兰薇儿the open boat英文

2021年1月26日发(作者：金廷标)
I




NONE of them knew the color of the sky. Their eyes glanced level,
and were fastened upon the waves that swept toward them. These waves
were of the hue of slate, save for the tops, which were of foaming white,
and all of the men knew the colors of the sea. The horizon narrowed and
widened, and dipped and rose, and at all times its edge was jagged with
waves that seemed thrust up in points like rocks.



Many a man ought to have a bath-tub larger than the boat which here
rode upon
the sea.
These
waves
were
most
wrongfully
and
barbarously
abrupt
and
tall,
and
each
froth-top
was
a
problem
in
small
boat
navigation.



The cook squatted in the bottom and looked with both eyes at the six
inches of gunwale which separated him from the ocean. His sleeves were
rolled
over
his
fat
forearms,
and
the
two
flaps
of
his
unbuttoned
vest
dangled as he bent to bail out the boat. Often he said:
narrow
clip.
As
he
remarked
it
he
invariably
gazed
eastward
over
the
broken sea.



The
oiler,
steering
with
one
of
the
two
oars
in
the
boat,
sometimes
raised
himself
suddenly
to
keep
clear
of
water
that
swirled
in
over
the
stern. It was a thin little oar and it seemed often ready to snap.



The
correspondent,
pulling
at
the
other
oar,
watched
the
waves
and
wondered why he was there.



The injured captain, lying in the bow, was at this time buried in that
profound dejection and indifference which comes, temporarily at least, to
even the bravest and most enduring when, willy nilly, the firm fails, the
army
loses,
the
ship
goes
down.
The
mind
of
the
master
of
a
vessel
is
rooted
deep
in
the
timbers
of
her,
though
he
command
for
a
day
or
a
decade, and this captain had on him the stern impression of a scene in the
grays of dawn of seven turned faces, and later a stump of a top-mast with
a white ball on it that slashed to and fro at the waves, went low and lower,
and down. Thereafter there was something strange in his voice. Although
steady,
it
was
deep
with
mourning,
and
of
a
quality
beyond
oration
or
tears.











A seat in this boat was not unlike a seat upon a bucking broncho, and,
by the same token, a broncho is not much smaller. The craft pranced and
reared, and plunged like an animal. As each wave came, and she rose for
it,
she
seemed
like
a
horse
making
at
a
fence
outrageously
high.
The
manner of her scramble over these walls of water is a mystic thing, and,
moreover,
at
the
top
of
them
were
ordinarily
these
problems
in
white
water, the foam racing down from the summit of each wave, requiring a
new leap, and a leap from the air. Then, after scornfully bumping a crest,
she
would
slide,
and
race,
and
splash
down
a
long
incline
and
arrive
bobbing and nodding in front of the next menace.



A
singular
disadvantage
of
the
sea
lies
in
the
fact
that
after
successfully
surmounting
one
wave
you
discover
that
there
is
another
behind it just as important and just as nervously anxious to do something
effective in the way of swamping boats. In a ten-foot dingey one can get
an idea of the resources of the sea in the line of waves that is not probable
to the average experience, which is never at sea in a dingey. As each slaty
wall of water approached, it shut all else from the view of the men in the
boat, and it was not difficult to imagine that this particular wave




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was the final outburst of the ocean, the last effort of the grim water. There
was a terrible grace in the move of the waves, and they came in silence,
save for the snarling of the crests.




In the wan light, the faces of the men must have been gray. Their eyes
must have glinted in strange ways as they gazed steadily astern. Viewed
from
a
balcony,
the
whole
thing
would
doubtlessly
have
been
weirdly
picturesque. But the men in the boat had no time to see it, and if they had
had leisure there were other things to occupy their minds. The sun swung
steadily up the sky, and they knew it was broad day because the color of
the sea changed from slate to emerald-green, streaked with amber lights,
and the foam was like tumbling snow. The process of the breaking day
was unknown to them. They were aware only of this effect upon the color
of the waves that rolled toward them.



In
disjointed sentences the
cook and the
correspondent
argued
as to
the
difference
between
a
life-saving
station
and
a
house
of
refuge.
The
cook had said:
Light, and as soon as they see us, they'll come off in their boat and pick
us up.












of
refuge
don't
have
crews,
said
the
correspondent.

I
understand them, they are only places where clothes and grub are stored
for the benefit of shipwrecked people. They don't carry crews.
















said
the
cook,

it's
not
a
house
of
refuge
that
I'm
thinking of as being near Mosquito Inlet Light. Perhaps it's a life-saving
station.




II



As the boat bounced from the top of each wave, the wind tore through
the hair of the hatless men, and as the craft plopped her stern down again
the spray slashed past them. The crest of each of these waves was a hill,
from
the
top
of
which
the
men
surveyed,
for
a
moment,
a
broad
tumultuous expanse; shining and wind-riven. It was probably splendid. It
was
probably
glorious,
this
play
of
the
free
sea,
wild
with
lights
of
emerald and white and amber.




would we be? Wouldn't have a show.







The busy oiler nodded his assent.



Then the captain, in the bow, chuckled in a way that expressed humor,
contempt, tragedy, all in one.
now, boys?



Whereupon
the
three
were
silent,
save
for
a
trifle
of
hemming
and
hawing.
To
express
any
particular
optimism
at
this
time
they
felt
to
be
childish
and
stupid,
but
they
all
doubtless
possessed
this
sense
of
the
situation in their mind. A young man thinks doggedly at such times. On
the
other
hand,
the
ethics
of
their
condition
was
decidedly
against
any
open suggestion of hopelessness. So they were silent.




all right.



But
there
was
that
in
his
tone
which
made
them
think,
so
the
oiler
quoth:



The cook was bailing:



Canton flannel gulls flew near and far. Sometimes they sat down on
the sea, near patches of brown sea-weed that rolled over the waves with a
movement
like
carpets
on
line
in
a
gale.
The
birds
sat
comfortably
in
groups, and they were envied by some in the dingey, for the wrath of the
sea
was
no
more
to
them
than
it
was
to
a
covey
of
prairie
chickens
a
thousand miles inland. Often they came very close and stared at the men
with black bead-like eyes. At these times they were uncanny and sinister
in their unblinking scrutiny, and the men hooted angrily at them, telling
them to be gone. One came, and evidently decided to alight on the top of
the captain's head. The bird flew parallel to the boat and did not circle,
but
made
short
sidelong
jumps
in
the
air
in
chicken-fashion.
His
black
eyes were wistfully




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fixed
upon
the
captain's
head.

brute,
said
the
oiler
to
the
bird.

look
as
if
you
were
made
with
a
jack- knife.
The
cook
and
the
correspondent swore darkly at the creature. The captain naturally wished
to knock it away with the end of the heavy painter, but he did not dare do
it, because anything resembling an emphatic gesture would have capsized
this
freighted
boat,
and
so
with
his
open
hand,
the
captain
gently
and
carefully
waved
the
gull
away.
After
it
had
been
discouraged
from
the
pursuit
the
captain
breathed
easier
on
account
of
his
hair,
and
others
breathed easier because the bird struck their minds at this time as being
somehow grewsome and ominous.




In the meantime the oiler and the correspondent rowed. And also they
rowed.



They sat together in the same seat, and each rowed an oar. Then
the
oiler took both oars; then the correspondent took both oars; then the oiler;
then
the
correspondent.
They
rowed
and
they
rowed.
The
very
ticklish
part of the business was when the time came for the reclining one in the
stern to take his turn at the oars. By the very last star of truth, it is easier
to steal eggs from under a hen than it was to change seats in the dingey.
First the man in the stern slid his hand along the thwart and moved with
care,
as if
he
were
of
Sevres.
Then
the man
in the
rowing
seat
slid his
hand along the other thwart. It was all done with the most extraordinary
care.
As
the
two
sidled
past
each
other,
the
whole
party
kept
watchful
eyes on the coming wave, and the captain cried:
there!



The
brown
mats
of
sea-weed
that
appeared
from
time
to
time
were
like
islands,
bits
of
earth.
They
were
travelling,
apparently,
neither
one
way nor the other. They were, to all intents stationary. They informed the
men in the boat that it was making progress slowly toward the land.



The captain, rearing cautiously in the bow, after the dingey soared on
a
great
swell,
said
that
he
had
seen
the
lighthouse
at
Mosquito
Inlet.
Presently the cook remarked that he had seen it. The correspondent was at
the oars, then, and for some reason he too wished to look at the lighthouse,
but his back was toward the far shore and the waves were important, and
for some time he could not seize an opportunity to turn his head. But at
last there came a wave more gentle than the others, and when at the crest
of it he swiftly scoured the western horizon.












again,
said
the
captain.
He
pointed.

exactly
in
that
direction.



At the top of another wave, the correspondent did as he was bid, and
this
time
his
eyes
chanced
on
a
small
still
thing
on
the
edge
of
the
swaying
horizon.
It
was
precisely
like
the
point
of
a
pin.
It
took
an
anxious eye to find a lighthouse so tiny.








said the captain.



The little boat, lifted by each towering sea, and splashed viciously by
the
crests,
made
progress
that
in
the
absence
of
sea-weed
was
not
apparent
to
those
in
her.
She
seemed
just
a
wee
thing
wallowing,
miraculously,
top-up,
at the
mercy
of
five
oceans.
Occasionally,
a
great
spread of water, like white flames, swarmed into her.








III




IT would be difficult to describe the subtle brotherhood of men that
was
here
established
on
the
seas.
No
one
said
that
it
was
so.
No
one
mentioned
it.
But
it
dwelt
in
the
boat,
and
each
man
felt
it
warm
him.
They were a captain, an oiler, a cook, and a correspondent, and they were
friends,
friends
in
a
more
curiously
iron-bound
degree
than
may
be
common. The hurt captain, lying against the water-jar in the bow, spoke
always in a low voice and calmly, but he could never command a
more
ready
and swiftly
obedient
crew
than
the
motley
three of
the dingey.
It
was
more
than
a
mere
recognition
of
what
was
best
for
the
common
safety.
There
was
surely
in
it
a
quality
that
was
personal
and
heartfelt.
And
after
this
devotion
to
the
commander
of
the
boat
there
was
this
comradeship that the correspondent, for instance, who had been taught to
be cynical of men, knew even at the time was the best




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experience of his life. But no one said that it was so. No one mentioned it.





wish
we
had
a
sail,
remarked
the
captain.

might
try
my
overcoat on the end of an oar and give you two boys a chance to rest.
the
cook
and
the
correspondent
held
the
mast
and
spread
wide
the
overcoat. The oiler steered, and the little boat made good way with her
new
rig.
Sometimes
the
oiler
had
to
scull
sharply
to
keep
a
sea
from
breaking into the boat, but otherwise sailing was a success.



Meanwhile
the
light-house
had
been
growing
slowly
larger.
It
had
now almost assumed color, and appeared like a little gray shadow on the
sky.
The
man
at
the oars
could not
be prevented
from
turning
his
head
rather often to try for a glimpse of this little gray shadow.



At last, from the top of each wave the men in the tossing boat could
see land. Even as the light-house was an upright shadow on the sky, this
land seemed but a long black shadow on the sea. It certainly was thinner
than
paper.

must
be
about
opposite
New
Smyrna,
said
the
cook,
who
had
coasted
this
shore
often
in
schooners.

by
the
way,
I
believe they abandoned that life-saving station there about a year ago.







The wind slowly died away. The cook and the correspondent were not
now
obliged
to
slave
in
order
to
hold
high
the
oar.
But
the
waves
continued their old impetuous swooping at the dingey, and the little craft,
no
longer
under
way,
struggled
woundily
over
them.
The
oiler
or
the
correspondent took the oars again.



Shipwrecks are
apropos
of nothing. If men could only train for them
and
have
them
occur
when
the
men
had
reached
pink
condition,
there
would be less drowning at sea. Of the four in the dingey none had slept
any
time
worth
mentioning
for
two
days
and
two
nights
previous
to
embarking in the dingey, and in the excitement of clambering about the
deck of a foundering ship they had also forgotten to eat heartily.



For
these
reasons,
and
for
others,
neither
the
oiler
nor
the
correspondent
was
fond
of
rowing
at
this
time.
The
correspondent
wondered ingenuously how in the name of all that was sane could there
be people who thought it amusing to row a boat. It was not an amusement;
it was a diabolical punishment, and even a genius of mental aberrations
could never conclude that it was anything but a horror to the muscles and
a
crime
against
the
back.
He
mentioned
to
the
boat
in
general
how
the
amusement of rowing struck him, and the weary-faced oiler smiled in full
sympathy. Previously to the foundering, by the way, the oiler had worked
double-watch in the engine-room of the ship.




If we have to run a surf you'll need all your strength, because we'll sure
have to swim for it. Take your time.



Slowly the land arose from the sea. From a black line it became a line
of black and a line of white, trees, and sand. Finally, the captain said that
he
could
make
out
a
house
on
the
shore.

the
house
of
refuge,
sure,



The distant light- house reared high.
make us out now, if he's looking through a glass,
notify the life-saving people.




wreck,
said
the
oiler,
in
a
low
voice.

the
life-boat
would
be
out
hunting us.



Slowly and beautifully the land loomed out of the sea. The wind came
again.
It
had
veered
from
the
northeast
to
the
southeast.
Finally,
a
new
sound struck the ears of the men in the boat. It was the low thunder of the
surf on the shore.
the captain.







Whereupon the little boat turned her nose once more down the wind,
and all but the oarsman watched the shore grow. Under the influence of
this expansion doubt and direful apprehension was leaving the minds of
the
men.
The
management
of
the
boat
was
still
most
absorbing,
but
it
could not prevent a quiet cheerfulness. In an hour, perhaps, they would be
ashore.



Their back-bones had become thoroughly




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used to balancing in the boat and they now rode this wild colt of a dingey
like circus men. The correspondent thought that he had been drenched to
the
skin,
but
happening
to
feel
in
the
top
pocket
of
his
coat,
he
found
therein eight cigars. Four of them were soaked with sea-water; four were
perfectly
scatheless.
After
a
search,
somebody
produced
three
dry
matches, and thereupon the four waifs rode in their little boat, and with an
assurance of an impending rescue shining in their eyes, puffed at the big
cigars
and
judged
well
and
ill
of
all
men.
Everybody
took
a
drink
of
water.

IV




life about your house of refuge.







A broad stretch of lowly coast lay before the eyes of the men. It was
of low dunes topped with dark vegetation. The roar of the surf was plain,
and sometimes they could see the white lip of a wave as it spun up the
beach. A tiny house was blocked out black upon the sky. Southward, the
slim light-house lifted its little gray length.



Tide, wind, and waves were swinging the dingey northward.
they don't see us,



The
surf's
roar
was
here
dulled,
but
its
tone
was,
nevertheless,
thunderous and mighty. As the boat swam over the great rollers, the men
sat listening to this roar.



It
is
fair
to
say
here
that
there
was
not
a
life- saving
station
within
twenty miles in either direction, but the men did not know this fact and in
consequence
they
made
dark
and
opprobrious
remarks
concerning
the
eyesight of the nation's life-savers. Four scowling men sat in the dingey
and surpassed records in the invention of epithets.







The light-heartedness of a former time had completely faded. To their
sharpened
minds
it
was
easy
to
conjure
pictures
of
all
kinds
of
incompetency and blindness and indeed, cowardice. There was the shore
of the populous land, and it was bitter and bitter to them that from it came
no sign.




try
for
ourselves.
If
we
stay
out
here
too
long,
we'll
none
of
us
have
strength left to swim after the boat swamps.



And so the oiler, who was at the oars, turned the boat straight for the
shore.
There
was
a
sudden
tightening
of
muscles.
There
was
some
thinking.




we
don't
all get
ashore
--
said
the
captain.

we
don't
all get
ashore, I suppose you fellows know where to send news of my finish?



They then briefly exchanged some addresses and admonitions. As for
the
reflections
of
the
men,
there
was
a
great
deal
of
rage
in
them.
Perchance they might be formulated thus:
if I am going to be drowned -- if I am going to be drowned, why, in the
name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus
far and contemplate sand and trees? Was I brought here merely to have
my nose dragged away as I was about to nibble the sacred cheese of life?
It
is preposterous.
If
this
old
ninny-woman,
Fate,
cannot
do better
than
this, she should be deprived of the management of men's fortunes. She is
an old hen who knows not her intention. If she has decided to drown me,
why did she not do it in the beginning and save me all this trouble. The
whole affair is absurd. . . . But, no, she cannot mean to drown me. She
dare
not
drown
me.
She
cannot
drown
me.
Not
after
all
this
work.
Afterward
the
man
might
have
had
an
impulse
to
shake
his
fist
at
the
clouds:



The
billows
that
came
at
this
time
were
more
formidable.
They
seemed always just about to break and roll over the little boat in a turmoil
of foam. There was a preparatory and long growl in the speech of them.
No mind unused to the sea would have concluded that the dingey could
ascend these sheer heights in time. The shore was still afar. The oiler was
a
wily
surfman.

he
said,
swiftly,

won't
live
three
minutes
more
and
we're
too
far
out
to
swim.
Shall
I
take
her
to
sea
again,
captain?







This
oiler,
by
a
series
of
quick
miracles,
and
fast
and
steady
oarsmanship, turned




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the boat in the middle of the surf and took her safely to sea again.




There
was
a
considerable
silence
as
the
boat
bumped
over
the
furrowed
sea
to
deeper
water.
Then
somebody
in
gloom
spoke.

anyhow, they must have seen us from the shore by now.



The gulls went in slanting flight up the wind toward the gray desolate
east. A squall, marked by dingy clouds, and clouds brick-red, like smoke
from a burning building, appeared from the southeast.












fishin'. Maybe they think we're damned fools.



It was a long afternoon. A changed tide tried to force them southward,
but wind and wave said northward. Far ahead, where coast-line, sea, and
sky
formed
their
mighty
angle,
there
were
little
dots
which
seemed
to
indicate a city on the shore.







The captain shook his head.



And
the
oiler
rowed,
and
then
the
correspondent
rowed.
Then
the
oiler rowed.
It
was a
weary
business.
The
human
back
can become
the
seat
of
more
aches
and
pains
than
are
registered
in
books
for
the
composite anatomy of a regiment. It is a limited area, but it can become
the
theatre of innumerable
muscular
conflicts,
tangles,
wrenches,
knots,
and other comforts.











When one exchanged the rowing-seat for a place in the bottom of the
boat,
he
suffered
a
bodily
depression
that
caused
him
to
be
careless
of
everything
save
an
obligation
to
wiggle
one
finger.
There
was
cold
sea-water
swashing
to
and
fro
in
the
boat,
and
he
lay
in
it.
His
head,
pillowed on a thwart, was within an inch of the swirl of a wave crest, and
sometimes
a
particularly
obstreperous
sea
came
in-board
and
drenched
him once more. But these matters did not annoy him. It is almost certain
that
if
the
boat
had
capsized
he
would
have
tumbled
comfortably
out
upon the ocean as if he felt sure it was a great soft mattress.
































here for us in half an hour.







The
remote
beach
seemed
lower
than
the
sea,
and
it
required
a
searching
glance
to
discern
the
little
black
figure.
The
captain
saw
a
floating
stick
and
they
rowed
to
it.
A
bath-towel
was
by
some
weird
chance in the boat, and, tying this on the stick, the captain waved it. The
oarsman did not dare turn his head, so he was obliged to ask questions.








standing
still
again.
He's
looking,
I
think. . . .
There
he
goes
again. Toward the house. . . . Now he's stopped again.
























he's
on a
bicycle.
Now he's
met
the other
man.
They're
both
waving at us. Look!
























shore on a wagon.
















hotel omnibuses.




suppose they are doing with an omnibus? Maybe they are going around
collecting the life-crew, hey?




it,
likely.
Look!
There's
a
fellow
waving
a
little
black
flag.
He's standing on the steps of the omnibus.




-
734
-


There
come
those
other
two
fellows.
Now
they're
all
talking
together.
Look at the fellow with the flag. Maybe he ain't waving it.









it
is.
It's
his
coat.
He's
taken
it
off
and
is
waving
it
around
his
head. But would you look at him swing it.




resort hotel omnibus that has brought over some of the boarders to see us
drown.








life-saving station up there.




there, Willie.




you suppose he means?








wait, or go north, or go south, or go to hell -- there would be some reason
in it. But look at him. He just stands there and keeps his coat revolving
like a wheel. The ass!