nemox: переводы

→‘I will fetch some brandy,’ said Heneage.
They drank it staring at the embers in the hanging stove; and when they had settled what masts and spars the Berenice could give the Surprise, with a long aside about Dundas’s tender the Baltimore clipper, picked up perfect but empty – not a soul, not a scrap of paper
– in the south Pacific, and her extraordinary sailing qualities, Jack said, ‘No. Harking back to this voyage, I think it was a failure upon the whole, and a costly failure; but,’ he said laughing with joy at the thought, ‘I am so happy to be homeward-bound, and I am so happy, so very happy, to be alive.”

→‘Well, I gathered that the first part, in the East Indies, went well for Stephen – at least the French were discomforted – but I flung the Diane on a reef in the South China Sea, a total loss. And then in this second bout, now ending, thanks be, we did take a fair number of prizes to begin with and we destroyed a truly odious pirate; but then I contrived to lose three American China ships: Heavens, such wealth! It is true they were protected by a brig and a thirty-eight-gun frigate that nearly destroyed us. Oh, Hen, such wicked ice south of Diego Ramirez: and north, for that matter. We escaped, true enough; but even so I cannot call the enterprise anything but a failure. And I am very much afraid that Stephen was betrayed, that his plan did not come to good, and that it went right to his heart.’

→‘I was at Ashgrove last July, and they were all blooming -Sophie in splendid looks – her mother is living there with a friend, a Mrs Morris – children very well indeed, and the girls so pretty, modest and kind. Well, fairly modest, and very kind. I did not see Diana, though her horses do famously: she was in Ireland during my short leave. But when I called I did see Clarissa Oakes, poor young Oakes’s widow, who lives there: what a fine young woman she is.’ He paused again; then brightened and went on, ‘But tell me, as far as you can, because Melville let me understand that there was something confidential about your voyage’ – Melville, or more formally Lord Melville, was Heneage Dundas’s elder brother and First Lord of the Admiralty – ‘as far as you properly can, then, how your enterprise went.’

→‘Yes, I have: pretty rough. And he has, too. Then again we have both been away a terrible long time, you know, with very little news, and that adds to the ordinary battering of a distant voyage: not that it was so ordinary on this occasion. Tell me, how are things at home?’

→‘Not at all,’ said Dundas. ‘He might have been born to the sea. Cobbold says he will rate him master’s mate in Hyperion, next year, if you would like it.’

‘I should like it very much indeed. It is time he was out of leading-strings; though yours I am sure were the kindest in the world.’

They sat comfortably together – very old friends and shipmates – sipping their port, pushing the decanter to and fro. Dundas told the servants to turn in, and presently he said,

‘You have had a rough time of it, Jack: and so I think has Maturin.’

→‘Captain Dundas, sir,’ cried Stephen, ‘Do you think you could oblige me with a few pounds of fresh black pepper?’

The reply was lost as Jack’s bosun and his mates piped their Captain over the side: a howling repeated three minutes later as the Berenice piped him aboard.

Stephen, Pullings and Philip withdrew from their splendid dinner quite early, Stephen carrying his pepper; and Jack said, ‘Old Hen, what a pleasant young fellow you have made of Philip. I am so grateful.’

→The Surprise, with her frail spars, could not easily get her launch over the side, and Dundas was sending his barge for them. It was lowered down in a seamanlike manner, and as it shoved off Captain Dundas, waving his hat from the Berenice’s quarterdeck, called, ‘Well, Jack, whom the Lord loveth He chastizeth, ha, ha, ha! You must be a prime favourite up above. Heavens, you are in a horrid state.’

→Oh the mirth aboard the Surprise. Several of the younger men leapt into the rigging, ostentatiously slapping their buttocks at the schooner as she fled away, sailing unbelievably close to the wind. But more, many more of the hands gathered in the waist or on the forecastle, oblivious of the cold, revelling in their prize-money preserved, even as it were restored, laughing, clapping one another on the back.
The ships drew near; nearer. ‘I know perfectly well what he is going to say,’ murmured Jack to Stephen as they stood there in their boat-cloaks by the gangway stanchions. ‘He is going to call out, “Well, Jack, whom the Lord loveth He chastizeth”, and all his people will set up a silly cackle. There’s Philip! Lord, how he has shot up.’ Philip was Jack Aubrey’s half-brother, last seen as a youngster aboard Dundas’s previous command.

→‘Come aboard with your papers,” said the midshipman.
‘Take that American contraption back to the Berenice,’ roared Jack, half-way down the ratlines, ‘and tell Captain Dundas with Captain Aubrey’s compliments that he will wait upon him. D’ye hear me, there?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied the midshipman, and on either side of him the simpering stopped dead.
‘Aye aye, sir: Captain Aubrey’s compliments . . . Sir,’ he called across the widening lane, ‘may I say Philip Aubrey is aboard?’

→The schooner checked her way and a tall young midshipman, standing on her low rail and holding a shroud, hailed, ‘The ship ahoy – if ship you can be called, poor hulk [this in an undertone] – what ship is that?”

‘His Majesty’s hired vessel Surprise,’ replied Tom. ‘Captain Pullings.’

All along her side the schooner’s hands stood grinning, staring, making offensive gestures: the Surprises looked back with stony hatred.

→‘Indeed? I could have sworn she was a schooner, in spite of those rectangular sails in front.’

‘Certainly, sir. She is certainly a schooner in rig. The clipper part refers to her hull.’

‘Oh, she has a hull as well, has she? I was not aware. But pray tell me, Mr Adams, do you think you could find a little small bag of pepper, just half a stone or so, in the Captain’s storeroom itself?’

‘Sir, I have searched it through and through, in spite of that wicked Killick, and – see, she is rounding to.’

→‘On deck, there,’ came Jack’s voice from on high, cutting through the unworthy hubbub.

‘She’s a sixty-four-gun ship, the old Berenice, I think – yes, the old Berenice – from the New South Wales station. Bery nicey too,’ he added, with a private chuckle.

‘And that, much nearer to us,’ said Stephen to the ecstatic Reade, ‘is what we at sea term a schooner; but you need not be afraid. She carries little in the way of guns.’

‘A Baltimore clipper, sir, I believe,’ said Mr Adams.

→‘Aloft, sir; but,’ Reade whispered, ‘he don’t see very well today. Both eyes water so in the cold.’

‘It is cold, sure,’ said Stephen. He focused his best newly-cleaned glass, a superlative piece made for him by Dolland with a somewhat greater magnification than was usual in the Navy, for identifying birds; and presently he said, ‘Tell me, Mr Reade: frigates have but one row of guns, have they not?’

‘Yes, sir. Just one,’ said Reade patiently, holding up a single finger.

‘Well, this boat, or vessel, has two; as well as some each end.’

‘Nay, sir,’ said Reade, shaking his head: then urgently, ‘Please may I have a look? Oh sir,’

he shrieked to Pullings at the taffrail, ‘she ain’t the Yankee. She’s a two decker. A sixty-four-gun ship -the Doctor saw her.’

→He pushed through to the quarterdeck; and there were the same grave faces, grey with cold and discouragement, looking fixedly to windward, that is to say a little south of the ship’s modest wake. ‘What is afoot?’ he murmured in Reade’s ear.

‘Stand over here, sir,’ said Reade, guiding him to the rail, ‘and look out to windward.’

A topsail schooner sailing large: and some miles beyond her a ship, also standing north-north-east with topgallants and studdingsails abroad, a glorious sight; but one that gave no pleasure.

‘It is that brutal great American, come to snap us up,’ said Reade.

‘Shame on him, after such a handsome message,’ murmured Wedel.

‘Where is the Captain?’

→He thought of it with pleasure as he went to sleep; and its absence the next day, together with a want of that cheerfulness so usual on deck, struck him with all the more force when he took the air in the forenoon after a trying, anxious time with the sick-berth, where neither burns nor foot were doing well, and with his collections, where a vile moth was breeding among the feathers and no pepper, no pepper left in the entire ship to discourage it. He arrived on deck not by climbing the companion-ladder to the quarterdeck in the usual way but by the fore-hatchway, having traversed the berth-deck to consider Dutourd’s former cabin for the amputation in case his suspicion of an incipient pneumonia (that frequent sequel) should prove to be true. This brought him into the waist of the ship, filled with hands. They touched their hats and wished him good-day, but mechanically, with barely a smile, and returned to their low, anxious, intent conversations, frequently calling up in subdued voices to their companions thick along the starboard gangway.

→Although the ship was wonderfully busy the news spread forward with its usual speed, and Stephen, making his way to the forecastle to watch albatrosses and the nondescript petrel that had been following the ship for some days, was greeted with particular kindness, brought a coil of soft manilla to sit upon, given a pair of belaying-pins to hold his telescope steady, and told about the birds that had been seen that day, including a numerous band of stinkpots flying south, an infallible sign of clear weather. This was all very much in line with what he had so often known at sea, and once more the evident good-will warmed his spirit.

→‘And Stephen, may I beg you not to be facetious when speaking of the barky? The people are surprisingly susceptible, if you know what I mean, about her appearance. And if ever you intend to be complimentary, you might well be advised just to throw up your hands and cry “Oh”, or “Superb”, or “I have never seen anything better”, without being particular.’
‘The Doctor has been choked off for being a satyr,’ said Killick to Grimble.
‘What’s a satyr?’
‘What an ignorant cove you are to be sure, Art Grimble: just ignorant, is all. A satyr is a party that talks sarcastic. Choked off something cruel, he was; and his duff taken away and eaten before his eyes.’

→‘God love you, Jack, what things you tell me.’
‘Never despond, dear Stephen: remember that Bligh sailed four thousand miles in an open boat, with not a thousandth part of our stores. You will never despond, Stephen,’ said Jack with a very slight emphasis. ‘And I am sure you will never find any of the seamen do so, either.’
‘No,’ said Stephen, stifling his recollections of the terrible following seas during the frequent storms in these latitudes, the perpetual danger of being pooped, of broaching-to, and of being lost with all hands in a turmoil of foam. ‘No. I shall not despond.’

→‘ . . . unless we can ship a rudder that will enable us to haul up for St Helena, I intend to bear away for the Cape, edging north all the time with our steering oar, or perhaps some better gear. It is about three thousand five hundred miles, and although we have logged over a hundred for each of these last three days with this comic rig, as you so rightly call it, and with this steady wind and beautiful eastward current, I have only reckoned on fifty, no more: one seventieth part of the distance. Fifty multiplied by seventy is three thousand five hundred, Stephen. And that succulent, luxurious pudding now in front of you is the seventieth part of all the duff that you will eat before we raise the Table Mountain.’

→‘Yes. I have told the ship’s company of this, and I have told them that unless or until we can fashion and ship a rudder …”

‘If you spend another two minutes up to your neck in water at this temperature, striving to do so, I will not answer for your life,’ said Stephen. ‘Last time it was nip and tuck, with hot blanket, fomentations, and half a pint of my best brandy.’