Captain Corbet had arrived at the place where he supposed he had left the Petrel, and on looking about saw no signs of her, he was filled with despair. The wind had been blowing all night long, and the sea had been rising to an extent that might have justified3 the deepest anxiety; he had been upheld only by the thought that he was bringing relief to the boys; and this solitary4 consolation5 was taken from him by the first glance that he cast around.
This was the fifth day since he had left them. He had gone, proposing and expecting to be back in two days, or in three at farthest. But he had gone much farther than he had at first intended, and hence had left them longer than he had said.
And where were they now?
In vain he strained his eyes. The only sail on the water was that schooner6: possibly some fisherman cruising about in this direction.
Where were the boys?
Where were the boys that had been committed to his care,—the boys who had been intrusted to him,—the boys who had confided7 in him,—the boys who had placed their young lives in his keeping?
Where were the boys?
Where were the boys whom he had left; whom he had promised to return for so promptly8?
He had led them into difficulty, and left them there!
He had led them into starvation—that was his first fault. How they had suffered during those days of calm! He had led them to that waterlogged vessel9! He had gone on board with them; he had caused them to put a confidence in that wrecked10 ship which was not justifiable11.
Worst of all, he had left them!
And now that he thought of it, what was that ship? She might have been not water-logged—but sinking! The thought filled him with horror. A sinking ship! and he had left them there!
No; she was not a sinking ship—he knew that.
He remembered the length of time that he had seen her from a distance. He recalled the time he had been on board, and all the observations which he had made. Water-logged she certainly was, but not sinking—no, not sinking. Timber ships never sink. They cannot sink. A timber ship is like a solid wooden ship low down in the water, but absolutely unsinkable.
This thought brought some consolation to him in his despair.
But as he looked out over the sea, as he saw the swelling12 waves, as he felt the Antelope toss, and leap, and plunge13 about, and as he recalled the long night that had passed, with its storms and billows, he trembled for the boys in the water-logged ship.
And again the old question came back,—
Where were the boys?
Where were the boys whom he had left in the water-logged ship? He himself had anchored that ship in these waters, hard and fast; but now, as he looked about far over the seas, he saw no sign of any ship, or of any floating thing save that distant fishing schooner. What did this mean?
Again and again he asked this question, and again and again he shrank back from the answer that suggested itself.
He tried to console himself by thinking of the buoyancy of wood in general, and of timber ships in particular. Alas14! these efforts were all in vain. For he remembered how rough the sea had been; and he saw all around him even now the swelling waves. That ship had already been torn and shattered by storms. That ship had been forsaken15 by captain and crew. They had believed that she was about to founder16. Was this belief, then, so far wrong as he had supposed? She was like a raft, torn and dislocated, which any fresh movement of the water might shatter to pieces. Perhaps in the storm that had fallen upon her in his absence the waves had wrought17 their will upon her. Perhaps they had torn her to pieces in their wrath18, and scattered19 all her timbers afar over the surface of the deep. Perhaps the only vestige20 of the Petrel which his eyes might ever see, might be some floating timbers drifting past, and bearing to him the only message which could ever come to the land of the living from the lost boys.
Where were the boys?
Where, O, where were the boys whom he had led into danger, and then madly deserted21?—doubly deserted, in fact; first, when he sailed away, leaving them on board the wrecked ship, and secondly22, in that worse desertion, when he had gone away so thoughtlessly, so wickedly, and so madly, from the Magdalen Islands to the Miramichi River? How could he have ever thought of it? What could have so infatuated him as to lead him so far away from those helpless boys in their desperate position?
Where were the boys?
O, where were the boys? And what had they thought of him? What misery23 had they not suffered! What despair! How often must they have watched for his return! And day had succeeded to day, and night to night, but he had never come! While they were watching for his appearance, he was calmly sailing away, or was loitering in distant ports, leaving them to their terrific fate!
Where were the boys?
What was their fate?
What had become of that ship?
She had been anchored fast. She was gone now. Gone! Gone were those boys, for whom he would have laid down his life; but whom, nevertheless, he had deserted and betrayed. And he—what could he do? Where could he go? Where could he search for them? Over what seas could he sail? With what hope? Was there any hope? Hope! Alas! what hope could he form when he looked out over these foaming24 waves, and felt the Antelope quiver beneath the force of their assault?
These, or something very much like these, were the thoughts that filled the soul of the unhappy, the despairing Corbet, as he rolled his venerable eyes over the wide waste of waters, and saw that the Petrel was gone. It was a moment full of deeper misery and keener anguish25 than any which the good captain had ever known in the whole course of his life, though that life had by no means been without its sufferings. Yet among all the sufferings and sorrows of a life full of vicissitudes26, it had never fallen to his lot to experience such a misfortune as this,—to reproach himself so keenly, so severely27, and yet so justly. Whatever the fate of the boys might have been, he knew perfectly28 well that he, and he alone, was the cause; nor could he plead, even to his own conscience, the excuse that his motives29 were right. For his motives were not right, and he knew it. His motives had been nothing better than wild desires for sudden wealth. True, he had only wished that wealth for his “babby;” but that did not in the least mitigate30 his offence. At the very least, he had been guilty of carelessness so gross that it was hardly inferior to downright, deliberate crime.
So the poor captain’s anguish of soul was extreme, and utter, as well it might be. So keen, indeed, was his suffering, that his hair might have turned white from its severity,—a circumstance not unusual,—but in the captain’s case it was not possible, since, as is well known, his hair was already as gray as it well could be, and therefore the good Captain Corbet could only suffer in secret, and occasionally wipe away the tears that dropped from his eyes with the sleeve of his venerable coat.
At length the thought occurred to him that perhaps he had not come to the right place.
To his mind, the thought was well nigh inconceivable; yet, after all, it was barely possible, and in his despair he caught at this straw. After all, navigation by dead reckoning is not the most accurate way in the world of working one’s way along; and Captain Corbet felt this in an obscure and shadowy sort of way; so it need not be wondered at if he sought relief in the thought that he had possibly gone astray.
So he called upon Wade32 to take the helm, while he went below to make some elaborate calculations.
He did it in this way.
He first got a mug of water.
Then he seated himself by the cabin table.
Then he dipped the fore31 finger of his right hand in the water.
Then, with this finger, he traced certain mysterious marks upon the table.
Now, these mysterious marks were designed by this ancient mariner33 to represent nothing less than the coasts surrounding the Gulf34 of St. Lawrence. To an unprejudiced observer, this idea would never have suggested itself; but to the mind of the venerable Corbet, these marks were as plain and as intelligible35 as the finest outlines of the Admiralty charts engraved36 in steel, and bristling37 with names of places. In his mind’s eye he could see everything. He could see Prince Edward’s Island, Cape38 Breton, Newfoundland, Gasp茅, the Bay de Chaleur, Miramichi, and the Magdalen Islands. There, too, full and fair, in the centre of the scene, a big wet spot, made most emphatically with his thumb, showed him the spot where he had left the Petrel.
And this was Captain Corbet’s chart, and this was his mode of navigating39, and this was the scientific method which he adopted in order to work his way out of a difficulty. Quadrant, sextant, and other instruments of that character he did not need; he trusted to his own head, and to his finger.
It must be confessed that, on this occasion, these resources rather failed him. The puzzle seemed insoluble. In vain he obliterated40 the wet spot where he first stationed the Petrel. In vain he made another dab41 with his thumb in a second place. He could not arrive at any conclusion which was entirely42 satisfactory. He placed the mug of water on the table, leaned his aged43 head in both hands, and sat watching his chart in profound thought. A sudden sea struck the Antelope. The good vessel leaped, as was natural, at such rough treatment. As was natural, also, the mug of water leaped. Moreover, it upset. The contents poured forth44, and inundated45 the fable46. The chart was all obliterated.
At this casualty Captain Corbet rose. He betrayed no excitement, no passion. He did not swear, as some wrecked sea captains have done. He did not even utter an exclamation47. He simply took his aged coat tail and wiped the water off the table very carefully, and then with his other aged coat tail he dried it, and even polished it most elaborately. The table had not been so clean for ever so long. It seemed to be astonished at itself. Captain Corbet, meanwhile, remained mild and patient. Sir Isaac Newton himself, after the burning of his Principia by his immortal48 little dog Diamond, was not more placid49. Without a word, our captain went to the bucket, replenished50 the mug, returned to the table, resumed his seat, and, holding the mug in his left hand, under the table, to prevent a recurrence51 of this mishap52, he dipped the fore finger of his right hand into the water, and proceeded to retrace53 upon the table the outline of his chart. In a little while there appeared before his eyes, as plain as before, the Gulf of St. Lawrence, with all the surrounding coasts—Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Gasp茅, Newfoundland, the Magdalen Islands, and plain in the middle the dab of his venerable thumb representing the spot where he had left the Petrel.
But the problem remained insoluble. He was certain that he had come back to the right spot. Again and again he traced, in a thin line, made by his wet finger-nail, the course which he had taken; first, from the Petrel to the Magdalen Islands, and, secondly, from the Magdalen Islands to Miramichi, and, thirdly, from Miramichi to the place where he now was. In each case his course had, fortunately, been quite straight. Had there been head winds, it might have been different; but, as it was, the straight course which he had kept made the outlines on the table all the more simple, but at the same time they made the problem all the more complex. The ship was missing. He had left her at anchor. She could not sink. What, then, had become of her?
The first answer was the terrible one that she had gone to pieces in the storm. But this was the very one from which he was seeking to escape, and against which he sought refuge in such facts as her strength and the stiffness of a timber cargo54.
But what other conclusion was there?
That he had mistaken his way?
Impossible!
On the table before him the marks that he had made confirmed him in the opinion that he was, if not on the identical spot where he had left the Petrel, at least sufficiently55 near to be able to see her if she still was here.
Yet here she evidently was not.
What, then, had become of her?
To this only one answer remained, and in this he sought to find comfort.
She might have dragged her anchor, and might have thereby56 drifted, under the pressure of the storm, far enough away to be out of sight.
But in what direction had she drifted?
The wind had been south by east. He knew that well enough. This one fact, then, showed him what course she would have taken when adrift. .
He wet his finger now for the last time. He planted it down upon the place which he had marked as the position of the Petrel, and then drew a line in the direction which he supposed might indicate the course of her drift. Then he stopped to calculate the possible distance which she might have traversed while dragging her anchor, and made a mark to represent what, under this theory, might be her present position.
Then he drew a long breath.
He then rose to his feet, and surveyed his chart for a few moments with a thoughtful face.
And now the time had come for action. He had at last a theory. His mind was made up. He hurried upon deck, and, seizing the tiller, headed the Antelope north by west, in the direction which he conjectured57 the drifting ship to have taken.
He had allowed between twenty and thirty miles for her drift. He had calculated that a mile an hour would be a fair allowance for a vessel that was dragging her anchor, and he did not think that the wind had been strong enough to make her drag her anchor for more than twenty hours, and certainly, as he thought, not more than thirty, at the farthest. Upon this principle he acted, and when he headed the Antelope north by west, he hoped to catch sight of the lost ship before noon.
For the Antelope, with a fair wind, could make as much as four or five miles an hour; and, after making every allowance for currents, or for leeway, she ought to do twenty miles between six o’clock in the morning and midday. And so, full of confidence in the ability of the Antelope to do her duty, Captain Corbet took his station at the helm.
Now that a gleam of hope had appeared, he was a different man. The gleam became brighter and brighter, until at last it grew to be positive sunshine. He forgot his recent despair. The more he thought of his theory of the Petrel dragging her anchor, the more convinced he was that it was correct, and the more certain he was that he would ultimately catch sight of her.
And so he kept on his course, with his eyes fixed58 on the horizon before him, anxiously awaiting the time when he would descry59 the masts of the lost vessel becoming gradually defined against the sky.
Hour after hour passed.
The Antelope sailed on.
Midday came.
The Antelope had traversed the distance which her commander had allotted60 for the utmost possible drift of the Petrel.
Yet not the slightest sign of the Petrel had appeared.
The hopes upon which Captain Corbet had been relying gradually sank under him. When midday came, and the masts of the Petrel did not appear, hope sank away, and despondency came, and despondency deepened into despair.
All that he had felt at early dawn, when he first looked abroad upon the seas and found her not, now came back to him,—all the self-reproach, all the remorse61, all the anguish of soul.
He stood at the helm, and let the Antelope pass onward62, but there was no longer any hope in his mind. He was overwhelmed, and now even the possibility of finding her seemed to be taken away.
All this time the wind had gone on increasing in violence, and the sea had risen more and more. For himself and for the Antelope Captain Corbet did not care; but the lowery sky and the stormy sea seemed terrible to him, for they spoke63 to him of the lost boys, and told a tale of horror.
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1
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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2
antelope
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| n.羚羊；羚羊皮 | |
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3
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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5
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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6
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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7
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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8
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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9
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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10
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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11
justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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12
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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13
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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14
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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15
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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16
Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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17
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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18
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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19
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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21
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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24
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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25
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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26
vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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28
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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29
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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30
mitigate
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| vt.（使）减轻，（使）缓和 | |
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31
fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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32
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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33
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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35
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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36
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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37
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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38
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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navigating
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| v.给（船舶、飞机等）引航，导航( navigate的现在分词 )；（从海上、空中等）横越；横渡；飞跃 | |
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40
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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41
dab
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| v.轻触，轻拍，轻涂；n.(颜料等的)轻涂 | |
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42
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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inundated
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| v.淹没( inundate的过去式和过去分词 )；（洪水般地）涌来；充满；给予或交予（太多事物）使难以应付 | |
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46
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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47
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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48
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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49
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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50
replenished
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| 补充( replenish的过去式和过去分词 )； 重新装满 | |
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51
recurrence
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| n.复发，反复，重现 | |
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52
mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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53
retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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54
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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55
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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56
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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57
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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59
descry
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| v.远远看到；发现；责备 | |
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60
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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62
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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63
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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