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HTML
923 lines
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HTML
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<!DOCTYPE html>
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<html>
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<head>
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<link rel="stylesheet" href="../resources/css/base.css" />
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<link rel="stylesheet" href="../common/css/style.css" />
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</head>
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<body>
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<div class="instructions">Scroll the page</div>
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<h2>THE END OF THE TETHER</h2>
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<p>By Joseph Conrad</p>
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<h3>Chapter I</h3>
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<p>For a long time after the course of the steamer <em>Sofala</em> had been
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altered for the land, the low swampy coast had retained its appearance
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of a mere smudge of darkness beyond a belt of glitter. The sunrays
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seemed to fall violently upon the calm sea--seemed to shatter themselves
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upon an adamantine surface into sparkling dust, into a dazzling vapor
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of light that blinded the eye and wearied the brain with its unsteady
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brightness.</p>
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<p>Captain Whalley did not look at it. When his Serang, approaching the
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roomy cane arm-chair which he filled capably, had informed him in a low
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voice that the course was to be altered, he had risen at once and had
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remained on his feet, face forward, while the head of his ship swung
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through a quarter of a circle. He had not uttered a single word, not
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even the word to steady the helm. It was the Serang, an elderly, alert,
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little Malay, with a very dark skin, who murmured the order to the
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helmsman. And then slowly Captain Whalley sat down again in the
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arm-chair on the bridge and fixed his eyes on the deck between his feet.</p>
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<p>He could not hope to see anything new upon this lane of the sea. He had
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been on these coasts for the last three years. From Low Cape to Malantan
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the distance was fifty miles, six hours' steaming for the old ship with
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the tide, or seven against. Then you steered straight for the land, and
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by-and-by three palms would appear on the sky, tall and slim, and with
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their disheveled heads in a bunch, as if in confidential criticism of
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the dark mangroves. The Sofala would be headed towards the somber
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strip of the coast, which at a given moment, as the ship closed with
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it obliquely, would show several clean shining fractures--the brimful
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estuary of a river. Then on through a brown liquid, three parts water
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and one part black earth, on and on between the low shores, three parts
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black earth and one part brackish water, the Sofala would plow her way
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up-stream, as she had done once every month for these seven years or
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more, long before he was aware of her existence, long before he had ever
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thought of having anything to do with her and her invariable voyages.
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The old ship ought to have known the road better than her men, who had
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not been kept so long at it without a change; better than the faithful
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Serang, whom he had brought over from his last ship to keep the
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captain's watch; better than he himself, who had been her captain for
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the last three years only. She could always be depended upon to make her
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courses. Her compasses were never out. She was no trouble at all to
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take about, as if her great age had given her knowledge, wisdom, and
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steadiness. She made her landfalls to a degree of the bearing, and
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almost to a minute of her allowed time. At any moment, as he sat on
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the bridge without looking up, or lay sleepless in his bed, simply by
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reckoning the days and the hours he could tell where he was--the precise
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spot of the beat. He knew it well too, this monotonous huckster's
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round, up and down the Straits; he knew its order and its sights and its
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people. Malacca to begin with, in at daylight and out at dusk, to cross
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over with a rigid phosphorescent wake this highway of the Far East.
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Darkness and gleams on the water, clear stars on a black sky, perhaps
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the lights of a home steamer keeping her unswerving course in the
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middle, or maybe the elusive shadow of a native craft with her mat sails
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flitting by silently--and the low land on the other side in sight
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at daylight. At noon the three palms of the next place of call, up a
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sluggish river. The only white man residing there was a retired young
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sailor, with whom he had become friendly in the course of many voyages.
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Sixty miles farther on there was another place of call, a deep bay with
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only a couple of houses on the beach. And so on, in and out, picking
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up coastwise cargo here and there, and finishing with a hundred miles'
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steady steaming through the maze of an archipelago of small islands up
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to a large native town at the end of the beat. There was a three days'
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rest for the old ship before he started her again in inverse order,
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seeing the same shores from another bearing, hearing the same voices
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in the same places, back again to the Sofala's port of registry on
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the great highway to the East, where he would take up a berth nearly
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opposite the big stone pile of the harbor office till it was time to
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start again on the old round of 1600 miles and thirty days. Not a very
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enterprising life, this, for Captain Whalley, Henry Whalley, otherwise
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Dare-devil Harry--Whalley of the Condor, a famous clipper in her day.
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No. Not a very enterprising life for a man who had served famous firms,
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who had sailed famous ships (more than one or two of them his own); who
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had made famous passages, had been the pioneer of new routes and new
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trades; who had steered across the unsurveyed tracts of the South Seas,
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and had seen the sun rise on uncharted islands. Fifty years at sea, and
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forty out in the East ("a pretty thorough apprenticeship," he used
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to remark smilingly), had made him honorably known to a generation of
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shipowners and merchants in all the ports from Bombay clear over to
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where the East merges into the West upon the coast of the two Americas.
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His fame remained writ, not very large but plain enough, on the
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Admiralty charts. Was there not somewhere between Australia and China a
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Whalley Island and a Condor Reef? On that dangerous coral formation the
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celebrated clipper had hung stranded for three days, her captain and
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crew throwing her cargo overboard with one hand and with the other, as
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it were, keeping off her a flotilla of savage war-canoes. At that time
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neither the island nor the reef had any official existence. Later the
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officers of her Majesty's steam vessel Fusilier, dispatched to make a
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survey of the route, recognized in the adoption of these two names the
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enterprise of the man and the solidity of the ship. Besides, as anyone
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who cares may see, the "General Directory," vol. ii. p. 410, begins the
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description of the "Malotu or Whalley Passage" with the words: "This
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advantageous route, first discovered in 1850 by Captain Whalley in the
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ship Condor," &c., and ends by recommending it warmly to sailing vessels
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leaving the China ports for the south in the months from December to
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April inclusive.</p>
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<p>This was the clearest gain he had out of life. Nothing could rob him
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of this kind of fame. The piercing of the Isthmus of Suez, like the
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breaking of a dam, had let in upon the East a flood of new ships, new
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men, new methods of trade. It had changed the face of the Eastern seas
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and the very spirit of their life; so that his early experiences meant
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nothing whatever to the new generation of seamen.</p>
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<p>In those bygone days he had handled many thousands of pounds of his
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employers' money and of his own; he had attended faithfully, as by law
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a shipmaster is expected to do, to the conflicting interests of owners,
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charterers, and underwriters. He had never lost a ship or consented to
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a shady transaction; and he had lasted well, outlasting in the end the
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conditions that had gone to the making of his name. He had buried his
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wife (in the Gulf of Petchili), had married off his daughter to the man
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of her unlucky choice, and had lost more than an ample competence in the
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crash of the notorious Travancore and Deccan Banking Corporation, whose
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downfall had shaken the East like an earthquake. And he was sixty-five
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years old.</p>
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<h3>Chapter II</h3>
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<p>His age sat lightly enough on him; and of his ruin he was not ashamed.
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He had not been alone to believe in the stability of the Banking
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Corporation. Men whose judgment in matters of finance was as expert as
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his seamanship had commended the prudence of his investments, and had
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themselves lost much money in the great failure. The only difference
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between him and them was that he had lost his all. And yet not his all.
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There had remained to him from his lost fortune a very pretty little
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bark, Fair Maid, which he had bought to occupy his leisure of a retired
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sailor--"to play with," as he expressed it himself.</p>
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<p>He had formally declared himself tired of the sea the year preceding his
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daughter's marriage. But after the young couple had gone to settle in
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Melbourne he found out that he could not make himself happy on shore. He
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was too much of a merchant sea-captain for mere yachting to satisfy him.
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He wanted the illusion of affairs; and his acquisition of the Fair
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Maid preserved the continuity of his life. He introduced her to his
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acquaintances in various ports as "my last command." When he grew too
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old to be trusted with a ship, he would lay her up and go ashore to be
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buried, leaving directions in his will to have the bark towed out and
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scuttled decently in deep water on the day of the funeral. His daughter
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would not grudge him the satisfaction of knowing that no stranger would
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handle his last command after him. With the fortune he was able to leave
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her, the value of a 500-ton bark was neither here nor there. All this
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would be said with a jocular twinkle in his eye: the vigorous old man
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had too much vitality for the sentimentalism of regret; and a little
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wistfully withal, because he was at home in life, taking a genuine
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pleasure in its feelings and its possessions; in the dignity of his
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reputation and his wealth, in his love for his daughter, and in his
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satisfaction with the ship--the plaything of his lonely leisure.</p>
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<p>He had the cabin arranged in accordance with his simple ideal of comfort
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at sea. A big bookcase (he was a great reader) occupied one side of his
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stateroom; the portrait of his late wife, a flat bituminous oil-painting
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representing the profile and one long black ringlet of a young woman,
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faced his bed-place. Three chronometers ticked him to sleep and greeted
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him on waking with the tiny competition of their beats. He rose at five
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every day. The officer of the morning watch, drinking his early cup
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of coffee aft by the wheel, would hear through the wide orifice of the
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copper ventilators all the splashings, blowings, and splutterings of
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his captain's toilet. These noises would be followed by a sustained
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deep murmur of the Lord's Prayer recited in a loud earnest voice. Five
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minutes afterwards the head and shoulders of Captain Whalley emerged
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out of the companion-hatchway. Invariably he paused for a while on the
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stairs, looking all round at the horizon; upwards at the trim of the
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sails; inhaling deep draughts of the fresh air. Only then he would step
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out on the poop, acknowledging the hand raised to the peak of the cap
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with a majestic and benign "Good morning to you." He walked the deck
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till eight scrupulously. Sometimes, not above twice a year, he had to
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use a thick cudgel-like stick on account of a stiffness in the hip--a
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slight touch of rheumatism, he supposed. Otherwise he knew nothing of
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the ills of the flesh. At the ringing of the breakfast bell he went
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below to feed his canaries, wind up the chronometers, and take the
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head of the table. From there he had before his eyes the big carbon
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photographs of his daughter, her husband, and two fat-legged babies
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--his grandchildren--set in black frames into the maplewood bulkheads
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of the cuddy. After breakfast he dusted the glass over these portraits
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himself with a cloth, and brushed the oil painting of his wife with a
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plumate kept suspended from a small brass hook by the side of the heavy
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gold frame. Then with the door of his stateroom shut, he would sit down
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on the couch under the portrait to read a chapter out of a thick pocket
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Bible--her Bible. But on some days he only sat there for half an hour
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with his finger between the leaves and the closed book resting on his
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knees. Perhaps he had remembered suddenly how fond of boat-sailing she
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used to be.</p>
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<p>She had been a real shipmate and a true woman too. It was like an
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article of faith with him that there never had been, and never could be,
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a brighter, cheerier home anywhere afloat or ashore than his home under
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the poop-deck of the Condor, with the big main cabin all white and gold,
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garlanded as if for a perpetual festival with an unfading wreath. She
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had decorated the center of every panel with a cluster of home flowers.
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It took her a twelvemonth to go round the cuddy with this labor of love.
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To him it had remained a marvel of painting, the highest achievement of
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taste and skill; and as to old Swinburne, his mate, every time he
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came down to his meals he stood transfixed with admiration before the
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progress of the work. You could almost smell these roses, he declared,
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sniffing the faint flavor of turpentine which at that time pervaded the
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saloon, and (as he confessed afterwards) made him somewhat less hearty
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than usual in tackling his food. But there was nothing of the sort to
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interfere with his enjoyment of her singing. "Mrs. Whalley is a regular
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out-and-out nightingale, sir," he would pronounce with a judicial air
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after listening profoundly over the skylight to the very end of the
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piece. In fine weather, in the second dog-watch, the two men could hear
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her trills and roulades going on to the accompaniment of the piano in
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the cabin. On the very day they got engaged he had written to London
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for the instrument; but they had been married for over a year before it
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reached them, coming out round the Cape. The big case made part of the
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first direct general cargo landed in Hong-kong harbor--an event that to
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the men who walked the busy quays of to-day seemed as hazily remote as
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the dark ages of history. But Captain Whalley could in a half hour of
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solitude live again all his life, with its romance, its idyl, and its
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sorrow. He had to close her eyes himself. She went away from under the
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ensign like a sailor's wife, a sailor herself at heart. He had read
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the service over her, out of her own prayer-book, without a break in his
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voice. When he raised his eyes he could see old Swinburne facing him
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with his cap pressed to his breast, and his rugged, weather-beaten,
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impassive face streaming with drops of water like a lump of chipped red
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granite in a shower. It was all very well for that old sea-dog to cry.
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He had to read on to the end; but after the splash he did not remember
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much of what happened for the next few days. An elderly sailor of the
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crew, deft at needlework, put together a mourning frock for the child
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out of one of her black skirts.</p>
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<p>He was not likely to forget; but you cannot dam up life like a sluggish
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stream. It will break out and flow over a man's troubles, it will close
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upon a sorrow like the sea upon a dead body, no matter how much love has
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gone to the bottom. And the world is not bad. People had been very
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kind to him; especially Mrs. Gardner, the wife of the senior partner
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in Gardner, Patteson, & Co., the owners of the Condor. It was she who
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volunteered to look after the little one, and in due course took her to
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England (something of a journey in those days, even by the overland
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mail route) with her own girls to finish her education. It was ten years
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before he saw her again.</p>
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<p>As a little child she had never been frightened of bad weather; she
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would beg to be taken up on deck in the bosom of his oilskin coat to
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watch the big seas hurling themselves upon the Condor. The swirl and
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crash of the waves seemed to fill her small soul with a breathless
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delight. "A good boy spoiled," he used to say of her in joke. He had
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named her Ivy because of the sound of the word, and obscurely fascinated
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by a vague association of ideas. She had twined herself tightly round
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his heart, and he intended her to cling close to her father as to a
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tower of strength; forgetting, while she was little, that in the nature
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of things she would probably elect to cling to someone else. But
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he loved life well enough for even that event to give him a certain
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satisfaction, apart from his more intimate feeling of loss.</p>
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<p>After he had purchased the Fair Maid to occupy his loneliness, he
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hastened to accept a rather unprofitable freight to Australia simply for
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the opportunity of seeing his daughter in her own home. What made him
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dissatisfied there was not to see that she clung now to somebody else,
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but that the prop she had selected seemed on closer examination "a
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rather poor stick"--even in the matter of health. He disliked his
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son-in-law's studied civility perhaps more than his method of
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handling the sum of money he had given Ivy at her marriage. But of his
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apprehensions he said nothing. Only on the day of his departure, with
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the hall-door open already, holding her hands and looking steadily into
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her eyes, he had said, "You know, my dear, all I have is for you and the
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chicks. Mind you write to me openly." She had answered him by an almost
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imperceptible movement of her head. She resembled her mother in
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the color of her eyes, and in character--and also in this, that she
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understood him without many words.</p>
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<p>Sure enough she had to write; and some of these letters made Captain
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Whalley lift his white eye-brows. For the rest he considered he was
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reaping the true reward of his life by being thus able to produce on
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demand whatever was needed. He had not enjoyed himself so much in a
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way since his wife had died. Characteristically enough his son-in-law's
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punctuality in failure caused him at a distance to feel a sort of
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kindness towards the man. The fellow was so perpetually being jammed on
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a lee shore that to charge it all to his reckless navigation would be
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manifestly unfair. No, no! He knew well what that meant. It was bad
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luck. His own had been simply marvelous, but he had seen in his life too
|
||
|
|
many good men--seamen and others--go under with the sheer weight of bad
|
||
|
|
luck not to recognize the fatal signs. For all that, he was cogitating
|
||
|
|
on the best way of tying up very strictly every penny he had to leave,
|
||
|
|
when, with a preliminary rumble of rumors (whose first sound reached
|
||
|
|
him in Shanghai as it happened), the shock of the big failure came;
|
||
|
|
and, after passing through the phases of stupor, of incredulity, of
|
||
|
|
indignation, he had to accept the fact that he had nothing to speak of
|
||
|
|
to leave.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Upon that, as if he had only waited for this catastrophe, the unlucky
|
||
|
|
man, away there in Melbourne, gave up his unprofitable game, and sat
|
||
|
|
down--in an invalid's bath-chair at that too. "He will never walk
|
||
|
|
again," wrote the wife. For the first time in his life Captain Whalley
|
||
|
|
was a bit staggered.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The Fair Maid had to go to work in bitter earnest now. It was no longer
|
||
|
|
a matter of preserving alive the memory of Dare-devil Harry Whalley in
|
||
|
|
the Eastern Seas, or of keeping an old man in pocket-money and clothes,
|
||
|
|
with, perhaps, a bill for a few hundred first-class cigars thrown in at
|
||
|
|
the end of the year. He would have to buckle-to, and keep her going hard
|
||
|
|
on a scant allowance of gilt for the ginger-bread scrolls at her stem
|
||
|
|
and stern.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>This necessity opened his eyes to the fundamental changes of the world.
|
||
|
|
Of his past only the familiar names remained, here and there, but
|
||
|
|
the things and the men, as he had known them, were gone. The name of
|
||
|
|
Gardner, Patteson, & Co. was still displayed on the walls of warehouses
|
||
|
|
by the waterside, on the brass plates and window-panes in the business
|
||
|
|
quarters of more than one Eastern port, but there was no longer a
|
||
|
|
Gardner or a Patteson in the firm. There was no longer for Captain
|
||
|
|
Whalley an arm-chair and a welcome in the private office, with a bit of
|
||
|
|
business ready to be put in the way of an old friend, for the sake of
|
||
|
|
bygone services. The husbands of the Gardner girls sat behind the desks
|
||
|
|
in that room where, long after he had left the employ, he had kept his
|
||
|
|
right of entrance in the old man's time. Their ships now had yellow
|
||
|
|
funnels with black tops, and a time-table of appointed routes like a
|
||
|
|
confounded service of tramways. The winds of December and June were all
|
||
|
|
one to them; their captains (excellent young men he doubted not) were,
|
||
|
|
to be sure, familiar with Whalley Island, because of late years the
|
||
|
|
Government had established a white fixed light on the north end (with
|
||
|
|
a red danger sector over the Condor Reef), but most of them would have
|
||
|
|
been extremely surprised to hear that a flesh-and-blood Whalley still
|
||
|
|
existed--an old man going about the world trying to pick up a cargo here
|
||
|
|
and there for his little bark.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>And everywhere it was the same. Departed the men who would have nodded
|
||
|
|
appreciatively at the mention of his name, and would have thought
|
||
|
|
themselves bound in honor to do something for Dare-devil Harry Whalley.
|
||
|
|
Departed the opportunities which he would have known how to seize; and
|
||
|
|
gone with them the white-winged flock of clippers that lived in the
|
||
|
|
boisterous uncertain life of the winds, skimming big fortunes out of
|
||
|
|
the foam of the sea. In a world that pared down the profits to an
|
||
|
|
irreducible minimum, in a world that was able to count its disengaged
|
||
|
|
tonnage twice over every day, and in which lean charters were snapped up
|
||
|
|
by cable three months in advance, there were no chances of fortune for
|
||
|
|
an individual wandering haphazard with a little bark--hardly indeed any
|
||
|
|
room to exist.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>He found it more difficult from year to year. He suffered greatly from
|
||
|
|
the smallness of remittances he was able to send his daughter. Meantime
|
||
|
|
he had given up good cigars, and even in the matter of inferior cheroots
|
||
|
|
limited himself to six a day. He never told her of his difficulties, and
|
||
|
|
she never enlarged upon her struggle to live. Their confidence in each
|
||
|
|
other needed no explanations, and their perfect understanding endured
|
||
|
|
without protestations of gratitude or regret. He would have been shocked
|
||
|
|
if she had taken it into her head to thank him in so many words, but
|
||
|
|
he found it perfectly natural that she should tell him she needed two
|
||
|
|
hundred pounds.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>He had come in with the Fair Maid in ballast to look for a freight in
|
||
|
|
the Sofala's port of registry, and her letter met him there. Its tenor
|
||
|
|
was that it was no use mincing matters. Her only resource was in opening
|
||
|
|
a boarding-house, for which the prospects, she judged, were good. Good
|
||
|
|
enough, at any rate, to make her tell him frankly that with two hundred
|
||
|
|
pounds she could make a start. He had torn the envelope open, hastily,
|
||
|
|
on deck, where it was handed to him by the ship-chandler's runner, who
|
||
|
|
had brought his mail at the moment of anchoring. For the second time
|
||
|
|
in his life he was appalled, and remained stock-still at the cabin door
|
||
|
|
with the paper trembling between his fingers. Open a boarding-house! Two
|
||
|
|
hundred pounds for a start! The only resource! And he did not know where
|
||
|
|
to lay his hands on two hundred pence.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>All that night Captain Whalley walked the poop of his anchored ship, as
|
||
|
|
though he had been about to close with the land in thick weather, and
|
||
|
|
uncertain of his position after a run of many gray days without a sight
|
||
|
|
of sun, moon, or stars. The black night twinkled with the guiding lights
|
||
|
|
of seamen and the steady straight lines of lights on shore; and all
|
||
|
|
around the Fair Maid the riding lights of ships cast trembling trails
|
||
|
|
upon the water of the roadstead. Captain Whalley saw not a gleam
|
||
|
|
anywhere till the dawn broke and he found out that his clothing was
|
||
|
|
soaked through with the heavy dew.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>His ship was awake. He stopped short, stroked his wet beard, and
|
||
|
|
descended the poop ladder backwards, with tired feet. At the sight
|
||
|
|
of him the chief officer, lounging about sleepily on the quarterdeck,
|
||
|
|
remained open-mouthed in the middle of a great early-morning yawn.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>"Good morning to you," pronounced Captain Whalley solemnly, passing into
|
||
|
|
the cabin. But he checked himself in the doorway, and without looking
|
||
|
|
back, "By the bye," he said, "there should be an empty wooden case put
|
||
|
|
away in the lazarette. It has not been broken up--has it?"</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The mate shut his mouth, and then asked as if dazed, "What empty case,
|
||
|
|
sir?"</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>"A big flat packing-case belonging to that painting in my room. Let it
|
||
|
|
be taken up on deck and tell the carpenter to look it over. I may want
|
||
|
|
to use it before long."</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The chief officer did not stir a limb till he had heard the door of the
|
||
|
|
captain's state-room slam within the cuddy. Then he beckoned aft the
|
||
|
|
second mate with his forefinger to tell him that there was something "in
|
||
|
|
the wind."</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>When the bell rang Captain Whalley's authoritative voice boomed out
|
||
|
|
through a closed door, "Sit down and don't wait for me." And his
|
||
|
|
impressed officers took their places, exchanging looks and whispers
|
||
|
|
across the table. What! No breakfast? And after apparently knocking
|
||
|
|
about all night on deck, too! Clearly, there was something in the wind.
|
||
|
|
In the skylight above their heads, bowed earnestly over the plates,
|
||
|
|
three wire cages rocked and rattled to the restless jumping of the
|
||
|
|
hungry canaries; and they could detect the sounds of their "old
|
||
|
|
man's" deliberate movements within his state-room. Captain Whalley was
|
||
|
|
methodically winding up the chronometers, dusting the portrait of
|
||
|
|
his late wife, getting a clean white shirt out of the drawers, making
|
||
|
|
himself ready in his punctilious unhurried manner to go ashore. He could
|
||
|
|
not have swallowed a single mouthful of food that morning. He had made
|
||
|
|
up his mind to sell the Fair Maid.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<h3>Chapter III</h3>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Just at that time the Japanese were casting far and wide for ships
|
||
|
|
of European build, and he had no difficulty in finding a purchaser, a
|
||
|
|
speculator who drove a hard bargain, but paid cash down for the Fair
|
||
|
|
Maid, with a view to a profitable resale. Thus it came about that
|
||
|
|
Captain Whalley found himself on a certain afternoon descending the
|
||
|
|
steps of one of the most important post-offices of the East with a slip
|
||
|
|
of bluish paper in his hand. This was the receipt of a registered letter
|
||
|
|
enclosing a draft for two hundred pounds, and addressed to Melbourne.
|
||
|
|
Captain Whalley pushed the paper into his waistcoat-pocket, took his
|
||
|
|
stick from under his arm, and walked down the street.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>It was a recently opened and untidy thoroughfare with rudimentary
|
||
|
|
side-walks and a soft layer of dust cushioning the whole width of
|
||
|
|
the road. One end touched the slummy street of Chinese shops near the
|
||
|
|
harbor, the other drove straight on, without houses, for a couple of
|
||
|
|
miles, through patches of jungle-like vegetation, to the yard gates
|
||
|
|
of the new Consolidated Docks Company. The crude frontages of the new
|
||
|
|
Government buildings alternated with the blank fencing of vacant plots,
|
||
|
|
and the view of the sky seemed to give an added spaciousness to the
|
||
|
|
broad vista. It was empty and shunned by natives after business
|
||
|
|
hours, as though they had expected to see one of the tigers from the
|
||
|
|
neighborhood of the New Waterworks on the hill coming at a loping canter
|
||
|
|
down the middle to get a Chinese shopkeeper for supper. Captain Whalley
|
||
|
|
was not dwarfed by the solitude of the grandly planned street. He
|
||
|
|
had too fine a presence for that. He was only a lonely figure walking
|
||
|
|
purposefully, with a great white beard like a pilgrim, and with a thick
|
||
|
|
stick that resembled a weapon. On one side the new Courts of Justice had
|
||
|
|
a low and unadorned portico of squat columns half concealed by a few old
|
||
|
|
trees left in the approach. On the other the pavilion wings of the
|
||
|
|
new Colonial Treasury came out to the line of the street. But Captain
|
||
|
|
Whalley, who had now no ship and no home, remembered in passing that
|
||
|
|
on that very site when he first came out from England there had stood a
|
||
|
|
fishing village, a few mat huts erected on piles between a muddy tidal
|
||
|
|
creek and a miry pathway that went writhing into a tangled wilderness
|
||
|
|
without any docks or waterworks.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>No ship--no home. And his poor Ivy away there had no home either. A
|
||
|
|
boarding-house is no sort of home though it may get you a living. His
|
||
|
|
feelings were horribly rasped by the idea of the boarding-house. In his
|
||
|
|
rank of life he had that truly aristocratic temperament characterized by
|
||
|
|
a scorn of vulgar gentility and by prejudiced views as to the derogatory
|
||
|
|
nature of certain occupations. For his own part he had always preferred
|
||
|
|
sailing merchant ships (which is a straightforward occupation) to buying
|
||
|
|
and selling merchandise, of which the essence is to get the better of
|
||
|
|
somebody in a bargain--an undignified trial of wits at best. His father
|
||
|
|
had been Colonel Whalley (retired) of the H. E. I. Company's service,
|
||
|
|
with very slender means besides his pension, but with distinguished
|
||
|
|
connections. He could remember as a boy how frequently waiters at the
|
||
|
|
inns, country tradesmen and small people of that sort, used to "My lord"
|
||
|
|
the old warrior on the strength of his appearance.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Captain Whalley himself (he would have entered the Navy if his father
|
||
|
|
had not died before he was fourteen) had something of a grand air which
|
||
|
|
would have suited an old and glorious admiral; but he became lost like
|
||
|
|
a straw in the eddy of a brook amongst the swarm of brown and yellow
|
||
|
|
humanity filling a thoroughfare, that by contrast with the vast and
|
||
|
|
empty avenue he had left seemed as narrow as a lane and absolutely
|
||
|
|
riotous with life. The walls of the houses were blue; the shops of the
|
||
|
|
Chinamen yawned like cavernous lairs; heaps of nondescript merchandise
|
||
|
|
overflowed the gloom of the long range of arcades, and the fiery
|
||
|
|
serenity of sunset took the middle of the street from end to end with a
|
||
|
|
glow like the reflection of a fire. It fell on the bright colors and the
|
||
|
|
dark faces of the bare-footed crowd, on the pallid yellow backs of the
|
||
|
|
half-naked jostling coolies, on the accouterments of a tall Sikh trooper
|
||
|
|
with a parted beard and fierce mustaches on sentry before the gate of
|
||
|
|
the police compound. Looming very big above the heads in a red haze of
|
||
|
|
dust, the tightly packed car of the cable tramway navigated cautiously
|
||
|
|
up the human stream, with the incessant blare of its horn, in the manner
|
||
|
|
of a steamer groping in a fog.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Captain Whalley emerged like a diver on the other side, and in the
|
||
|
|
desert shade between the walls of closed warehouses removed his hat to
|
||
|
|
cool his brow. A certain disrepute attached to the calling of a
|
||
|
|
landlady of a boarding-house. These women were said to be rapacious,
|
||
|
|
unscrupulous, untruthful; and though he contemned no class of his
|
||
|
|
fellow-creatures--God forbid!--these were suspicions to which it was
|
||
|
|
unseemly that a Whalley should lay herself open. He had not expostulated
|
||
|
|
with her, however. He was confident she shared his feelings; he was
|
||
|
|
sorry for her; he trusted her judgment; he considered it a merciful
|
||
|
|
dispensation that he could help her once more,--but in his aristocratic
|
||
|
|
heart of hearts he would have found it more easy to reconcile himself to
|
||
|
|
the idea of her turning seamstress. Vaguely he remembered reading years
|
||
|
|
ago a touching piece called the "Song of the Shirt." It was all very
|
||
|
|
well making songs about poor women. The granddaughter of Colonel
|
||
|
|
Whalley, the landlady of a boarding-house! Pooh! He replaced his hat,
|
||
|
|
dived into two pockets, and stopping a moment to apply a flaring match
|
||
|
|
to the end of a cheap cheroot, blew an embittered cloud of smoke at a
|
||
|
|
world that could hold such surprises.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Of one thing he was certain--that she was the own child of a clever
|
||
|
|
mother. Now he had got over the wrench of parting with his ship, he
|
||
|
|
perceived clearly that such a step had been unavoidable. Perhaps he had
|
||
|
|
been growing aware of it all along with an unconfessed knowledge. But
|
||
|
|
she, far away there, must have had an intuitive perception of it, with
|
||
|
|
the pluck to face that truth and the courage to speak out--all the
|
||
|
|
qualities which had made her mother a woman of such excellent counsel.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>It would have had to come to that in the end! It was fortunate she had
|
||
|
|
forced his hand. In another year or two it would have been an utterly
|
||
|
|
barren sale. To keep the ship going he had been involving himself deeper
|
||
|
|
every year. He was defenseless before the insidious work of adversity,
|
||
|
|
to whose more open assaults he could present a firm front; like a
|
||
|
|
cliff that stands unmoved the open battering of the sea, with a lofty
|
||
|
|
ignorance of the treacherous backwash undermining its base. As it was,
|
||
|
|
every liability satisfied, her request answered, and owing no man a
|
||
|
|
penny, there remained to him from the proceeds a sum of five hundred
|
||
|
|
pounds put away safely. In addition he had upon his person some forty
|
||
|
|
odd dollars--enough to pay his hotel bill, providing he did not linger
|
||
|
|
too long in the modest bedroom where he had taken refuge.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Scantily furnished, and with a waxed floor, it opened into one of
|
||
|
|
the side-verandas. The straggling building of bricks, as airy as a
|
||
|
|
bird-cage, resounded with the incessant flapping of rattan screens
|
||
|
|
worried by the wind between the white-washed square pillars of the
|
||
|
|
sea-front. The rooms were lofty, a ripple of sunshine flowed over the
|
||
|
|
ceilings; and the periodical invasions of tourists from some passenger
|
||
|
|
steamer in the harbor flitted through the wind-swept dusk of the
|
||
|
|
apartments with the tumult of their unfamiliar voices and impermanent
|
||
|
|
presences, like relays of migratory shades condemned to speed headlong
|
||
|
|
round the earth without leaving a trace. The babble of their irruptions
|
||
|
|
ebbed out as suddenly as it had arisen; the draughty corridors and
|
||
|
|
the long chairs of the verandas knew their sight-seeing hurry or
|
||
|
|
their prostrate repose no more; and Captain Whalley, substantial and
|
||
|
|
dignified, left well-nigh alone in the vast hotel by each light-hearted
|
||
|
|
skurry, felt more and more like a stranded tourist with no aim in view,
|
||
|
|
like a forlorn traveler without a home. In the solitude of his room he
|
||
|
|
smoked thoughtfully, gazing at the two sea-chests which held all that he
|
||
|
|
could call his own in this world. A thick roll of charts in a sheath
|
||
|
|
of sailcloth leaned in a corner; the flat packing-case containing the
|
||
|
|
portrait in oils and the three carbon photographs had been pushed under
|
||
|
|
the bed. He was tired of discussing terms, of assisting at surveys, of
|
||
|
|
all the routine of the business. What to the other parties was merely
|
||
|
|
the sale of a ship was to him a momentous event involving a radically
|
||
|
|
new view of existence. He knew that after this ship there would be no
|
||
|
|
other; and the hopes of his youth, the exercise of his abilities, every
|
||
|
|
feeling and achievement of his manhood, had been indissolubly connected
|
||
|
|
with ships. He had served ships; he had owned ships; and even the years
|
||
|
|
of his actual retirement from the sea had been made bearable by the idea
|
||
|
|
that he had only to stretch out his hand full of money to get a ship. He
|
||
|
|
had been at liberty to feel as though he were the owner of all the
|
||
|
|
ships in the world. The selling of this one was weary work; but when
|
||
|
|
she passed from him at last, when he signed the last receipt, it was as
|
||
|
|
though all the ships had gone out of the world together, leaving him on
|
||
|
|
the shore of inaccessible oceans with seven hundred pounds in his hands.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Striding firmly, without haste, along the quay, Captain Whalley averted
|
||
|
|
his glances from the familiar roadstead. Two generations of seamen born
|
||
|
|
since his first day at sea stood between him and all these ships at the
|
||
|
|
anchorage. His own was sold, and he had been asking himself, What next?</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>From the feeling of loneliness, of inward emptiness,--and of loss
|
||
|
|
too, as if his very soul had been taken out of him forcibly,--there had
|
||
|
|
sprung at first a desire to start right off and join his daughter.
|
||
|
|
"Here are the last pence," he would say to her; "take them, my dear. And
|
||
|
|
here's your old father: you must take him too."</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>His soul recoiled, as if afraid of what lay hidden at the bottom of
|
||
|
|
this impulse. Give up! Never! When one is thoroughly weary all sorts of
|
||
|
|
nonsense come into one's head. A pretty gift it would have been for a
|
||
|
|
poor woman--this seven hundred pounds with the incumbrance of a hale old
|
||
|
|
fellow more than likely to last for years and years to come. Was he not
|
||
|
|
as fit to die in harness as any of the youngsters in charge of these
|
||
|
|
anchored ships out yonder? He was as solid now as ever he had been. But
|
||
|
|
as to who would give him work to do, that was another matter. Were he,
|
||
|
|
with his appearance and antecedents, to go about looking for a junior's
|
||
|
|
berth, people, he was afraid, would not take him seriously; or else if
|
||
|
|
he succeeded in impressing them, he would maybe obtain their pity, which
|
||
|
|
would be like stripping yourself naked to be kicked. He was not anxious
|
||
|
|
to give himself away for less than nothing. He had no use for anybody's
|
||
|
|
pity. On the other hand, a command--the only thing he could try for with
|
||
|
|
due regard for common decency--was not likely to be lying in wait
|
||
|
|
for him at the corner of the next street. Commands don't go a-begging
|
||
|
|
nowadays. Ever since he had come ashore to carry out the business of
|
||
|
|
the sale he had kept his ears open, but had heard no hint of one being
|
||
|
|
vacant in the port. And even if there had been one, his successful past
|
||
|
|
itself stood in his way. He had been his own employer too long. The only
|
||
|
|
credential he could produce was the testimony of his whole life. What
|
||
|
|
better recommendation could anyone require? But vaguely he felt that
|
||
|
|
the unique document would be looked upon as an archaic curiosity of the
|
||
|
|
Eastern waters, a screed traced in obsolete words--in a half-forgotten
|
||
|
|
language.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<h3>Chapter IV</h3>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Revolving these thoughts, he strolled on near the railings of the quay,
|
||
|
|
broad-chested, without a stoop, as though his big shoulders had never
|
||
|
|
felt the burden of the loads that must be carried between the cradle
|
||
|
|
and the grave. No single betraying fold or line of care disfigured the
|
||
|
|
reposeful modeling of his face. It was full and untanned; and the upper
|
||
|
|
part emerged, massively quiet, out of the downward flow of silvery hair,
|
||
|
|
with the striking delicacy of its clear complexion and the powerful
|
||
|
|
width of the forehead. The first cast of his glance fell on you candid
|
||
|
|
and swift, like a boy's; but because of the ragged snowy thatch of the
|
||
|
|
eyebrows the affability of his attention acquired the character of a
|
||
|
|
dark and searching scrutiny. With age he had put on flesh a little, had
|
||
|
|
increased his girth like an old tree presenting no symptoms of decay;
|
||
|
|
and even the opulent, lustrous ripple of white hairs upon his chest
|
||
|
|
seemed an attribute of unquenchable vitality and vigor.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Once rather proud of his great bodily strength, and even of his personal
|
||
|
|
appearance, conscious of his worth, and firm in his rectitude, there had
|
||
|
|
remained to him, like the heritage of departed prosperity, the tranquil
|
||
|
|
bearing of a man who had proved himself fit in every sort of way for the
|
||
|
|
life of his choice. He strode on squarely under the projecting brim of
|
||
|
|
an ancient Panama hat. It had a low crown, a crease through its whole
|
||
|
|
diameter, a narrow black ribbon. Imperishable and a little discolored,
|
||
|
|
this headgear made it easy to pick him out from afar on thronged wharves
|
||
|
|
and in the busy streets. He had never adopted the comparatively modern
|
||
|
|
fashion of pipeclayed cork helmets. He disliked the form; and he hoped
|
||
|
|
he could manage to keep a cool head to the end of his life without all
|
||
|
|
these contrivances for hygienic ventilation. His hair was cropped close,
|
||
|
|
his linen always of immaculate whiteness; a suit of thin gray flannel,
|
||
|
|
worn threadbare but scrupulously brushed, floated about his burly limbs,
|
||
|
|
adding to his bulk by the looseness of its cut. The years had mellowed
|
||
|
|
the good-humored, imperturbable audacity of his prime into a temper
|
||
|
|
carelessly serene; and the leisurely tapping of his iron-shod stick
|
||
|
|
accompanied his footfalls with a self-confident sound on the flagstones.
|
||
|
|
It was impossible to connect such a fine presence and this unruffled
|
||
|
|
aspect with the belittling troubles of poverty; the man's whole
|
||
|
|
existence appeared to pass before you, facile and large, in the freedom
|
||
|
|
of means as ample as the clothing of his body.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The irrational dread of having to break into his five hundred pounds for
|
||
|
|
personal expenses in the hotel disturbed the steady poise of his mind.
|
||
|
|
There was no time to lose. The bill was running up. He nourished the
|
||
|
|
hope that this five hundred would perhaps be the means, if everything
|
||
|
|
else failed, of obtaining some work which, keeping his body and soul
|
||
|
|
together (not a matter of great outlay), would enable him to be of use
|
||
|
|
to his daughter. To his mind it was her own money which he employed, as
|
||
|
|
it were, in backing her father and solely for her benefit. Once at work,
|
||
|
|
he would help her with the greater part of his earnings; he was good for
|
||
|
|
many years yet, and this boarding-house business, he argued to himself,
|
||
|
|
whatever the prospects, could not be much of a gold-mine from the first
|
||
|
|
start. But what work? He was ready to lay hold of anything in an honest
|
||
|
|
way so that it came quickly to his hand; because the five hundred pounds
|
||
|
|
must be preserved intact for eventual use. That was the great point.
|
||
|
|
With the entire five hundred one felt a substance at one's back; but
|
||
|
|
it seemed to him that should he let it dwindle to four-fifty or even
|
||
|
|
four-eighty, all the efficiency would be gone out of the money, as though
|
||
|
|
there were some magic power in the round figure. But what sort of work?</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Confronted by that haunting question as by an uneasy ghost, for whom he
|
||
|
|
had no exorcising formula, Captain Whalley stopped short on the apex
|
||
|
|
of a small bridge spanning steeply the bed of a canalized creek with
|
||
|
|
granite shores. Moored between the square blocks a seagoing Malay prau
|
||
|
|
floated half hidden under the arch of masonry, with her spars lowered
|
||
|
|
down, without a sound of life on board, and covered from stem to stern
|
||
|
|
with a ridge of palm-leaf mats. He had left behind him the overheated
|
||
|
|
pavements bordered by the stone frontages that, like the sheer face of
|
||
|
|
cliffs, followed the sweep of the quays; and an unconfined spaciousness
|
||
|
|
of orderly and sylvan aspect opened before him its wide plots of rolled
|
||
|
|
grass, like pieces of green carpet smoothly pegged out, its long ranges
|
||
|
|
of trees lined up in colossal porticos of dark shafts roofed with a
|
||
|
|
vault of branches.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Some of these avenues ended at the sea. It was a terraced shore; and
|
||
|
|
beyond, upon the level expanse, profound and glistening like the gaze
|
||
|
|
of a dark-blue eye, an oblique band of stippled purple lengthened itself
|
||
|
|
indefinitely through the gap between a couple of verdant twin islets.
|
||
|
|
The masts and spars of a few ships far away, hull down in the outer
|
||
|
|
roads, sprang straight from the water in a fine maze of rosy lines
|
||
|
|
penciled on the clear shadow of the eastern board. Captain Whalley gave
|
||
|
|
them a long glance. The ship, once his own, was anchored out there. It
|
||
|
|
was staggering to think that it was open to him no longer to take a boat
|
||
|
|
at the jetty and get himself pulled off to her when the evening came. To
|
||
|
|
no ship. Perhaps never more. Before the sale was concluded, and till the
|
||
|
|
purchase-money had been paid, he had spent daily some time on board the
|
||
|
|
Fair Maid. The money had been paid this very morning, and now, all at
|
||
|
|
once, there was positively no ship that he could go on board of when he
|
||
|
|
liked; no ship that would need his presence in order to do her work--to
|
||
|
|
live. It seemed an incredible state of affairs, something too bizarre
|
||
|
|
to last. And the sea was full of craft of all sorts. There was that prau
|
||
|
|
lying so still swathed in her shroud of sewn palm-leaves--she too had
|
||
|
|
her indispensable man. They lived through each other, this Malay he had
|
||
|
|
never seen, and this high-sterned thing of no size that seemed to be
|
||
|
|
resting after a long journey. And of all the ships in sight, near and
|
||
|
|
far, each was provided with a man, the man without whom the finest ship
|
||
|
|
is a dead thing, a floating and purposeless log.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>After his one glance at the roadstead he went on, since there was
|
||
|
|
nothing to turn back for, and the time must be got through somehow. The
|
||
|
|
avenues of big trees ran straight over the Esplanade, cutting each other
|
||
|
|
at diverse angles, columnar below and luxuriant above. The interlaced
|
||
|
|
boughs high up there seemed to slumber; not a leaf stirred overhead:
|
||
|
|
and the reedy cast-iron lampposts in the middle of the road, gilt like
|
||
|
|
scepters, diminished in a long perspective, with their globes of white
|
||
|
|
porcelain atop, resembling a barbarous decoration of ostriches' eggs
|
||
|
|
displayed in a row. The flaming sky kindled a tiny crimson spark upon
|
||
|
|
the glistening surface of each glassy shell.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>With his chin sunk a little, his hands behind his back, and the end of
|
||
|
|
his stick marking the gravel with a faint wavering line at his heels,
|
||
|
|
Captain Whalley reflected that if a ship without a man was like a body
|
||
|
|
without a soul, a sailor without a ship was of not much more account
|
||
|
|
in this world than an aimless log adrift upon the sea. The log might be
|
||
|
|
sound enough by itself, tough of fiber, and hard to destroy--but what of
|
||
|
|
that! And a sudden sense of irremediable idleness weighted his feet like
|
||
|
|
a great fatigue.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>A succession of open carriages came bowling along the newly opened
|
||
|
|
sea-road. You could see across the wide grass-plots the discs of
|
||
|
|
vibration made by the spokes. The bright domes of the parasols swayed
|
||
|
|
lightly outwards like full-blown blossoms on the rim of a vase; and
|
||
|
|
the quiet sheet of dark-blue water, crossed by a bar of purple, made a
|
||
|
|
background for the spinning wheels and the high action of the horses,
|
||
|
|
whilst the turbaned heads of the Indian servants elevated above the line
|
||
|
|
of the sea horizon glided rapidly on the paler blue of the sky. In an
|
||
|
|
open space near the little bridge each turn-out trotted smartly in a
|
||
|
|
wide curve away from the sunset; then pulling up sharp, entered the main
|
||
|
|
alley in a long slow-moving file with the great red stillness of the sky
|
||
|
|
at the back. The trunks of mighty trees stood all touched with red on
|
||
|
|
the same side, the air seemed aflame under the high foliage, the
|
||
|
|
very ground under the hoofs of the horses was red. The wheels turned
|
||
|
|
solemnly; one after another the sunshades drooped, folding their colors
|
||
|
|
like gorgeous flowers shutting their petals at the end of the day. In
|
||
|
|
the whole half-mile of human beings no voice uttered a distinct word,
|
||
|
|
only a faint thudding noise went on mingled with slight jingling sounds,
|
||
|
|
and the motionless heads and shoulders of men and women sitting in
|
||
|
|
couples emerged stolidly above the lowered hoods--as if wooden. But one
|
||
|
|
carriage and pair coming late did not join the line.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>It fled along in a noiseless roll; but on entering the avenue one of the
|
||
|
|
dark bays snorted, arching his neck and shying against the steel-tipped
|
||
|
|
pole; a flake of foam fell from the bit upon the point of a satiny
|
||
|
|
shoulder, and the dusky face of the coachman leaned forward at once over
|
||
|
|
the hands taking a fresh grip of the reins. It was a long dark-green
|
||
|
|
landau, having a dignified and buoyant motion between the sharply
|
||
|
|
curved C-springs, and a sort of strictly official majesty in its supreme
|
||
|
|
elegance. It seemed more roomy than is usual, its horses seemed slightly
|
||
|
|
bigger, the appointments a shade more perfect, the servants perched
|
||
|
|
somewhat higher on the box. The dresses of three women--two young
|
||
|
|
and pretty, and one, handsome, large, of mature age--seemed to fill
|
||
|
|
completely the shallow body of the carriage. The fourth face was that
|
||
|
|
of a man, heavy lidded, distinguished and sallow, with a somber, thick,
|
||
|
|
iron-gray imperial and mustaches, which somehow had the air of solid
|
||
|
|
appendages. His Excellency--</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The rapid motion of that one equipage made all the others appear utterly
|
||
|
|
inferior, blighted, and reduced to crawl painfully at a snail's pace.
|
||
|
|
The landau distanced the whole file in a sort of sustained rush; the
|
||
|
|
features of the occupant whirling out of sight left behind an impression
|
||
|
|
of fixed stares and impassive vacancy; and after it had vanished in full
|
||
|
|
flight as it were, notwithstanding the long line of vehicles hugging the
|
||
|
|
curb at a walk, the whole lofty vista of the avenue seemed to lie open
|
||
|
|
and emptied of life in the enlarged impression of an august solitude.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Captain Whalley had lifted his head to look, and his mind, disturbed in
|
||
|
|
its meditation, turned with wonder (as men's minds will do) to matters
|
||
|
|
of no importance. It struck him that it was to this port, where he had
|
||
|
|
just sold his last ship, that he had come with the very first he had
|
||
|
|
ever owned, and with his head full of a plan for opening a new trade
|
||
|
|
with a distant part of the Archipelago. The then governor had given
|
||
|
|
him no end of encouragement. No Excellency he--this Mr. Denham--this
|
||
|
|
governor with his jacket off; a man who tended night and day, so to
|
||
|
|
speak, the growing prosperity of the settlement with the self-forgetful
|
||
|
|
devotion of a nurse for a child she loves; a lone bachelor who lived as
|
||
|
|
in a camp with the few servants and his three dogs in what was called
|
||
|
|
then the Government Bungalow: a low-roofed structure on the half-cleared
|
||
|
|
slope of a hill, with a new flagstaff in front and a police orderly on
|
||
|
|
the veranda. He remembered toiling up that hill under a heavy sun for
|
||
|
|
his audience; the unfurnished aspect of the cool shaded room; the long
|
||
|
|
table covered at one end with piles of papers, and with two guns, a
|
||
|
|
brass telescope, a small bottle of oil with a feather stuck in the neck
|
||
|
|
at the other--and the flattering attention given to him by the man in
|
||
|
|
power. It was an undertaking full of risk he had come to expound, but a
|
||
|
|
twenty minutes' talk in the Government Bungalow on the hill had made it
|
||
|
|
go smoothly from the start. And as he was retiring Mr. Denham, already
|
||
|
|
seated before the papers, called out after him, "Next month the Dido
|
||
|
|
starts for a cruise that way, and I shall request her captain officially
|
||
|
|
to give you a look in and see how you get on." The Dido was one of the
|
||
|
|
smart frigates on the China station--and five-and-thirty years make a
|
||
|
|
big slice of time. Five-and-thirty years ago an enterprise like his had
|
||
|
|
for the colony enough importance to be looked after by a Queen's ship.
|
||
|
|
A big slice of time. Individuals were of some account then. Men like
|
||
|
|
himself; men, too, like poor Evans, for instance, with his red face,
|
||
|
|
his coal-black whiskers, and his restless eyes, who had set up the first
|
||
|
|
patent slip for repairing small ships, on the edge of the forest, in
|
||
|
|
a lonely bay three miles up the coast. Mr. Denham had encouraged that
|
||
|
|
enterprise too, and yet somehow poor Evans had ended by dying at
|
||
|
|
home deucedly hard up. His son, they said, was squeezing oil out of
|
||
|
|
cocoa-nuts for a living on some God-forsaken islet of the Indian Ocean;
|
||
|
|
but it was from that patent slip in a lonely wooded bay that had sprung
|
||
|
|
the workshops of the Consolidated Docks Company, with its three
|
||
|
|
graving basins carved out of solid rock, its wharves, its jetties,
|
||
|
|
its electric-light plant, its steam-power houses--with its gigantic
|
||
|
|
sheer-legs, fit to lift the heaviest weight ever carried afloat, and
|
||
|
|
whose head could be seen like the top of a queer white monument peeping
|
||
|
|
over bushy points of land and sandy promontories, as you approached the
|
||
|
|
New Harbor from the west.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>There had been a time when men counted: there were not so many carriages
|
||
|
|
in the colony then, though Mr. Denham, he fancied, had a buggy. And
|
||
|
|
Captain Whalley seemed to be swept out of the great avenue by the swirl
|
||
|
|
of a mental backwash. He remembered muddy shores, a harbor without
|
||
|
|
quays, the one solitary wooden pier (but that was a public work) jutting
|
||
|
|
out crookedly, the first coal-sheds erected on Monkey Point, that caught
|
||
|
|
fire mysteriously and smoldered for days, so that amazed ships came
|
||
|
|
into a roadstead full of sulphurous smoke, and the sun hung blood-red
|
||
|
|
at midday. He remembered the things, the faces, and something more
|
||
|
|
besides--like the faint flavor of a cup quaffed to the bottom, like a
|
||
|
|
subtle sparkle of the air that was not to be found in the atmosphere of
|
||
|
|
to-day.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>In this evocation, swift and full of detail like a flash of magnesium
|
||
|
|
light into the niches of a dark memorial hall, Captain Whalley
|
||
|
|
contemplated things once important, the efforts of small men, the growth
|
||
|
|
of a great place, but now robbed of all consequence by the greatness
|
||
|
|
of accomplished facts, by hopes greater still; and they gave him for a
|
||
|
|
moment such an almost physical grip upon time, such a comprehension of
|
||
|
|
our unchangeable feelings, that he stopped short, struck the ground with
|
||
|
|
his stick, and ejaculated mentally, "What the devil am I doing here!" He
|
||
|
|
seemed lost in a sort of surprise; but he heard his name called out in
|
||
|
|
wheezy tones once, twice--and turned on his heels slowly.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>He beheld then, waddling towards him autocratically, a man of an
|
||
|
|
old-fashioned and gouty aspect, with hair as white as his own, but with
|
||
|
|
shaved, florid cheeks, wearing a necktie--almost a neckcloth--whose
|
||
|
|
stiff ends projected far beyond his chin; with round legs, round arms,
|
||
|
|
a round body, a round face--generally producing the effect of his short
|
||
|
|
figure having been distended by means of an air-pump as much as the
|
||
|
|
seams of his clothing would stand. This was the Master-Attendant of the
|
||
|
|
port. A master-attendant is a superior sort of harbor-master; a person,
|
||
|
|
out in the East, of some consequence in his sphere; a Government
|
||
|
|
official, a magistrate for the waters of the port, and possessed of vast
|
||
|
|
but ill-defined disciplinary authority over seamen of all classes.
|
||
|
|
This particular Master-Attendant was reported to consider it miserably
|
||
|
|
inadequate, on the ground that it did not include the power of life
|
||
|
|
and death. This was a jocular exaggeration. Captain Eliott was fairly
|
||
|
|
satisfied with his position, and nursed no inconsiderable sense of such
|
||
|
|
power as he had. His conceited and tyrannical disposition did not allow
|
||
|
|
him to let it dwindle in his hands for want of use. The uproarious,
|
||
|
|
choleric frankness of his comments on people's character and conduct
|
||
|
|
caused him to be feared at bottom; though in conversation many pretended
|
||
|
|
not to mind him in the least, others would only smile sourly at the
|
||
|
|
mention of his name, and there were even some who dared to pronounce him
|
||
|
|
"a meddlesome old ruffian." But for almost all of them one of Captain
|
||
|
|
Eliott's outbreaks was nearly as distasteful to face as a chance of
|
||
|
|
annihilation.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<style>
|
||
|
|
body {
|
||
|
|
padding: 15px;
|
||
|
|
}
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
.pointer {
|
||
|
|
padding: 15px;
|
||
|
|
background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.4);
|
||
|
|
color: white;
|
||
|
|
border-radius: 10px;
|
||
|
|
pointer-events: none;
|
||
|
|
opacity: 0;
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
transition: opacity 300ms;
|
||
|
|
-webkit-transition: opacity 300ms;
|
||
|
|
}
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
.pointer.show {
|
||
|
|
opacity: 1;
|
||
|
|
}
|
||
|
|
</style>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<div class="pointer"></div>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<script src="//github.hubspot.com/tether/dist/js/tether.js"></script>
|
||
|
|
<script>
|
||
|
|
new Tether({
|
||
|
|
element: '.pointer',
|
||
|
|
attachment: 'middle right',
|
||
|
|
targetAttachment: 'middle left',
|
||
|
|
targetModifier: 'scroll-handle',
|
||
|
|
target: document.body
|
||
|
|
});
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
var headers = document.querySelectorAll('h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6');
|
||
|
|
var hideTimeout = null;
|
||
|
|
var pointer = document.querySelector('.pointer')
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
var getSection = function(){
|
||
|
|
var closest, closestTop;
|
||
|
|
for (var i=0; i < headers.length; i++){
|
||
|
|
var rect = headers[i].getBoundingClientRect();
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
if (closestTop === undefined || (rect.top < 0 && rect.top > closestTop)){
|
||
|
|
closestTop = rect.top;
|
||
|
|
closest = headers[i];
|
||
|
|
}
|
||
|
|
}
|
||
|
|
return closest.innerHTML;
|
||
|
|
}
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
document.addEventListener('scroll', function(){
|
||
|
|
var percentage = Math.floor((100 * Math.max(0, pageYOffset)) / (document.body.scrollHeight - innerHeight)) + '%'
|
||
|
|
pointer.innerHTML = getSection() + ' - ' + percentage
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
pointer.classList.add('show');
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
if (hideTimeout)
|
||
|
|
clearTimeout(hideTimeout);
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
hideTimeout = setTimeout(function(){
|
||
|
|
pointer.classList.remove('show');
|
||
|
|
}, 1000);
|
||
|
|
});
|
||
|
|
</script>
|
||
|
|
</body>
|
||
|
|
</html>
|