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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 415/416
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The
“
Swanhilda
”
lifted
and
rolled
slowly
,
majestically
on
the
ground
swell
of
the
Pacific
,
the
water
hissing
and
boiling
under
her
forefoot
,
her
cordage
vibrating
and
droning
in
the
steady
rush
of
the
trade
winds
.
It
was
drawing
towards
evening
and
her
lights
had
just
been
set
.
The
master
passed
Presley
,
who
was
leaning
over
the
rail
smoking
a
cigarette
,
and
paused
long
enough
to
remark
:
“
The
land
yonder
,
if
you
can
make
it
out
,
is
Point
Gordo
,
and
if
you
were
to
draw
a
line
from
our
position
now
through
that
point
and
carry
it
on
about
a
hundred
miles
further
,
it
would
just
about
cross
Tulare
County
not
very
far
from
where
you
used
to
live
.
”
“
I
see
,
”
answered
Presley
,
“
I
see
.
Thanks
.
I
am
glad
to
know
that
.
”
The
master
passed
on
,
and
Presley
,
going
up
to
the
quarter
deck
,
looked
long
and
earnestly
at
the
faint
line
of
mountains
that
showed
vague
and
bluish
above
the
waste
of
tumbling
water
.
Those
were
the
mountains
of
the
Coast
range
and
beyond
them
was
what
once
had
been
his
home
.
Bonneville
was
there
,
and
Guadalajara
and
Los
Muertos
and
Quien
Sabe
,
the
Mission
of
San
Juan
,
the
Seed
ranch
,
Annixter
’
s
desolated
home
and
Dyke
’
s
ruined
hop
-
fields
.
Well
,
it
was
all
over
now
,
that
terrible
drama
through
which
he
had
lived
.
Already
it
was
far
distant
from
him
;
but
once
again
it
rose
in
his
memory
,
portentous
,
sombre
,
ineffaceable
.
He
passed
it
all
in
review
from
the
day
of
his
first
meeting
with
Vanamee
to
the
day
of
his
parting
with
Hilma
.
He
saw
it
all
—
the
great
sweep
of
country
opening
to
view
from
the
summit
of
the
hills
at
the
head
waters
of
Broderson
’
s
Creek
;
the
barn
dance
at
Annixter
’
s
,
the
harness
room
with
its
jam
of
furious
men
;
the
quiet
garden
of
the
Mission
;
Dyke
’
s
house
,
his
flight
upon
the
engine
,
his
brave
fight
in
the
chaparral
;
Lyman
Derrick
at
bay
in
the
dining
-
room
of
the
ranch
house
;
the
rabbit
drive
;
the
fight
at
the
irrigating
ditch
,
the
shouting
mob
in
the
Bonneville
Opera
House
.
The
drama
was
over
.
The
fight
of
Ranch
and
Railroad
had
been
wrought
out
to
its
dreadful
close
.
It
was
true
,
as
Shelgrim
had
said
,
that
forces
rather
than
men
had
locked
horns
in
that
struggle
,
but
for
all
that
the
men
of
the
Ranch
and
not
the
men
of
the
Railroad
had
suffered
.
Into
the
prosperous
valley
,
into
the
quiet
community
of
farmers
,
that
galloping
monster
,
that
terror
of
steel
and
steam
had
burst
,
shooting
athwart
the
horizons
,
flinging
the
echo
of
its
thunder
over
all
the
ranches
of
the
valley
,
leaving
blood
and
destruction
in
its
path
.
Yes
,
the
Railroad
had
prevailed
.
The
ranches
had
been
seized
in
the
tentacles
of
the
octopus
;
the
iniquitous
burden
of
extortionate
freight
rates
had
been
imposed
like
a
yoke
of
iron
.
The
monster
had
killed
Harran
,
had
killed
Osterman
,
had
killed
Broderson
,
had
killed
Hooven
.
It
had
beggared
Magnus
and
had
driven
him
to
a
state
of
semi
-
insanity
after
he
had
wrecked
his
honour
in
the
vain
attempt
to
do
evil
that
good
might
come
.
It
had
enticed
Lyman
into
its
toils
to
pluck
from
him
his
manhood
and
his
honesty
,
corrupting
him
and
poisoning
him
beyond
redemption
;
it
had
hounded
Dyke
from
his
legitimate
employment
and
had
made
of
him
a
highwayman
and
criminal
.
It
had
cast
forth
Mrs
.
Hooven
to
starve
to
death
upon
the
City
streets
.
It
had
driven
Minna
to
prostitution
.
It
had
slain
Annixter
at
the
very
moment
when
painfully
and
manfully
he
had
at
last
achieved
his
own
salvation
and
stood
forth
resolved
to
do
right
,
to
act
unselfishly
and
to
live
for
others
.
It
had
widowed
Hilma
in
the
very
dawn
of
her
happiness
.
It
had
killed
the
very
babe
within
the
mother
’
s
womb
,
strangling
life
ere
yet
it
had
been
born
,
stamping
out
the
spark
ordained
by
God
to
burn
through
all
eternity
.
What
then
was
left
?
Was
there
no
hope
,
no
outlook
for
the
future
,
no
rift
in
the
black
curtain
,
no
glimmer
through
the
night
?
Was
good
to
be
thus
overthrown
?
Was
evil
thus
to
be
strong
and
to
prevail
?
Was
nothing
left
?
