WHILE I was lying in my berth1 the fifth morning, I heard the room steward2 outside my door tell some one that he thought we reached Fishguard at one-thirty.
I packed my trunks, thinking of this big ship and the fact that my trip was over and that never again could I cross the Atlantic for the first time. A queer world this. We can only do any one thing significantly once. I remember when I first went to Chicago, I remember when I first went to St. Louis, I remember when I first went to New York. Other trips there were, but they are lost in vagueness. But the first time of any important thing sticks and lasts; it comes back at times and haunts you with its beauty and its sadness. You know so well you cannot do that any more; and, like a clock, it ticks and tells you that life is moving on. I shall never come to England any more for the first time. That is gone and done for—worse luck.
So I packed—will you believe it?—a little sadly. I think most of us are a little silly at times, only we are cautious enough to conceal3 it. There is in me the spirit of a lonely child somewhere and it clings pitifully to the hand of its big mama, Life, and cries when it is frightened; and then there is a coarse, vulgar exterior5 which fronts the world defiantly6 and bids all and sundry7 to go to the devil. It sneers8 and barks and jeers9 bitterly at times, and guffaws10 and cackles and has a joyous11 time laughing at the follies12 of others.
Then I went to hunt Barfleur to find out how I should25 do. How much was I to give the deck-steward; how much to the bath-steward; how much to the room-steward; how much to the dining-room steward; how much to “boots,” and so on.
“Look here!” observed that most efficient of all managerial souls that I have ever known. “I’ll tell you what you do. No—I’ll write it.” And he drew forth13 an ever ready envelope. “Deck-steward—so much,” it read, “Room steward—so much—” etc.
I went forthwith and paid them, relieving my soul of a great weight. Then I came on deck and found that I had forgotten to pack my ship blanket, and a steamer rug, which I forthwith went and packed. Then I discovered that I had no place for my derby hat save on my head, so I went back and packed my cap. Then I thought I had lost one of my brushes, which I hadn’t, though I did lose one of my stylo pencils. Finally I came on deck and sang coon songs with Miss X., sitting in our steamer chairs. The low shore of Ireland had come into view with two faint hills in the distance and these fascinated me. I thought I should have some slight emotion on seeing land again, but I didn’t. It was gray and misty14 at first, but presently the sun came out beautifully clear and the day was as warm as May in New York. I felt a sudden elation15 of spirits with the coming of the sun, and I began to think what a lovely time I was going to have in Europe.
Miss X. was a little more friendly this morning than heretofore. She was a tricky16 creature—coy, uncertain and hard to please. She liked me intellectually and thought I was able, but her physical and emotional predilections17, so far as men are concerned, did not include me.
We rejoiced together singing, and then we fought. There is a directness between experienced intellects which26 waves aside all formalities. She had seen a lot of life; so had I.
She said she thought she would like to walk a little, and we strolled back along the heaving deck to the end of the first cabin section and then to the stern. When we reached there the sky was overcast18 again, for it was one of those changeable mornings which is now gray, now bright, now misty. Just now the heavens were black and lowering with soft, rain-charged clouds, like the wool of a smudgy sheep. The sea was a rich green in consequence—not a clear green, but a dark, muddy, oil-green. It rose and sank in its endless unrest and one or two boats appeared—a lightship, anchored out all alone against the lowering waste, and a small, black, passenger steamer going somewhere.
“I wish my path in life were as white as that and as straight,” observed Miss X., pointing to our white, propeller19-churned wake which extended back for half a mile or more.
“Yes,” I observed, “you do and you don’t. You do, if it wouldn’t cost you trouble in the future—impose the straight and narrow, as it were.”
“Oh, you don’t know,” she exclaimed irritably20, that ugly fighting light coming into her eyes, which I had seen there several times before. “You don’t know what my life has been. I haven’t been so bad. We all of us do the best we can. I have done the best I could, considering.”
“Yes, yes,” I observed, “you’re ambitious and alive and you’re seeking—Heaven knows what! You would be adorable with your pretty face and body if you were not so—so sophisticated. The trouble with you is—”
“Oh, look at that cute little boat out there!” She was talking of the lightship. “I always feel sorry for a27 poor little thing like that, set aside from the main tide of life and left lonely—with no one to care for it.”
“The trouble with you is,” I went on, seizing this new remark as an additional pretext21 for analysis, “you’re romantic, not sympathetic. You’re interested in that poor little lonely boat because its state is romantic; not pathetic. It may be pathetic, but that isn’t the point with you.”
“Well,” she said, “if you had had all the hard knocks I have had, you wouldn’t be sympathetic either. I’ve suffered, I have. My illusions have been killed dead.”
“Yes. Love is over with you. You can’t love any more. You can like to be loved, that’s all. If it were the other way about—”
I paused to think how really lovely she would be with her narrow lavender eyelids22; her delicate, almost retroussé, little nose; her red cupid’s-bow mouth.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, with a gesture of almost religious adoration23. “I cannot love any one person any more, but I can love love, and I do—all the delicate things it stands for.”
“Flowers,” I observed, “jewels, automobiles24, hotel bills, fine dresses.”
“Oh, you’re brutal25. I hate you. You’ve said the cruelest, meanest things that have ever been said to me.”
“But they’re so.”
“I don’t care. Why shouldn’t I be hard? Why shouldn’t I love to live and be loved? Look at my life. See what I’ve had.”
“You like me, in a way?” I suggested.
“I admire your intellect.”
“Quite so. And others receive the gifts of your personality.”
“I can’t help it. I can’t be mean to the man I’m with.28 He’s good to me. I won’t. I’d be sinning against the only conscience I have.”
“Then you have a conscience?”
“Oh, you go to the devil!”
But we didn’t separate by any means.
They were blowing a bugle26 for lunch when we came back, and down we went. Barfleur was already at table. The orchestra was playing Auld27 Lang Syne28, Home Sweet Home, Dixie and the Suwannee River. It even played one of those delicious American rags which I love so much—the Oceana Roll. I felt a little lump in my throat at Auld Lang Syne and Dixie, and together Miss X. and I hummed the Oceana Roll as it was played. One of the girl passengers came about with a plate to obtain money for the members of the orchestra, and half-crowns were universally deposited. Then I started to eat my dessert; but Barfleur, who had hurried off, came back to interfere29.
I thought we were leaving at once. The eye behind the monocle was premonitory of some great loss to me. I hurried on deck—to thank his artistic31 and managerial instinct instantly I arrived there. Before me was Fishguard and the Welsh coast, and to my dying day I shall never forget it. Imagine, if you please, a land-locked harbor, as green as grass in this semi-cloudy, semi-gold-bathed afternoon, with a half-moon of granite32 scarp rising sheer and clear from the green waters to the low gray clouds overhead. On its top I could see fields laid out in pretty squares or oblongs, and at the bottom of what to me appeared to be the east end of the semi-circle, was a bit of gray scruff, which was the village no doubt. On the green water were several other boats—steamers, much smaller, with red stacks, black sides, white rails and29 funnels—bearing a family resemblance to the one we were on. There was a long pier33 extending out into the water from what I took to be the village and something farther inland that looked like a low shed.
This black hotel of a ship, so vast, so graceful34, now rocking gently in the enameled35 bay, was surrounded this hour by wheeling, squeaking37 gulls38. I always like the squeak36 of a gull39; it reminds me of a rusty40 car wheel, and, somehow, it accords with a lone4, rocky coast. Here they were, their little feet coral red, their beaks41 jade42 gray, their bodies snowy white or sober gray, wheeling and crying—“my heart remembers how.” I looked at them and that old intense sensation of joy came back—the wish to fly, the wish to be young, the wish to be happy, the wish to be loved.
But, my scene, beautiful as it was, was slipping away. One of the pretty steamers I had noted43 lying on the water some distance away, was drawing alongside—to get mails, first, they said. There were hurrying and shuffling44 people on all the first cabin decks. Barfleur was forward looking after his luggage. The captain stood on the bridge in his great gold-braided blue overcoat. There were mail chutes being lowered from our giant vessel’s side, and bags and trunks and boxes and bales were then sent scuttling45 down. I saw dozens of uniformed men and scores of ununiformed laborers46 briskly handling these in the sunshine. My fellow passengers in their last hurrying hour interested me, for I knew I should see them no more; except one or two, perhaps.
While we were standing47 here I turned to watch an Englishman, tall, assured, stalky, stary. He had been soldiering about for some time, examining this, that and the other in his critical, dogmatic British way. He had leaned over the side and inspected the approaching30 lighters49, he had stared critically and unpoetically at the gulls which were here now by hundreds, he had observed the landing toilet of the ladies, the material equipment of the various men, and was quite evidently satisfied that he himself was perfect, complete. He was aloof50, chilly51, decidedly forbidding and judicial52.
Finally a cabin steward came hurrying out to him.
“Did you mean to leave the things you left in your room unpacked53?” he asked. The Englishman started, stiffened54, stared. I never saw a self-sufficient man so completely shaken out of his poise55.
“Things in my room unpacked?” he echoed. “What room are you talking about? My word!”
“There are three drawers full of things in there, sir, unpacked, and they’re waiting for your luggage now, sir!”
“My word!” he repeated, grieved, angered, perplexed56. “My word! I’m sure I packed everything. Three drawers full! My word!” He bustled57 off stiffly. The attendant hastened cheerfully after. It almost gave me a chill as I thought of his problem. And they hurry so at Fishguard. He was well paid out, as the English say, for being so stalky and superior.
Then the mail and trunks being off, and that boat having veered58 away, another and somewhat smaller one came alongside and we first, and then the second class passengers, went aboard, and I watched the great ship growing less and less as we pulled away from it. It was immense from alongside, a vast skyscraper59 of a ship. At a hundred feet, it seemed not so large, but more graceful; at a thousand feet, all its exquisite60 lines were perfect—its bulk not so great, but the pathos61 of its departing beauty wonderful; at two thousand feet, it was still beautiful against the granite ring of the harbor; but, alas62, it was moving. The captain31 was an almost indistinguishable spot upon his bridge. The stacks—in their way gorgeous—took on beautiful proportions. I thought, as we veered in near the pier and the ship turned within her length or thereabouts and steamed out, I had never seen a more beautiful sight. Her convoy63 of gulls was still about her. Her smoke-stacks flung back their graceful streamers. The propeller left a white trail of foam64. I asked some one: “When does she get to Liverpool?”
“At two in the morning.”
“And when do the balance of the passengers land?” (We had virtually emptied the first cabin.)
“At seven, I fancy.”
Just then the lighter48 bumped against the dock. I walked under a long, low train-shed covering four tracks, and then I saw my first English passenger train—a semi-octagonal-looking affair—(the ends of the cars certainly looked as though they had started out to be octagonal) and there were little doors on the sides labeled “First,” “First,” “First.” On the side, at the top of the car, was a longer sign: “Cunard Ocean Special—London—Fishguard.”
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1
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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8
sneers
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| 讥笑的表情（言语）( sneer的名词复数 ) | |
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jeers
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| n.操纵帆桁下部（使其上下的）索具；嘲讽( jeer的名词复数 )v.嘲笑( jeer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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guffaws
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| n.大笑，狂笑( guffaw的名词复数 )v.大笑，狂笑( guffaw的第三人称单数 ) | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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13
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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predilections
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| n.偏爱，偏好，嗜好( predilection的名词复数 ) | |
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overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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propeller
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| n.螺旋桨，推进器 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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syne
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| adv.自彼时至此时，曾经 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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enameled
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| 涂瓷釉于，给…上瓷漆，给…上彩饰( enamel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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squeak
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| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
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squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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38
gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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40
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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beaks
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| n.鸟嘴( beak的名词复数 )；鹰钩嘴；尖鼻子；掌权者 | |
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jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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43
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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44
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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45
scuttling
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| n.船底穿孔，打开通海阀（沉船用）v.使船沉没( scuttle的现在分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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46
laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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47
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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48
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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49
lighters
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| n.打火机，点火器( lighter的名词复数 ) | |
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50
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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51
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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52
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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53
unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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54
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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55
poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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56
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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57
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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58
veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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skyscraper
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| n.摩天大楼 | |
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60
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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61
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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62
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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63
convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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64
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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