【国外英文文学】The Story of a Bad Boy.doc

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1、【国外英文文学】The Story of a Bad BoyThe Story of a Bad Boyby Thomas Bailey AldrichChapter OneIn Which I Introduce MyselfThis is the story of a bad boy. Well, not such a very bad, but a pretty badboy; and I ought to know, for I am, or rather I was, that boy myself.Lest the title should mislead the reader,

2、I hasten to assure him here that Ihave no dark confessions to make. I call my story the story of a bad boy,partly to distinguish myself from those faultless young gentlemen whogenerally figure in narratives of this kind, and partly because I reallywas not a cherub. I may truthfully say I was an amia

3、ble, impulsive lad,blessed with fine digestive powers, and no hypocrite. I didnt want to bean angel and with the angels stand; I didnt think the missionary tractspresented to me by the Rev. Wibird Hawkins were half so nice as RobinsonCrusoe; and I didnt send my little pocket-money to the natives of

4、theFeejee Islands, but spent it royally in peppermint-drops and taffy candy.In short, I was a real human boy, such as you may meet anywhere in NewEngland, and no more like the impossible boy in a storybook than a soundorange is like one that has been sucked dry. But let us begin at thebeginning.When

5、ever a new scholar came to our school, I used to confront him at recesswith the following words: My names Tom Bailey; whats your name? If thename struck me favorably, I shook hands with the new pupil cordially; butif it didnt, I would turn on my heel, for I was particular on this point.Such names as

6、 Higgins, Wiggins, and Spriggins were deadly affronts to myear; while Langdon, Wallace, Blake, and the like, were passwords to myconfidence and esteem.Ah me! some of those dear fellows are rather elderly boys by thistime-lawyers, merchants, sea-captains, soldiers, authors, what not? PhilAdams (a spe

7、cial good name that Adams) is consul at Shanghai, where Ipicture him to myself with his head closely shaved-he never had too muchhair-and a long pigtail banging down behind. He is married, I hear; and Ihope he and she that was Miss Wang Wang are very happy together, sittingcross-legged over their di

8、minutive cups of tea in a skyblue tower hung withbells. It is so I think of him; to me he is henceforth a jewelled mandarin,talking nothing but broken China. Whitcomb is a judge, sedate and wise,with spectacles balanced on the bridge of that remarkable nose which, informer days, was so plentifully s

9、prinkled with freckles that the boyschristened him Pepper Whitcomb. just to think of little Pepper Whitcombbeing a judge! What would be do to me now, I wonder, if I were to sing outPepper! some day in court? Fred Langdon is in California, in thenative-wine business-he used to make the best licorice-

10、water I ever tasted!Binny Wallace sleeps in the Old South Burying-Ground; and Jack Harris, too,is dead-Harris, who commanded us boys, of old, in the famous snow-ballbattles of Slatters Hill. Was it yesterday I saw him at the head of hisregiment on its way to join the shattered Army of the Potomac? N

11、otyesterday, but six years ago. It was at the battle of the Seven Pines.Gallant Jack Harris, that never drew rein until he had dashed into theRebel battery! So they found him-lying across the enemys guns.How we have parted, and wandered, and married, and died! I wonder what hasbecome of all the boys

12、 who went to the Temple Grammar School at Rivermouthwhen I was a youngster? All, all are gone, the old familiar faces!It is with no ungentle hand I summon them back, for a moment, from that Pastwhich has closed upon them and upon me. How pleasantly they live again inmy memory! Happy, magical Past, i

13、n whose fairy atmosphere even Conway, mineancient foe, stands forth transfigured, with a sort of dreamy gloryencircling his bright red hair!With the old school formula I commence these sketches of my boyhood. My nameis Tom Bailey; what is yours, gentle reader? I take for granted it isneither Wiggins

14、 nor Spriggins, and that we shall get on famously together,and be capital friends forever.Chapter TwoIn Which I Entertain Peculiar ViewsI was born at Rivermouth, but, before I had a chance to become very wellacquainted with that pretty New England town, my parents removed to NewOrleans, where my fat

15、her invested his money so securely in the bankingbusiness that be was never able to get any of it out again. But of thishereafter.I was only eighteen months old at the time of the removal, and it didntmake much difference to me where I was, because I was so small; but severalyears later, when my fat

16、her proposed to take me North to be educated, I hadmy own peculiar views on the subject. I instantly kicked over the littleNegro boy who happened to be standing by me at the moment, and, stamping myfoot violently on the floor of the piazza, declared that I would not betaken away to live among a lot

17、of Yankees!You see I was what is called a Northern man with Southern principles. Ihad no recollection of New England: my earliest memories were connectedwith the South, with Aunt Chloe, my old Negro nurse, and with the greatill-kept garden in the centre of which stood our house-a whitewashed stoneho

18、use it was, with wide verandas-shut out from the street by lines oforange, fig, and magnolia trees. I knew I was born at the North, but hopednobody would find it out. I looked upon the misfortune as something soshrouded by time and distance that maybe nobody remembered it. I never toldmy schoolmates

19、 I was a Yankee, because they talked about the Yankees insuch a scornful way it made me feel that it was quite a disgrace not to beborn in Louisiana, or at least in one of the Border States. And thisimpression was strengthened by Aunt Chloe, who said, dar wasnt nogentlmen in the Norf no way, and on

20、one occasion terrified me beyondmeasure by declaring that, if any of dem mean whites tried to git her awayfrom marster, she was jesgwine to knock em on de head wid a gourd!The way this poor creatures eyes flashed, and the tragic air with which shestruck at an imaginary mean white, are among the most

21、 vivid things in mymemory of those days.To be frank, my idea of the North was about as accurate as that entertainedby the well-educated Englishmen of the present day concerning America. Isupposed the inhabitants were divided into two classes-Indians and whitepeople; that the Indians occasionally das

22、hed down on New York, and scalpedany woman or child (giving the preference to children) whom they caughtlingering in the outskirts after nightfall; that the white men were eitherhunters or schoolmasters, and that it was winter pretty much all the yearround. The prevailing style of architecture I too

23、k to be log-cabins.With this delightful picture of Northern civilization in my eye, the readerwill easily understand my terror at the bare thought of being transportedto Rivermouth to school, and possibly will forgive me for kicking overlittle black Sam, and otherwise misconducting myself, when my f

24、atherannounced his determination to me. As for kicking little Sam-I always didthat, more or less gently, when anything went wrong with me.My father was greatly perplexed and troubled by this unusually violentoutbreak, and especially by the real consternation which be saw written inevery line of my c

25、ountenance. As little black Sam picked himself up, myfather took my hand in his and led me thoughtfully to the library.I can see him now as he leaned back in the bamboo chair and questioned me.He appeared strangely agitated on learning the nature of my objections togoing North, and proceeded at once

26、 to knock down all my pine log houses,and scatter all the Indian tribes with which I had populated the greaterportion of the Eastern and Middle States.Who on earth, Tom, has filled your brain with such silly stories? asked myfather, wiping the tears from his eyes.Aunt Chloe, sir; she told me.And you

27、 really thought your grandfather wore a blanket embroidered withbeads, and ornamented his leggins with the scalps of his enemies?Well, sir, I didnt think that exactly.Didnt think that exactly? Tom, you will be the death of me.He hid his face in his handkerchief, and, when he looked up, he seemed toh

28、ave been suffering acutely. I was deeply moved myself, though I did notclearly understand what I had said or done to cause him to feel so badly.Perhaps I had hurt his feelings by thinking it even possible thatGrandfather Nutter was an Indian warrior.My father devoted that evening and several subsequ

29、ent evenings to giving mea clear and succinct account of New England; its early struggles, itsprogress, and its present condition-faint and confused glimmerings of allwhich I had obtained at school, where history had never been a favoritepursuit of mine.I was no longer unwilling to go North; on the

30、contrary, the proposed journeyto a new world full of wonders kept me awake nights. I promised myself allsorts of fun and adventures, though I was not entirely at rest in my mindtouching the savages, and secretly resolved to go on board the ship-thejourney was to be made by sea-with a certain little

31、brass pistol in mytrousers-pocket, in case of any difficulty with the tribes when we landedat Boston.I couldnt get the Indian out of my head. Only a short time previously theCherokees-or was it the Camanches?-had been removed from theirhunting-grounds in Arkansas; and in the wilds of the Southwest t

32、he red menwere still a source of terror to the border settlers. Trouble with theIndians was the staple news from Florida published in the New Orleanspapers. We were constantly hearing of travellers being attacked andmurdered in the interior of that State. If these things were done inFlorida, why not

33、 in Massachusetts?Yet long before the sailing day arrived I was eager to be off. My impatiencewas increased by the fact that my father had purchased for me a fine littleMustang pony, 20and shipped it to Rivermouth a fortnight previous to thedate set for our own departure-for both my parents were to

34、accompany me.The pony (which nearly kicked me out of bed one night in a dream), and myfathers promise that he and my mother would come to Rivermouth every othersummer, completely resigned me to the situation. The ponys name wasGitana, which is the Spanish for gypsy; so I always called her-she was al

35、ady pony-Gypsy.At length the time came to leave the vine-covered mansion among theorange-trees, to say goodby to little black Sam (I am convinced he washeartily glad to get rid of me), and to part with simple Aunt Chloe, who,in the confusion of her grief, kissed an eyelash into my eye, and thenburie

36、d her face in the bright bandana turban which she had mounted thatmorning in honor of our departure.I fancy them standing by the open garden gate; the tears are rolling downAunt Chloes cheeks; Sams six front teeth are glistening like pearls; Iwave my hand to him manfully. then I call out goodby in a

37、 muffled voiceto Aunt Chloe; they and the old home fade away. I am never to see themagain!Chapter ThreeOn Board the TyphoonI do not remember much about the voyage to Boston, for after the first fewhours at sea I was dreadfully unwell.The name of our ship was the A No. 1, fast-sailing packet Typhoon.

38、 Ilearned afterwards that she sailed fast only in the newspaperadvertisements. My father owned one quarter of the Typhoon, and that is whywe happened to go in her. I tried to guess which quarter of the ship heowned, and finally concluded it must be the hind quarter-the cabin, inwhich we had the cosi

39、est of state-rooms, with one round window in the roof,and two shelves or boxes nailed up against the wall to sleep in.There was a good deal of confusion on deck while we were getting under way.The captain shouted orders (to which nobody seemed to pay any attention)through a battered tin trumpet, and

40、 grew so red in the face that hereminded me of a scooped-out pumpkin with a lighted candle inside. He sworeright and left at the sailors without the slightest regard for theirfeelings. They didnt mind it a bit, however, but went on singing-Heave ho!With the rum below,And hurrah for the Spanish Main

41、O!I will not be positive about the Spanish Main, but it was hurrah forsomething O. I considered them very jolly fellows, and so indeed they were.One weather-beaten tar in particular struck my fancy-a thick-set, jovialman, about fifty years of age, with twinkling blue eyes and a fringe ofgray hair ci

42、rcling his head like a crown. As he took off his tarpaulin Iobserved that the top of his head was quite smooth and flat, as if somebodyhad sat down on him when he was very young.There was something noticeably hearty in this mans bronzed face, aheartiness that seemed to extend to his loosely knotted

43、neckerchief. Butwhat completely won my good-will was a picture of enviable lovelinesspainted on his left arm. It was the head of a woman with the body of afish. Her flowing hair was of livid green, and she held a pink comb in onehand. I never saw anything so beautiful. I determined to know that man.

44、 Ithink I would have given my brass pistol to have had such a picture paintedon my arm.While I stood admiring this work of art, a fat wheezy steamtug, with theword AJAX in staring black letters on the paddlebox, came puffing upalongside the Typhoon. It was ridiculously small and conceited, comparedw

45、ith our stately ship. I speculated as to what it was going to do. In a fewminutes we were lashed to the little monster, which gave a snort and ashriek, and commenced backing us out from the levee (wharf) with thegreatest ease.I once saw an ant running away with a piece of cheese eight or ten timesla

46、rger than itself. I could not help thinking of it, when I found thechubby, smoky-nosed tug-boat towing the Typhoon out into the MississippiRiver.In the middle of the stream we swung round, the current caught us, and awaywe flew like a great winged bird. Only it didnt seem as if we were moving.The sh

47、ore, with the countless steamboats, the tangled rigging of the ships,and the long lines of warehouses, appeared to be gliding away from us.It was grand sport to stand on the quarter-deck and watch all this. Beforelong there was nothing to be seen on other side but stretches of low swampyland, covered with stunted cypress trees, from which drooped delicatestreamers of Spanish moss-a fine place for alligators and Congo snakes.Here and there we passed a yellow sand-bar, and here and there a snaglifted its nose out of the water like a shark.