the vision spendid(美景)-第36节
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before his gas log seem quite what he wanted。 The vagabond streak in him
was awake； the same potent wanderlust that as a boy had driven him to the
solitude of the forests and the hills。 This morning it sent him questing
down Powers Avenue to that lower town where the derelicts of the city
floated without a rudder。
A cold damp mist had crept up from the water front and enwrapped the
city so that its lights showed like blurred moons。 Some instinct took him
toward the wharves。 He could hear the distant cough of a tug as it fussed
across the bay； and as he drew near the big Transcontinental wharves of
Joe Powers the black hulk of a Japanese liner rose black out of the gray
fog shadow。 But the freighters； the coasters； tramps that went hither and
thither over the earth wherever fat cargoes lured themthey were either
swallowed in the mist or shadowed to a ghost…like wraith of themselves so
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tenuous that all detail was lost in the haze。
Jeff leaned on a pile and let his imagination people the harbor with the
wandering children of the earth who had been drawn from all its seafaring
corners to this Mecca of trade。 He knew that here were swarthy little
Japanese with teas and silks； dusky Kanakas with copra； and Alaskan
liners carrying gold and returning miners。 There would be brigs from
Buenos Ayres and schooners that had nosed into Robert Louis Stevenson's
magic South Sea islands。 Puffy London steamers； Nome and Skagway
liners condemned long since on the Atlantic Coast； queer rigged hybrids
from Rio and other South American ports； were gorging themselves with
lumber or wheat or provisions according to their needs。 Here truly lay
before him the romance of the nations。
The sound of a stealthy footfall warned him of impending danger。 He
whirled； and faced three men who were advancing on him。 A vague
suspicion that had oppressed him more than once in the past week leaped
to definite conviction in his brain。 He was the victim of a plot to waylay
perhaps to murder him。 One of these men was a huge Swede； another a
swarthy Italian with rings in his ears。 He had seen them before； lurking in
the shadows of an alley outside the _World_ building。 Last night he had
come out from the office with Jenkins； which no doubt had saved him for
the time。 This morning he had played into the hands of these men； had
obligingly wandered down to the waterfront where they could so easily
conceal murder in a tide running out fast。
Strangely enough he felt no fear； rather a fierce exultant drumming of
the blood that braced him for the struggle。 His eyes swept the wharf for a
weapon and found none。
〃What do you want？〃 he demanded sharply。
The man in command ignored his question。 〃Stand by and down him。〃
The Italian crouched and leaped。 Jeff's fist caught him fairly between
the eyes。 He went down like a log； rolled over once and lay still。 The
others closed instantly with Farnum and the three swayed in a fierce silent
struggle。
Both of his attackers were more powerful than Jeff； but he was far
more active。 The darkness； too； aided him and hampered them。 The Swede
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he could have managed； for the fellow was awkward as a bear。 But the
leader stuck to him like a burr。 They went down together over a cleat in
the flooring； rolling over and over each other as they fought。
Somehow Jeff emerged out of the tangle。 He dragged himself to his
knees and hammered with his fist at an upturned face beside him。 Battered；
bleeding； and winded； he got to his feet and shook off the hands that
reached for him。 Dodging past； he lurched along the wharf like a drunken
man。 The Italian had gathered himself to his knees。 When Jeff came
opposite him he dived like a football tackle and threw his arms around the
moving legs。 The newspaper man crashed heavily down to
unconsciousness。
When Farnum opened his eyes upon a world strangely hazy he found
himself lying in a row boat； his head bolstered by a man's knees。
〃Drink this； mate；〃 ordered a voice that seemed very far away。
The neck of a bottle was thrust between his lips and tilted so that he
could not escape drinking。
〃That dope'll hold him for a while； Say； Johnny Dago； put your back
into them oars；〃 he heard indistinctly。
Faintly there came to him the slap of the waves against the side of the
boat。 These presently died rhythmically away。
It was daylight when he awakened again。 His throbbing head slowly
definitized the vile hole in which he lay as the forecastle of a ship。
Gradually the facts sifted back to him。 He recalled the fight on the wharf
and the drink in the boat。 In this last he suspected knockout drops。 That he
had been shanghaied was beyond suspicion。
Laboriously he sat up on the side of his bunk and in doing so became
aware of a sailor asleep in the crib opposite。 His stertorous breathing
stirred a doubt in Jeff's mind。 Perhaps the crimps had taken him too。
The ship was rolling a good deal； but by a succession of tacks Jeff
staggered to the scuttle and climbed the hatchway to the deck。 A wintry
sun was shining； and for a few moments he stood blinking in the light。
She was a three…masted schooner and was plunging forward into the
choppy seas outside the jaws of the harbor。 He whiffed the salt tang of the
air and tasted the flying spray。 An ebb tide was lifting the vessel forward
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on a freshening wind； and trim as a greyhound she slipped through the
cat's…paws。
A thickset； powerful figure paced to and fro on the quarter…deck；
occasionally bellowing an order in a tremendous voice like the roar of a
bull。 He was getting canvas set for the fresh breeze of the open seas that
was catching him astern； and the sailors were jumping to obey his orders。
The pounding sails and the singing cordage； the rattling blocks and the
whipping ropes； would have told Jeff they were scudding along fast； even
if the heeling of the schooner and its swift forward leaps had not made it
plain。
〃By God； Jones； she's walking；〃 he heard the captain boom across to
the mate。
Just then a figure cut past him and made straight for the captain。
Farnum recognized in it the sailor whom he had left asleep in the
forecastle and even in that fleeting glance was aware of the man's livid
fury。 Up the steps he went like a wild beast。
〃What kind of a boat is this？〃 he panted hoarsely。
The captain turned toward him。 His eyes were shining wickedly； but
his voice was ominously suave and honeyed。 〃This boat； son； is a
threemasted schooner； name of _Nancy Hanks_ ； Master Joshua Green；
bound for the Solomon Islands with a cargo of Oregon fir。〃
〃I've been shanghaied。 This is a nest of crimps；〃 the man screamed。
Joshua Green's salient jaw came forward。 〃Been shanghaied； have you？
And we're a nest of crimps； are we？ Son； the less I hear of that line of talk
the better。 Put that in your pipe and smoke it。〃
The man turned loose a flood of profanity and swore he would rot in
hell before he would touch a rope on that ship。
Out went Green's great gnarled fist。 The seaman shot back from the
quarterdeck and struck a pile of rope below。 He was up again and down
again almost quicker than it takes to tell。 Three times he hit the planks
before he lay still。
The captain stood over him； his eyes blazing。 He looked the savage；
barbaric slavedriver he was。
〃Me； I'm Bully Green； and don't you forget it。 Been shanghaied； have
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you？ Not going to touch a rope？ Then； by thunder； you white…livered
beachcomber； a rope will touch you til
