipple37 afore you.”
The remainder of the sentence was drowned by gin; and after they had finished the bottle, which was only a pint38 one however, these two men sat down together to count their ill-gotten gains; for both of them were vile39 impostors, who had never been on the salt water in the whole course of their worthless lives.
“Now, madam,” said I, pointedly40 addressing Miss Flouncer, who had listened with rapt attention, “this circumstance happened before the existence of the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society, and similar cases happened frequently. In fact, the interior of our land was at that time constantly visited by shipwrecked sailors of this kind.”
“Indeed!” said Miss Flouncer, undulating to me, with a benignant smile.
“Yes, madam,” said I. “Now observe another side of this picture.”
Hereupon I resumed my address, the substance of which was as follows:
It chanced that when impostor Jim started away over the moor at the slapping pace I have already referred to, he was observed by two of the village boys, who were lying in a hollow by the road-side amusing themselves. These urchins41 immediately ran home, and told what they had seen. The gossips of the place congregated42 round the inn door, and commented on the conduct of the pretended seaman43 in no measured terms—at the same time expressing a wish that they only had him there, and they would let him smell the peculiar44 odour of their horse-pond. At this point the courage and the ire of three stout young ploughmen, who had been drinking deeply, was stirred up so much that they vowed45 to be revenged, and set off in pursuit of the offender46. As they ran nearly all the way, they soon came to the spot where Jim and Bill had been enjoying themselves, and met these villains47 just as they were issuing from the underwood to continue their journey.
A fight immediately ensued, but Jim made such play with his crutch that the ploughmen were driven back. Bill, too, who had been a London prize-fighter, unslung his left arm, and used it so vigorously that the rustics48, after having had all their eyes blackened and all their noses bled, were fain to turn round and fly!
This event, as you may suppose, made a considerable sensation in the neighbourhood; travellers and carriers conveyed the news of it along the road from village to village; and the thing was thoroughly49 canvassed50, and the impostors duly condemned51.
Well, about three weeks afterwards a great storm arose; a ship was wrecked13 on the coast, and all the crew and passengers drowned except one man—a powerful seaman, who chanced to be a good swimmer, and who nearly lost his own life in his gallant52 efforts to save the life of the only female who was on board. This man swam to the shore with one arm, while with the other he supported the woman.
He could barely crawl up the beach through the heavy surf, dragging his burden after him. But he succeeded, and then lay for some time insensible. When he recovered, he found that the woman appeared to be dead. Anxious, however, to do all in his power to restore her, he tried to chafe53 her limbs; but seeing that he could make no impression, he hastened away to search for human dwellings54 and send help. Four miles did he stagger along before he came to a fishing village.
Here he told his tale; the men of the place hurried away to the scene of the wreck12, but arrived too late to be of any use.
The sailor remained some days with the fishermen, who received him kindly56, and gave him a few pence to help him on his way to the nearest town, where he received a few shillings from some charitable persons, and then set off to walk on foot to his native place, which happened to be on the opposite coast of England.
The poor fellow got on very well until he came to the road which led to the village where Jim had been so successful. All along this road he was scouted57 as an impostor, and, but for his imposing58 size and physical strength, would doubtless have received more kicks than halfpence. As it was he was well-nigh starved.
Arriving one afternoon, famishing and almost knocked up, at the village, he went in despair to the inn door, and began to tell his sorrowful tale. He told it to unsympathetic ears. Among his auditors59 were the three ploughmen who had been so roughly handled by Jim and Bill. These only heard the first two or three sentences when they rushed upon the sailor, calling on their comrades, who were numerous, to help them to duck the rascal60 in the horse-pond.
The stout tar, although taken by surprise and overpowered, was not disposed to submit without a struggle. He was a very Samson in strength. Rising up by main force with two of his foes61 on his back, he threw them off, drove his right fist into the eye of one, his foot into the stomach of a second, flattened62 the nose of a third on his face with a left-hander, and then wheeling round at random63, plunged64 his elbow into the chest of another who was coming on behind, and caused him to measure his length on the ground. Before the rustics recovered from their surprise at the suddenness of these movements, two more of their number were sprawling65 in the dust, and the rest stood off aghast!
“Now, then,” shouted the indignant tar, as he clapped his back to the side of the inn, “come on! the whole of ’ee. I hope yer wills is made. What! ye’re afeard, are ye? Well, if ye won’t come on I’ll bid ye good afternoon, ye low minded, cowardly land-lubbers!”
And with that he made a rush at them. They tumbled over each other in heaps, trying to get out of his way, so that he could only get a passing dig at one or two of them, and cleared away as fast as he could run.
They did not follow him far, so Jack soon stopped and sat down on the road-side, in a very savage66 state of mind, to wipe the blood from his face and knuckles67.
While he was thus engaged, an elderly gentleman in the garb68 of a clergyman approached him.
“What has happened to you, my man?” he asked.
“That’s none o’ your business,” answered Jack with angry emphasis. “Ax no questions, an’ you’ll be told no lies!”
“Excuse me, friend,” replied the clergyman gently, “I did not mean to annoy you; but you seem to have been badly wounded, and I would assist you if you will allow me.”
“I ax yer parding, sir,” said Jack, a little softened69, though by no means restored to his wonted good-humour; “no offence meant, but I’ve been shamefully70 abused by the scoundrels in yonder village, an’ I am riled a bit. It’s only a scratch, sir, you don’t need to consarn yerself.”
“It is more than a scratch, if I may judge from the flow of blood. Permit me to examine.”
“Oh, it’ll be all right d’rectly,” said Jack; but as he said so he fell back on the grass, fainting from loss of blood which flowed from a large wound on his head.
When the sailor’s senses were restored, he found himself in a bed in the clergyman’s dwelling55, with his head bandaged up, and his body a good deal weaker than he had ever before felt it. The clergyman took care of him until he recovered; and you may be sure that he did not miss the opportunity to urge the sailor to think of his soul, and to come to Jesus Christ, the Saviour71 of the world, whose name is Love, and whose teaching is all summed up in this, “Do unto others as ye would that they should do unto you.”
When Jack was quite recovered, the clergyman gave him some money to enable him to reach his home without begging his way.
Now this case also occurred before the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society was instituted. I cannot say that such cases of rough handling were frequent; but cases in which true-blue shipwrecked tars72 were treated as impostors were numerous, so that, in those days, knaves73 and rascals74 often throve as wrecked seamen75, while the genuine and unfortunate men were often turned rudely from door to door. This state of things does not exist now. It cannot exist now, for honorary agents of the society are to be found on every part of our coasts, so that the moment a wrecked man touches the land, no matter whether he be a Briton or a foreigner, he is at once taken care of, clothed, housed, fed, supplied with a little money, and forwarded to his home, or to the nearest consul76 of his nation. The society has therefore accomplished77 two great and good objects, for which the entire nation owes it a debt of gratitude78; it has rid the land of begging impostors clad in sailors’ clothes, and it has provided relief and assistance to the shipwrecked among our brave and hardy79 seamen who are in every sense the bulwarks80 of our island, and without whose labours, in the most perilous81 of all callings, Great Britain would be one of the poorest and most uninfluential kingdoms on the face of the earth.
But the society does a great deal more than that, for it comforts and assists with money and advice hundreds and thousands of widows and orphans82 whose husbands, fathers, or brothers have been drowned; and this it does from year to year regularly—as regularly as the storms come and scatter83 death and destruction on our shores. It cannot be too earnestly impressed on the people of England, and especially on those who dwell inland, that at least a thousand lives are lost, two thousand ships are wrecked, and two millions sterling84 are thrown away upon the coasts of this country every year.
It is owing to the untiring energy of the National Lifeboat Institution that those figures are not much, very much higher; and it is the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society that alleviates85 much, very much, of the woe86 resulting from storms and wrecks87 upon our shores. Sailors and fishermen know this well, and support both institutions largely. I would that ladies and gentlemen knew this better, and felt that they have a positive duty incumbent88 on them in regard to these societies, for they are not local but national.
“Now, madam,” said I, again addressing myself pointedly to Miss Flouncer, “would you like to hear a few interesting facts in reference to the objects of this Society?”
Miss Flouncer smiled and undulated in order to express her readiness to listen; at the same time she glanced at Sir Richard, who, I observed, was sound asleep. I also noticed that Mrs Bingley sniffed89 impatiently; but I felt that I had a duty to perform, so with unalterable resolution I prepared to continue my address, when Miss Peppy, who had been nearly asleep during the greater part of the time I was speaking, suddenly said to Miss Flouncer—
“Well, it is a most surprising state of things that people will go to sea and get wrecked just to let societies like these spring up like mushrooms all over the land. For my part, I think I would rather do without the things that ships bring to us from foreign lands than always hear of those dreadful wrecks, and—but really one cannot expect the world to alter just to please one, so I suppose people must go on being drowned and saved by rocket-boats and lifeboats; so we had better retire to the drawing-room, my dear.”
The last observation was addressed to Mrs Bingley, who responded to it with a bow of assent90 as she drew on her gloves.
Immediately after, the ladies rose, and I was thus constrained91 to postpone92 my narration93 of interesting facts, until another opportunity should offer.
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1
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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briny
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| adj.盐水的；很咸的；n.海洋 | |
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crutch
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| n.T字形拐杖；支持，依靠，精神支柱 | |
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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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9
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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15
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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victuals
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| n.食物；食品 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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larks
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| n.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的名词复数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了v.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的第三人称单数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了 | |
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looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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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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tipple
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| n.常喝的酒；v.不断喝，饮烈酒 | |
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pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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congregated
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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45
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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46
offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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rustics
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| n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 )；粗野的；不雅的；用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
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49
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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50
canvassed
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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51
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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52
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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53
chafe
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| v.擦伤；冲洗；惹怒 | |
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54
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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56
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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scouted
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| 寻找，侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 )； 物色（优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等） | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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auditors
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| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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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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knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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shamefully
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| 可耻地； 丢脸地； 不体面地； 羞耻地 | |
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saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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tars
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| 焦油，沥青，柏油( tar的名词复数 ) | |
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knaves
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| n.恶棍，无赖( knave的名词复数 )；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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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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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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bulwarks
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| n.堡垒( bulwark的名词复数 )；保障；支柱；舷墙 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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alleviates
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| 减轻，缓解，缓和( alleviate的名词复数 ) | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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