The coarse tones of Maurice Frere roused him. “What do you want?” he asked. Rufus Dawes, raising his head, contemplated1 the figure before him, and recognized it. “Is it you?” he said slowly.
“What do you mean? Do you know me?” asked Frere, drawing back. But the convict did not reply. His momentary2 emotion passed away, the pangs3 of hunger returned, and greedily seizing upon the piece of damper, he began to eat in silence.
“Do you hear, man?” repeated Frere, at length. “What are you?”
“An escaped prisoner. You can give me up in the morning. I’ve done my best, and I’m beat.”
The sentence struck Frere with dismay. The man did not know that the settlement had been abandoned!
“I cannot give you up. There is no one but myself and a woman and child on the settlement.” Rufus Dawes, pausing in his eating, stared at him in amazement4. “The prisoners have gone away in the schooner5. If you choose to remain free, you can do so as far as I am concerned. I am as helpless as you are.”
“But how do you come here?”
Frere laughed bitterly. To give explanations to convicts was foreign to his experience, and he did not relish6 the task. In this case, however, there was no help for it. “The prisoners mutinied and seized the brig.”
“What brig?”
“The Osprey.”
A terrible light broke upon Rufus Dawes, and he began to understand how he had again missed his chance. “Who took her?”
“That double-dyed villain7, John Rex,” says Frere, giving vent8 to his passion. “May she sink, and burn, and —”
“Have they gone, then?” cried the miserable9 man, clutching at his hair with a gesture of hopeless rage.
“Yes; two days ago, and left us here to starve.” Rufus Dawes burst into a laugh so discordant10 that it made the other shudder11. “We’ll starve together, Maurice Frere,” said he, “for while you’ve a crust, I’ll share it. If I don’t get liberty, at least I’ll have revenge!”
The sinister12 aspect of this famished13 savage14, sitting with his chin on his ragged15 knees, rocking himself to and fro in the light of the fire, gave Mr. Maurice Frere a new sensation. He felt as might have felt that African hunter who, returning to his camp fire, found a lion there. “Wretch16!” said he, shrinking from him, “why should you wish to be revenged on me?”
The convict turned upon him with a snarl17. “Take care what you say! I’ll have no hard words. Wretch! If I am a wretch, who made me one? If I hate you and myself and the world, who made me hate it? I was born free — as free as you are. Why should I be sent to herd18 with beasts, and condemned19 to this slavery, worse than death? Tell me that, Maurice Frere — tell me that!” “I didn’t make the laws,” says Frere, “why do you attack me?”
“Because you are what I was. You are FREE! You can do as you please. You can love, you can work, you can think. I can only hate!” He paused as if astonished at himself, and then continued, with a low laugh. “Fine words for a convict, eh! But, never mind, it’s all right, Mr. Frere; we’re equal now, and I sha’n’t die an hour sooner than you, though you are a ‘free man’!”
Frere began to think that he was dealing20 with another madman.
“Die! There’s no need to talk of dying,” he said, as soothingly21 as it was possible for him to say it. “Time enough for that by-and-by.”
“There spoke23 the free man. We convicts have an advantage over you gentlemen. You are afraid of death; we pray for it. It is the best thing that can happen to us. Die! They were going to hang me once. I wish they had. My God, I wish they had!”
There was such a depth of agony in this terrible utterance24 that Maurice Frere was appalled25 at it. “There, go and sleep, my man,” he said. “You are knocked up. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Hold on a bit!” cried Rufus Dawes, with a coarseness of manner altogether foreign to that he had just assumed. “Who’s with ye?”
“The wife and daughter of the Commandant,” replied Frere, half afraid to refuse an answer to a question so fiercely put.
“No one else?”
“No.” “Poor souls!” said the convict, “I pity them.” And then he stretched himself, like a dog, before the blaze, and went to sleep instantly. Maurice Frere, looking at the gaunt figure of this addition to the party, was completely puzzled how to act. Such a character had never before come within the range of his experience. He knew not what to make of this fierce, ragged, desperate man, who wept and threatened by turns — who was now snarling26 in the most repulsive27 bass28 of the convict gamut29, and now calling upon Heaven in tones which were little less than eloquent30. At first he thought of precipitating31 himself upon the sleeping wretch and pinioning32 him, but a second glance at the sinewy33, though wasted, limbs forbade him to follow out the rash suggestion of his own fears. Then a horrible prompting — arising out of his former cowardice34 — made him feel for the jack-knife with which one murder had already been committed. Their stock of provisions was so scanty35, and after all, the lives of the woman and child were worth more than that of this unknown desperado! But, to do him justice, the thought no sooner shaped itself than he crushed it out. “We’ll wait till morning, and see how he shapes,” said Frere to himself; and pausing at the brushwood barricade36, behind which the mother and daughter were clinging to each other, he whispered that he was on guard outside, and that the absconder37 slept. But when morning dawned, he found that there was no need for alarm. The convict was lying in almost the same position as that in which he had left him, and his eyes were closed. His threatening outbreak of the previous night had been produced by the excitement of his sudden rescue, and he was now incapable38 of violence. Frere advanced, and shook him by the shoulder.
“Not alive!” cried the poor wretch, waking with a start, and raising his arm to strike. “Keep off!”
“It’s all right,” said Frere. “No one is going to harm you. Wake up.”
Rufus Dawes glanced around him stupidly, and then remembering what had happened, with a great effort, he staggered to his feet. “I thought they’d got me!” he said, “but it’s the other way, I see. Come, let’s have breakfast, Mr. Frere. I’m hungry.”
“You must wait,” said Frere. “Do you think there is no one here but yourself?”
Rufus Dawes, swaying to and fro from weakness, passed his shred39 of a cuff40 over his eyes. “I don’t know anything about it. I only know I’m hungry.”
Frere stopped short. Now or never was the time to settle future relations. Lying awake in the night, with the jack-knife ready to his hand, he had decided41 on the course of action that must be adopted. The convict should share with the rest, but no more. If he rebelled at that, there must be a trial of strength between them. “Look you here,” he said. “We have but barely enough food to serve us until help comes — if it does come. I have the care of that poor woman and child, and I will see fair play for their sakes. You shall share with us to our last bit and drop, but, by Heaven, you shall get no more.”
The convict, stretching out his wasted arms, looked down upon them with the uncertain gaze of a drunken man. “I am weak now,” he said. “You have the best of me”; and then he sank suddenly down upon the ground, exhausted42. “Give me a drink,” he moaned, feebly motioning with his hand. Frere got him water in the pannikin, and having drunk it, he smiled and lay down to sleep again. Mrs. Vickers and Sylvia, coming out while he still slept, recognized him as the desperado of the settlement.
“He was the most desperate man we had,” said Mrs. Vickers, identifying herself with her husband. “Oh, what shall we do?”
“He won’t do much harm,” returned Frere, looking down at the notorious ruffian with curiosity. “He’s as near dead as can be.”
Sylvia looked up at him with her clear child’s glance. “We mustn’t let him die,” said she. “That would be murder.” “No, no,” returned Frere, hastily, “no one wants him to die. But what can we do?”
“I’ll nurse him!” cried Sylvia.
Frere broke into one of his coarse laughs, the first one that he had indulged in since the mutiny. “You nurse him! By George, that’s a good one!” The poor little child, weak and excitable, felt the contempt in the tone, and burst into a passion of sobs43. “Why do you insult me, you wicked man? The poor fellow’s ill, and he’ll — he’ll die, like Mr. Bates. Oh, mamma, mamma, Let’s go away by ourselves.”
Frere swore a great oath, and walked away. He went into the little wood under the cliff, and sat down. He was full of strange thoughts, which he could not express, and which he had never owned before. The dislike the child bore to him made him miserable, and yet he took delight in tormenting44 her. He was conscious that he had acted the part of a coward the night before in endeavouring to frighten her, and that the detestation she bore him was well earned; but he had fully45 determined46 to stake his life in her defence, should the savage who had thus come upon them out of the desert attempt violence, and he was unreasonably47 angry at the pity she had shown. It was not fair to be thus misinterpreted. But he had done wrong to swear, and more so in quitting them so abruptly48. The consciousness of his wrong-doing, however, only made him more confirmed in it. His native obstinacy49 would not allow him to retract50 what he had said — even to himself. Walking along, he came to Bates’s grave, and the cross upon it. Here was another evidence of ill-treatment. She had always preferred Bates. Now that Bates was gone, she must needs transfer her childish affections to a convict. “Oh,” said Frere to himself, with pleasant recollections of many coarse triumphs in love-making, “if you were a woman, you little vixen, I’d make you love me!” When he had said this, he laughed at himself for his folly51 — he was turning romantic! When he got back, he found Dawes stretched upon the brushwood, with Sylvia sitting near him.
“He is better,” said Mrs. Vickers, disdaining52 to refer to the scene of the morning. “Sit down and have something to eat, Mr. Frere.”
“Are you better?” asked Frere, abruptly.
To his surprise, the convict answered quite civilly, “I shall be strong again in a day or two, and then I can help you, sir.”
“Help me? How?” “To build a hut here for the ladies. And we’ll live here all our lives, and never go back to the sheds any more.”
“He has been wandering a little,” said Mrs. Vickers. “Poor fellow, he seems quite well behaved.”
The convict began to sing a little German song, and to beat the refrain with his hand. Frere looked at him with curiosity. “I wonder what the story of that man’s life has been,” he said. “A queer one, I’ll be bound.”
Sylvia looked up at him with a forgiving smile. “I’ll ask him when he gets well,” she said, “and if you are good, I’ll tell you, Mr. Frere.”
Frere accepted the proffered53 friendship. “I am a great brute54, Sylvia, sometimes, ain’t I?” he said, “but I don’t mean it.”
“You are,” returned Sylvia, frankly55, “but let’s shake hands, and be friends. It’s no use quarrelling when there are only four of us, is it?” And in this way was Rufus Dawes admitted a member of the family circle.
Within a week from the night on which he had seen the smoke of Frere’s fire, the convict had recovered his strength, and had become an important personage. The distrust with which he had been at first viewed had worn off, and he was no longer an outcast, to be shunned56 and pointed57 at, or to be referred to in whispers. He had abandoned his rough manner, and no longer threatened or complained, and though at times a profound melancholy58 would oppress him, his spirits were more even than those of Frere, who was often moody59, sullen60, and overbearing. Rufus Dawes was no longer the brutalized wretch who had plunged61 into the dark waters of the bay to escape a life he loathed62, and had alternately cursed and wept in the solitudes63 of the forests. He was an active member of society — a society of four — and he began to regain64 an air of independence and authority. This change had been wrought65 by the influence of little Sylvia. Recovered from the weakness consequent upon this terrible journey, Rufus Dawes had experienced for the first time in six years the soothing22 power of kindness. He had now an object to live for beyond himself. He was of use to somebody, and had he died, he would have been regretted. To us this means little; to this unhappy man it meant everything. He found, to his astonishment66, that he was not despised, and that, by the strange concurrence67 of circumstances, he had been brought into a position in which his convict experiences gave him authority. He was skilled in all the mysteries of the prison sheds. He knew how to sustain life on as little food as possible. He could fell trees without an axe68, bake bread without an oven, build a weatherproof hut without bricks or mortar69. From the patient he became the adviser70; and from the adviser, the commander. In the semi-savage state to which these four human beings had been brought, he found that savage accomplishments71 were of most value. Might was Right, and Maurice Frere’s authority of gentility soon succumbed72 to Rufus Dawes’s authority of knowledge.
As the time wore on, and the scanty stock of provisions decreased, he found that his authority grew more and more powerful. Did a question arise as to the qualities of a strange plant, it was Rufus Dawes who could pronounce upon it. Were fish to be caught, it was Rufus Dawes who caught them. Did Mrs. Vickers complain of the instability of her brushwood hut, it was Rufus Dawes who worked a wicker shield, and plastering it with clay, produced a wall that defied the keenest wind. He made cups out of pine-knots, and plates out of bark-strips. He worked harder than any three men. Nothing daunted73 him, nothing discouraged him. When Mrs. Vickers fell sick, from anxiety and insufficient74 food, it was Rufus Dawes who gathered fresh leaves for her couch, who cheered her by hopeful words, who voluntarily gave up half his own allowance of meat that she might grow stronger on it. The poor woman and her child called him “Mr.” Dawes.
Frere watched all this with dissatisfaction that amounted at times to positive hatred75. Yet he could say nothing, for he could not but acknowledge that, beside Dawes, he was incapable. He even submitted to take orders from this escaped convict — it was so evident that the escaped convict knew better than he. Sylvia began to look upon Dawes as a second Bates. He was, moreover, all her own. She had an interest in him, for she had nursed and protected him. If it had not been for her, this prodigy76 would not have lived. He felt for her an absorbing affection that was almost a passion. She was his good angel, his protectress, his glimpse of Heaven. She had given him food when he was starving, and had believed in him when the world — the world of four — had looked coldly on him. He would have died for her, and, for love of her, hoped for the vessel77 which should take her back to freedom and give him again into bondage78.
But the days stole on, and no vessel appeared. Each day they eagerly scanned the watery79 horizon; each day they longed to behold80 the bowsprit of the returning Ladybird glide81 past the jutting82 rock that shut out the view of the harbour — but in vain. Mrs. Vickers’s illness increased, and the stock of provisions began to run short. Dawes talked of putting himself and Frere on half allowance. It was evident that, unless succour came in a few days, they must starve.
Frere mooted83 all sorts of wild plans for obtaining food. He would make a journey to the settlement, and, swimming the estuary84, search if haply any casks of biscuit had been left behind in the hurry of departure. He would set springes for the seagulls, and snare85 the pigeons at Liberty Point. But all these proved impracticable, and with blank faces they watched their bag of flour grow smaller and smaller daily. Then the notion of escape was broached86. Could they construct a raft? Impossible without nails or ropes. Could they build a boat? Equally impossible for the same reason. Could they raise a fire sufficient to signal a ship? Easily; but what ship would come within reach of that doubly-desolate spot? Nothing could be done but wait for a vessel, which was sure to come for them sooner or later; and, growing weaker day by day, they waited.
One morning Sylvia was sitting in the sun reading the “English History”, which, by the accident of fright, she had brought with her on the night of the mutiny. “Mr. Frere,” said she, suddenly, “what is an alchemist?”
“A man who makes gold,” was Frere’s not very accurate definition.
“Do you know one?”
“No.”
“Do you, Mr. Dawes?”
“I knew a man once who thought himself one.”
“What! A man who made gold?”
“After a fashion.”
“But did he make gold?” persisted Sylvia.
“No, not absolutely make it. But he was, in his worship of money, an alchemist for all that.”
“What became of him?”
“I don’t know,” said Dawes, with so much constraint87 in his tone that the child instinctively88 turned the subject.
“Then, alchemy is a very old art?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Did the Ancient Britons know it?”
“No, not as old as that!”
Sylvia suddenly gave a little scream. The remembrance of the evening when she read about the Ancient Britons to poor Bates came vividly89 into her mind, and though she had since re-read the passage that had then attracted her attention a hundred times, it had never before presented itself to her in its full significance. Hurriedly turning the well-thumbed leaves, she read aloud the passage which had provoked remark:–
“‘The Ancient Britons were little better than Barbarians90. They painted their bodies with Woad, and, seated in their light coracles of skin stretched upon slender wooden frames, must have presented a wild and savage appearance.’”
“A coracle! That’s a boat! Can’t we make a coracle, Mr. Dawes?”
收听单词发音 |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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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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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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shudder
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sinister
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famished
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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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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snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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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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utterance
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appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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precipitating
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| adj.急落的，猛冲的v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的现在分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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pinioning
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sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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cowardice
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scanty
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barricade
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absconder
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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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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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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unreasonably
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| adv. 不合理地 | |
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abruptly
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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retract
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| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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disdaining
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| 鄙视( disdain的现在分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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shunned
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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concurrence
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| n.同意；并发 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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prodigy
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| n.惊人的事物，奇迹，神童，天才，预兆 | |
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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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bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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mooted
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| adj.未决定的，有争议的，有疑问的v.提出…供讨论( moot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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estuary
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| n.河口，江口 | |
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snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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barbarians
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| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
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