Two days more preceded the change. On the first, the southwesterly wind still holding, we sallied forth8 into Augustenburg Fiord, “to practise smartness in a heavy thresh,” as Davies put it. It was the day of dedication9 for those disgusting oilskins, immured10 in whose stiff and odorous angles, I felt distressfully cumbersome12; a day of proof indeed for me, for heavy squalls swept incessantly13 over the loch, and Davies, at my own request, gave me no rest. Backwards14 and forwards we tacked15, blustering16 into coves17 and out again, reefing and unreefing, now stung with rain, now warmed with sun, but never with time to breathe or think.
I wrestled18 with intractable ropes, slaves if they could be subdued19, tyrants20 if they got the upper hand; creeping, craning, straining, I made the painful round of the deck, while Davies, hatless and tranquil21, directed my blundering movements.
“Now take the helm and try steering22 in a hard breeze to windward. It’s the finest sport on earth.”
So I grappled with the niceties of that delicate craft; smarting eyes, chafed23 hands, and dazed brain all pressed into the service, whilst Davies, taming the ropes the while, shouted into my ear the subtle mysteries of the art; that fidgeting ripple24 in the luff of the mainsail, and the distant rattle25 from the hungry jib—signs that they are starved of wind and must be given more; the heavy list and wallow of the hull26, the feel of the wind on your cheek instead of your nose, the broader angle of the burgee at the masthead—signs that they have too much, and that she is sagging27 recreantly28 to leeward29 instead of fighting to windward. He taught me the tactics for meeting squalls, and the way to press your advantage when they are defeated—the iron hand in the velvet30 glove that the wilful31 tiller needs if you are to gain your ends with it; the exact set of the sheets necessary to get the easiest and swiftest play of the hull—all these things and many more I struggled to apprehend32, careless for the moment as to whether they were worth knowing, but doggedly33 set on knowing them. Needless to say, I had no eyes for beauty. The wooded inlets we dived into gave a brief respite34 from wind and spindrift, but called into use the lead and the centreboard tackle—two new and cumbrous complexities35. Davies’s passion for intricate navigation had to be sated even in these secure and tideless waters.
“Let’s get in as near as we can—you stand by the lead,” was his formula; so I made false casts, tripped up in the slack, sent rivers of water up my sleeves, and committed all the other gaucheries that beginners in the art commit, while the sand showed whiter beneath the keel, till Davies regretfully drew off and shouted: “Ready about, centre-plate down,” and I dashed down to the trappings of that diabolical36 contrivance, the only part of the Dulcibella’s equipment that I hated fiercely to the last. It had an odious37 habit when lowered of spouting38 jets of water through its chain-lead on to the cabin floor. One of my duties was to gag it with cotton-waste, but even then its choking gurgle was a most uncomfortable sound in your dining-room. In a minute the creek39 would be behind us and we would be thumping40 our stem into the short hollow waves of the fiord, and lurching through spray and rain for some point on the opposite shore. Of our destination and objects, if we had any, I knew nothing. At the northern end of the fiord, just before we turned, Davies had turned dreamy in the most exasperating41 way, for I was steering at the time and in mortal need of sympathetic guidance, if I was to avoid a sudden jibe42. As though continuing aloud some internal debate, he held a onesided argument to the effect that it was no use going farther north. Ducks, weather, and charts figured in it, but I did not follow the pros43 and cons44. I only know that we suddenly turned and began to “battle” south again. At sunset we were back once more in the same quiet pool among the trees and fields of Als Sound, a wondrous45 peace succeeding the turmoil46. Bruised47 and sodden48, I was extricating49 myself from my oily prison, and later was tasting (though not nearly yet in its perfection) the unique exultation50 that follows such a day, when, glowing all over, deliciously tired and pleasantly sore, you eat what seems ambrosia51, be it only tinned beef; and drink nectar, be it only distilled52 from terrestrial hops53 or coffee berries, and inhale54 as culminating luxury balmy fumes55 which even the happy Homeric gods knew naught56 of.
On the following morning, the 30th, a joyous57 shout of “Nor’-west wind” sent me shivering on deck, in the small hours, to handle rain-stiff canvas and cutting chain. It was a cloudy, unsettled day, but still enough after yesterday’s boisterous58 ordeal59. We retraced60 our way past Sonderburg, and thence sailed for a faint line of pale green on the far south-western horizon. It was during this passage that an incident occurred, which, slight as it was, opened my eyes to much.
A flight of wild duck crossed our bows at some little distance, a wedge-shaped phalanx of craning necks and flapping wings. I happened to be steering while Davies verified our course below; but I called him up at once, and a discussion began about our chances of sport. Davies was gloomy over them.
“Those fellows at Satrup were rather doubtful,” he said. “There are plenty of ducks, but I made out that it’s not easy for strangers to get shooting. The whole country’s so very civilised; it’s not wild enough, is it?”
He looked at me. I had no very clear opinion. It was anything but wild in one sense, but there seemed to be wild enough spots for ducks. The shore we were passing appeared to be bordered by lonely marshes61, though a spacious62 champaign showed behind. If it were not for the beautiful places we had seen, and my growing taste for our way of seeing them, his disappointing vagueness would have nettled63 me more than it did. For, after all, he had brought me out loaded with sporting equipment under a promise of shooting.
“Bad weather is what we want for ducks,” he said; “but I’m afraid we’re in the wrong place for them. Now, if it was the North Sea, among those Frisian Islands——” His tone was timid and interrogative, and I felt at once that he was sounding me as to some unpalatable plan whose nature began to dawn on me.
He stammered64 on through a sentence or two about “wildness” and “nobody to interfere66 with you,” and then I broke in: “You surely don’t want to leave the Baltic?”
“Why not?” said he, staring into the compass.
“Hang it, man!” I returned, tartly67, “here we are in October, the summer over, and the weather gone to pieces. We’re alone in a cockle-shell boat, at a time when every other yacht of our size is laying up for the winter. Luckily, we seem to have struck an ideal cruising-ground, with a wide choice of safe fiords and a good prospect68 of ducks, if we choose to take a little trouble about them. You can’t mean to waste time and run risks” (I thought of the torn leaf in the log-book) “in a long voyage to those forbidding haunts of yours in the North Sea.”
“It’s not very long,” said Davies, doggedly. “Part of it’s canal, and the rest is quite safe if you’re careful. There’s plenty of sheltered water, and it’s not really necessary——”
“What’s it all for?” I interrupted, impatiently. “We haven’t tried for shooting here yet. You’ve no notion, have you, of getting the boat back to England this autumn?”
“England?” he muttered. “Oh, I don’t much care.” Again his vagueness jarred on me; there seemed to be some bar between us, invisible and insurmountable. And, after all, what was I doing here? Roughing it in a shabby little yacht, utterly69 out of my element, with a man who, a week ago, was nothing to me, and who now was a tiresome70 enigma71. Like swift poison the old morbid72 mood in which I left London spread through me. All I had learnt and seen slipped away; what I had suffered remained. I was on the point of saying something which might have put a precipitate73 end to our cruise, but he anticipated me.
“I’m awfully74 sorry,” he broke out, “for being such a selfish brute75. I don’t know what I was thinking about. You’re a brick to join me in this sort of life, and I’m afraid I’m an infernally bad host. Of course this is just the place to cruise. I forgot about the scenery, and all that. Let’s ask about the ducks here. As you say, we’re sure to get sport if we worry and push a bit. We must be nearly there now—yes, there’s the entrance. Take the helm, will you?”
He sprang up the mast like a monkey, and gazed over the land from the cross-trees. I looked up at my enigma and thanked Providence76 I had not spoken; for no one could have resisted his frank outburst of good nature. Yet it occurred to me that, considering the conditions of our life, our intimacy77 was strangely slow in growth. I had no clue yet as to where his idiosyncrasies began and his self ended, and he, I surmised78, was in the same stage towards me. Otherwise I should have pressed him further now, for I felt convinced that there was some mystery in his behaviour which I had not yet accounted for. However, light was soon to break.
I could see no sign of the entrance he had spoken of, and no wonder, for it is only eighty yards wide, though it leads to a fiord thirty miles long. All at once we were jolting79 in a tumble of sea, and the channel grudgingly80 disclosed itself, stealing between marshes and meadows and then broadening to a mere65, as at Ekken. We anchored close to the mouth, and not far from a group of vessels81 of a type that afterwards grew very familiar to me. They were sailing-barges, something like those that ply82 in the Thames, bluff-bowed, high-sterned craft of about fifty tons, ketch-rigged, and fitted with lee-boards, very light spars, and a long tip-tilted bowsprit. (For the future I shall call them “galliots”.) Otherwise the only sign of life was a solitary83 white house—the pilot’s house, the chart told us—close to the northern point of entrance. After tea we called on the pilot. Patriarchally installed before a roaring stove, in the company of a buxom84 bustling85 daughter-in-law and some rosy86 grandchildren, we found a rotund and rubicund87 person, who greeted us with a hoarse88 roar of welcome in German, which instantly changed, when he saw us, to the funniest broken English, spoken with intense relish89 and pride. We explained ourselves and our mission as well as we could through the hospitable90 interruptions caused by beer and the strains of a huge musical box, which had been set going in honour of our arrival. Needless to say, I was read like a book at once, and fell into the part of listener.
“Yes, yes,” he said, “all right. There is plenty ducks, but first we will drink a glass beer; then we will shift your ship, captain—she lies not good there.” (Davies started up in a panic, but was waved back to his beer.) “Then we will drink together another glass beer; then we will talk of ducks—no, then we will kill ducks—that is better. Then we will have plenty glasses beer.”
This was an unexpected climax91, and promised well for our prospects92. And the programme was fully11 carried out. After the beer our host was packed briskly by his daughter into an armour93 of woollen gaiters, coats, and mufflers, topped with a worsted helmet, which left nothing of his face visible but a pair of twinkling eyes. Thus equipped, he led the way out of doors, and roared for Hans and his gun, till a great gawky youth, with high cheek-bones and a downy beard, came out from the yard and sheepishly shook our hands.
Together we repaired to the quay94, where the pilot stood, looking like a genial95 ball of worsted, and bawled96 hoarse directions while we shifted the Dulcibella to a berth97 on the farther shore close to the other vessels. We returned with our guns, and the interval98 for refreshments99 followed. It was just dusk when we sallied out again, crossed a stretch of bog-land, and took up strategic posts round a stagnant100 pond. Hans had been sent to drive, and the result was a fine mallard and three ducks. It was true that all fell to the pilot’s gun, perhaps owing to Hans’s filial instinct and his parent’s canny101 egotism in choosing his own lair102, or perhaps it was chance; but the shooting-party was none the less a triumphal success. It was celebrated103 with beer and music as before, while the pilot, an infant on each podgy knee, discoursed104 exuberantly105 on the glories of his country and the Elysian content of his life. “There is plenty beer, plenty meat, plenty money, plenty ducks,” summed up his survey.
It may have been fancy, but Davies, though he had fits and starts of vivacity106, seemed very inattentive, considering that we were sitting at the feet of so expansive an oracle107. It was I who elicited108 most of the practical information—details of time, weather, and likely places for shooting, with some shrewd hints as to the kind of people to conciliate. Whatever he thought of me, I warmed with sympathy towards the pilot, for he assumed that we had done with cruising for the year, and thought us mad enough as it was to have been afloat so long, and madder still to intend living on “so little a ship” when we could live on land with beer and music handy. I was tempted109 to raise the North Sea question, just to watch Davies under the thunder of rebukes110 which would follow. But I refrained from a wish to be tender with him, now that all was going so well. The Frisian Islands were an extravagant111 absurdity112 now. I did not even refer to them as we pulled back to the Dulcibella, after swearing eternal friendship with the good pilot and his family.
Davies and I turned in good friends that night—or rather I should say that I turned in, for I left him sucking an empty pipe and aimlessly fingering a volume of Mahan; and once when I woke in the night I felt somehow that his bunk113 was empty and that he was there in the dark cabin, dreaming.
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1
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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dedication
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| n.奉献，献身，致力，题献，献辞 | |
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immured
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| v.禁闭，监禁( immure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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12
cumbersome
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| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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15
tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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coves
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| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
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wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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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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tyrants
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| 专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 )； 暴君似的人； （古希腊的）僭主； 严酷的事物 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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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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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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recreantly
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| adj.怯懦的n.懦夫 | |
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leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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complexities
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| 复杂性(complexity的名词复数)； 复杂的事物 | |
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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spouting
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| n.水落管系统v.（指液体）喷出( spout的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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jibe
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| v.嘲笑，与...一致，使转向；n.嘲笑，嘲弄 | |
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43
pros
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| abbr.prosecuting 起诉；prosecutor 起诉人；professionals 自由职业者；proscenium （舞台）前部n.赞成的意见( pro的名词复数 )；赞成的理由；抵偿物；交换物 | |
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44
cons
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| n.欺骗，骗局( con的名词复数 )v.诈骗，哄骗( con的第三人称单数 ) | |
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45
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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46
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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48
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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49
extricating
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
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50
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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51
ambrosia
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| n.神的食物；蜂食 | |
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52
distilled
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| adj.由蒸馏得来的v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )；从…提取精华 | |
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53
hops
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| 跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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54
inhale
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| v.吸入(气体等)，吸(烟) | |
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55
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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56
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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57
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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63
nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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64
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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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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66
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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67
tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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grudgingly
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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ply
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| v.(搬运工等)等候顾客，弯曲 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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rubicund
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| adj.(脸色)红润的 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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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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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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canny
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| adj.谨慎的，节俭的 | |
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lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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discoursed
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| 演说（discourse的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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exuberantly
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| adv.兴高采烈地，活跃地，愉快地 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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rebukes
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的第三人称单数 ) | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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