Had I been permitted to choose my next port, it should have been Bombay. He who is stranded11 at the mouth of the Suez Canal, however, talks not of choice. He clutches desperately12 at any chance of escape, and is content to be gone, be it east or west, on any craft that floats. Not that ships are lacking. They pass the canal in hundreds every week. But their crews are yellow men, or brown; and their anchorage well out in the stream, where plain Jack13 Tar14 may not come to plead his cause.
All this I recalled, and more, as I crawled through the African desert behind a wheezing15 locomotive. But one solemn oath I swore, ere the first hovel bobbed up across the sand—that, be it on coal barge16 or raft, I should escape from this canalside halting-place before her streets and alleys17 became such eyesores as had once those of Marseilles.
It was high noon when we drew into Port Sa?d, and I hurried at once to the compound behind the Catholic monastery18. I was just in time. Even as I laid my knapsack on the ground and lined up with the rest, the Arab servant issued from the kitchen with those same battered19 tins in which he had served us months before. Barely had he disappeared again when three of the company swooped20 down upon me. 238One I had known at the Asile Rudolph. The second—cheering prospect21!—was that identical sun-bleached22 Boer who had squatted24 against the wall of the “Home” on the early December morning of my first Egyptian day; in those identical weather-beaten garments which he still inhabited. The third I did not recognize. He was a portly German whose outward appearance stamped him as a successful weaver25 of M?rchen, and he spread his squat23 legs and gazed at me for some time with what appeared to be an admiring grin before he spoke26.
“Sie sprechen Deutsch, nicht wahr?” he began. “You, perhaps, haven’t seen me, but I saw you in Jerusalem. You were making pictures with a photograph machine.” A roar of laughter set his fat sides to shaking. “Donner und Blitzen! I have been on the road a good twenty years; I know about every game die Kunde play. But that certainly is the best I ever fell upon. Ach, what a story! I’ve been telling them of the comrade with the photograph machine ever since, die Kunde, and it’s a tale they never try to beat. Herr Allah, dass ist, aber, gut27!” and he bellowed29 with mirth until the Arab servant, to whom hilarity30 in one accepting alms was the height of impudence31, threatened to summon the black policeman outside the gate.
The dinner over, I left my bundle with the Maltese youth and hurried away to the shipping32 quarter. As I anticipated, the demand for sailors was nil33. The situation was most graphically34 described, perhaps, by the American consul35.
“A man on the beach in this garbage heap,” he testified, “is down and out. He had better be sitting with the penguins37 on the coast of Patagonia. We haven’t signed on a sailor since I was dumped here. If you ever make a get-away, it will be by stowing away. I can’t advise you to do it, of course; but if I was in your shoes, I’d stick away on the first packet homeward bound, and do it quick, before summer comes along and sends you to the hospital. The skippers are tickled38 to death to get a white sailor, anyway, for these niggers are not worth the rice the company feeds ’em. You’re welcome to tumble up these office stairs every morning, if you like, but I’m not going to promise to look out for anything for you. I’d only lose my lamps a’ doing it.”
I returned to the Home at nightfall, and shared the kitchen—but not the cupboard—with the Boer. Early the next morning, I reached the water-front in time to see a great steamer nosing her way through the small craft that swarmed39 about the mouth of the canal. Her lines looked strangely familiar. Had I not known that the Warwickshire was due in Liverpool on this first day of March, I should have expected to see my former messmates peering over the rail of the new arrival. I made out the name on her bow as she dropped anchor opposite the main street, and turned for information to a nearby poster.
S.S. Worcestershire of the Bibby Line, on which I stowed away after taking this picture
Oriental travelers at Port Sa?d
239“Bibby Line,” ran the notice, “S. S. Worcestershire. Recently launched. Largest, best equipped, fastest steamer plying between England and British Burma. First-class passengers only. Fare to Colombo, thirty-six guineas.”
A sister ship of the vessel40 that had rescued me from Marseilles! The very sight of her was reminiscent of the prime roasts we had been wont41 to serve the fishes of the Mediterranean42. I hastened to the landing stage and accosted43 the officers as they disembarked, with the tourists, for a run ashore44.
“Full up, Jack,” answered one of them.
I recalled the advice of the American consul. A better craft to “stick away on” would never drop anchor in the canal. Bah! How ludicrous the notion sounded! The Khedive himself could not even have boarded such a vessel, in sun-bleached corduroys and Nazarene slippers45. By night, with no moon? The blackest night could not hide such rags! Besides, the steamer was sure to coal and be gone within a couple of hours. I trained my kodak upon her, and turned sorrowfully away.
A native fair was in full swing at the far end of the town. Amid the snake-charmers and shameless dancers, the incident of the morning was soon forgotten. Darkness was falling when I strolled back towards the harbor. At the shop where spitted mutton sold cheaply, I halted for supper; but the keeper had put up his shutters46. No doubt he was sowing his year’s earnings47 among the gamblers at the fair. Hungrily I wandered on, turned into the main street of the European section, and stopped stock still, dumb with astonishment48. The vista49 beyond the canal was still cut off by the vast bulk of the Worcestershire!
What an opportunity—if once I could get on board! Perhaps I might! In the terms of the paddock, it was “a hundred-to-one shot;” but who could say when better odds50 would be chalked up? A quartermaster was almost sure to halt me at the gang plank51. Some palpable excuse I must offer him for being rowed out to the steamer. If only I had something to be delivered on board, a basket of fruit, or—shades of Cairo!—of course—a letter of introduction!
240Breathlessly, I dashed into the Home, snatched a sheet of paper and an envelope from the Maltese youth, and scribbled52 an appeal for employment, in any capacity. Having sealed the envelope against the prying53 eyes of subordinates, I addressed it in a flourishing hand to the chief steward54.
But my knapsack? Certainly I could not carry that on board! I dumped the contents on the floor and thrust the kodak and my papers into an inside pocket. There was nothing else—but hold! That bundle at the bottom? The minister’s frock coat, of broadcloth, with wide, silk-faced lapels! What kind fairy had gainsaid55 my reiterated56 threats to throw away that useless garment? Eagerly I slipped into it. The very thing! With my unshaven face and bleached legs in the shadow, I could rival Beau Brummel himself. Many an English lord, touring in the East, wears a cap after nightfall.
“Scrape that stuff together for me,” I bawled57, springing past the Maltese youth. “If I don’t turn up within a week, give ’em to the beachcombers.”
The Worcestershire was still at anchor. Two Arab boatmen squatted under a torch on one corner of the landing stage. The legal fare was six pence. I had three. It cost me some precious moments to beat down one of the watermen. He stepped into his felucca at last and pushed off cautiously towards the rows of lighted portholes.
As we neared the steamer, I made out a figure in uniform on the lowest step of the ship’s ladder. The game was lost! I might have talked my way by a quartermaster, but I certainly could not pass this bridge officer.
The boatman swung his craft against the ladder with a sweep of the oar10. I held up the note:
“Will you kindly58 deliver this to the chief steward? The writer wants an answer before the ship leaves.”
“I really haven’t time,” apologized the mate. “I’ve an errand ashore and we leave in fifteen minutes. You can run up with it yourself, though. Here, boatman, row me over to the custom wharf59.”
I sprang up the ladder. Except for several sahib-respecting Lascars, who jumped aside as I appeared, the promenade60 deck was deserted61. From somewhere below came the sound of waltz music and the laughter of merry people. I strolled leisurely62 around to the port side and walked aft in the shadow of the upper cabins. For some moments I stood alone in the darkness, gazing at the reflection of the lower portholes in the canal. Then, a step sounded at the door of 241the saloon behind me, a heavy British step that advanced several paces and halted. One could almost feel the authority in that step; one could certainly hear it in the gruff “ahem” with which the newcomer cleared his throat. An officer, no doubt, about to order me ashore! I waited in literal fear and trembling.
A minute passed, then another. I turned my head, inch by inch, and peered over my shoulder. In the shaft63 of light stood a man in faultless evening attire64, gazing at me through the intervening darkness. His dress suggested a passenger; but the very set of his feet on the deck proved him no landsman. The skipper himself, surely! What under officer would dare appear out of uniform during a voyage?
I turned my head away again, determined65 to bear the impending66 blow with fortitude67. The dreaded68 being cleared his throat once more, stepped nearer, and stood for a moment without speaking. Then a hand touched me lightly on the sleeve.
“Beg pahdon, sir,” murmured an apologetic voice; “beg pahdon, sir, but ’ave you ’ad dinner yet? The other gentlemen’s h’all been served, sir.”
I swallowed my throat and turned around, laying a hand over the place where my necktie should have been.
“I am not a passenger, my man,” I replied haughtily69; “I have a communication for the chief steward.”
The flunky stretched out his hand.
“Oh, I cawn’t send it, you know,” I protested. “I must deliver it in person, for it requires an answer before the ship leaves.”
“Lord, you can’t see ’im,” gasped70 the Briton; “we’re givin’ a ball and ’e’s in the drawrin’-room.”
The sound of our voices had attracted the quartermaster on duty. Behind him appeared a young steward.
“You’d best get ashore quick,” said the sailor; “we’re only waitin’ the fourth mite72. Best call a boatman or you’ll get carried off.”
“Really!” I cried, looking anxiously about me, “But I must have an answer, you know.”
“I couldn’t disturb ’im,” wheezed73 the older steward.
“Well, show me where he is,” I protested.
“Now we’re off in a couple o’ winks,” warned the quartermaster.
“’Ere, mite,” said the youth; “I’ll take you down.”
I followed him to the deck below and along a lighted passageway. My disguise would never stand the glare of a drawing-room. I thrust the note into the hands of my guide.
242“Be sure to bring me the answer,” I cautioned.
He pushed his way through a throng74 of his messmates and disappeared into the drawing-room. A moment later he returned with the answer I had expected.
“So you’re on the beach?” he grinned, “you sure did get it on Clarence, all right. ’Ard luck. The chief says the force is full an’ the company rules don’t allow ’im to tyke on a man to work ’is passage. Sye, you’ve slipped your cayble, anyway, ayn’t you? We’re not ’ome-ward bound; we’re going out. You’d best rustle75 it an’ get ashore.”
He turned into the galley76. Never had I ventured to hope that he would let me out of his sight before he had turned me over to the quartermaster. His carelessness was due, no doubt, to his certainty that I had “slipped my cayble.” I dashed out of the passageway as if fearful of being carried off; but, once shrouded77 in the kindly night, paused to peer about me.
There were a score of places that offered a temporary hiding; but a stowaway78 through the Suez Canal must be more than temporarily hidden. I ran over in my mind the favorite lurking79 places on ocean liners. Inside a mattress80 in the steerage? First-class only. In the hold? Hatches all battened down. On the fidleys or in the coal bunkers? Very well in the depth of winter, but sure death in this climate. In the forecastle? Indian crew. In the rubbish under the forecastle head? Sure to be found in a few hours by tattle-tale natives. In the chain locker81? The anchor might be dropped anywhere in the canal, and I should be dragged piecemeal83 through the hawse-hole.
Still pondering, I climbed to the spot where I had first been accosted. From the starboard side, forward, came the voice of the fourth mate, clambering on board. In a few moments officers and men would be flocking up from below. Noiselessly, I sprang up the ladder to the hurricane deck. That and the bridge were still deserted. I crept to the nearest lifeboat and dragged myself along the edge that hung well out over the canal. The canvas cover was held in place by a cord that ran alternately through eyeholes in the cloth and around iron pins under the gunwale. I tugged84 at the cord for a minute that seemed a century before I succeeded in pulling it over the first pin. After that, all went easily. With the cover loosened for a space of four feet, I thrust my head through the opening. Before my shoulders were inside my feet no longer reached the ship’s rail. I squirmed in, inch by inch, after the fashion of a swimmer, fearful of making the 243slightest noise. Only my feet remained outside when my hand struck an oar inside the boat. Its rattle85 could have been heard in Cairo. Drenched86 with perspiration87, I listened for my discoverer. The festive88 music, evidently, engrossed89 the attention of the entire ship’s company. I drew in my feet by doubling up like a pocketknife, and, thrusting a hand through the opening, fastened the cord over all but one pin.
The space inside was more than limited. Seats, casks, oars90, and boat-hooks left me barely room to stretch out on my back without touching91 the canvas above me. Two officers brushed by, and mounting to the bridge, called out their orders within six feet of me. The rattle of the anchor chain announced that the long passage of the canal had begun. When I could breathe without opening my mouth at every gasp71, I was reminded that the shop where spitted mutton sold cheaply had been closed. Within an hour, that misfortune was forgotten. The sharp edge of the water cask under my back, the oars that supported my hips4, the seat that my shoulders barely reached, began to cut into my flesh, sending sharp pains through every limb. The slightest movement might send some unseen article clattering92. Worst of all, there was just space sufficient for my head while I kept my neck strained to the utmost. The tip of my nose touched the canvas. To have stirred that ever so slightly would have sent me packing at the first canal station.
The position grew more painful hour by hour, but with the beginning of the “graveyard” watch my body grew numb93 and I sank into a half-comatose state that was not sleeping.
Daylight brought no relief, though the sunshine, filtering through the canvas, disclosed the objects about me. There came the jabbering94 of strange tongues as the crew quarreled over their work about the deck. Now and then, a shout from a canal station marked our progress. Passengers mounting to the upper deck brushed against the lifeboat in their promenading95. From time to time confidential96 chats sounded in my ears.
All save the officers soon retreated to the shade below. In the arid97 desert through which we were steaming that day must certainly have been calorific. But there, at least, a breeze was stirring. By four bells, the Egyptian sun, pouring down upon the canvas, had turned my hiding place into an oven. By noon, it resembled nothing so cool and refreshing98. A raging thirst had long since put hunger to flight. In the early afternoon, as I lay motionless on my grill99, there sounded the splash of water, close at hand. Two natives had been sent to wash 244the lifeboat. For an hour they dashed bucketful after bucketful against it, splashing, now and then, even the canvas over my head.
The gong had just sounded for afternoon tea when the ship began to rock slightly. A faint sound of waves breaking on the bow succeeded. A light breeze moved the canvas ever so little and the throb100 of the engines increased. Had we passed out of the canal? My first impulse was to tear at the canvas and bellow28 for water. But had we left Suez behind? This, perhaps, was only the Bitter Lakes? Or, if we had reached the Red Sea, the pilot might still be on board! To be set ashore now was a fate far more to be dreaded than during the first hours of my torture, for it meant an endless tramp through the burning desert, back to Port Sa?d.
I held my peace and listened intently for any word that might indicate our whereabouts. None came, but the setting sun brought relief, and falling darkness found my thirst somewhat abated101. The motion of the ship lacked the pitch of the open sea. I resolved to take no chances with victory so close at hand.
With night came the passengers, to lean against the boat and pour out confidences. How easily I might have posed as a fortune-teller among them during the rest of the voyage! A dozen schemes, ranging from an enthusiastic project for the immediate102 evangelization of all the Indias to the arrangement of a tiger-hunt in the Assam hills, were planned within my hearing during that motionless evening. But the sound of music below left the deck deserted, and I settled down to the less humiliating occupation of listening to the faint tread of the second mate, who paced the bridge above me.
An hour passed. Other thoughts drove from my memory the secrets that had been forced upon me. Suddenly, there sounded a light step and a frou-frou of skirts, suggestive of ballroom103 scenes. Behind came a heavier tread, a hurried word, and a ripple104 of laughter. Shades of the prophet! Why must every pair on board choose that particular spot to pour out their secrets? Because a man and a maid chanced to pause where I could hear their lightest whisper, was I to shout a warning and tramp back to starve in the alleyways of Port Sa?d? I refused the sacrifice, and for my refusal, heard many words—and other sounds. The moon was beautiful that night—I know, though I did not see it. A young English commissioner105 had left his island home two weeks before, resolved to dwell among the hills of India in a bungalow106 alone—that, too, I know, though I saw him not. Yet 245he landed with other plans, plans drawn107 up and sealed on the hurricane deck of the Worcestershire in the waning108 hours of the second of March; amid many words—and other sounds.
The night wore on. Less fearful, now, of discovery, I moved, for the first time in thirty hours, and, rolling slowly on my side, fell asleep. It was broad daylight when I awoke to the sounding of two bells. The ship was rolling in no uncertain manner. I tugged at the cord that bound down the boat cover and peered out. For some moments barely a muscle of my body responded to the command of the will. Even when I had wormed myself out I came near losing my grip on the edge of the boat before my feet touched the rail. Once on deck, I waited to be discovered. The frock coat lay in the lifeboat. No landlubber could have mistaken me for a passenger now.
Calmly, I walked aft and descended109 to the promenade deck. A score of bare-legged Lascars were “washing down.” Near them, the sarang, in all the glory of embroidered110 jacket and rubber boots, strutted111 back and forth112, fumbling113 at the silver chain about his neck. I strolled by them. The low-caste fellows sprang out of my way like startled cats. Their superior gazed at me with a half-friendly, half-fawning smile. If they were surprised, they did not show it. Probably they were not. What was it to them, if a sahib chose to turn out in a ragged82 hunting-costume for an early promenade? Stranger things than that they had seen among these enigmatical beings with white skins. Unfortunately the Worcestershire was a bit too cumbersome114 or I might have carried it off before my presence on board was suspected.
Some time I paced the deck with majestic115 tread without catching116 sight of a white face. At last a diminutive117 son of Britain clambered unsteadily up the companionway, clinging tenaciously119 to a pot of tea. “Here, boy,” I called; “who’s on the bridge, the mate?”
“Yes, sir,” stammered120 the boy, sidling away; “the mite, sir.”
“Well, tell him there’s a stowaway on board.”
“Wat’s that, sir? You see, sir, I’m a new cabin boy, on me first trip—”
“And you don’t know what a stowaway is, eh?”
“No, sir.”
“If you’ll run along and tell the mate, you’ll find out soon enough.”
The boy made his way aft, clutching, now and then, at the rail, and mounted to the upper deck. Judging from the grin on his face as he came running back, he had added a new word to his vocabulary.
246“The mite says for you to come up on the bridge, quick. ’E’s bloody121 mad.”
I climbed again to the hurricane deck. The mate’s sanguinary choler had so overcome him that he had deserted his post and waited for me at the foot of the bridge ladder. He was burly and lantern-jawed, clad in the négligé of early morning in the tropical seas; bareheaded, barefooted, his hairy chest agap, his duck trousers rolled up to his knees, and a thick tangle123 of dishevelled hair waving in the wind. With the ferocious124 mien125 of an executioner, he glared at me in utter silence.
“I’m a sailor, sir,” I began; “I was on the beach in Port Sa?d. I’m sorry, sir, but I had to get away—”
The mate gave no other sign of having heard than to push his massive jaw122 further out.
“There was no chance to sign on there, sir. Not a man shipped in months, sir, and it’s a tough place to be on the beach—”
“What the holy hell has that got to do with me and my ship!” roared the officer, springing several yards into the air and descending126 to shake his sledge-hammer fist under my nose. “You —— ——, I’ll give you six months for this directly we get to Colombo. You’ll stow away on my ship, will you? Get to hell down off this deck before I brain you with this bucket, you —— ——,” but his subsequent remarks, like his attire, were for early morning use, and would have created a even greater furor127 in that vicinity, a few hours later, than his bare legs.
Not certain to what quarter of the Worcestershire the nautical128 term applied129, I started forward. Another bellow brought me to a halt.
“You —,” but never mind the details. The new order, expurgated, amounted to the information that I was to wait in the waist until the captain had seen me.
I descended, snatched a draught130 of tepid131 water at the pump, and leaned against the port bulwarks132. Too hungry to be greatly terrified, I had really taken new heart at the mate’s threat. “Colombo” he had said. Until then I had feared the Worcestershire, like most East-Indiamen, would put in at Aden; and unwelcome passengers, turned over to the British governor there, were invariably packed off on the first steamer to Port Sa?d.
An hour, two hours, three hours, I stood in the waist, returning the stares of every member of the ship’s company, Hindu or English, 247whose duties or curiosity brought him to that quarter. With the sounding of eight bells a steward returned from the galley with a can of coffee. Once started, an endless procession of bacon, steaks, and rago?ts filed by under my nose. To snatch at one of the pans would have been my undoing133. I thrust my head over the bulwarks, where sea breezes blew, and stared at the sand billows of the Arabian coast. Not until the denizens134 of the “glory-hole” had returned to their duties did I venture to turn around once more. “Peggy,” the stewards’ steward, peered furtively135 out upon me.
“Eh! Mite,” he whispered; “’ad anythink to eat yet?”
“Not lately.”
“Well, come inside. There’s a pan o’ scow left to dump.”
Very little of it was dumped that morning.
I had barely returned to my place when four officers descended the starboard ladder to the waist. They were led by the mate, immaculate now, as the rest, in a snow-white uniform. His vocabulary, too, had improved. A “sir,” falling from his lips, singled out the captain. My hopes rose at once. The commander was the exact antithesis136 of his first officer. Small, dapper, almost dainty of figure and movement, his iron-gray hair gave setting to a face in which neither toleration nor authority had gained the mastery.
With never a sign of having seen me, the officers mounted the poop ladder and strolled slowly aft, examining as they went. “Peggy” appeared at the door of the “glory-hole” with a dish cloth in his hands.
“Morning h’inspection,” he explained, in a husky whisper; “they’ll be back on the port side directly they’ve h’inspected the poop. The little cuss’s the old man, Cap Harris, commodore in the Nyval Reserve. ’E’s all right.”
“Hope he lives out the voyage,” I muttered.
“The fat, jolly chap’s the chief steward,” went on “Peggy.” “Best man on the ship. The long un’s the doctor.”
A stowaway takes no precedence over any other apparatus137 on board ship that needs regulating. After their reappearance in the waist the officers halted several times within a few feet of me to scrutinize138 some article of the steamer’s equipment. When the scuppers had been ordered cleaned and the pump had been pronounced in proper sanitary139 condition, the mate turned to the captain and pointed140 an accusing finger at me:—
248“There he is, sir.”
“Ah,” said the skipper. “What was your object, my man, in stowing yourself away on this vessel?”
I began the story I had attempted to tell the first officer. The captain heard it all without interruption.
“Yes, I know,” he mused141, when I had finished. “Port Sa?d is a very unfortunate place to be left without funds. But why did you not come on board and ask permission to work your passage?”
What stowaway has not heard that formula, even though the inquirer has refused that permission a dozen times during the voyage?
“I did, sir!” I cried, “That’s just what I did! I brought a letter to the chief steward. That’s how I come on board, sir.”
“That’s so!” put in the “fat jolly chap” eagerly; “he sent a note to me in the drawing-room the night of the ball. But I sent back word that my force was full.”
“I see,” pondered the captain. “You’re the first man that ever stowed away on a vessel under my command,” he went on, almost sadly; “you make yourself liable to severe punishment, you know?”
“I’d put him in irons and send him up, sir,” burst out the mate.
“N-no,” returned the skipper, “that wouldn’t be just, Dick. You know Port Sa?d. But you know you will have to work on the voyage,” he added, turning to me.
“Why, certainly, sir,” I cried, suddenly assailed142 with the fear that he might see, through my coat, the kodak that contained a likeness143 of his ship.
“You told the chief officer you were a sailor, I believe?”
“A. B., sir—and steward.”
“Have you anything you can put him at, Chester?”
“I’ve more than I can use now,” replied the heavy-weight.
“Beg pardon, sir,” put in the mate, “but the chief engineer says he can use an extra man down below.”
He was a kindly fellow, was the mate. Not only was the stoke hole an inferno144 in that latitude145, but the Hindu firemen would never have ceased gloating over the sahib who had been sentenced to the degradation146 of working among them.
“No! No!” answered the commander; “The man is a sailor and a steward. He is not a stoker. You had better take him on deck with you, Dick.”
He started up the ladder; but the mate loathed147 to acknowledge himself defeated. He made a sign to the doctor.
249“Stick out your tongue,” commanded Sangrado, suddenly.
I complied.
“Does that look as if he had been without food for forty-eight hours?” demanded the mate.
What he hoped to prove by the question I could not fathom148. It would never do to incriminate “Peggy,” and I kept silent. The leech149 shrugged150 his shoulders.
“Huh,” muttered the mate, “I know what I’d do with him if I was in command.”
“Take him on deck with you, Dick,” repeated the captain, from above.
“And his accommodation?” put in the chief steward.
“There are a few berths151 unoccupied in the quarters of your men, are there not?”
“Two or three, I believe.”
“Give him one of those and increase the mess allowance by one. Get something to eat now, my man, and report to the chief officer, forward, when you have finished.”
“I’ll send you down a couple of cotton suits,” whispered the chief steward, as he labored152 up the ladder; “you’ll die of the plague with that outfit153 on.”
I lingered in the “glory-hole” long enough to have eaten breakfast and hurried forward. The mate, scowling154, began a rapid-fire of questions, in the hope of tangling155 me up in a contradictory156 story. The attempt failed.
“Box the compass,” he snarled157, suddenly.
I did so. For an hour he subjected me to a severe nautical examination without any startling satisfaction.
“Umph!” he growled158 at last, “Take that holly-stone with the handle”—it weighed a good thirty pounds—“and go to polishing the poop. You’ll work every day from six in the morning until seven at night, with a half-hour off for your mess. From four to six in the morning and from eight to ten at night, you’ll stand look-out in the crow’s-nest and save us two Lascars. On Sunday you’ll stand look-out from four to eight, nine to twelve, two to seven, and eight to ten. Look lively, now, and see that the poop deck begins to shine when I come aft.”
Without a break, I continued this régime as long as the voyage lasted. Having once imposed his sentence upon me, the mate rarely gave me a word. Less from fear of his wrath159 than of a leer of satisfaction 250on his rough-hewn face, I toiled160 steadily118 at the task he had assigned. The holly-stone took on great weight, but the privilege of viewing every tropical sunrise and sunset from the crow’s-nest I would not have exchanged for a seat at the captain’s table. My messmates were good-hearted, their chief ever eager to do me a kindly service. The Hindu crew took vast joy in my fancied degradation, and those intervals161 were rare when a group of the brown rascals162 were not hovering163 over me, chattering164 like apes in the forest, and grinning derisively165. But the proudest man on board was the sarang; for it was through him that the mate sent me his mandates166. Since the days when he rolled naked and unashamed on the sand floor of his natal167 hut on the banks of the Hoogly, the native boatswain had dreamed of no greater bliss168 than to issue commands to a sahib.
Ten days the Worcestershire steamed on through a motionless sea, under a sun that waxed more torrid every hour. The “glory-hole” became uninhabitable. Men who had waded169 through the snow on the docks of Liverpool two weeks before took to sleeping on the deck of the poop, in the thinnest of garb36. With the smell of land in our nostrils170, the good-night chorus was sung more than once on the eleventh evening, and our sleep was brief. Before darkness fled I had climbed again to my coign of vantage on the foremast. The first gray of dawn revealed the dim outline of a low mountain range, tinged171 with color by the unborn sunrise behind it. Slowly the mountains faded from view as the lowlands rose up to greet us. By eight bells we were within hailing distance of a score of brown-black islanders, unburdened with clothing, who paddled boldly seaward in their outrigger canoes. The Worcestershire found entrance to a far-reaching breakwater, and, escorted by a great school of small craft, rode to an anchorage in the center of the harbor. A multitude swarmed on board, uncontrolled and uncontrollable, and in the resulting overthrow172 of discipline I left my stone where the mess-call had found it, and hurried below to make up my “shore bundle.” By the kindness of the chief steward, I was amply supplied with cotton suits. The frock coat, still in the lifeboat, I willed to “Peggy,” and reported to the captain. His permission granted, I tossed my bundle into the company launch, and, with one English half-penny jingle-less in my pocket, set foot on the verdant173 island of Ceylon.
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1
folders
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| n.文件夹( folder的名词复数 )；纸夹；（某些计算机系统中的）文件夹；页面叠 | |
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2
vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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3
steamship
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| n.汽船，轮船 | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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5
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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6
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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awnings
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| 篷帐布 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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13
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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14
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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15
wheezing
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的现在分词 )；哮鸣 | |
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16
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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18
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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19
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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20
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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22
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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23
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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24
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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25
weaver
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| n.织布工；编织者 | |
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26
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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27
gut
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| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
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28
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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30
hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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nil
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| n.无，全无，零 | |
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34
graphically
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| adv.通过图表；生动地，轮廓分明地 | |
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consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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37
penguins
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| n.企鹅( penguin的名词复数 ) | |
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38
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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39
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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40
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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41
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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42
Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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43
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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44
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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45
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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46
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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47
earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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48
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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49
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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50
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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51
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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52
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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53
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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54
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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55
gainsaid
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| v.否认，反驳( gainsay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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58
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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59
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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60
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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61
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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62
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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63
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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64
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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65
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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66
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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67
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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68
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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69
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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70
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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71
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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72
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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73
wheezed
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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75
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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76
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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77
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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78
stowaway
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| n.（藏于轮船，飞机中的）偷乘者 | |
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79
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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80
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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81
locker
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| n.更衣箱，储物柜，冷藏室，上锁的人 | |
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82
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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83
piecemeal
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| adj.零碎的；n.片，块；adv.逐渐地；v.弄成碎块 | |
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84
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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86
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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87
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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88
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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89
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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90
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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91
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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92
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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93
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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94
jabbering
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| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的现在分词 )；急促兴奋地说话；结结巴巴 | |
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95
promenading
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| v.兜风( promenade的现在分词 ) | |
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96
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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97
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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98
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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99
grill
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| n.烤架，铁格子，烤肉；v.烧，烤，严加盘问 | |
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100
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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101
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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102
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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103
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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104
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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105
commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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106
bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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107
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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108
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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109
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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110
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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111
strutted
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| 趾高气扬地走，高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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113
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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114
cumbersome
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| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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115
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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116
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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117
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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118
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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119
tenaciously
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| 坚持地 | |
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120
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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122
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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123
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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124
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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125
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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126
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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127
furor
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| n.狂热；大骚动 | |
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128
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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129
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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130
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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131
tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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132
bulwarks
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| n.堡垒( bulwark的名词复数 )；保障；支柱；舷墙 | |
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133
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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134
denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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135
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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136
antithesis
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| n.对立；相对 | |
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137
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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138
scrutinize
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| n.详细检查，细读 | |
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139
sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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140
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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141
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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143
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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144
inferno
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| n.火海；地狱般的场所 | |
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145
latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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146
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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149
leech
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| n.水蛭，吸血鬼，榨取他人利益的人；vt.以水蛭吸血；vi.依附于别人 | |
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150
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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151
berths
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| n.（船、列车等的）卧铺( berth的名词复数 )；（船舶的）停泊位或锚位；差事；船台vt.v.停泊( berth的第三人称单数 )；占铺位 | |
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152
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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153
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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154
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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155
tangling
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的现在分词 ) | |
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156
contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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157
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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158
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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159
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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160
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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161
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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162
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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163
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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164
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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165
derisively
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| adv. 嘲笑地，嘲弄地 | |
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166
mandates
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| 托管（mandate的第三人称单数形式） | |
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167
natal
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| adj.出生的，先天的 | |
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168
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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169
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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170
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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171
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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172
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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173
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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