国外英文文学系列 A Vagabond Journey Around the World.docx

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1、国外英文文学系列 A Vagabond Journey Around the WorldA Narrative of Personal ExperienceAuthor: Harry Alverson FranckA FOREWORD OF EXPLANATIONSome years ago, while still an undergraduate, I chanced to be present at an informal gathering in which the conversation turned to confessions of respective aspirations

2、.“If only I had a few thousands,” sighed a senior, “Id make a trip around the world.”“Modest ambition!” retorted a junior, “But youd better file it away for future reference, till you have made the money.”“With all due respect to bank accounts,” I observed, “I believe a man with a bit of energy and

3、good health could start without money and make a journey around the globe.”Laughter assailed the suggestion; yet as time rolled on I found myself often musing over that hastily conceived notion. Travel for pleasure has ever been considered a special privilege of the wealthy. That a man without ample

4、 funds should turn tourist seems to his fellow-beings an action little less reprehensible than an attempt to finance a corporation on worthless paper. He who would see the world, and has not been provided the means thereto by a considerate ancestor, should sit close at home until his life work is do

5、ne, his fortune made. Then let him travel; when his eyes have grown too dim to catch the beauty of a distant landscape, when struggle and experience have rendered him blas and unimpressionable.A spirit of rebellion against this traditional notion suggested a problem worthy of investigation. What wou

6、ld befall the man who set out to girdle the globe as the farmers boy sets out to seek his fortune in the neighboring city; on the alert for every opportunity, yet scornful of the fact that every foot of the way has not been paved before him? There were, of course, other motives than mere curiosity t

7、o urge me to undertake such an expedition. As a vocation I had chosen the teaching of modern languages; foreign travel promised to add to my professional preparation. Were I permitted an avocation it would be the study of social conditions; what surer xiiiway of gaining vital knowledge of modern soc

8、iety than to live and work among the worlds workmen in every clime? In the final reckoning, too, an inherent Wanderlust, to which, as an American, I lay no claim as a unique characteristic, was certainly not without its influence.It was not until a year after my graduation that opportunity and my pl

9、ans were ripe. I resolved to take a “year off,” to wander through as much of the world as possible, and to return to my desk in the autumn, fifteen months later. As to my equipment for such a venture: I spoke French and German readily, Spanish and Italian with some fluency; I had “worked my way” on

10、shorter journeys, had earned wages at a dozen varieties of manual labor in my own country, and had crossed the Atlantic once as a cattle man and once before the mast. It was my original intention to attempt the journey without money, without weapons, and without carrying baggage or supplies; to depe

11、nd both for protection and the necessities of life on personal endeavor and the native resources of each locality. That plan I altered in one particular. I decided to carry a kodak; and to obviate the necessity of earning en route what I might choose to squander in photography, I set out with a sum

12、that seemed sufficient to cover that extraneous expense; to be exact: with one hundred and four dollars. As was to be expected, I spent this reserve fund early, in those countries of northern Europe in which I had not planned an extensive stay. But the conditions of the self-imposed test were not th

13、ereby materially altered; for before the journey ended I had spent in photography, from my earnings, more than the original amount,to be exact again: one hundred and thirteen dollars.The chief object of investigation being the masses, I made no attempt during the journey to rise above the estate of

14、the common laborer. My plan included no fixed itinerary. The details of route I left to chance and the exigencies of circumstances. Yet this random wandering brought me to as many famous spots as any victim of a “personally conducted tour” could demand; and in addition, to many corners unknown to th

15、e regular tourist. These latter it is that I have accentuated, passing lightly over well-known scenes. It is easy and, alas, too often customary for travelers to weave fanciful tales. But a story of personal observation of social conditions can xivbe of value only in so far as it adheres to the trut

16、h of actual experience. I have, therefore, told the facts in every particular, denying myself the privilege even of altering unimportant details to render more dramatic many a somewhat prosaic incident. The names of places, institutions, and persons appearing in the text are in every case authentic;

17、 the illustrations are chosen entirely from the photographs I took during the journey.The question that aroused my curiosity has been answered. A man can girdle the globe without money, weapons, or baggage. It is in the hope that the experiences and observations of such a journey may be of interest

18、to fireside travelers that I offer the following account of my Wanderjahr.The author wishes to acknowledge the courtesy of Harpers Weekly, Outing and The Century Magazine in permitting him to republish from their pages certain chapters of this book.CHAPTER IPRELIMINARY RAMBLESOn the eighteenth day o

19、f June, 1904, I boarded the ferry that plies between Detroit and the Canadian shore, and, coasting the sloping beach of verdant Belle Isle, swung off on the first stage of my journey around the globe. At the landing stage a custom officer glanced through my bag, stared perplexedly from the kodak to

20、my laborers garb, and with a shrug of his shoulders passed me on into the streets of the Canadian village.A two-mile tramp brought me to the Walkerville cattle-barns, where thousands of gaunt calves are rounded up each autumn to come forth in the summer plump bulls and steers, ready for the markets

21、of old England. From the long rows of low, brick buildings sounded now and then a deep bellow or the song or whistle of a stock feeder at his labor. I had arranged for my passage some days before, and, dropping my bag at the office, I joined the crew in the yard.Months of well-fed inactivity had not

22、 tamed the spirits of the sleek animals that were set loose and driven one by one out of the various stables. The racing, bellowing cattle, urged slowly up the shute into the waiting cars by blaspheming stockmen, waving lancelike poles above their heads, gave to the scene the aspect of a riotous cor

23、rida de toros. The sun had set and darkness had fallen in the alleyways between the endless stables before the last bull was tied and the last car door locked. The shunting engine gave a warning whistle. We, who were to attend the stock en route raced to the office for our bundles, and, tossing them

24、 on top of the freight cars, climbed after them.There were no formal leave-takings between the little stock-yard community on the shute platform and those who were “crossin the 4pond wi the bullocks.” The cars began to move amid such words of farewell as might have been exchanged with one setting ou

25、t for the nearby village:“So long, Jim, keep sober.”“Dont fergit me that tin o Wills Smokin, Bob.”“Give me best to Molly down on the Broomielaw, Jim,” with an overdrawn wink at that worthy standing stolidly on the last car.Jim and Bob were “boss cattle men,” each of whom, though still young, had mad

26、e scores of trips between the barns and the principal ports of Great Britain.A short run down the spur brought us to the main line of the Canadian Pacific; our cars were joined to a train that was making up, and we made our way to the caboose that had been rammed on behind. Though the companies perm

27、it it, train men look with no kindly eye on the intrusion of traveling “cow-punchers” into their home and castle. As we emerged into the glare of the tail-lights, carrying our bundles and poles, a surly growl gave us greeting:“Huh! Nother bloody bunch o cattle stiffs!”A steady run of thirty-six hour

28、s, enlivened by changes of caboose at unseemly hours, crews of increasing surliness, and a tramp along the cars at every halt to “punch em up” brought us to Montreal. The feeders at the railroad pens took charge of the shipment and we repaired to the “Stockyards Hotel,” a hostelry pervaded from bar-

29、room to garret by the odor of cattle. Thus far our destination had been uncertain, but, not long after our arrival, information leaked out that we were to sail for Glasgow on the Sardinian two days later.On that second evening, I reported at a wharf peopled by a half-hundred men whose only basis of

30、fellowship, apparently, was pennilessness and riotous desire to secure passage to the British Isles. Twelve hundred cattle, collected from several Canadian feeding centers, were to be shipped and, besides the bosses, twenty cattle men were needed. A few, like myself, had come overland with the stock

31、 trains; but the throng was made up chiefly of those who had paid a Montreal agency $2.50 for the privilege of shipping.Over these we were given precedence. “Farnsworths gang” was summoned first and under the lead of our boss we filed into the shipping-office, to be greeted by a blustering officer s

32、eated before the ships log:“Whats yer name?”5“H. Franck.”“Ever been over before?”“Yes, sir, on the Manchester Importer.”The name was recorded and I touched the pen to make binding the contract I had signed by proxy.“All right! Fi bob fer the run. Next!”Our boss was entitled to eight men, four of who

33、m he had already chosen. The last of these had barely given his name, when the “agency stiffs” swept aside the policeman who had held them back, and surged screaming into the office. We left them to fight for the coveted places and, stepping out into the night, groped our way on board the Sardinian.

34、 Even while we wandered among the empty cattle pens, built on her four decks, we clung jealously to our bundles, for the skill of the Montreal wharf-rat in “lifting bags” is proverbial among seafaring men.Towards midnight several loads of baled straw were sent on board, and those of us who had not s

35、ucceeded in hiding “turned to” to bed down the pens. Like many another transatlantic liner, the Sardinian, homeward bound, carried cattle in the spaces allotted to third-class passengers on the outward journey. It was not, however, for this reason, as one of my new acquaintances was convinced, that

36、this section of the ship was known as the steerage.The bedding completed, we threw ourselves down in the stalls and fell asleep. Long before the day broke, the entire ships company, from the first mate to the sleepiest “stiff,” was rudely awakened by a stampede of excited cattle and the blatant curs

37、es of their drivers. The stock-yard tenders had tied up alongside. In three hours our cargo was complete; the panting animals were securely tied in their stanchions; the winch had yanked up on deck the three or four bulls that, having been killed in the rush, were to be dumped in the outer bay; and

38、we were off down the St. Lawrence. The crew fell to coiling up the shore-lines and joined the cattle men in a rousing chorus:“Were homeward bound, boys, for Glasgow town,Good-by, fare thee well! good-by, fare thee well!Well soon tread the Broomielaw now, my belle,Good-by, fare thee well; good-by.”Ou

39、r passage varied little from the ordinary trip of a cattle boat. A few quarrels and an occasional free-for-all mle were to be expected, for the “stiffs focstle” housed a heterogeneous company. 6Some of our mates were skilled workmen of industry and good habits, bound on a visit to their old homes. C

40、ontrasted with them were several incorrigible wharf-rats, bred on the docks of the United Kingdom, who had somehow contrived to cross the Atlantic to what had been pictured to them as a land “where a bloke cn live like a gent at ome widout wavin is bleedin flipper.” The western hemisphere had proved

41、 no such ideal loafing-place. Bound back now to their accustomed haunts, the disillusioned rowdies spent their energies in heaping curses on America and those who had painted it in such glowing colors. They were not pleasant messmates.The work on the Sardinian was, as we had anticipated, hard, the f

42、ood unfit to eat, and the forecastle unfit to live in. But there were no “first trippers” among us and all had shipped with some knowledge of the treatment meted out to “cattle stiffs.”On the tenth day out, the second of July, we came on deck to find, a few miles off to starboard, the sloping coast

43、of Ireland, patches of growing and ripening grain giving the island the appearance of a huge, tilted checkerboard. Before night fell, we had left behind Paddys Mile-stone and the Mull o Kintyre, and it was near the mouth of the Clyde that we completed our last feeding.A mighty uproar awakened us at

44、dawn. Urged on by the bellows of Glasgow longshoremen, the cattle were slipping and sliding down the gangway into the wharf paddock. Unrestrained joy burst forth in the feeders quarters. Enmities were quickly forgotten, the few razors passed quickly from hand to hand, beards of two weeks growth disa

45、ppeared as if by magic, bags were snatched open, the rags and tatters that had done duty as clothing on the voyage were poked in endless stream through the porthole into the already poisonous Clyde, and an hour later the “stiffs,” looking almost respectable, were scattering along the silent streets

46、of Sunday-morning Glasgow.Strange it seemed next morning to find business moving as usual, with no sounds of celebration, for it was the Fourth, “Independence” or “Rebellion” day, according to the nationality of the speaker. At noon we gathered on board the Sardinian to receive our “fi bob” and our

47、discharges from the Board of Trade. These latter were good for the return trip on the same steamer, but few besides the bosses intended to avail themselves of the privilege. As for myself, I found another use for the document. One who is moving about Europe in the garb of a laborer must be ever read

48、y to declare his station in life. The answer of the American tramp that he is “just a travelin” will not pass muster across the water. To have called myself a carpenter or a teamster without corroborating testimonials would have been as foolish as to have told the truth. The discharge from the Sardi

49、nian, though issued to a cattle man, did not differ materially from that of an able seaman. My corduroy suit and cloth cap gave me the appearance of a Jack ashore. I decided to pose henceforth as a sailor.A boss cattleman of the Walkerville barns who has crossed the Atlantic scores of timesUpon arrival in Montreal I put up at the “S