It was as if a dark veil, which he had scarcely known existed, had been suddenly swept away from his mental vision. It had torn a trifle when he recognized one of the men in the dingey which rescued him as his old friend, Henry Martindale. He had sat in a silent, stupid-seeming daze2 as they were rowed back to the yacht by the sailor who accompanied Martindale, and listened to his friends’ exclamations3 of joy, amazement4 and congratulation.
But as he stepped, barefooted and naked, upon the white deck of his own, familiar, beloved Bandersnatch, that veil split asunder5 from top to bottom and vanished forever from his brain.
In plain words, Mr. Jones remembered. He remembered how for two years, since the moment when a small, heavy clock, carelessly placed upon a shelf in his stateroom on the Lusitania, had fallen at a lurch6 of the vessel7 and struck him upon the temple, he had been the victim of that queer mental disease, amnesia8. Cared for by the best doctors in London and New York, they had not been able to restore the delicate equilibrium9 of his brain.
The loss of his memory had been accompanied by physical deterioration10, and this winter the physicians had ordered a long cruise through Southern seas in the hope of improving, if not curing, his condition.
They had, exactly as he had informed Jim Haskins, come around into the Pacific by way of the Panama Canal, and were bound for the Philippines when one night Mr. Jones actually did get up out of bed, dress himself, not in yachting clothes but in a grey morning suit, walk out on deck, straight across it, and over the rail, before the men on watch could stop him. In the sea that was running they had been unable to find him, but, although they had from almost the first, given him up as drowned, still his good friends Martindale and Charles Laroux could not bear to leave the spot of the disaster, but cruised up and down, back and forth11, for three whole days and nights, ever on the lookout12, ever hoping against hope that they might at least bear his body back to New York for burial.
Upon falling overboard the shock of his sudden immersion13 in the sea had, by one of those little jokes which Nature sometimes perpetrates, started his mental machinery14 going again at exactly the place where, figuratively, it left the rails. The equal shock of finding his rescuers to be his friends, and the rescuing vessel the Bandersnatch, completed the good work, and that deep abyss of two forgotten years, wherein had been lost the great war and many other memories less vast, was filled.
Once again he could spread out before him the pages of his past life and find not one leaf missing.
Curiously15 enough, his first thought, after the sweeping16 realization17 of it all came over him, was of his cousin, the Hon. Percy Merridale, whom he had been going to visit on that unlucky voyage across the Atlantic.
“Poor old Percy,” he said, paying no heed18 to the flood of questions which were pouring from the lips of both his friends, “why, he was killed along with half his regiment19 at the very beginning of the war. And here I have been wondering what he would think because I did not arrive in London on time!”
“You have, eh?” asked Laroux, looking at him keenly. “Then you remember that you did start for London?”
“Oh, yes. I remember everything now. Lord, what chums you fellows have been, putting up with the crazy whims20 of a man with only half a mind. But by Jove, I’m cold. If you’ll have the steward21 get me something hot to drink, and let me get dry and into some clothes, I’ll be glad to tell you all about it.”
With bitter self-reproaches at their own neglectfulness, Laroux and Martindale fairly hustled22 him below and to bed. They would hear nothing of his dressing23, but on one thing he held out. He was perfectly24 willing to go to sleep — he had never felt so utterly25 tired out in his life — but they must promise to hold the Bandersnatch where she was, or at least near to it, until he awakened26.
To this his friends agreed, and Jones slept the sleep of exhausted27 but perfect health for eleven straight hours.
It was three o’clock in the afternoon when he appeared on deck, and he immediately sought his two friends. They greeted him eagerly, for they were more than anxious to know how he could possibly have kept afloat for nearly three days, and settling comfortably down beneath the awnings29 on the breezy afterdeck, they all lighted their excellent cigars and the story began.
Before he had progressed very far their interest became other than that of curiosity, and as he went on, two of the three cigars were allowed to languish30 and die unheeded. From curiosity they passed to amazement, and from amazement to carefully suppressed incredulity.
This, however, caused Jones no uneasiness, for it was about what he had expected. Finishing the incident of the flying monster with the utmost complacence and indifference31 to their more than dubious32 glances, he called for Captain Janiver.
“Captain,” he said, “I want you to locate for me an island which I know to be in this immediate28 vicinity, although beyond the horizon in some direction. What land is there hereabouts?”
The captain shook his head. “The only island I know of within a hundred miles is hardly worthy34 of the name, Mr. Jones. It is nothing but a high, barren chunk35 of rock sticking up out of the sea. As far as I know it has never even been named.”
“Oh, yes, it has,” smiled Jones. “That island is Joker Island, and I want you to put the old Bandersnatch’s nose about and take us there just as fast as she’ll slouch through the water.”
“Very well, sir, but — ”
“Why, Jones, old man, we were at that place ourselves, and there isn’t anything there!” This from Laroux.
“You were there?”
“Of course. Janiver remembered the place and we went, on the slim possibility that you might have been washed ashore36. We cruised all around it, and even landed wherever there was a beach. We found some footprints and a few old, tin cans, but there was certainly nothing else.”
Jones grew suddenly very white. He had a sensation of sickness in the pit of his stomach, and an overwhelming consciousness of some dreadful disaster impending37, he himself scarcely knew what.
“Captain Janiver,” he said between his teeth, “put this boat about and do as I directed.”
The captain touched his cap and obeyed, not without a curious glance over his shoulder. He was familiar with the idiosyncrasies of his owner — all developed, however, within the past twenty-four months, and he sighed as he gave the necessary directions.
“Too bad,” he murmured, shaking his gray head sadly, “too bad. Such a goodnatured, quiet young fellow as he is, too.”
As for Jones himself, he resolutely38 declined to speak another word on the subject until he had himself visited the scene of his recent adventures. Clinging passionately39 to the belief that they had actually occurred, he forced his mind to dwell upon the question of what might have happened to Sergius and Miss Weston after he left the aeroplane in such an unexpected manner.
He was possessed40 by a really loving concern upon this matter, although the love was not for the Boston girl but for Sergius Petrofsky, who had in the short space of three days won a place in his heart never before occupied by any man, even his faithful friends Harry41 Martindale and Charlie Laroux.
The two latter let him alone, when they perceived that he no longer wished to talk. Like the captain, they, were accustomed to some rather strange moods in their friend, although they had hoped for better things with the recovery of his memory.
About five o’clock the rapid little Bandersnatch raised a blur42 upon the southern horizon, which soon developed into a dark blot43, then gradually took shape as the familiar black outline of the crater-wall of Joker Island.
With the sight all Jones’s courage returned. He could not sit still, but paced back and forth across the deck, and when at last they came to; anchor in the very bay where the Monterey had lain, he fairly tumbled into the small launch which was lowered to accommodate Jones, his two friends and a couple of sailors.
Of course the Monterey was gone, but there was the place where the nihilists had been encamped, though now no tents raised their brown canvas against the cliff, Springing from the launch Jones rushed up the beach and examined the place where they had been. There were, as Laroux had said, a few tin cans scattered44 about, a good many footprints, and the ashes of a fire, but these might have been there for any length of time.
He ran down the beach, hoping to discover the marks left by the aeroplane’s launching, but this had been upon the smooth, hard sand near the water, and the tides had obliterated45 them, if they had really ever been there. If they had been there! But they had been — it had happened! It was all so indelibly imprinted46 upon the tablets of his brain that it was clearer than any other event in his whole life.
The caves, then. Beckoning47 to Laroux and Martindale to follow him, he pressed on to the rocky promontory48 hiding the cleft49, or ravine. Well, that was there anyway. And there were caves, too, hundreds of them. Into which of them had he crawled, following Prince Paul and Miss Weston, followed by Jim Haskins and the two sailors? This one surely, or — no, it might have been this, or any one of a dozen others.
He felt the touch of a hand upon his shoulder.
“Look here, old man,” said Martindale with a gentle indulgence which seemed to Jones well-nigh intolerable by reason of its implications, “you must not take this so hard. Now listen. Charlie and I know you are absolutely all right now — absolutely all right. Don’t let there be any question in your mind of that. Your memory has returned, and you can go on to the Philippines, or back to New York and take up your life exactly where you were before it — that accident on the liner — happened.
“But just now you are suffering from the memory of a particularly vivid hallucination. If we didn’t think you were all O.K. we wouldn’t tell you that, you know. We’d humor you, and say we thought it was all real. But you wouldn’t want us to do that now, would you? You’ll believe, won’t you, that while you were here on the beach, thrown-up by the storm you — well, dreamed a whole lot of things that couldn’t possibly have happened? Then, still dreaming, you started to swim out to sea again, thinking you were pursued by these impossible monsters, and so we picked you up, by about one chance in a million. The currents are very strong about here, Janiver says, and they carried you a long way — clear out of sight of the island. Can’t you believe all this, which is the truth, and let the rest go along with the last two years?”
He spoke50 earnestly, with a deep and loving tenderness, which made Jones extremely uncomfortable. How could he convince these men that those things had really happened? That there, within the island, was at least one other friend of his, possibly in dire33 need of help, if he yet lived? Then Holloway, Prince Paul, Haskins, the beautiful, sharp-tongued girl- Suddenly the mental defenses which he had raised gave way and went down before the flood of damning, almost unendurable conviction.
“Harry,” he said hoarsely51, staggering a little where be stood, “will you and Laroux get me back to New York? Just put up with me till — till we get back to New York, won’t you?”
“Don’t be a fool, Rolly,” cried Laroux, springing forward and actually shaking him, but with a roughness that was all friendship. “You aren’t crazy — you never have been crazy — you’ve been in a sort of delirium52, like you have when you’re down with fever. You’re right as Harry or me. If you weren’t you wouldn’t be ready to believe the truth. It was nothing but plain, ordinary delirium, I tell you.”
“Well, maybe it was,” conceded Jones, with a somewhat sickly smile, “but whatever it was, I know I want to get away from this place and back to New York. I want to see brick buildings, and ride on every-day street-cars, and eat dinner in a Broadway cafe. You boys have been the best, most patient friends a man ever had. Will you promise me something?”
“Of course,” broke in Laroux, “but look here, Rolly, just to satisfy you entirely53 suppose we stop in at Frisco and find out if such a yacht as the Monterey was chartered recently by a bunch of Russians, and — ”
Jones held up his hand. “No,” he said. “A man who’s been off his nut for two years, and knows it, doesn’t have to go around hunting up evidence to support the facts. I want to get back to New York just as fast as the old tub will travel. What I want you to promise is this. Don’t ever mention any of this — this crazy dream of mine to me again. I know you won’t tell it to anybody else. But — I just don’t want ever to hear anything about it — again.”
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1
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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daze
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| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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7
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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amnesia
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| n.健忘症，健忘 | |
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equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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10
deterioration
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| n.退化；恶化；变坏 | |
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11
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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12
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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13
immersion
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| n.沉浸；专心 | |
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14
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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15
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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17
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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19
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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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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hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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26
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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awnings
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| 篷帐布 | |
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languish
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| vi.变得衰弱无力，失去活力，（植物等）凋萎 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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36
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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42
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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43
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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45
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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imprinted
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| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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47
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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48
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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49
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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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
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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52
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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53
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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