-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джозеф Конрад
-
- Конец рабства
-
- Стр. 1/95
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
End of slavery
For
a
long
time
after
the
course
of
the
steamer
Sofala
had
been
altered
for
the
land
,
the
low
swampy
coast
had
retained
its
appearance
of
a
mere
smudge
of
darkness
beyond
a
belt
of
glitter
.
The
sunrays
seemed
to
fall
violently
upon
the
calm
sea
--
seemed
to
shatter
themselves
upon
an
adamantine
surface
into
sparkling
dust
,
into
a
dazzling
vapor
of
light
that
blinded
the
eye
and
wearied
the
brain
with
its
unsteady
brightness
.
Captain
Whalley
did
not
look
at
it
.
When
his
Serang
,
approaching
the
roomy
cane
arm-chair
which
he
filled
capably
,
had
informed
him
in
a
low
voice
that
the
course
was
to
be
altered
,
he
had
risen
at
once
and
had
remained
on
his
feet
,
face
forward
,
while
the
head
of
his
ship
swung
through
a
quarter
of
a
circle
.
He
had
not
uttered
a
single
word
,
not
even
the
word
to
steady
the
helm
.
It
was
the
Serang
,
an
elderly
,
alert
,
little
Malay
,
with
a
very
dark
skin
,
who
murmured
the
order
to
the
helmsman
.
And
then
slowly
Captain
Whalley
sat
down
again
in
the
arm-chair
on
the
bridge
and
fixed
his
eyes
on
the
deck
between
his
feet
.
He
could
not
hope
to
see
anything
new
upon
this
lane
of
the
sea
.
He
had
been
on
these
coasts
for
the
last
three
years
.
From
Low
Cape
to
Malantan
the
distance
was
fifty
miles
,
six
hours
'
steaming
for
the
old
ship
with
the
tide
,
or
seven
against
.
Then
you
steered
straight
for
the
land
,
and
by-and-by
three
palms
would
appear
on
the
sky
,
tall
and
slim
,
and
with
their
disheveled
heads
in
a
bunch
,
as
if
in
confidential
criticism
of
the
dark
mangroves
.
The
Sofala
would
be
headed
towards
the
somber
strip
of
the
coast
,
which
at
a
given
moment
,
as
the
ship
closed
with
it
obliquely
,
would
show
several
clean
shining
fractures
--
the
brimful
estuary
of
a
river
.
Then
on
through
a
brown
liquid
,
three
parts
water
and
one
part
black
earth
,
on
and
on
between
the
low
shores
,
three
parts
black
earth
and
one
part
brackish
water
,
the
Sofala
would
plow
her
way
up-stream
,
as
she
had
done
once
every
month
for
these
seven
years
or
more
,
long
before
he
was
aware
of
her
existence
,
long
before
he
had
ever
thought
of
having
anything
to
do
with
her
and
her
invariable
voyages
.
The
old
ship
ought
to
have
known
the
road
better
than
her
men
,
who
had
not
been
kept
so
long
at
it
without
a
change
;
better
than
the
faithful
Serang
,
whom
he
had
brought
over
from
his
last
ship
to
keep
the
captain
's
watch
;
better
than
he
himself
,
who
had
been
her
captain
for
the
last
three
years
only
.
She
could
always
be
depended
upon
to
make
her
courses
.
Her
compasses
were
never
out
.
She
was
no
trouble
at
all
to
take
about
,
as
if
her
great
age
had
given
her
knowledge
,
wisdom
,
and
steadiness
.
She
made
her
landfalls
to
a
degree
of
the
bearing
,
and
almost
to
a
minute
of
her
allowed
time
.
At
any
moment
,
as
he
sat
on
the
bridge
without
looking
up
,
or
lay
sleepless
in
his
bed
,
simply
by
reckoning
the
days
and
the
hours
he
could
tell
where
he
was
--
the
precise
spot
of
the
beat
.
He
knew
it
well
too
,
this
monotonous
huckster
's
round
,
up
and
down
the
Straits
;
he
knew
its
order
and
its
sights
and
its
people
.
Malacca
to
begin
with
,
in
at
daylight
and
out
at
dusk
,
to
cross
over
with
a
rigid
phosphorescent
wake
this
highway
of
the
Far
East
.
Darkness
and
gleams
on
the
water
,
clear
stars
on
a
black
sky
,
perhaps
the
lights
of
a
home
steamer
keeping
her
unswerving
course
in
the
middle
,
or
maybe
the
elusive
shadow
of
a
native
craft
with
her
mat
sails
flitting
by
silently
--
and
the
low
land
on
the
other
side
in
sight
at
daylight
.
At
noon
the
three
palms
of
the
next
place
of
call
,
up
a
sluggish
river
.
The
only
white
man
residing
there
was
a
retired
young
sailor
,
with
whom
he
had
become
friendly
in
the
course
of
many
voyages
.
Sixty
miles
farther
on
there
was
another
place
of
call
,
a
deep
bay
with
only
a
couple
of
houses
on
the
beach
.
And
so
on
,
in
and
out
,
picking
up
coastwise
cargo
here
and
there
,
and
finishing
with
a
hundred
miles
'
steady
steaming
through
the
maze
of
an
archipelago
of
small
islands
up
to
a
large
native
town
at
the
end
of
the
beat
.
There
was
a
three
days
'
rest
for
the
old
ship
before
he
started
her
again
in
inverse
order
,
seeing
the
same
shores
from
another
bearing
,
hearing
the
same
voices
in
the
same
places
,
back
again
to
the
Sofala
's
port
of
registry
on
the
great
highway
to
the
East
,
where
he
would
take
up
a
berth
nearly
opposite
the
big
stone
pile
of
the
harbor
office
till
it
was
time
to
start
again
on
the
old
round
of
1600
miles
and
thirty
days
.
Not
a
very
enterprising
life
,
this
,
for
Captain
Whalley
,
Henry
Whalley
,
otherwise
Dare-devil
Harry
--
Whalley
of
the
Condor
,
a
famous
clipper
in
her
day
.
No
.
Not
a
very
enterprising
life
for
a
man
who
had
served
famous
firms
,
who
had
sailed
famous
ships
(
more
than
one
or
two
of
them
his
own
)
;
who
had
made
famous
passages
,
had
been
the
pioneer
of
new
routes
and
new
trades
;
who
had
steered
across
the
unsurveyed
tracts
of
the
South
Seas
,
and
had
seen
the
sun
rise
on
uncharted
islands
.
Fifty
years
at
sea
,
and
forty
out
in
the
East
(
"
a
pretty
thorough
apprenticeship
,
"
he
used
to
remark
smilingly
)
,
had
made
him
honorably
known
to
a
generation
of
shipowners
and
merchants
in
all
the
ports
from
Bombay
clear
over
to
where
the
East
merges
into
the
West
upon
the
coast
of
the
two
Americas
.
His
fame
remained
writ
,
not
very
large
but
plain
enough
,
on
the
Admiralty
charts
.
Was
there
not
somewhere
between
Australia
and
China
a
Whalley
Island
and
a
Condor
Reef
?
On
that
dangerous
coral
formation
the
celebrated
clipper
had
hung
stranded
for
three
days
,
her
captain
and
crew
throwing
her
cargo
overboard
with
one
hand
and
with
the
other
,
as
it
were
,
keeping
off
her
a
flotilla
of
savage
war-canoes
.
At
that
time
neither
the
island
nor
the
reef
had
any
official
existence
.
Later
the
officers
of
her
Majesty
's
steam
vessel
Fusilier
,
dispatched
to
make
a
survey
of
the
route
,
recognized
in
the
adoption
of
these
two
names
the
enterprise
of
the
man
and
the
solidity
of
the
ship
.
Besides
,
as
anyone
who
cares
may
see
,
the
"
General
Directory
,
"
vol
.
ii
.
p.
410
,
begins
the
description
of
the
"
Malotu
or
Whalley
Passage
"
with
the
words
:
"
This
advantageous
route
,
first
discovered
in
1850
by
Captain
Whalley
in
the
ship
Condor
,
"
&
c
,
and
ends
by
recommending
it
warmly
to
sailing
vessels
leaving
the
China
ports
for
the
south
in
the
months
from
December
to
April
inclusive
.
This
was
the
clearest
gain
he
had
out
of
life
.
Nothing
could
rob
him
of
this
kind
of
fame
.
The
piercing
of
the
Isthmus
of
Suez
,
like
the
breaking
of
a
dam
,
had
let
in
upon
the
East
a
flood
of
new
ships
,
new
men
,
new
methods
of
trade
.
It
had
changed
the
face
of
the
Eastern
seas
and
the
very
spirit
of
their
life
;
so
that
his
early
experiences
meant
nothing
whatever
to
the
new
generation
of
seamen
.
In
those
bygone
days
he
had
handled
many
thousands
of
pounds
of
his
employers
'
money
and
of
his
own
;
he
had
attended
faithfully
,
as
by
law
a
shipmaster
is
expected
to
do
,
to
the
conflicting
interests
of
owners
,
charterers
,
and
underwriters
.
He
had
never
lost
a
ship
or
consented
to
a
shady
transaction
;
and
he
had
lasted
well
,
outlasting
in
the
end
the
conditions
that
had
gone
to
the
making
of
his
name
.
He
had
buried
his
wife
(
in
the
Gulf
of
Petchili
)
,
had
married
off
his
daughter
to
the
man
of
her
unlucky
choice
,
and
had
lost
more
than
an
ample
competence
in
the
crash
of
the
notorious
Travancore
and
Deccan
Banking
Corporation
,
whose
downfall
had
shaken
the
East
like
an
earthquake
.
And
he
was
sixty-five
years
old
.
