The well-known shrill1 voice startled Almayer from his dream of splendid future into the unpleasant realities of the present hour. An unpleasant voice too. He had heard it for many years, and with every year he liked it less. No matter; there would be an end to all this soon.
He shuffled2 uneasily, but took no further notice of the call. Leaning with both his elbows on the balustrade of the verandah, he went on looking fixedly3 at the great river that flowed—indifferent and hurried—before his eyes. He liked to look at it about the time of sunset; perhaps because at that time the sinking sun would spread a glowing gold tinge4 on the waters of the Pantai, and Almayer’s thoughts were often busy with gold; gold he had failed to secure; gold the others had secured—dishonestly, of course—or gold he meant to secure yet, through his own honest exertions5, for himself and Nina. He absorbed himself in his dream of wealth and power away from this coast where he had dwelt for so many years, forgetting the bitterness of toil6 and strife7 in the vision of a great and splendid reward. They would live in Europe, he and his daughter. They would be rich and respected. Nobody would think of her mixed blood in the presence of her great beauty and of his immense wealth. Witnessing her triumphs he would grow young again, he would forget the twenty-five years of heart-breaking struggle on this coast where he felt like a prisoner. All this was nearly within his reach. Let only Dain return! And return soon he must—in his own interest, for his own share. He was now more than a week late! Perhaps he would return to-night. Such were Almayer’s thoughts as, standing8 on the verandah of his new but already decaying house—that last failure of his life—he looked on the broad river. There was no tinge of gold on it this evening, for it had been swollen10 by the rains, and rolled an angry and muddy flood under his inattentive eyes, carrying small drift-wood and big dead logs, and whole uprooted12 trees with branches and foliage13, amongst which the water swirled14 and roared angrily.
One of those drifting trees grounded on the shelving shore, just by the house, and Almayer, neglecting his dream, watched it with languid interest. The tree swung slowly round, amid the hiss15 and foam16 of the water, and soon getting free of the obstruction17 began to move down stream again, rolling slowly over, raising upwards18 a long, denuded19 branch, like a hand lifted in mute appeal to heaven against the river’s brutal20 and unnecessary violence. Almayer’s interest in the fate of that tree increased rapidly. He leaned over to see if it would clear the low point below. It did; then he drew back, thinking that now its course was free down to the sea, and he envied the lot of that inanimate thing now growing small and indistinct in the deepening darkness. As he lost sight of it altogether he began to wonder how far out to sea it would drift. Would the current carry it north or south? South, probably, till it drifted in sight of Celebes, as far as Macassar, perhaps!
Macassar! Almayer’s quickened fancy distanced the tree on its imaginary voyage, but his memory lagging behind some twenty years or more in point of time saw a young and slim Almayer, clad all in white and modest-looking, landing from the Dutch mail-boat on the dusty jetty of Macassar, coming to woo fortune in the godowns of old Hudig. It was an important epoch21 in his life, the beginning of a new existence for him. His father, a subordinate official employed in the Botanical Gardens of Buitenzorg, was no doubt delighted to place his son in such a firm. The young man himself too was nothing loth to leave the poisonous shores of Java, and the meagre comforts of the parental22 bungalow23, where the father grumbled24 all day at the stupidity of native gardeners, and the mother from the depths of her long easy-chair bewailed the lost glories of Amsterdam, where she had been brought up, and of her position as the daughter of a cigar dealer26 there.
Almayer had left his home with a light heart and a lighter27 pocket, speaking English well, and strong in arithmetic; ready to conquer the world, never doubting that he would.
After those twenty years, standing in the close and stifling28 heat of a Bornean evening, he recalled with pleasurable regret the image of Hudig’s lofty and cool warehouses29 with their long and straight avenues of gin cases and bales of Manchester goods; the big door swinging noiselessly; the dim light of the place, so delightful31 after the glare of the streets; the little railed-off spaces amongst piles of merchandise where the Chinese clerks, neat, cool, and sad-eyed, wrote rapidly and in silence amidst the din9 of the working gangs rolling casks or shifting cases to a muttered song, ending with a desperate yell. At the upper end, facing the great door, there was a larger space railed off, well lighted; there the noise was subdued32 by distance, and above it rose the soft and continuous clink of silver guilders which other discreet33 Chinamen were counting and piling up under the supervision34 of Mr. Vinck, the cashier, the genius presiding in the place—the right hand of the Master.
In that clear space Almayer worked at his table not far from a little green painted door, by which always stood a Malay in a red sash and turban, and whose hand, holding a small string dangling35 from above, moved up and down with the regularity36 of a machine. The string worked a punkah on the other side of the green door, where the so-called private office was, and where old Hudig—the Master—sat enthroned, holding noisy receptions. Sometimes the little door would fly open disclosing to the outer world, through the bluish haze37 of tobacco smoke, a long table loaded with bottles of various shapes and tall water-pitchers, rattan38 easy-chairs occupied by noisy men in sprawling39 attitudes, while the Master would put his head through and, holding by the handle, would grunt40 confidentially41 to Vinck; perhaps send an order thundering down the warehouse30, or spy a hesitating stranger and greet him with a friendly roar, “Welgome, Gapitan! ver’ you gome vrom? Bali, eh? Got bonies? I vant bonies! Vant all you got; ha! ha! ha! Gome in!” Then the stranger was dragged in, in a tempest of yells, the door was shut, and the usual noises refilled the place; the song of the workmen, the rumble25 of barrels, the scratch of rapid pens; while above all rose the musical chink of broad silver pieces streaming ceaselessly through the yellow fingers of the attentive11 Chinamen.
At that time Macassar was teeming44 with life and commerce. It was the point in the islands where tended all those bold spirits who, fitting out schooners45 on the Australian coast, invaded the Malay Archipelago in search of money and adventure. Bold, reckless, keen in business, not disinclined for a brush with the pirates that were to be found on many a coast as yet, making money fast, they used to have a general “rendezvous” in the bay for purposes of trade and dissipation. The Dutch merchants called those men English pedlars; some of them were undoubtedly47 gentlemen for whom that kind of life had a charm; most were seamen48; the acknowledged king of them all was Tom Lingard, he whom the Malays, honest or dishonest, quiet fishermen or desperate cut-throats, recognised as “the Rajah-Laut”—the King of the Sea.
Almayer had heard of him before he had been three days in Macassar, had heard the stories of his smart business transactions, his loves, and also of his desperate fights with the Sulu pirates, together with the romantic tale of some child—a girl—found in a piratical prau by the victorious49 Lingard, when, after a long contest, he boarded the craft, driving the crew overboard. This girl, it was generally known, Lingard had adopted, was having her educated in some convent in Java, and spoke50 of her as “my daughter.” He had sworn a mighty51 oath to marry her to a white man before he went home and to leave her all his money. “And Captain Lingard has lots of money,” would say Mr. Vinck solemnly, with his head on one side, “lots of money; more than Hudig!” And after a pause—just to let his hearers recover from their astonishment52 at such an incredible assertion—he would add in an explanatory whisper, “You know, he has discovered a river.”
That was it! He had discovered a river! That was the fact placing old Lingard so much above the common crowd of sea-going adventurers who traded with Hudig in the daytime and drank champagne53, gambled, sang noisy songs, and made love to half-caste girls under the broad verandah of the Sunda Hotel at night. Into that river, whose entrances himself only knew, Lingard used to take his assorted54 cargo55 of Manchester goods, brass56 gongs, rifles and gunpowder57. His brig Flash, which he commanded himself, would on those occasions disappear quietly during the night from the roadstead while his companions were sleeping off the effects of the midnight carouse58, Lingard seeing them drunk under the table before going on board, himself unaffected by any amount of liquor. Many tried to follow him and find that land of plenty for gutta-percha and rattans, pearl shells and birds’ nests, wax and gum-dammar, but the little Flash could outsail every craft in those seas. A few of them came to grief on hidden sandbanks and coral reefs, losing their all and barely escaping with life from the cruel grip of this sunny and smiling sea; others got discouraged; and for many years the green and peaceful-looking islands guarding the entrances to the promised land kept their secret with all the merciless serenity59 of tropical nature. And so Lingard came and went on his secret or open expeditions, becoming a hero in Almayer’s eyes by the boldness and enormous profits of his ventures, seeming to Almayer a very great man indeed as he saw him marching up the warehouse, grunting60 a “how are you?” to Vinck, or greeting Hudig, the Master, with a boisterous61 “Hallo, old pirate! Alive yet?” as a preliminary to transacting62 business behind the little green door. Often of an evening, in the silence of the then deserted63 warehouse, Almayer putting away his papers before driving home with Mr. Vinck, in whose household he lived, would pause listening to the noise of a hot discussion in the private office, would hear the deep and monotonous64 growl65 of the Master, and the roared-out interruptions of Lingard—two mastiffs fighting over a marrowy66 bone. But to Almayer’s ears it sounded like a quarrel of Titans—a battle of the gods.
After a year or so Lingard, having been brought often in contact with Almayer in the course of business, took a sudden and, to the onlookers67, a rather inexplicable68 fancy to the young man. He sang his praises, late at night, over a convivial69 glass to his cronies in the Sunda Hotel, and one fine morning electrified70 Vinck by declaring that he must have “that young fellow for a supercargo. Kind of captain’s clerk. Do all my quill-driving for me.” Hudig consented. Almayer, with youth’s natural craving71 for change, was nothing loth, and packing his few belongings72, started in the Flash on one of those long cruises when the old seaman73 was wont74 to visit almost every island in the archipelago. Months slipped by, and Lingard’s friendship seemed to increase. Often pacing the deck with Almayer, when the faint night breeze, heavy with aromatic75 exhalations of the islands, shoved the brig gently along under the peaceful and sparkling sky, did the old seaman open his heart to his entranced listener. He spoke of his past life, of escaped dangers, of big profits in his trade, of new combinations that were in the future to bring profits bigger still. Often he had mentioned his daughter, the girl found in the pirate prau, speaking of her with a strange assumption of fatherly tenderness. “She must be a big girl now,” he used to say. “It’s nigh unto four years since I have seen her! Damme, Almayer, if I don’t think we will run into Sourabaya this trip.” And after such a declaration he always dived into his cabin muttering to himself, “Something must be done—must be done.” More than once he would astonish Almayer by walking up to him rapidly, clearing his throat with a powerful “Hem!” as if he was going to say something, and then turning abruptly77 away to lean over the bulwarks78 in silence, and watch, motionless, for hours, the gleam and sparkle of the phosphorescent sea along the ship’s side. It was the night before arriving in Sourabaya when one of those attempts at confidential42 communication succeeded. After clearing his throat he spoke. He spoke to some purpose. He wanted Almayer to marry his adopted daughter. “And don’t you kick because you’re white!” he shouted, suddenly, not giving the surprised young man the time to say a word. “None of that with me! Nobody will see the colour of your wife’s skin. The dollars are too thick for that, I tell you! And mind you, they will be thicker yet before I die. There will be millions, Kaspar! Millions I say! And all for her—and for you, if you do what you are told.”
Startled by the unexpected proposal, Almayer hesitated, and remained silent for a minute. He was gifted with a strong and active imagination, and in that short space of time he saw, as in a flash of dazzling light, great piles of shining guilders, and realised all the possibilities of an opulent existence. The consideration, the indolent ease of life—for which he felt himself so well fitted—his ships, his warehouses, his merchandise (old Lingard would not live for ever), and, crowning all, in the far future gleamed like a fairy palace the big mansion79 in Amsterdam, that earthly paradise of his dreams, where, made king amongst men by old Lingard’s money, he would pass the evening of his days in inexpressible splendour. As to the other side of the picture—the companionship for life of a Malay girl, that legacy80 of a boatful of pirates—there was only within him a confused consciousness of shame that he a white man—Still, a convent education of four years!—and then she may mercifully die. He was always lucky, and money is powerful! Go through it. Why not? He had a vague idea of shutting her up somewhere, anywhere, out of his gorgeous future. Easy enough to dispose of a Malay woman, a slave, after all, to his Eastern mind, convent or no convent, ceremony or no ceremony.
“I—of course—anything you wish, Captain Lingard.”
“Call me father, my boy. She does,” said the mollified old adventurer. “Damme, though, if I didn’t think you were going to refuse. Mind you, Kaspar, I always get my way, so it would have been no use. But you are no fool.”
He remembered well that time—the look, the accent, the words, the effect they produced on him, his very surroundings. He remembered the narrow slanting81 deck of the brig, the silent sleeping coast, the smooth black surface of the sea with a great bar of gold laid on it by the rising moon. He remembered it all, and he remembered his feelings of mad exultation82 at the thought of that fortune thrown into his hands. He was no fool then, and he was no fool now. Circumstances had been against him; the fortune was gone, but hope remained.
He shivered in the night air, and suddenly became aware of the intense darkness which, on the sun’s departure, had closed in upon the river, blotting83 out the outlines of the opposite shore. Only the fire of dry branches lit outside the stockade84 of the Rajah’s compound called fitfully into view the ragged43 trunks of the surrounding trees, putting a stain of glowing red half-way across the river where the drifting logs were hurrying towards the sea through the impenetrable gloom. He had a hazy85 recollection of having been called some time during the evening by his wife. To his dinner probably. But a man busy contemplating86 the wreckage87 of his past in the dawn of new hopes cannot be hungry whenever his rice is ready. Time he went home, though; it was getting late.
He stepped cautiously on the loose planks88 towards the ladder. A lizard89, disturbed by the noise, emitted a plaintive90 note and scurried91 through the long grass growing on the bank. Almayer descended92 the ladder carefully, now thoroughly93 recalled to the realities of life by the care necessary to prevent a fall on the uneven94 ground where the stones, decaying planks, and half-sawn beams were piled up in inextricable confusion. As he turned towards the house where he lived—“my old house” he called it—his ear detected the splash of paddles away in the darkness of the river. He stood still in the path, attentive and surprised at anybody being on the river at this late hour during such a heavy freshet. Now he could hear the paddles distinctly, and even a rapidly exchanged word in low tones, the heavy breathing of men fighting with the current, and hugging the bank on which he stood. Quite close, too, but it was too dark to distinguish anything under the overhanging bushes.
“Arabs, no doubt,” muttered Almayer to himself, peering into the solid blackness. “What are they up to now? Some of Abdulla’s business; curse him!”
The boat was very close now.
“Oh, ya! Man!” hailed Almayer.
The sound of voices ceased, but the paddles worked as furiously as before. Then the bush in front of Almayer shook, and the sharp sound of the paddles falling into the canoe rang in the quiet night. They were holding on to the bush now; but Almayer could hardly make out an indistinct dark shape of a man’s head and shoulders above the bank.
“You Abdulla?” said Almayer, doubtfully.
A grave voice answered—
“Tuan Almayer is speaking to a friend. There is no Arab here.”
Almayer’s heart gave a great leap.
“Dain!” he exclaimed. “At last! at last! I have been waiting for you every day and every night. I had nearly given you up.”
“Nothing could have stopped me from coming back here,” said the other, almost violently. “Not even death,” he whispered to himself.
“This is a friend’s talk, and is very good,” said Almayer, heartily95. “But you are too far here. drop down to the jetty and let your men cook their rice in my campong while we talk in the house.”
There was no answer to that invitation.
“What is it?” asked Almayer, uneasily. “There is nothing wrong with the brig, I hope?”
“The brig is where no Orang Blanda can lay his hands on her,” said Dain, with a gloomy tone in his voice, which Almayer, in his elation96, failed to notice.
“Right,” he said. “But where are all your men? There are only two with you.”
“Listen, Tuan Almayer,” said Dain. “To-morrow’s sun shall see me in your house, and then we will talk. Now I must go to the Rajah.”
“To the Rajah! Why? What do you want with Lakamba?”
“Tuan, to-morrow we talk like friends. I must see Lakamba to-night.”
“Dain, you are not going to abandon me now, when all is ready?” asked Almayer, in a pleading voice.
“Have I not returned? But I must see Lakamba first for your good and mine.”
The shadowy head disappeared abruptly. The bush, released from the grasp of the bowman, sprung back with a swish, scattering97 a shower of muddy water over Almayer, as he bent98 forward, trying to see.
In a little while the canoe shot into the streak99 of light that streamed on the river from the big fire on the opposite shore, disclosing the outline of two men bending to their work, and a third figure in the stern flourishing the steering100 paddle, his head covered with an enormous round hat, like a fantastically exaggerated mushroom.
Almayer watched the canoe till it passed out of the line of light. Shortly after the murmur101 of many voices reached him across the water. He could see the torches being snatched out of the burning pile, and rendering102 visible for a moment the gate in the stockade round which they crowded. Then they went in apparently103. The torches disappeared, and the scattered104 fire sent out only a dim and fitful glare.
Almayer stepped homewards with long strides and mind uneasy. Surely Dain was not thinking of playing him false. It was absurd. Dain and Lakamba were both too much interested in the success of his scheme. Trusting to Malays was poor work; but then even Malays have some sense and understand their own interest. All would be well—must be well. At this point in his meditation105 he found himself at the foot of the steps leading to the verandah of his home. From the low point of land where he stood he could see both branches of the river. The main branch of the Pantai was lost in complete darkness, for the fire at the Rajah’s had gone out altogether; but up the Sambir reach his eye could follow the long line of Malay houses crowding the bank, with here and there a dim light twinkling through bamboo walls, or a smoky torch burning on the platforms built out over the river. Further away, where the island ended in a low cliff, rose a dark mass of buildings towering above the Malay structures. Founded solidly on a firm ground with plenty of space, starred by many lights burning strong and white, with a suggestion of paraffin and lamp-glasses, stood the house and the godowns of Abdulla bin76 Selim, the great trader of Sambir. To Almayer the sight was very distasteful, and he shook his fist towards the buildings that in their evident prosperity looked to him cold and insolent106, and contemptuous of his own fallen fortunes.
He mounted the steps of his house slowly.
In the middle of the verandah there was a round table. On it a paraffin lamp without a globe shed a hard glare on the three inner sides. The fourth side was open, and faced the river. Between the rough supports of the high-pitched roof hung torn rattan screens. There was no ceiling, and the harsh brilliance107 of the lamp was toned above into a soft half-light that lost itself in the obscurity amongst the rafters. The front wall was cut in two by the doorway108 of a central passage closed by a red curtain. The women’s room opened into that passage, which led to the back courtyard and to the cooking shed. In one of the side walls there was a doorway. Half obliterated109 words—“Office: Lingard and Co.”—were still legible on the dusty door, which looked as if it had not been opened for a very long time. Close to the other side wall stood a bent-wood rocking-chair, and by the table and about the verandah four wooden armchairs straggled forlornly, as if ashamed of their shabby surroundings. A heap of common mats lay in one corner, with an old hammock slung110 diagonally above. In the other corner, his head wrapped in a piece of red calico, huddled111 into a shapeless heap, slept a Malay, one of Almayer’s domestic slaves—“my own people,” he used to call them. A numerous and representative assembly of moths112 were holding high revels113 round the lamp to the spirited music of swarming114 mosquitoes. Under the palm-leaf thatch115 lizards116 raced on the beams calling softly. A monkey, chained to one of the verandah supports—retired for the night under the eaves—peered and grinned at Almayer, as it swung to one of the bamboo roof sticks and caused a shower of dust and bits of dried leaves to settle on the shabby table. The floor was uneven, with many withered117 plants and dried earth scattered about. A general air of squalid neglect pervaded118 the place. Great red stains on the floor and walls testified to frequent and indiscriminate betel-nut chewing. The light breeze from the river swayed gently the tattered119 blinds, sending from the woods opposite a faint and sickly perfume as of decaying flowers.
Under Almayer’s heavy tread the boards of the verandah creaked loudly. The sleeper120 in the corner moved uneasily, muttering indistinct words. There was a slight rustle121 behind the curtained doorway, and a soft voice asked in Malay, “Is it you, father?”
“Yes, Nina. I am hungry. Is everybody asleep in this house?”
Almayer spoke jovially122 and dropped with a contented123 sigh into the armchair nearest to the table. Nina Almayer came through the curtained doorway followed by an old Malay woman, who busied herself in setting upon the table a plateful of rice and fish, a jar of water, and a bottle half full of genever. After carefully placing before her master a cracked glass tumbler and a tin spoon she went away noiselessly. Nina stood by the table, one hand lightly resting on its edge, the other hanging listlessly by her side. Her face turned towards the outer darkness, through which her dreamy eyes seemed to see some entrancing picture, wore a look of impatient expectancy124. She was tall for a half-caste, with the correct profile of the father, modified and strengthened by the squareness of the lower part of the face inherited from her maternal125 ancestors—the Sulu pirates. Her firm mouth, with the lips slightly parted and disclosing a gleam of white teeth, put a vague suggestion of ferocity into the impatient expression of her features. And yet her dark and perfect eyes had all the tender softness of expression common to Malay women, but with a gleam of superior intelligence; they looked gravely, wide open and steady, as if facing something invisible to all other eyes, while she stood there all in white, straight, flexible, graceful126, unconscious of herself, her low but broad forehead crowned with a shining mass of long black hair that fell in heavy tresses over her shoulders, and made her pale olive complexion127 look paler still by the contrast of its coal-black hue128.
Almayer attacked his rice greedily, but after a few mouthfuls he paused, spoon in hand, and looked at his daughter curiously129.
“Did you hear a boat pass about half an hour ago Nina?” he asked.
The girl gave him a quick glance, and moving away from the light stood with her back to the table.
“No,” she said, slowly.
“There was a boat. At last! Dain himself; and he went on to Lakamba. I know it, for he told me so. I spoke to him, but he would not come here to-night. Will come to-morrow, he said.”
He swallowed another spoonful, then said—
“I am almost happy to-night, Nina. I can see the end of a long road, and it leads us away from this miserable130 swamp. We shall soon get away from here, I and you, my dear little girl, and then—”
He rose from the table and stood looking fixedly before him as if contemplating some enchanting131 vision.
“And then,” he went on, “we shall be happy, you and I. Live rich and respected far from here, and forget this life, and all this struggle, and all this misery132!”
He approached his daughter and passed his hand caressingly133 over her hair.
“It is bad to have to trust a Malay,” he said, “but I must own that this Dain is a perfect gentleman—a perfect gentleman,” he repeated.
“Did you ask him to come here, father?” inquired Nina, not looking at him.
“Well, of course. We shall start on the day after to-morrow,” said Almayer, joyously134. “We must not lose any time. Are you glad, little girl?”
She was nearly as tall as himself, but he liked to recall the time when she was little and they were all in all to each other.
“I am glad,” she said, very low.
“Of course,” said Almayer, vivaciously135, “you cannot imagine what is before you. I myself have not been to Europe, but I have heard my mother talk so often that I seem to know all about it. We shall live a—a glorious life. You shall see.”
Again he stood silent by his daughter’s side looking at that enchanting vision. After a while he shook his clenched136 hand towards the sleeping settlement.
“Ah! my friend Abdulla,” he cried, “we shall see who will have the best of it after all these years!”
He looked up the river and remarked calmly:
“Another thunderstorm. Well! No thunder will keep me awake to-night, I know! Good-night, little girl,” he whispered, tenderly kissing her cheek. “You do not seem to be very happy to-night, but to-morrow you will show a brighter face. Eh?”
Nina had listened to her father with her face unmoved, with her half-closed eyes still gazing into the night now made more intense by a heavy thunder-cloud that had crept down from the hills blotting out the stars, merging137 sky, forest, and river into one mass of almost palpable blackness. The faint breeze had died out, but the distant rumble of thunder and pale flashes of lightning gave warning of the approaching storm. With a sigh the girl turned towards the table.
Almayer was in his hammock now, already half asleep.
“Take the lamp, Nina,” he muttered, drowsily138. “This place is full of mosquitoes. Go to sleep, daughter.”
But Nina put the lamp out and turned back again towards the balustrade of the verandah, standing with her arm round the wooden support and looking eagerly towards the Pantai reach. And motionless there in the oppressive calm of the tropical night she could see at each flash of lightning the forest lining139 both banks up the river, bending before the furious blast of the coming tempest, the upper reach of the river whipped into white foam by the wind, and the black clouds torn into fantastic shapes trailing low over the swaying trees. Round her all was as yet stillness and peace, but she could hear afar off the roar of the wind, the hiss of heavy rain, the wash of the waves on the tormented140 river. It came nearer and nearer, with loud thunder-claps and long flashes of vivid lightning, followed by short periods of appalling141 blackness. When the storm reached the low point dividing the river, the house shook in the wind, and the rain pattered loudly on the palm-leaf roof, the thunder spoke in one prolonged roll, and the incessant142 lightning disclosed a turmoil143 of leaping waters, driving logs, and the big trees bending before a brutal and merciless force.
Undisturbed by the nightly event of the rainy monsoon144, the father slept quietly, oblivious145 alike of his hopes, his misfortunes, his friends, and his enemies; and the daughter stood motionless, at each flash of lightning eagerly scanning the broad river with a steady and anxious gaze.
该作者的其它作品
《Lord Jim 吉姆老爷》
《白水仙号上的黑家伙 The Nigger of the Narcissus》
《The Mirror of the Sea大海的镜子》
该作者的其它作品
《Lord Jim 吉姆老爷》
《白水仙号上的黑家伙 The Nigger of the Narcissus》
《The Mirror of the Sea大海的镜子》
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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standing
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din
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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uprooted
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| v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的过去式和过去分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
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13
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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14
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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16
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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17
obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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18
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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19
denuded
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| adj.[医]变光的，裸露的v.使赤裸( denude的过去式和过去分词 )；剥光覆盖物 | |
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20
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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21
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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22
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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23
bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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24
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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25
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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26
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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27
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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28
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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29
warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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30
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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31
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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32
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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33
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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34
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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35
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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36
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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37
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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38
rattan
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| n.藤条，藤杖 | |
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39
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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40
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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41
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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42
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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43
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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44
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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45
schooners
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| n.（有两个以上桅杆的）纵帆船( schooner的名词复数 ) | |
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46
irate
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| adj.发怒的，生气 | |
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47
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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48
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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49
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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50
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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51
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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52
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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53
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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54
assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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55
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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56
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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57
gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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58
carouse
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| v.狂欢；痛饮；n.狂饮的宴会 | |
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59
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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60
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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61
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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62
transacting
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的现在分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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63
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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64
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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65
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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66
marrowy
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| adj.多髓的，有力的 | |
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67
onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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68
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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69
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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70
electrified
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| v.使电气化( electrify的过去式和过去分词 )；使兴奋 | |
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71
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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72
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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73
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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74
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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75
aromatic
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| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
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76
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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77
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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78
bulwarks
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| n.堡垒( bulwark的名词复数 )；保障；支柱；舷墙 | |
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79
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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80
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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81
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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82
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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83
blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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84
stockade
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| n.栅栏，围栏；v.用栅栏防护 | |
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85
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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86
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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87
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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88
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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89
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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90
plaintive
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|
| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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91
scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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93
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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94
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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95
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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96
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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97
scattering
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|
| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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98
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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99
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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100
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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101
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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102
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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103
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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104
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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105
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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106
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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107
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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108
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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109
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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110
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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111
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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112
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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113
revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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114
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 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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115
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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116
lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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117
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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118
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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120
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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121
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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122
jovially
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| adv.愉快地，高兴地 | |
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123
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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124
expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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125
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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126
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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127
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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128
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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129
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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130
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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131
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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132
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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133
caressingly
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| 爱抚地，亲切地 | |
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134
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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135
vivaciously
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| adv.快活地；活泼地；愉快地 | |
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136
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
merging
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| 合并（分类） | |
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138
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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139
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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141
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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142
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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143
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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144
monsoon
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| n.季雨，季风，大雨 | |
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145
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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