Загублений світ
It’s Just the very Biggest Thing in the World
Iwasreturning,myworkaccomplished,whenIhadoccasiontospendanightatasmallIndianvillageatapointwhereacertaintributary—thenameandpositionofwhichIwithhold—opensintothemainriver.ThenativeswereCucamaIndians,anamiablebutdegradedrace,withmentalpowershardlysuperiortotheaverageLondoner.Ihadeffectedsomecuresamongthemuponmywayuptheriver,andhadimpressedthemconsiderablywithmypersonality,sothatIwasnotsurprisedtofindmyselfeagerlyawaiteduponmyreturn.Igatheredfromtheirsignsthatsomeonehadurgentneedofmymedicalservices,andIfollowedthechieftooneofhishuts.WhenIenteredIfoundthatthesufferertowhoseaidIhadbeensummonedhadthatinstantexpired.Hewas,tomysurprise,noIndian,butawhiteman;indeed,Imaysayaverywhiteman,forhewasflaxen-hairedandhadsomecharacteristicsofanalbino.Hewascladinrags,wasveryemaciated,andboreeverytraceofprolongedhardship.SofarasIcouldunderstandtheaccountofthenatives,hewasacompletestrangertothem,andhadcomeupontheirvillagethroughthewoodsaloneandinthelaststageofexhaustion.
"Theman’sknapsacklaybesidethecouch,andIexaminedthecontents.Hisnamewaswrittenuponatabwithinit—MapleWhite,LakeAvenue,Detroit,Michigan.ItisanametowhichIampreparedalwaystoliftmyhat.Itisnottoomuchtosaythatitwillranklevelwithmyownwhenthefinalcreditofthisbusinesscomestobeapportioned.
"Fromthecontentsoftheknapsackitwasevidentthatthismanhadbeenanartistandpoetinsearchofeffects.Therewerescrapsofverse.Idonotprofesstobeajudgeofsuchthings,buttheyappearedtometobesingularlywantinginmerit.
