drift from two shores(漂流)-第4章
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DRIFT FROM TWO SHORES
love the bleak shore and barren sands that had proved so inhospitable to
others。 There was a new meaning to the roar of the surges； an honest；
loyal sturdiness in the unchanging persistency of the uncouth and
blustering trade…winds； and a mute fidelity in the shining sands；
treacherous to all but him。 With such bandogs to lie in wait for
trespassers； should he not be grateful？
If no bitterness was awakened by the repeated avowal of the
unfaithfulness of the woman he loved； it was because he had always made
the observation and experience of others give way to the dominance of his
own insight。 No array of contradictory facts ever shook his belief or
unbelief； like all egotists； he accepted them as truths controlled by a larger
truth of which he alone was cognizant。 His simplicity； which was but
another form of his egotism； was so complete as to baffle ordinary
malicious cunning； and so he was spared the experience and knowledge
that come to a lower nature； and help debase it。
Exercise and the stimulus of the few wants that sent him hunting or
fishing kept up his physical health。 Never a lover of rude freedom or
outdoor life his sedentary predilections and nice tastes kept him from
lapsing into barbarian excess； never a sportsman he followed the chase
with no feverish exaltation。 Even dumb creatures found out his secret；
and at times； stalking moodily over the upland； the brown deer and elk
would cross his path without fear or molestation； or； idly lounging in his
canoe within the river bar； flocks of wild fowl would settle within stroke
of his listless oar。 And so the second winter of his hermitage drew near
its close； and with it came a storm that passed into local history； and is still
remembered。 It uprooted giant trees along the river； and with them the
tiny rootlets of the life he was idly fostering。
The morning had been fitfully turbulent； the wind veering several
points south and west； with suspicions lulls； unlike the steady onset of the
regular southwest trades。 High overhead the long manes of racing cirro
stratus streamed with flying gulls and hurrying water…fowl； plover piped
incessantly； and a flock of timorous sand…pipers sought the low ridge of
his cabin； while a wrecking crew of curlew hastily manned the uprooted
tree that tossed wearily beyond the bar。 By noon the flying clouds
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huddled together in masses； and then were suddenly exploded in one vast
opaque sheet over the heavens。 The sea became gray； and suddenly
wrinkled and old。 There was a dumb； half…articulate cry in the air；
rather a confusion of many sounds； as of the booming of distant guns； the
clangor of a bell； the trampling of many waves； the creaking of timbers
and soughing of leaves； that sank and fell ere you could yet distinguish
them。 And then it came on to blow。 For two hours it blew strongly。 At
the time the sun should have set the wind had increased； in fifteen minutes
darkness shut down； even the white sands lost their outlines； and sea and
shore and sky lay in the grip of a relentless and aggressive power。
Within his cabin； by the leaping light of his gusty fire； North sat alone。
His first curiosity passed； the turmoil without no longer carried his thought
beyond its one converging centre。 SHE had come to him on the wings of
the storm； even as she had been borne to him on the summer fog…cloud。
Now and then the wind shook the cabin； but he heeded it not。 He had no
fears for its safety； it presented its low gable to the full fury of the wind
that year by year had piled； and even now was piling； protecting buttresses
of sand against it。 With each succeeding gust it seemed to nestle more
closely to its foundations； in the whirl of flying sand that rattled against its
roof and windows。 It was nearly midnight when a sudden thought
brought him to his feet。 What if SHE were exposed to the fury of such a
night as this？ What could he do to help her？ Perhaps even now； as he sat
there idle； sheHark！ was not that a gunNo？ Yes； surely！
He hurriedly unbolted the door； but the strength of the wind and the
impact of drifted sand resisted his efforts。 With a new and feverish
strength possessing him he forced it open wide enough to permit his egress
when the wind caught him as a feather； rolled him over and over； and then；
grappling him again； held him down hard and fast against the drift。
Unharmed； but unable to move； he lay there； hearing the multitudinous
roar of the storm； but unable to distinguish one familiar sound in the
savage medley。 At last he managed to crawl flat on his face to the cabin；
and refastening the door； threw himself upon his bed。
He was awakened from a fitful dream of his Cousin Maria。 She with
a supernatural strength seemed to be holding the door against some unseen；
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unknown power that moaned and strove without； and threw itself in
despairing force against the cabin。 He could see the lithe undulations of
her form as she alternately yielded to its power； and again drew the door
against it； coiling herself around the log…hewn doorpost with a hideous；
snake…like suggestion。 And then a struggle and a heavy blow； which
shook the very foundations of the structure； awoke him。 He leaped to his
feet； and into an inch of water！ By the flickering firelight he could see it
oozing and dripping from the crevices of the logs and broadening into a
pool by the chimney。 A scrap of paper torn from an envelope was
floating idly on its current。 Was it the overflow of the backed…up waters
of the river？ He was not left long in doubt。 Another blow upon the
gable of the house； and a torrent of spray leaped down the chimney；
scattered the embers far and wide； and left him in utter darkness。 Some
of the spray clung to his lips。 It was salt。 The great ocean had beaten
down the river bar and was upon him！
Was there aught to fly to？ No！ The cabin stood upon the highest
point of the sand spit； and the low swale on one side crossed by his late
visitors was a seething mass of breakers； while the estuary behind him was
now the ocean itself。 There was nothing to do but to wait。
The very helplessness of his situation was； to a man of his peculiar
temperament； an element of patient strength。 The instinct of self…
preservation was still strong in him； but he had no fear of death； nor；
indeed； any presentiment of it； yet if it came； it was an easy solution of the
problem that had been troubling him； and it wiped off the slate！ He
thought of the sarcastic prediction of his cousin； and death in the form that
threatened him was the obliteration of his home and even the ground upon
which it stood。 There would be nothing to record； no stain could come
upon the living。 The instinct that kept him true to HER would tell her
how he died； if it did not； it was equally well。 And with this simple
fatalism his only belief； this strange man groped his way to his bed； lay
down； and in a few moments was asleep。 The storm still roared without。
Once again the surges leaped against the cabin； but it was evident that the
wind was abating with the tide。
When he awoke it was high noon； and the sun was shining brightly。
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For some time he lay in a delicious languor； doubting if he was alive or
dead； but feeling through every nerve and fibre an exquisite sense of
peacea rest he had not known since his boyhooda relief he scarcely
knew from what。 He felt that he was smiling； and yet his pillow was wet
with the tears that glittered still on his lashes。 The sand blocking up his
doorway； he leaped lightly from his window。 A few clouds were still
sailing slowly in the heavens； the trailing plumes of a great benediction
that lay on sea and shore。 He scarcely recognized the familiar landscape；
a new bar had been formed in the river； and a narrow causeway of sand
that crossed the lagoon and marshes to the river bank and the upland trail
seemed to bring him nearer to humanity again。 He was conscious of a
fresh； childlike delight in all this； and when； a moment later； he saw the
old uprooted tree； now apparently forever moored and imbedded in the
sand beside his cabin； he ran to it with a sense of joy。
Its trailing roots were festooned with clinging sea…weed and the long；
snaky； undulating stems of the sea…turnip； and fixed between two crossing
roots was a bamboo orange crate； almost intact。 As he walked toward it
he heard a strange cry； unlike anything the barren sands had borne before。
Thinking it might be some strange sea bird caught in the meshes of the
sea…weed； he ran to the crate and looked within。 It was half filled with
sea…moss and feathery algae。 The cry was repeated。 He brushed aside
the weeds with his hands。 It was not a wounded sea bird； but a living
human child！
As he lifted it from its damp enwrappings he saw that it was an infant
eight or nine months old。 How and when it had been brought there； or
what force ha
