father and son-第31节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


a　kind　of　natural　credit'　to　the　doctrine　so　persistently　impressed　upon　my　conscience。　From　its　very　nature　this　could　not　but　be　molten　in　the　dews　and　exhaled　in　the　sunshine　of　life　and　thought　and　experience。

My　Father；　by　an　indulgent　act　for　the　caprice　of　which　I　cannot　wholly　account；　presently　let　in　a　flood　of　imaginative　light　which　was　certainly　hostile　to　my　heavenly　calling。　My　instinctive　interest　in　geography　has　already　been　mentioned。　This　was　the　one　branch　of　knowledge　in　which　I　needed　no　instruction；　geographical　information　seeming　to　soak　into　the　cells　of　my　brain　without　an　effort。　At　the　age　of　eleven；　I　knew　a　great　deal　more　of　maps；　and　of　the　mutual　relation　of　localities　all　over　the　globe；　than　most　grown…up　people　do。　It　was　almost　a　mechanical　acquirement。　I　was　now　greatly　taken　with　the　geography　of　the　West　Indies；　of　every　part　of　which　I　had　made　MS。　maps。　There　was　something　powerfully　attractive　to　my　fancy　in　the　great　chain　of　the　Antilles；　lying　on　the　sea　like　an　open　bracelet；　with　its　big　jewels　and　little　jewels　strung　on　an　invisible　thread。　I　liked　to　shut　my　eyes　and　see　it　all；　in　a　mental　panorama；　stretched　from　Cape　Sant'　Antonio　to　the　Serpent's　Mouth。　Several　of　these　lovely　islands；　these　emeralds　and　amethysts　set　on　the　Caribbean　Sea；　my　Father　had　known　well　in　his　youth；　and　I　was　importunate　in　questioning　him　about　them。　One　day；　as　I　multiplied　inquiries；　he　rose　in　his　impetuous　way；　and　climbing　to　the　top　of　a　bookcase；　brought　down　a　thick　volume　and　presented　it　to　me。　'You'll　find　all　about　the　Antilles　there；'　he　said；　and　left　me　with　Tom　Cringle's　Log　in　my　possession。

The　embargo　laid　upon　every　species　of　fiction　by　my　Mother's　powerful　scruple　had　never　been　raised；　although　she　had　been　dead　four　years。　As　I　have　said　in　an　earlier　chapter；　this　was　a　point　on　which　I　believe　that　my　Father　had　never　entirely　agreed　with　her。　He　had；　however；　yielded　to　her　prejudice；　and　no　work　of　romance；　no　fictitious　story；　had　ever　come　in　my　way。　It　is　remarkable　that　among　our　books；　which　amounted　to　many　hundreds；　I　had　never　discovered　a　single　work　of　fiction　until　my　Father　himself　revealed　the　existence　of　Michael　Scott's　wild　masterpiece。　So　little　did　I　understand　what　was　allowable　in　the　way　of　literary　invention　that　I　began　the　story　without　a　doubt　that　it　was　true；　and　I　think　it　was　my　Father　himself　who；　in　answer　to　an　inquiry；　explained　to　me　that　it　was　'all　made　up'。　He　advised　me　to　read　the　descriptions　of　the　sea；　and　of　the　mountains　of　Jamaica；　and　'skip'　the　pages　which　gave　imaginary　adventures　and　conversations。　But　I　did　not　take　his　counsel；　these　latter　were　the　flower　of　the　book　to　me。　I　had　never　read；　never　dreamed　of　anything　like　them；　and　they　filled　my　whole　horizon　with　glory　and　with　joy。

I　suppose　that　when　my　Father　was　a　younger　man；　and　less　pietistic；　he　had　read　Tom　Cringle's　Log　with　pleasure；　because　it　recalled　familiar　scenes　to　him。　Much　was　explained　by　the　fact　that　the　frontispiece　of　this　edition　was　a　delicate　line…　engraving　of　Blewflelds；　the　great　lonely　house　in　a　garden　of　Jamaican　all…spice　where　for　eighteen　months　he　had　worked　as　a　naturalist。　He　could　not　look　at　this　print　without　recalling　exquisite　memories　and　airs　that　blew　from　a　terrestrial　paradise。　But　Michael　Scott's　noisy　amorous　novel　of　adventure　was　an　extraordinary　book　to　put　in　the　hands　of　a　child　who　had　never　been　allowed　to　glance　at　the　mildest　and　most　febrifugal　story…book。

It　was　like　giving　a　glass　of　brandy　neat　to　someone　who　had　never　been　weaned　from　a　milk　diet。　I　have　not　read　Tom　Cringle's　Log　from　that　day　to　this；　and　I　think　that　I　should　be　unwilling　now　to　break　the　charm　of　memory；　which　may　be　largely　illusion。　But　I　remember　a　great　deal　of　the　plot　and　not　a　little　of　the　language；　and；　while　I　am　sure　it　is　enchantingly　spirited；　I　am　quite　as　sure　that　the　persons　it　describes　were　far　from　being　unspotted　by　the　world。　The　scenes　at　night　in　the　streets　of　Spanish　Town　surpassed　not　merely　my　experience；　but；　thank　goodness；　my　imagination。　The　nautical　personages　used；　in　their　conversations；　what　is　called　'a　class　of　language'；　and　there　ran；　if　I　am　not　mistaken；　a　glow　and　gust　of　life　through　the　romance　from　beginning　to　end　which　was　nothing　if　it　was　not　resolutely　pagan。

There　were　certain　scenes　and　images　in　Tom　Cringle's　Log　which　made　not　merely　a　lasting　impression　upon　my　mind；　but　tinged　my　outlook　upon　life。　The　long　adventures；　fightings　and　escapes；　sudden　storms　without；　and　mutinies　within；　drawn　forth　as　they　were；　surely　with　great　skill；　upon　the　fiery　blue　of　the　boundless　tropical　ocean；　produced　on　my　inner　mind　a　sort　of　glimmering　hope；　very　vaguely　felt　at　first；　slowly　developing；　long　stationary　and　faint；　but　always　tending　towards　a　belief　that　I　should　escape　at　last　from　the　narrowness　of　the　life　we　led　at　home；　from　this　bondage　to　the　Law　and　the　Prophets。

I　must　not　define　too　clearly；　nor　endeavour　too　formally　to　insist　on　the　blind　movements　of　a　childish　mind。　But　of　this　I　am　quite　sure；　that　the　reading　and　re…reading　of　Tom　Cringle's　Log　did　more　than　anything　else；　in　this　critical　eleventh　year　of　my　life；　to　give　fortitude　to　my　individuality；　which　was　in　great　dangeras　I　now　seeof　succumbing　to　the　pressure　my　Father　brought　to　bear　upon　it　from　all　sides。　My　soul　was　shut　up；　like　Fatima；　in　a　tower　to　which　no　external　influences　could　come；　and　it　might　really　have　been　starved　to　death；　or　have　lost　the　power　of　recovery　and　rebound；　if　my　captor；　by　some　freak　not　yet　perfectly　accounted　for；　had　not　gratuitously　opened　a　little　window　in　it　and　added　a　powerful　telescope。　The　daring　chapters　of　Michael　Scott's　picaresque　romance　of　the　tropics　were　that　telescope　and　that　window。

In　the　spring　of　this　year；　I　began　to　walk　about　the　village　and　even　proceed　for　considerable　distances　into　the　country　by　myself；　and　after　reading　Tom　Cringle's　Log　those　expeditions　were　accompanied　by　a　constant　hope　of　meeting　with　some　adventures。　I　did　not　court　events；　however；　except　in　fancy；　for　I　was　very　shy　of　real　people；　and　would　break　off　some　gallant　dream　of　prowess　on　the　high　seas　to　bolt　into　a　field　and　hide　behind　the　hedge；　while　a　couple　of　labouring　men　went　by。　Sometimes；　however；　the　wave　of　a　great　purpose　would　bear　me　on；　as　when　once；　but　certainly　at　an　earlier　date　than　I　have　now　reached；　hearing　the　dangers　of　a　persistent　drought　much　dwelt　upon；　I　carried　my　small　red　watering　pot；　full　of　water；　up　to　the　top　of　the　village；　and　then　all　the　way　down　Petittor　Lane；　and　discharged　its　contents　in　a　cornfield；　hoping　by　this　act　to　improve　the　prospects　of　the　harvest。　A　more　eventful　excursion　must　be　described；　because　of　the　moral　impression　it　left　indelibly　upon　me。

I　have　described　the　sequestered　and　beautiful　hamlet　of　Barton；　to　which　I　was　so　often　taken　visiting　by　Mary　Grace　Burmington。　At　Barton　there　lived　a　couple　who　were　objects　of　peculiar　interest　to　me；　because　of　the　rather　odd　fact　that　having　come；　out　of　pure　curiosity；　to　see　me　baptized；　they　had　been　then　and　there　deeply　convinced　of　their　spiritual　danger。　These　were　John　Brooks；　an　Irish　quarryman；　and　his　wife；　Ann　Brooks。　These　people　had　not　merely　been　hitherto　unconverted；　but　they　had　openly　treated　the　Brethren　with　anger　and　contempt。　They　came；　indeed；　to　my　baptism　to　mock；　but　they　went　away　impressed。

Next　morning；　when　Mrs。　Brooks　was　at　the　wash　tub；　as　she　told　us；　Hell　opened　at　her　feet；　and　the　Devil　came　out　holding　a　long　scroll　on　which　the　list　of　her　sins　was　written。　She　was　so　much　excited；　that　the　motion　brought　about　a　miscarriage　and　she　was　seriously　ill。　Meanwhile；　her　husband；　who　had　been　equally　moved　at　the　baptism；　was　also　converted；　and　as　soon　as　she　was　well　enough；　they　were　baptized　together；　and　then　'broke　bread'　with　us。　The　case　of　the　Brookses　was　much　talked　about；　and　was　attributed；　in　a　distant　sense；　to　me；　that　is　to　say；　if　I　had　not　been　an　object　of　public　curiosity；　the　Brookses　might　have　remained　in　the　bond　of　iniquity。　I；　therefore；　took　a　very　particular　interest　in　them；　and　as　I　presently　heard　that　they　were　extremely　poor；　I　was　filled　with　a　fervent　longing　to　minister　to　their　necessities。

Somebody　had　lately　given　me　a　present　of　money；　and　I　begged　little　sums　here　and　there　until　I　reached　the　very　considerable　figure　of　seven　shillings　and　sixpence。　With　these　coins　safe　in　a　little　linen　bag；　I　started　one　Sunday　afternoon；　without　saying　anything　to　anyone；　and　I　arrived　at　the　Brookses'　cottage　in　Barton。　John　Brooks　was　a　heavy　dirty　man；　with　a　pock…marked　face　and　two　left　legs；　his　broad　and　red　face　carried　small　sidewhiskers　in　the　manner　of　that　day；　but　was　otherwise　shaved。　When　I　reached　the　cottage；　husband　and　wife　were　at　home；　doing　nothing　at　all　in　the　approved　Sunday　style。　I　was　received　by　them　with　some　surprise；　but　I　quickly　explained　my　mission；　and　produced　my　linen　bag。　To　my　disgust；　all　John　Brooks　said　was；　'I　know'd　the　Lord　would　provide；'　and　after　emptying　my　little　bag　into　the　palm　of　an　enormous　hand；　he　swept　the　con