But now the sketches5 were done. They were safely packed and corded. To-morrow he was going. To-day he would rest himself and do the things he would like to remember.
He looked again at the man cleaning fish. “Pretty steady work,” he said, nodding toward the red pile.
“Yep.” The man tossed aside another fish. “Ye can’t earn money stan’in’ with your hands in your pockets.”
“I guess that’s so,” said the artist, cheerfully. He did not remove the hands. The fingers found a few pennies in the depths and jingled8 them merrily.
“There’s Willum,” said the man, aggressively, sweeping9 his red knife toward the cliff. “He’s poor—poor as poverty—an’ he al’ays will be.”
“What do you think is the reason?” asked the artist. The tone held respectful interest.
The man looked at him more tolerantly. “Too fond of settin’.”
The artist nodded. “I’m afraid he is.”
“An’ then he’s al’ays a-givin’—a little here and a little there. Why, what Willum Benslow’s give away would ’a’ made a rich man of him.”
“Yes?”
“Yep. I don’t s’pose I know half he’s give. But it’s a heap, Lord knows! And then he’s foolish—plumb foolish.” He rested his arms on his legs, leaning forward. “How much d’you s’pose he give me for that land—from here to my house?” He pointed10 up the coast.
The artist turned and squinted11 toward it with half-closed lids. It glowed—a riot of color, green and red, cool against the mounting sky. “I haven’t the least idea,” he said slowly.
“Well, you won’t believe it when I tell you;—nobody’d believe it. He paid me five hunderd dollars for it—five hunderd! It ain’t wuth fifty.”
“But it ain’t right,” said the man, gloomily. He had returned to his fish. “It ain’t right. I can’t bear to have Willum such a fool.”
“I think I’ll go for a sail,” said the artist.
The other glanced at the horizon. “It’s going to storm,” he said indifferently.
“I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Ye better not go.”
“Think not?” He looked again at the harbor. “It’s my last chance for a sail—I’ll watch out.”
The harbor held a still light—ominously—grey with a tinge14 of yellow in its depths. Uncle William hurried down the face of the cliff, a telescope in his hand. Now and then he paused on the zigzag15 path and swept the bay with it. The grey stillness deepened.
On the beach below, the man paused in his work to look up. As Uncle William approached he grunted16 stiffly. “She’s off the island,” he said. He jerked a fishy17 thumb toward the water.
Uncle William’s telescope fixed18 the boat and held it. His throat hummed, holding a kind of conversation with itself.
The man had returned to his fish, slitting in rough haste and tossing to one side. “Fool to go out—I told him it was coming.”
The telescope descended19. Uncle William regarded him mildly. “I o’t to ’a’ kept an eye on him,” he said humbly20. “I didn’t jest sense he was goin’. I guess mebbe he did mention it. But I was mixin’ a batch21 of biscuit and kind o’ thinkin’ to myself. When I looked up he wa’n’t there.” He slid the telescope together and slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll hev to go after him,” he said.
The other looked up quickly. “How’ll you go?”
Uncle William nodded toward the boat that dipped securely at anchor. “I’ll take her,” he said.
The man laughed shortly. “The Andrew Halloran? I guess not!” He shut his knife with a decisive snap and stood up. “I don’t trust her—not in such a storm as that’s going to be.” He waved his arm toward the harbor. The greyness was shifting rapidly. It moved in swift green touches, heavy and clear—a kind of luminous22 dread23. In its sallow light the man’s face stood out tragically24. “I won’t resk her,” he cried.
“You’ll hev to, Andrew.” Uncle William bent25 to the bow of the dory that was beached near by. “Jump in,” he said.
The man drew back a step. The hand with the clasped knife fell to his side. “Don’t you make me go, William,” he said pacifically. “You can take the boat in welcome, but don’t take me. It’s too much resk!”
“It’s al’ays a resk to do your duty,” said Uncle William. “Jump in. I can’t stand talkin’.” An edge of impatience26 grazed the words.
In the green light of the harbor a smile played over Uncle William’s face grotesquely28. He gave a shove to the boat and sprang in. “I guess you’ll go, Andrew,” he said; “you wouldn’t want a man drowned right at your door-yard.”
“You can’t live in it,” said Andrew. He lifted his face to the light. Far to the east a boat crawled against it. “It’ll strike in five minutes,” he said.
“Like enough,” said Uncle William—“like enough. Easy there!” He seized the stern of the Andrew Halloran and sprang on board. They worked in swift silence, hoisting29 the anchor, letting out the sail,—a single reef,—making it fast. “All she’ll stan’,” said Uncle William. He turned to the helm.
Andrew, seated on the tiller bench, glared at him defiantly30. “If she’s going out, I take her,” he said.
“You get right over there and tend the sheet, Andy,” said Uncle William.
In silence the other obeyed. He undid31 the rope, letting it out with cautious hand. The low sail caught the breeze and stiffened32 to it. The boat came round to the wind, dipping lightly. She moved through the murky33 light as if drawn34 by unseen hands.
The light thickened and grew black—clouded and dense35 and swift. Then, with a wrench36, heaven parted about them. The water descended in sheets, gray-black planes that shut them in—blinded them, crushed them. Andrew, crouching37 to the blows, drew in the sheet, closer, closer—hugging the wind with tense grasp. About them, the water flattened38 like a plate beneath the flood. When the rain shifted a second they saw it, a gray-white floor, stretching as far as the eye could reach. Uncle William bent to it, scanning the east. “Hold her tight, Andy,” he yelled. His leg was braced39 against the tiller, and his back strained to it. His hat was gone. The tufts of hair, lashed40 flat to the big skull41, were mere42 lines. “Hold her tight! Make fast!” he yelled again.
Through the dark they drove, stunned43 and grim. The minutes lengthened44 to ages and beat them, eternally, in torment45. Water and clouds were all about them—underneath them, and over. The boat, towering on each wave, dropped from its crest46 like a ball. Andy, crouching on the bottom of the boat, held on like grim death. Then, in a breath the storm was gone. With a sucking sound it had swept beyond them, its black skirts hurtling behind it as it ran, kicking a wake of foam47.
Andrew from beneath the bench lifted his sopped48 head, like a turtle, breathless. Uncle William, bent far to the right, gazed to the east. Slowly his face lightened. He drew his big hand down its length, mopping off the wet. “There she is!” he said in a deep voice. “Let her out, Andy.”
The water still tossed in tumbling waves and the fitful rain blew past. But the force of the storm was gone. Away to the north it towered, monstrous50 and black.
With his eyes strained to the east, Uncle William held the tiller. “We’ll make it, Andy,” he said quietly. “We’ll make it yet if the Jennie holds out—” Suddenly he stood upright, his hand on the tiller, his eyes glued fast.
“Luff her,” he cried. “She’s gone—Luff her, I tell you!” He sprang back, jamming the tiller from him. “Let her out, Andy, every inch!”
The canvas flew wide to the wind. The great boat responded to its touch. She rose like a bird and dipped, in sweeping sidewise flight, to the race.
Across the water something bobbed—black, uncertain.
“Look sharp, Andy,” said Uncle William.
Andrew peered with blinking eyes across the waste. The spirit of the chase was on him. His indifference51 had washed from him, like a husk, in that center of terror. His eyes leaped to the mass and glowed on it. “Yep,” he said solemnly, “he’s held on—he’s there!”
“Keep your eye on her, Andy. Don’t lose her.” Uncle William’s big arms strained to the wind, forcing the great bird in her course. Nearer she came and nearer, circling with white wings that opened and closed silently, softly. Close to the bobbing boat she grazed, hung poised52 a moment, and swept away with swift stroke.
The artist had swung through the air at the end of a huge arm. As he looked up from the bottom of the boat where he lay, the old man’s head, round and smooth, like a boulder53, stood out against the black above him. It grew and expanded and filled the horizon—thick and nebulous and dizzy.
“Roll him over, Andy,” said Uncle William, “roll him over. He’s shipped too much.”
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1
monotonously
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| adv.单调地，无变化地 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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5
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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6
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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7
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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8
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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9
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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12
genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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13
slitting
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| n.纵裂（缝）v.切开，撕开( slit的现在分词 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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14
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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15
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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16
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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17
fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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18
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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19
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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20
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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21
batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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23
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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24
tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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25
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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27
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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28
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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29
hoisting
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| 起重，提升 | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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32
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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33
murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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34
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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35
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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36
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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37
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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38
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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39
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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40
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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41
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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42
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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43
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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44
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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46
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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47
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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48
sopped
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| adj.湿透的，浸透的v.将（面包等）在液体中蘸或浸泡( sop的过去式和过去分词 )；用海绵、布等吸起（液体等） | |
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49
untying
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| untie的现在分词 | |
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50
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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51
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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52
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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53
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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