San Pedro Garza García

Th e Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a fl utter of the sails, and was at rest. Th e fl ood had made, the wind was nearly calm, and being bound down the river, the only thing for it was to come to and wait for the turn of the tide.

Th e sea-reach of the Th ames stretched before us like the beginning of an inter- minable waterway. In the offi ng the sea and the sky were welded together without a joint, and in the luminous space the tanned sails of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits. A haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea in vanishing fl atness. Th e air was dark above Gravesend, and farther back still seemed condensed into a mournful gloom, brooding motionless over the biggest, and the greatest, town on earth.

Th e Director of Companies was our captain and our host. We four aff ection- ately watched his back as he stood in the bows looking to seaward. On the whole river there was nothing that looked half so nautical. He resembled a pilot, which to

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a seaman is trustworthiness personifi ed. It was diffi cult to realize his work was not out there in the luminous estuary, but behind him, within the brooding gloom.

Between us there was, as I have already said somewhere, the bond of the sea. Besides holding our hearts together through long periods of separation, it had the eff ect of making us tolerant of each other’s yarns—and even convictions. Th e Lawyer—the best of old fellows—had, because of his many years and many virtues, the only cushion on deck, and was lying on the only rug. Th e Accountant had brought out already a box of dominoes, and was toying architecturally with the bones. Marlow sat cross-legged right aft, leaning against the mizzen-mast. He had sunken cheeks, a yellow complexion, a straight back, an ascetic aspect, and, with his arms dropped, the palms of hands outwards, resembled an idol. Th e director, satisfi ed the anchor had good hold, made his way aft and sat down amongst us. We exchanged a few words lazily. Afterwards there was silence on board the yacht. For some reason or other we did not begin that game of dominoes. We felt medi- tative, and fi t for nothing but placid staring. Th e day was ending in a serenity of still and exquisite brilliance. Th e water shone pacifi cally; the sky, without a speck, was a benign immensity of unstained light; the very mist on the Essex marsh was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the wooded rises inland, and draping the low shores in diaphanous folds. Only the gloom to the west, brooding over the upper reaches, became more sombre every minute, as if angered by the approach of the sun.

And at last, in its curved and imperceptible fall, the sun sank low, and from glowing white changed to a dull red without rays and without heat, as if about to go out suddenly, stricken to death by the touch of that gloom brooding over a crowd of men.

179. Th e word “it” in line 3 refers to (A) a vessel

(B) the water (C) the fl ood (D) the sun (E) the wind

180. In the fi rst and second paragraphs, the setting is described using all of the following devices except

(A) sensory imagery (B) simile

(C) metaphor (D) personifi cation (E) oxymoron

181. Th e sentence in lines 9–11 (“Th e air was dark . . . earth”) expresses what type of mood? (A) wicked (B) lugubrious (C) irreverent (D) diabolical (E) placid 182. Th e Director of Companies is (A) aff ectionate and authoritative (B) demonstrative and trustworthy (C) naval and venerable

(D) principled and brooding (E) gregarious and esteemed

183. Th e word “yarns” in line 9 most likely means (A) tales

(B) jokes (C) clothing (D) secrets (E) convictions

184. How many people are with the narrator? (A) three

(B) four (C) fi ve

(D) fewer than three (E) more than fi ve

185. Th e sentence in lines 20–23 (“Th e water shone . . .”) is an example of (A) a run-on sentence

(B) a periodic sentence

(C) a compound-complex sentence (D) epanalepsis

(E) a cumulative sentence

186. Th e word “diaphanous” (23) describes (A) the mist

(B) the landscape (C) the water (D) the light (E) the shore

187. Th e narrator’s tone in paragraphs 1–4 is (A) dirgelike (B) deferential (C) inspired (D) mordant (E) saccharine

188. Lines 19–25, “Th e day was ending . . . approach of the sun,” contrast (A) the opening paragraph

(B) day and night

(C) the crew and their environs (D) light and dark

(E) the west and the south

189. Th e passage’s fi nal sentence creates what type of mood? (A) morbid

(B) ominous (C) sanguine (D) sorrowful (E) regretful

190. Th e passage as a whole serves primarily to I. foreshadow later events

II. establish a symbolic setting III. characterize the main character

(A) I only (B) II only (C) I and II only (D) I and III only (E) I, II, and III

191. Th e town described in the passage is (A) Brussels

(B) London (C) Th e Th ames (D) Gravesend (E) England

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house offi cers. I watched the coast. Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thinking about an enigma. Th ere it is before you—smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering, ‘Come and fi nd out.’ Th is one was almost featureless, as if still in the making, with an aspect of monotonous grimness. Th e edge of a colossal jungle, so dark-green as to be almost black, fringed with white surf, ran straight, like a ruled line, far, far away along a blue sea whose glitter was blurred by a creeping mist. Th e sun was fi erce, the land seemed to glisten and drip with steam. Here and there greyish-whitish specks showed up clustered inside the white surf, with a fl ag fl ying above them perhaps. Settlements some centuries old, and still no bigger than pinheads on the untouched expanse of their background. We pounded along, stopped, landed soldiers; went on, landed custom-house clerks to levy toll in what looked like a God-forsaken wilderness, with a tin shed and a fl ag-pole lost in it; landed more soldiers—to take care of the custom-house clerks, presumably. Some, I heard, got drowned in the surf; but whether they did or not, nobody seemed particularly to care. Th ey were just fl ung out there, and on we went. Every day the coast looked the same, as though we had not moved; but we passed various places—trading places—with names like Gran’ Bassam, Little Popo; names that seemed to belong to some sordid farce acted in front of a sinister back-cloth. Th e idleness of a pas- senger, my isolation amongst all these men with whom I had no point of contact, the oily and languid sea, the uniform sombreness of the coast, seemed to keep me away from the truth of things, within the toil of a mournful and senseless delusion. Th e voice of the surf heard now and then was a positive pleasure, like the speech of a brother. It was something natural, that had its reason, that had a meaning. Now and then a boat from the shore gave one a momentary contact with reality. It was paddled by black fellows. You could see from afar the white of their eyeballs glistening. Th ey shouted, sang; their bodies streamed with perspiration; they had faces like grotesque masks—these chaps; but they had bone, muscle, a wild vitality, an intense energy of movement, that was as natural and true as the surf along their coast. Th ey wanted no excuse for being there. Th ey were a great comfort to look at. For a time I would feel I belonged still to a world of straightforward facts; but the feeling would not last long. Something would turn up to scare it away. Once, I remember, we came upon a man-of-war anchored off the coast. Th ere wasn’t even a shed there, and she was shelling the bush. It appears the French had one of their wars going on thereabouts. Her ensign dropped limp like a rag; the muzzles of the long six-inch guns stuck out all over the low hull; the greasy, slimy swell swung her up lazily and let her down, swaying her thin masts. In the empty immensity of earth, sky, and water, there she was, incomprehensible, fi ring into a continent. Pop, would go one of the six-inch guns; a small fl ame would dart and vanish, a little white smoke would disappear, a tiny projectile would give a feeble screech—and nothing happened. Nothing could happen. Th ere was a touch of insanity in the proceeding, a sense of lugubrious drollery in the sight; and it was not dissipated by somebody on board assuring me earnestly there was a camp of natives—he called them enemies!—hidden out of sight somewhere.”

192. Lines 1–9 contain all of the following devices except (A) simile (B) personifi cation (C) sentence variety (D) omniscient narration (E) imagery

193. Lines 1–9, ‘“I left in a French steamer . . . a creeping mist,”’ describe the sea as I. cryptic II. laconic III. obfuscated (A) I only (B) II only (C) I and III only (D) II and III only (E) I, II, and III

194. Lines 13–18, ‘“We pounded along, . . . on we went,”’ suggest that the speaker sees his job on the French steamer as

(A) perfunctory (B) cumbersome (C) onerous (D) critical (E) vexing

195. Th e tone of the sentence in lines 13–16 (‘“We pounded along . . . presumably”’) is enhanced by

(A) dependent clauses (B) anaphora

(C) metaphor (D) an em dash (E) polysyndeton

196. All of the following keeps the speaker in a delusional state except

(A) idleness (B) segregation (C) the sea

197. Th e speaker is relieved to see the ‘“black fellows”’ (28) because (A) they provide him with comic relief

(B) their grotesque faces are intriguing (C) they provide a sense of verity (D) they make the Europeans look better (E) they are an entertaining diversion

198. Lines 34–35 (‘“but the feeling . . . away”’) contain (A) regret

(B) foreshadowing (C) antithesis (D) vacillation (E) paradox

199. Th e sentence in lines 37–39 (‘“Her ensign . . . masts”’) can be described as all of the following except

(A) imagistic

(B) compound-complex (C) fi gurative

(D) periodic (E) alliterative

200. Th e word ‘“she”’ in line 40 refers to (A) the hull

(B) the sea (C) France

(D) the man-of-war (E) the masts

201. Together, the two sentences in lines 41–43 (‘“Pop . . . could happen”’) demonstrate

I. onomatopoeia and sentence variety II. asyndeton and personifi cation III. parallel structure and metonymy

(A) I only (B) II only (C) I and II only (D) II and III only (E) I, II, and III

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15 202. In line 44, ‘“drollery”’ most likely means

(A) boredom (B) contention (C) sadness (D) dark absurdity (E) insanity

203. Th e speaker’s tone in the phrase ‘“he called them enemies!”’ (46) communicates

(A) surprise and relief (B) shock and incredulity (C) vitriol and distress (D) remorse and vehemence (E) disappointment and fondness

204. Th e passage as a whole

(A) expresses yearning for an unforgettable journey (B) questions assumptions about racial inequality (C) questions the value of imperial outposts (D) describes past events objectively (E) describes experiences myopically