Sixteen years after the date of Mr. Ronald’s disastrous1 discovery at Ramsgate — that is to say, in the year 1872 — the steamship2 Aquila left the port of New York, bound for Liverpool.
It was the month of September. The passenger-list of the Aquila had comparatively few names inscribed3 on it. In the autumn season, the voyage from America to England, but for the remunerative4 value of the cargo5, would prove to be for the most part a profitless voyage to shipowners. The flow of passengers, at that time of year, sets steadily6 the other way. Americans are returning from Europe to their own country. Tourists have delayed the voyage until the fierce August heat of the United States has subsided7, and the delicious Indian summer is ready to welcome them. At bed and board the passengers by the Aquila on her homeward voyage had plenty of room, and the choicest morsels8 for everybody alike on the well spread dinner-table.
The wind was favourable9, the weather was lovely. Cheerfulness and good-humour pervaded10 the ship from stem to stern. The courteous11 captain did the honours of the cabin-table with the air of a gentleman who was receiving friends in his own house. The handsome doctor promenaded12 the deck arm-in-arm with ladies in course of rapid recovery from the first gastric13 consequences of travelling by sea. The excellent chief engineer, musical in his leisure moments to his fingers’ ends, played the fiddle14 in his cabin, accompanied on the flute15 by that young Apollo of the Atlantic trade, the steward’s mate. Only on the third morning of the voyage was the harmony on board the Aquila disturbed by a passing moment of discord16 — due to an unexpected addition to the ranks of the passengers, in the shape of a lost bird!
It was merely a weary little land-bird (blown out of its course, as the learned in such matters supposed); and it perched on one of the yards to rest and recover itself after its long flight.
The instant the creature was discovered, the insatiable Anglo–Saxon delight in killing17 birds, from the majestic18 eagle to the contemptible19 sparrow, displayed itself in its full frenzy20. The crew ran about the decks, the passengers rushed into their cabins, eager to seize the first gun and to have the first shot. An old quarter-master of the Aquila was the enviable man, who first found the means of destruction ready to his hand. He lifted the gun to his shoulder, he had his finger on the trigger, when he was suddenly pounced21 upon by one of the passengers — a young, slim, sunburnt, active man — who snatched away the gun, discharged it over the side of the vessel22, and turned furiously on the quarter-master. “You wretch23! would you kill the poor weary bird that trusts our hospitality, and only asks us to give it a rest? That little harmless thing is as much one of God’s creatures as you are. I’m ashamed of you — I’m horrified24 at you — you’ve got bird-murder in your face; I hate the sight of you!”
The quarter-master — a large grave fat man, slow alike in his bodily and his mental movements — listened to this extraordinary remonstrance25 with a fixed26 stare of amazement27, and an open mouth from which the unspat tobacco-juice tricked in little brown streams. When the impetuous young gentleman paused (not for want of words, merely for want of breath), the quarter-master turned about, and addressed himself to the audience gathered round. “Gentlemen,” he said, with a Roman brevity, “this young fellow is mad.”
The captain’s voice checked the general outbreak of laughter. “That will do, quarter-master. Let it be understood that nobody is to shoot the bird — and let me suggest to you, sir, that you might have expressed your sentiments quite as effectually in less violent language.”
Addressed in those terms, the impetuous young man burst into another fit of excitement. “You’re quite right, sir! I deserve every word you have said to me; I feel I have disgraced myself.” He ran after the quartermaster, and seized him by both hands. “I beg your pardon; I beg your pardon with all my heart. You would have served me right if you had thrown me overboard after the language I used to you. Pray excuse my quick temper; pray forgive me. What do you say? ‘Let bygones be bygones’? That’s a capital way of putting it. You’re a thorough good fellow. If I can ever be of the smallest use to you (there’s my card and address in London), let me know it; I entreat28 you let me know it.” He returned in a violent hurry to the captain. “I’ve made it up with the quarter-master, sir. He forgives me; he bears no malice29. Allow me to congratulate you on having such a good Christian30 in your ship. I wish I was like him! Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, for the disturbance31 I have made. It shan’t happen again — I promise you that.”
The male travellers in general looked at each other, and seemed to agree with the quarter-master’s opinion of their fellow-passenger. The women, touched by his evident sincerity32, and charmed with his handsome blushing eager face, agreed that he was quite right to save the poor bird, and that it would be all the better for the weaker part of creation generally if other men were more like him. While the various opinions were still in course of expression, the sound of the luncheon33 bell cleared the deck of the passengers, with two exceptions. One was the impetuous young man. The other was a aged35" target="_blank">middle-aged34 traveller, with a grizzled beard and a penetrating36 eye, who had silently observed the proceedings37, and who now took the opportunity of introducing himself to the hero of the moment.
“Are you not going to take any luncheon?” he asked.
“No, sir. Among the people I have lived with we don’t eat at intervals38 of three or four hours, all day long.”
“Will you excuse me,” pursued the other, “if I own I should like to know what people you have been living with? My name is Hethcote; I was associated, at one time of my life, with a college devoted39 to the training of young men. From what I have seen and heard this morning, I fancy you have not been educated on any of the recognized systems that are popular at the present day. Am I right?”
The excitable young man suddenly became the picture of resignation, and answered in a formula of words as if he was repeating a lesson.
“I am Claude–Amelius-Goldenheart. Aged twenty-one. Son, and only child, of the late Claude Goldenheart, of Shedfield Heath, Buckinghamshire, England. I have been brought up by the Primitive40 Christian Socialists41, at Tadmor Community, State of Illinois. I have inherited an income of five hundred a year. And I am now, with the approval of the Community, going to London to see life.”
Mr. Hethcote received this copious42 flow of information, in some doubt whether he had been made the victim of coarse raillery, or whether he had merely heard a quaint43 statement of facts.
Claude–Amelius-Goldenheart saw that he had produced an unfavourable impression, and hastened to set himself right.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, “I am not making game of you, as you seem to suppose. We are taught to be courteous to everybody, in our Community. The truth is, there seems to be something odd about me (I’m sure I don’t know what), which makes people whom I meet on my travels curious to know who I am. If you’ll please to remember, it’s a long way from Illinois to New York, and curious strangers are not scarce on the journey. When one is obliged to keep on saying the same thing over and over again, a form saves a deal of trouble. I have made a form for myself — which is respectfully at the disposal of any person who does me the honour to wish for my acquaintance. Will that do, sir? Very well, then; shake hands, to show you’re satisfied.”
Mr. Hethcote shook hands, more than satisfied. He found it impossible to resist the bright honest brown eyes, the simple winning cordial manner of the young fellow with the quaint formula and the strange name. “Come, Mr. Goldenheart,” he said, leading the way to a seat on deck, “let us sit down comfortably, and have a talk.”
“Anything you like, sir — but don’t call me Mr. Goldenheart.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it sounds formal. And, besides, you’re old enough to be my father; it’s my duty to call you Mister — or Sir, as we say to our elders at Tadmor. I have left all my friends behind me at the Community — and I feel lonely out here on this big ocean, among strangers. Do me a kindness, sir. Call me by my Christian name; and give me a friendly slap on the back if you find we get along smoothly44 in the course of the day.”
“Which of your names shall it be?” Mr. Hethcote asked, humouring this odd lad. “Claude?”
“No. Not Claude. The Primitive Christians45 said Claude was a finicking French name. Call me Amelius, and I shall begin to feel at home again. If you’re in a hurry, cut it down to three letters (as they did at Tadmor), and call me Mel.”
“Very good,” said Mr. Hethcote. “Now, my friend Amelius (or Mel), I am going to speak out plainly, as you do. The Primitive Christian Socialists must have great confidence in their system of education, to turn you adrift in the world without a companion to look after you.”
“You’ve hit it, sir,” Amelius answered coolly. “They have unlimited46 confidence in their system of education. And I’m a proof of it.”
“You have relations in London, I suppose?” Mr. Hethcote proceeded.
For the first time the face of Amelius showed a shadow of sadness on it.
“I have relations,” he said. “But I have promised never to claim their hospitality. ‘They are hard and worldly; and they will make you hard and worldly, too.’ That’s what my father said to me on his deathbed.” He took off his hat when he mentioned his father’s death, and came to a sudden pause — with his head bent47 down, like a man absorbed in thought. In less than a minute he put on his hat again, and looked up with his bright winning smile. “We say a little prayer for the loved ones who are gone, when we speak of them,” he explained. “But we don’t say it out loud, for fear of seeming to parade our religious convictions. We hate cant48 in our Community.”
“I cordially agree with the Community, Amelius. But, my good fellow, have you really no friend to welcome you when you get to London?”
Amelius answered the question mysteriously. “Wait a little!” he said — and took a letter from the breast-pocket of his coat. Mr. Hethcote, watching him, observed that he looked at the address with unfeigned pride and pleasure.
“One of our brethren at the Community has given me this,” he announced. “It’s a letter of introduction, sir, to a remarkable49 man — a man who is an example to all the rest of us. He has risen, by dint50 of integrity and perseverance51, from the position of a poor porter in a shop to be one of the most respected mercantile characters in the City of London.”
With this explanation, Amelius handed his letter to Mr. Hethcote. It was addressed as follows:—
To John Farnaby, Esquire,
Messrs. Ronald & Farnaby,
Stationers,
Aldersgate Street, London.
收听单词发音 |
1
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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steamship
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| n.汽船，轮船 | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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remunerative
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| adj.有报酬的 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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8
morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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9
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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promenaded
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| v.兜风( promenade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gastric
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| adj.胃的 | |
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fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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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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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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28
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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29
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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31
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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32
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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33
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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42
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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45
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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46
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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47
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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48
cant
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| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
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49
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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50
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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51
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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