Затерянный мир / The Lost World - стр. 24

It was August 2nd when we cut our last link with the outer world by saying goodbye to the Esmeralda. Since then four days have passed, during which we have hired two large canoes from the Indians, which we have loaded with all our belongings, and have enlisted two additional Indians to help us in the navigation. They are the very two, Ataca and Ipetu by name, who accompanied Professor Challenger on his previous journey. They seemed to be terrified at the prospect of repeating it, but as it was the chief’s will so that they had little choice in the matter.

So tomorrow we disappear into the unknown. This account I am transmitting down the river by canoe, and it may be our last word to those who are interested in our fate. I have, according to our arrangement, addressed it to you, my dear Mr. McArdle. In spite of the continued scepticism of Professor Summerlee I have no doubt that our leader will make good his statement, and that we are really on the eve of some most remarkable experiences.

Our friends at home may rejoice with us, for we are at our goal. We have not ascended the plateau yet, but it lies before us. Professor Summerlee is less persistent in his objections and keeps silence. We are sending home one of our local Indians who is injured, and I am giving this letter to him, with considerable doubts in my mind whether it will ever come to hand.

When I wrote last we were about to leave the Indian village. I have to begin my report by bad news, for the first serious personal trouble (I pass over the incessant bickerings between the Professors) occurred this evening, and might have had a tragic ending. I have spoken of our English-speaking half-breed, Gomez – a fine worker and a willing fellow, but afflicted, I fancy, with the vice of curiosity, which is common enough among such men. On the last evening he seems to have hid himself near the hut in which we were discussing our plans, and, being observed by our huge negro Zambo, who is as faithful as a dog and has the hatred which all his race bear to the half-breeds, he was dragged out and carried into our presence. Gomez whipped out his knife, however, and but for the huge strength of his captor, which enabled him to disarm him with one hand, he would certainly have stabbed him. The matter has ended in reprimands, the opponents have been compelled to shake hands, and there is every hope that all will be well. As to the feuds of the two learned men, they are continuous and bitter. It must be admitted that Challenger is provocative in the last degree, but Summerlee has an acid tongue, which makes matters worse. Last night Challenger said that he never cared to walk on the Thames Embankment and look up the river, as it was always sad to see one’s own eventual goal. He is convinced, of course, that he is destined for Westminster Abbey. Summerlee rejoined, however, with a sour smile, by saying that he understood that Millbank Prison had been pulled down. Challenger’s conceit is too colossal to allow him to be really annoyed. He only smiled in his beard and repeated “Really! Really!” in the pitying tone one would use to a child. Indeed, they are children both – the one wizened and cantankerous, the other formidable and overbearing, yet each with a brain which has put him in the front rank of his scientific age. Brain, character, soul – only as one sees more of life does one understand how distinct is each.