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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:29 -0700 |
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diff --git a/1058-h/1058-h.htm b/1058-h/1058-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dc88b5d --- /dev/null +++ b/1058-h/1058-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6819 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Mirror of the Sea, by Joseph Conrad</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Mirror of the Sea, by Joseph Conrad + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Mirror of the Sea + Memories and Impressions + + +Author: Joseph Conrad + + + +Release Date: April 7, 2013 [eBook #1058] +[This file was first posted on October 10, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIRROR OF THE SEA*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1907 Methuen & Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>THE MIRROR OF THE SEA<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">MEMORIES AND IMPRESSIONS</span></h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +<b>JOSEPH CONRAD</b></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<blockquote><p>“ . . . for this miracle or this wonder<br +/> +troubleth me right greatly.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="GutSmall">BOETHIUS DE +CON: PHIL: B. IV., PROSE VI.</span></p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">THIRD +EDITION</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">METHUEN & CO.<br /> +36 ESSEX STREET W.C.<br /> +LONDON</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p><i>First published</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><i>October</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>1906</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Second Edition</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><i>December</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>1906</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><i>Third Edition</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><i>January</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>1907</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">TO</span><br +/> +KATHERINE SANDERSON</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">WHOSE WARM +WELCOME AND GRACIOUS HOSPITALITY</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">EXTENDED TO THE FRIEND OF HER +SON</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">CHEERED THE FIRST DARK DAYS OF MY PARTING +WITH THE SEA</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THESE PAGES ARE AFFECTIONATELY +INSCRIBED</span></p> +<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p>THE MIRROR OF THE SEA:—</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">LANDFALLS AND DEPARTURES</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">I.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">EMBLEMS OF HOPE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">IV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page17">17</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE FINE ART</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">COBWEBS AND GOSSAMER</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">X.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE WEIGHT OF THE BURDEN</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">OVERDUE AND MISSING</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XVI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page86">86</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE GRIP OF THE LAND</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page102">102</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE CHARACTER OF THE FOE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page109">109</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">RULES OF EAST AND WEST</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE FAITHFUL RIVER</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page157">157</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IN CAPTIVITY</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page180">180</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">INITIATION</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page201">201</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE NURSERY OF THE CRAFT</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXVII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page233">233</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE </span><span +class="GutSmall"><i>TREMOLINO</i></span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XL.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page244">244</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE HEROIC AGE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XLVI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page289">289</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>I.</h2> +<blockquote><p>“And shippes by the brinke comen and gon,<br +/> +And in swich forme endure a day or two.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>The Frankeleyn’s +Tale</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Landfall</span> and Departure mark the +rhythmical swing of a seaman’s life and of a ship’s +career. From land to land is the most concise definition of +a ship’s earthly fate.</p> +<p>A “Departure” is not what a vain people of +landsmen may think. The term “Landfall” is more +easily understood; you fall in with the land, and it is a matter +of a quick eye and of a clear atmosphere. The Departure is +not the ship’s going away from her port any more than the +Landfall can be looked upon as the synonym of arrival. But +there is this difference in the Departure: that the term does not +imply so much a sea event as a definite act entailing a +process—the precise observation of certain landmarks by +means of the compass card.</p> +<p>Your Landfall, be it a peculiarly-shaped mountain, a rocky +headland, or a stretch of sand-dunes, you meet at first with a +single glance. Further recognition will follow in due +course; but essentially a Landfall, good or bad, is made and done +with at the first cry of “Land ho!” The +Departure is distinctly a ceremony of navigation. A ship +may have left her port some time before; she may have been at +sea, in the fullest sense of the phrase, for days; but, for all +that, as long as the coast she was about to leave remained in +sight, a southern-going ship of yesterday had not in the +sailor’s sense begun the enterprise of a passage.</p> +<p>The taking of Departure, if not the last sight of the land, +is, perhaps, the last professional recognition of the land on the +part of a sailor. It is the technical, as distinguished +from the sentimental, “good-bye.” Henceforth he +has done with the coast astern of his ship. It is a matter +personal to the man. It is not the ship that takes her +departure; the seaman takes his Departure by means of +cross-bearings which fix the place of the first tiny pencil-cross +on the white expanse of the track-chart, where the ship’s +position at noon shall be marked by just such another tiny pencil +cross for every day of her passage. And there may be sixty, +eighty, any number of these crosses on the ship’s track +from land to land. The greatest number in my experience was +a hundred and thirty of such crosses from the pilot station at +the Sand Heads in the Bay of Bengal to the Scilly’s +light. A bad passage. . .</p> +<p>A Departure, the last professional sight of land, is always +good, or at least good enough. For, even if the weather be +thick, it does not matter much to a ship having all the open sea +before her bows. A Landfall may be good or bad. You +encompass the earth with one particular spot of it in your +eye. In all the devious tracings the course of a +sailing-ship leaves upon the white paper of a chart she is always +aiming for that one little spot—maybe a small island in the +ocean, a single headland upon the long coast of a continent, a +lighthouse on a bluff, or simply the peaked form of a mountain +like an ant-heap afloat upon the waters. But if you have +sighted it on the expected bearing, then that Landfall is +good. Fogs, snowstorms, gales thick with clouds and +rain—those are the enemies of good Landfalls.</p> +<h2>II.</h2> +<p>Some commanders of ships take their Departure from the home +coast sadly, in a spirit of grief and discontent. They have +a wife, children perhaps, some affection at any rate, or perhaps +only some pet vice, that must be left behind for a year or +more. I remember only one man who walked his deck with a +springy step, and gave the first course of the passage in an +elated voice. But he, as I learned afterwards, was leaving +nothing behind him, except a welter of debts and threats of legal +proceedings.</p> +<p>On the other hand, I have known many captains who, directly +their ship had left the narrow waters of the Channel, would +disappear from the sight of their ship’s company altogether +for some three days or more. They would take a long dive, +as it were, into their state-room, only to emerge a few days +afterwards with a more or less serene brow. Those were the +men easy to get on with. Besides, such a complete +retirement seemed to imply a satisfactory amount of trust in +their officers, and to be trusted displeases no seaman worthy of +the name.</p> +<p>On my first voyage as chief mate with good Captain MacW— +I remember that I felt quite flattered, and went blithely about +my duties, myself a commander for all practical purposes. +Still, whatever the greatness of my illusion, the fact remained +that the real commander was there, backing up my self-confidence, +though invisible to my eyes behind a maple-wood veneered +cabin-door with a white china handle.</p> +<p>That is the time, after your Departure is taken, when the +spirit of your commander communes with you in a muffled voice, as +if from the sanctum sanctorum of a temple; because, call her a +temple or a “hell afloat”—as some ships have +been called—the captain’s state-room is surely the +august place in every vessel.</p> +<p>The good MacW— would not even come out to his meals, and +fed solitarily in his holy of holies from a tray covered with a +white napkin. Our steward used to bend an ironic glance at +the perfectly empty plates he was bringing out from there. +This grief for his home, which overcomes so many married seamen, +did not deprive Captain MacW— of his legitimate +appetite. In fact, the steward would almost invariably come +up to me, sitting in the captain’s chair at the head of the +table, to say in a grave murmur, “The captain asks for one +more slice of meat and two potatoes.” We, his +officers, could hear him moving about in his berth, or lightly +snoring, or fetching deep sighs, or splashing and blowing in his +bath-room; and we made our reports to him through the keyhole, as +it were. It was the crowning achievement of his amiable +character that the answers we got were given in a quite mild and +friendly tone. Some commanders in their periods of +seclusion are constantly grumpy, and seem to resent the mere +sound of your voice as an injury and an insult.</p> +<p>But a grumpy recluse cannot worry his subordinates: whereas +the man in whom the sense of duty is strong (or, perhaps, only +the sense of self-importance), and who persists in airing on deck +his moroseness all day—and perhaps half the +night—becomes a grievous infliction. He walks the +poop darting gloomy glances, as though he wished to poison the +sea, and snaps your head off savagely whenever you happen to +blunder within earshot. And these vagaries are the harder +to bear patiently, as becomes a man and an officer, because no +sailor is really good-tempered during the first few days of a +voyage. There are regrets, memories, the instinctive +longing for the departed idleness, the instinctive hate of all +work. Besides, things have a knack of going wrong at the +start, especially in the matter of irritating trifles. And +there is the abiding thought of a whole year of more or less hard +life before one, because there was hardly a southern-going voyage +in the yesterday of the sea which meant anything less than a +twelvemonth. Yes; it needed a few days after the taking of +your departure for a ship’s company to shake down into +their places, and for the soothing deep-water ship routine to +establish its beneficent sway.</p> +<p>It is a great doctor for sore hearts and sore heads, too, your +ship’s routine, which I have seen soothe—at least for +a time—the most turbulent of spirits. There is health +in it, and peace, and satisfaction of the accomplished round; for +each day of the ship’s life seems to close a circle within +the wide ring of the sea horizon. It borrows a certain +dignity of sameness from the majestic monotony of the sea. +He who loves the sea loves also the ship’s routine.</p> +<p>Nowhere else than upon the sea do the days, weeks and months +fall away quicker into the past. They seem to be left +astern as easily as the light air-bubbles in the swirls of the +ship’s wake, and vanish into a great silence in which your +ship moves on with a sort of magical effect. They pass +away, the days, the weeks, the months. Nothing but a gale +can disturb the orderly life of the ship; and the spell of +unshaken monotony that seems to have fallen upon the very voices +of her men is broken only by the near prospect of a Landfall.</p> +<p>Then is the spirit of the ship’s commander stirred +strongly again. But it is not moved to seek seclusion, and +to remain, hidden and inert, shut up in a small cabin with the +solace of a good bodily appetite. When about to make the +land, the spirit of the ship’s commander is tormented by an +unconquerable restlessness. It seems unable to abide for +many seconds together in the holy of holies of the +captain’s state-room; it will out on deck and gaze ahead, +through straining eyes, as the appointed moment comes +nearer. It is kept vigorously upon the stretch of excessive +vigilance. Meantime the body of the ship’s commander +is being enfeebled by want of appetite; at least, such is my +experience, though “enfeebled” is perhaps not exactly +the word. I might say, rather, that it is spiritualized by +a disregard for food, sleep, and all the ordinary comforts, such +as they are, of sea life. In one or two cases I have known +that detachment from the grosser needs of existence remain +regrettably incomplete in the matter of drink.</p> +<p>But these two cases were, properly speaking, pathological +cases, and the only two in all my sea experience. In one of +these two instances of a craving for stimulants, developed from +sheer anxiety, I cannot assert that the man’s seamanlike +qualities were impaired in the least. It was a very anxious +case, too, the land being made suddenly, close-to, on a wrong +bearing, in thick weather, and during a fresh onshore gale. +Going below to speak to him soon after, I was unlucky enough to +catch my captain in the very act of hasty cork-drawing. The +sight, I may say, gave me an awful scare. I was well aware +of the morbidly sensitive nature of the man. Fortunately, I +managed to draw back unseen, and, taking care to stamp heavily +with my sea-boots at the foot of the cabin stairs, I made my +second entry. But for this unexpected glimpse, no act of +his during the next twenty-four hours could have given me the +slightest suspicion that all was not well with his nerve.</p> +<h2>III.</h2> +<p>Quite another case, and having nothing to do with drink, was +that of poor Captain B—. He used to suffer from sick +headaches, in his young days, every time he was approaching a +coast. Well over fifty years of age when I knew him, short, +stout, dignified, perhaps a little pompous, he was a man of a +singularly well-informed mind, the least sailor-like in outward +aspect, but certainly one of the best seamen whom it has been my +good luck to serve under. He was a Plymouth man, I think, +the son of a country doctor, and both his elder boys were +studying medicine. He commanded a big London ship, fairly +well known in her day. I thought no end of him, and that is +why I remember with a peculiar satisfaction the last words he +spoke to me on board his ship after an eighteen months’ +voyage. It was in the dock in Dundee, where we had brought +a full cargo of jute from Calcutta. We had been paid off +that morning, and I had come on board to take my sea-chest away +and to say good-bye. In his slightly lofty but courteous +way he inquired what were my plans. I replied that I +intended leaving for London by the afternoon train, and thought +of going up for examination to get my master’s +certificate. I had just enough service for that. He +commended me for not wasting my time, with such an evident +interest in my case that I was quite surprised; then, rising from +his chair, he said:</p> +<p>“Have you a ship in view after you have +passed?”</p> +<p>I answered that I had nothing whatever in view.</p> +<p>He shook hands with me, and pronounced the memorable +words:</p> +<p>“If you happen to be in want of employment, remember +that as long as I have a ship you have a ship, too.”</p> +<p>In the way of compliment there is nothing to beat this from a +ship’s captain to his second mate at the end of a voyage, +when the work is over and the subordinate is done with. And +there is a pathos in that memory, for the poor fellow never went +to sea again after all. He was already ailing when we +passed St. Helena; was laid up for a time when we were off the +Western Islands, but got out of bed to make his Landfall. +He managed to keep up on deck as far as the Downs, where, giving +his orders in an exhausted voice, he anchored for a few hours to +send a wire to his wife and take aboard a North Sea pilot to help +him sail the ship up the east coast. He had not felt equal +to the task by himself, for it is the sort of thing that keeps a +deep-water man on his feet pretty well night and day.</p> +<p>When we arrived in Dundee, Mrs. B— was already there, +waiting to take him home. We travelled up to London by the +same train; but by the time I had managed to get through with my +examination the ship had sailed on her next voyage without him, +and, instead of joining her again, I went by request to see my +old commander in his home. This is the only one of my +captains I have ever visited in that way. He was out of bed +by then, “quite convalescent,” as he declared, making +a few tottering steps to meet me at the sitting-room door. +Evidently he was reluctant to take his final cross-bearings of +this earth for a Departure on the only voyage to an unknown +destination a sailor ever undertakes. And it was all very +nice—the large, sunny room; his deep, easy-chair in a bow +window, with pillows and a footstool; the quiet, watchful care of +the elderly, gentle woman who had borne him five children, and +had not, perhaps, lived with him more than five full years out of +the thirty or so of their married life. There was also +another woman there in a plain black dress, quite gray-haired, +sitting very erect on her chair with some sewing, from which she +snatched side-glances in his direction, and uttering not a single +word during all the time of my call. Even when, in due +course, I carried over to her a cup of tea, she only nodded at me +silently, with the faintest ghost of a smile on her tight-set +lips. I imagine she must have been a maiden sister of Mrs. +B— come to help nurse her brother-in-law. His +youngest boy, a late-comer, a great cricketer it seemed, twelve +years old or thereabouts, chattered enthusiastically of the +exploits of W. G. Grace. And I remember his eldest son, +too, a newly-fledged doctor, who took me out to smoke in the +garden, and, shaking his head with professional gravity, but with +genuine concern, muttered: “Yes, but he doesn’t get +back his appetite. I don’t like that—I +don’t like that at all.” The last sight of +Captain B— I had was as he nodded his head to me out of the +bow window when I turned round to close the front gate.</p> +<p>It was a distinct and complete impression, something that I +don’t know whether to call a Landfall or a Departure. +Certainly he had gazed at times very fixedly before him with the +Landfall’s vigilant look, this sea-captain seated +incongruously in a deep-backed chair. He had not then +talked to me of employment, of ships, of being ready to take +another command; but he had discoursed of his early days, in the +abundant but thin flow of a wilful invalid’s talk. +The women looked worried, but sat still, and I learned more of +him in that interview than in the whole eighteen months we had +sailed together. It appeared he had “served his +time” in the copper-ore trade, the famous copper-ore trade +of old days between Swansea and the Chilian coast, coal out and +ore in, deep-loaded both ways, as if in wanton defiance of the +great Cape Horn seas—a work, this, for staunch ships, and a +great school of staunchness for West-Country seamen. A +whole fleet of copper-bottomed barques, as strong in rib and +planking, as well-found in gear, as ever was sent upon the seas, +manned by hardy crews and commanded by young masters, was engaged +in that now long defunct trade. “That was the school +I was trained in,” he said to me almost boastfully, lying +back amongst his pillows with a rug over his legs. And it +was in that trade that he obtained his first command at a very +early age. It was then that he mentioned to me how, as a +young commander, he was always ill for a few days before making +land after a long passage. But this sort of sickness used +to pass off with the first sight of a familiar landmark. +Afterwards, he added, as he grew older, all that nervousness wore +off completely; and I observed his weary eyes gaze steadily +ahead, as if there had been nothing between him and the straight +line of sea and sky, where whatever a seaman is looking for is +first bound to appear. But I have also seen his eyes rest +fondly upon the faces in the room, upon the pictures on the wall, +upon all the familiar objects of that home, whose abiding and +clear image must have flashed often on his memory in times of +stress and anxiety at sea. Was he looking out for a strange +Landfall, or taking with an untroubled mind the bearings for his +last Departure?</p> +<p>It is hard to say; for in that voyage from which no man +returns Landfall and Departure are instantaneous, merging +together into one moment of supreme and final attention. +Certainly I do not remember observing any sign of faltering in +the set expression of his wasted face, no hint of the nervous +anxiety of a young commander about to make land on an uncharted +shore. He had had too much experience of Departures and +Landfalls! And had he not “served his time” in +the famous copper-ore trade out of the Bristol Channel, the work +of the staunchest ships afloat, and the school of staunch +seamen?</p> +<h2><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>IV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> an anchor can ever be +raised, it must be let go; and this perfectly obvious truism +brings me at once to the subject of the degradation of the sea +language in the daily press of this country.</p> +<p>Your journalist, whether he takes charge of a ship or a fleet, +almost invariably “casts” his anchor. Now, an +anchor is never cast, and to take a liberty with technical +language is a crime against the clearness, precision, and beauty +of perfected speech.</p> +<p>An anchor is a forged piece of iron, admirably adapted to its +end, and technical language is an instrument wrought into +perfection by ages of experience, a flawless thing for its +purpose. An anchor of yesterday (because nowadays there are +contrivances like mushrooms and things like claws, of no +particular expression or shape—just hooks)—an anchor +of yesterday is in its way a most efficient instrument. To +its perfection its size bears witness, for there is no other +appliance so small for the great work it has to do. Look at +the anchors hanging from the cat-heads of a big ship! How +tiny they are in proportion to the great size of the hull! +Were they made of gold they would look like trinkets, like +ornamental toys, no bigger in proportion than a jewelled drop in +a woman’s ear. And yet upon them will depend, more +than once, the very life of the ship.</p> +<p>An anchor is forged and fashioned for faithfulness; give it +ground that it can bite, and it will hold till the cable parts, +and then, whatever may afterwards befall its ship, that anchor is +“lost.” The honest, rough piece of iron, so +simple in appearance, has more parts than the human body has +limbs: the ring, the stock, the crown, the flukes, the palms, the +shank. All this, according to the journalist, is +“cast” when a ship arriving at an anchorage is +brought up.</p> +<p>This insistence in using the odious word arises from the fact +that a particularly benighted landsman must imagine the act of +anchoring as a process of throwing something overboard, whereas +the anchor ready for its work is already overboard, and is not +thrown over, but simply allowed to fall. It hangs from the +ship’s side at the end of a heavy, projecting timber called +the cat-head, in the bight of a short, thick chain whose end link +is suddenly released by a blow from a top-maul or the pull of a +lever when the order is given. And the order is not +“Heave over!” as the paragraphist seems to imagine, +but “Let go!”</p> +<p>As a matter of fact, nothing is ever cast in that sense on +board ship but the lead, of which a cast is taken to search the +depth of water on which she floats. A lashed boat, a spare +spar, a cask or what not secured about the decks, is “cast +adrift” when it is untied. Also the ship herself is +“cast to port or starboard” when getting under +way. She, however, never “casts” her +anchor.</p> +<p>To speak with severe technicality, a ship or a fleet is +“brought up”—the complementary words +unpronounced and unwritten being, of course, “to an +anchor.” Less technically, but not less correctly, +the word “anchored,” with its characteristic +appearance and resolute sound, ought to be good enough for the +newspapers of the greatest maritime country in the world. +“The fleet anchored at Spithead”: can anyone want a +better sentence for brevity and seamanlike ring? But the +“cast-anchor” trick, with its affectation of being a +sea-phrase—for why not write just as well “threw +anchor,” “flung anchor,” or “shied +anchor”?—is intolerably odious to a sailor’s +ear. I remember a coasting pilot of my early acquaintance +(he used to read the papers assiduously) who, to define the +utmost degree of lubberliness in a landsman, used to say, +“He’s one of them poor, miserable +‘cast-anchor’ devils.”</p> +<h2>V.</h2> +<p>From first to last the seaman’s thoughts are very much +concerned with his anchors. It is not so much that the +anchor is a symbol of hope as that it is the heaviest object that +he has to handle on board his ship at sea in the usual routine of +his duties. The beginning and the end of every passage are +marked distinctly by work about the ship’s anchors. A +vessel in the Channel has her anchors always ready, her cables +shackled on, and the land almost always in sight. The +anchor and the land are indissolubly connected in a +sailor’s thoughts. But directly she is clear of the +narrow seas, heading out into the world with nothing solid to +speak of between her and the South Pole, the anchors are got in +and the cables disappear from the deck. But the anchors do +not disappear. Technically speaking, they are +“secured in-board”; and, on the forecastle head, +lashed down to ring-bolts with ropes and chains, under the +straining sheets of the head-sails, they look very idle and as if +asleep. Thus bound, but carefully looked after, inert and +powerful, those emblems of hope make company for the look-out man +in the night watches; and so the days glide by, with a long rest +for those characteristically shaped pieces of iron, reposing +forward, visible from almost every part of the ship’s deck, +waiting for their work on the other side of the world somewhere, +while the ship carries them on with a great rush and splutter of +foam underneath, and the sprays of the open sea rust their heavy +limbs.</p> +<p>The first approach to the land, as yet invisible to the +crew’s eyes, is announced by the brisk order of the chief +mate to the boatswain: “We will get the anchors over this +afternoon” or “first thing to-morrow morning,” +as the case may be. For the chief mate is the keeper of the +ship’s anchors and the guardian of her cable. There +are good ships and bad ships, comfortable ships and ships where, +from first day to last of the voyage, there is no rest for a +chief mate’s body and soul. And ships are what men +make them: this is a pronouncement of sailor wisdom, and, no +doubt, in the main it is true.</p> +<p>However, there are ships where, as an old grizzled mate once +told me, “nothing ever seems to go right!” And, +looking from the poop where we both stood (I had paid him a +neighbourly call in dock), he added: “She’s one of +them.” He glanced up at my face, which expressed a +proper professional sympathy, and set me right in my natural +surmise: “Oh no; the old man’s right enough. He +never interferes. Anything that’s done in a +seamanlike way is good enough for him. And yet, somehow, +nothing ever seems to go right in this ship. I tell you +what: she is naturally unhandy.”</p> +<p>The “old man,” of course, was his captain, who +just then came on deck in a silk hat and brown overcoat, and, +with a civil nod to us, went ashore. He was certainly not +more than thirty, and the elderly mate, with a murmur to me of +“That’s my old man,” proceeded to give +instances of the natural unhandiness of the ship in a sort of +deprecatory tone, as if to say, “You mustn’t think I +bear a grudge against her for that.”</p> +<p>The instances do not matter. The point is that there are +ships where things <i>do</i> go wrong; but whatever the +ship—good or bad, lucky or unlucky—it is in the +forepart of her that her chief mate feels most at home. It +is emphatically <i>his</i> end of the ship, though, of course, he +is the executive supervisor of the whole. There are +<i>his</i> anchors, <i>his</i> headgear, his foremast, his +station for manoeuvring when the captain is in charge. And +there, too, live the men, the ship’s hands, whom it is his +duty to keep employed, fair weather or foul, for the ship’s +welfare. It is the chief mate, the only figure of the +ship’s afterguard, who comes bustling forward at the cry of +“All hands on deck!” He is the satrap of that +province in the autocratic realm of the ship, and more personally +responsible for anything that may happen there.</p> +<p>There, too, on the approach to the land, assisted by the +boatswain and the carpenter, he “gets the anchors +over” with the men of his own watch, whom he knows better +than the others. There he sees the cable ranged, the +windlass disconnected, the compressors opened; and there, after +giving his own last order, “Stand clear of the +cable!” he waits attentive, in a silent ship that forges +slowly ahead towards her picked-out berth, for the sharp shout +from aft, “Let go!” Instantly bending over, he +sees the trusty iron fall with a heavy plunge under his eyes, +which watch and note whether it has gone clear.</p> +<p>For the anchor “to go clear” means to go clear of +its own chain. Your anchor must drop from the bow of your +ship with no turn of cable on any of its limbs, else you would be +riding to a foul anchor. Unless the pull of the cable is +fair on the ring, no anchor can be trusted even on the best of +holding ground. In time of stress it is bound to drag, for +implements and men must be treated fairly to give you the +“virtue” which is in them. The anchor is an +emblem of hope, but a foul anchor is worse than the most +fallacious of false hopes that ever lured men or nations into a +sense of security. And the sense of security, even the most +warranted, is a bad councillor. It is the sense which, like +that exaggerated feeling of well-being ominous of the coming on +of madness, precedes the swift fall of disaster. A seaman +labouring under an undue sense of security becomes at once worth +hardly half his salt. Therefore, of all my chief officers, +the one I trusted most was a man called B—. He had a +red moustache, a lean face, also red, and an uneasy eye. He +was worth all his salt.</p> +<p>On examining now, after many years, the residue of the feeling +which was the outcome of the contact of our personalities, I +discover, without much surprise, a certain flavour of +dislike. Upon the whole, I think he was one of the most +uncomfortable shipmates possible for a young commander. If +it is permissible to criticise the absent, I should say he had a +little too much of the sense of insecurity which is so invaluable +in a seaman. He had an extremely disturbing air of being +everlastingly ready (even when seated at table at my right hand +before a plate of salt beef) to grapple with some impending +calamity. I must hasten to add that he had also the other +qualification necessary to make a trustworthy seaman—that +of an absolute confidence in himself. What was really wrong +with him was that he had these qualities in an unrestful +degree. His eternally watchful demeanour, his jerky, +nervous talk, even his, as it were, determined silences, seemed +to imply—and, I believe, they did imply—that to his +mind the ship was never safe in my hands. Such was the man +who looked after the anchors of a less than five-hundred-ton +barque, my first command, now gone from the face of the earth, +but sure of a tenderly remembered existence as long as I +live. No anchor could have gone down foul under Mr. +B—’s piercing eye. It was good for one to be +sure of that when, in an open roadstead, one heard in the cabin +the wind pipe up; but still, there were moments when I detested +Mr. B— exceedingly. From the way he used to glare +sometimes, I fancy that more than once he paid me back with +interest. It so happened that we both loved the little +barque very much. And it was just the defect of Mr. +B—’s inestimable qualities that he would never +persuade himself to believe that the ship was safe in my +hands. To begin with, he was more than five years older +than myself at a time of life when five years really do count, I +being twenty-nine and he thirty-four; then, on our first leaving +port (I don’t see why I should make a secret of the fact +that it was Bangkok), a bit of manoeuvring of mine amongst the +islands of the Gulf of Siam had given him an unforgettable +scare. Ever since then he had nursed in secret a bitter +idea of my utter recklessness. But upon the whole, and +unless the grip of a man’s hand at parting means nothing +whatever, I conclude that we did like each other at the end of +two years and three months well enough.</p> +<p>The bond between us was the ship; and therein a ship, though +she has female attributes and is loved very unreasonably, is +different from a woman. That I should have been +tremendously smitten with my first command is nothing to wonder +at, but I suppose I must admit that Mr. B—’s +sentiment was of a higher order. Each of us, of course, was +extremely anxious about the good appearance of the beloved +object; and, though I was the one to glean compliments ashore, +B— had the more intimate pride of feeling, resembling that +of a devoted handmaiden. And that sort of faithful and +proud devotion went so far as to make him go about flicking the +dust off the varnished teak-wood rail of the little craft with a +silk pocket-handkerchief—a present from Mrs. B—, I +believe.</p> +<p>That was the effect of his love for the barque. The +effect of his admirable lack of the sense of security once went +so far as to make him remark to me: “Well, sir, you +<i>are</i> a lucky man!”</p> +<p>It was said in a tone full of significance, but not exactly +offensive, and it was, I suppose, my innate tact that prevented +my asking, “What on earth do you mean by that?”</p> +<p>Later on his meaning was illustrated more fully on a dark +night in a tight corner during a dead on-shore gale. I had +called him up on deck to help me consider our extremely +unpleasant situation. There was not much time for deep +thinking, and his summing-up was: “It looks pretty bad, +whichever we try; but, then, sir, you always do get out of a mess +somehow.”</p> +<h2>VI.</h2> +<p>It is difficult to disconnect the idea of ships’ anchors +from the idea of the ship’s chief mate—the man who +sees them go down clear and come up sometimes foul; because not +even the most unremitting care can always prevent a ship, +swinging to winds and tide, from taking an awkward turn of the +cable round stock or fluke. Then the business of +“getting the anchor” and securing it afterwards is +unduly prolonged, and made a weariness to the chief mate. +He is the man who watches the growth of the cable—a +sailor’s phrase which has all the force, precision, and +imagery of technical language that, created by simple men with +keen eyes for the real aspect of the things they see in their +trade, achieves the just expression seizing upon the essential, +which is the ambition of the artist in words. Therefore the +sailor will never say, “cast anchor,” and the +ship-master aft will hail his chief mate on the forecastle in +impressionistic phrase: “How does the cable +grow?” Because “grow” is the right word +for the long drift of a cable emerging aslant under the strain, +taut as a bow-string above the water. And it is the voice +of the keeper of the ship’s anchors that will answer: +“Grows right ahead, sir,” or “Broad on the +bow,” or whatever concise and deferential shout will fit +the case.</p> +<p>There is no order more noisily given or taken up with lustier +shouts on board a homeward-bound merchant ship than the command, +“Man the windlass!” The rush of expectant men +out of the forecastle, the snatching of hand-spikes, the tramp of +feet, the clink of the pawls, make a stirring accompaniment to a +plaintive up-anchor song with a roaring chorus; and this burst of +noisy activity from a whole ship’s crew seems like a +voiceful awakening of the ship herself, till then, in the +picturesque phrase of Dutch seamen, “lying asleep upon her +iron.”</p> +<p>For a ship with her sails furled on her squared yards, and +reflected from truck to water-line in the smooth gleaming sheet +of a landlocked harbour, seems, indeed, to a seaman’s eye +the most perfect picture of slumbering repose. The getting +of your anchor was a noisy operation on board a merchant ship of +yesterday—an inspiring, joyous noise, as if, with the +emblem of hope, the ship’s company expected to drag up out +of the depths, each man all his personal hopes into the reach of +a securing hand—the hope of home, the hope of rest, of +liberty, of dissipation, of hard pleasure, following the hard +endurance of many days between sky and water. And this +noisiness, this exultation at the moment of the ship’s +departure, make a tremendous contrast to the silent moments of +her arrival in a foreign roadstead—the silent moments when, +stripped of her sails, she forges ahead to her chosen berth, the +loose canvas fluttering softly in the gear above the heads of the +men standing still upon her decks, the master gazing intently +forward from the break of the poop. Gradually she loses her +way, hardly moving, with the three figures on her forecastle +waiting attentively about the cat-head for the last order of, +perhaps, full ninety days at sea: “Let go!”</p> +<p>This is the final word of a ship’s ended journey, the +closing word of her toil and of her achievement. In a life +whose worth is told out in passages from port to port, the splash +of the anchor’s fall and the thunderous rumbling of the +chain are like the closing of a distinct period, of which she +seems conscious with a slight deep shudder of all her +frame. By so much is she nearer to her appointed death, for +neither years nor voyages can go on for ever. It is to her +like the striking of a clock, and in the pause which follows she +seems to take count of the passing time.</p> +<p>This is the last important order; the others are mere routine +directions. Once more the master is heard: “Give her +forty-five fathom to the water’s edge,” and then he, +too, is done for a time. For days he leaves all the harbour +work to his chief mate, the keeper of the ship’s anchor and +of the ship’s routine. For days his voice will not be +heard raised about the decks, with that curt, austere accent of +the man in charge, till, again, when the hatches are on, and in a +silent and expectant ship, he shall speak up from aft in +commanding tones: “Man the windlass!”</p> +<h2><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>VII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> other year, looking through a +newspaper of sound principles, but whose staff <i>will</i> +persist in “casting” anchors and going to sea +“on” a ship (ough!), I came across an article upon +the season’s yachting. And, behold! it was a good +article. To a man who had but little to do with pleasure +sailing (though all sailing is a pleasure), and certainly nothing +whatever with racing in open waters, the writer’s +strictures upon the handicapping of yachts were just intelligible +and no more. And I do not pretend to any interest in the +enumeration of the great races of that year. As to the +52-foot linear raters, praised so much by the writer, I am warmed +up by his approval of their performances; but, as far as any +clear conception goes, the descriptive phrase, so precise to the +comprehension of a yachtsman, evokes no definite image in my +mind.</p> +<p>The writer praises that class of pleasure vessels, and I am +willing to endorse his words, as any man who loves every craft +afloat would be ready to do. I am disposed to admire and +respect the 52-foot linear raters on the word of a man who +regrets in such a sympathetic and understanding spirit the +threatened decay of yachting seamanship.</p> +<p>Of course, yacht racing is an organized pastime, a function of +social idleness ministering to the vanity of certain wealthy +inhabitants of these isles nearly as much as to their inborn love +of the sea. But the writer of the article in question goes +on to point out, with insight and justice, that for a great +number of people (20,000, I think he says) it is a means of +livelihood—that it is, in his own words, an industry. +Now, the moral side of an industry, productive or unproductive, +the redeeming and ideal aspect of this bread-winning, is the +attainment and preservation of the highest possible skill on the +part of the craftsmen. Such skill, the skill of technique, +is more than honesty; it is something wider, embracing honesty +and grace and rule in an elevated and clear sentiment, not +altogether utilitarian, which may be called the honour of +labour. It is made up of accumulated tradition, kept alive +by individual pride, rendered exact by professional opinion, and, +like the higher arts, it spurred on and sustained by +discriminating praise.</p> +<p>This is why the attainment of proficiency, the pushing of your +skill with attention to the most delicate shades of excellence, +is a matter of vital concern. Efficiency of a practically +flawless kind may be reached naturally in the struggle for +bread. But there is something beyond—a higher point, +a subtle and unmistakable touch of love and pride beyond mere +skill; almost an inspiration which gives to all work that finish +which is almost art—which <i>is</i> art.</p> +<p>As men of scrupulous honour set up a high standard of public +conscience above the dead-level of an honest community, so men of +that skill which passes into art by ceaseless striving raise the +dead-level of correct practice in the crafts of land and +sea. The conditions fostering the growth of that supreme, +alive excellence, as well in work as in play, ought to be +preserved with a most careful regard lest the industry or the +game should perish of an insidious and inward decay. +Therefore I have read with profound regret, in that article upon +the yachting season of a certain year, that the seamanship on +board racing yachts is not now what it used to be only a few, +very few, years ago.</p> +<p>For that was the gist of that article, written evidently by a +man who not only knows but <i>understands</i>—a thing (let +me remark in passing) much rarer than one would expect, because +the sort of understanding I mean is inspired by love; and love, +though in a sense it may be admitted to be stronger than death, +is by no means so universal and so sure. In fact, love is +rare—the love of men, of things, of ideas, the love of +perfected skill. For love is the enemy of haste; it takes +count of passing days, of men who pass away, of a fine art +matured slowly in the course of years and doomed in a short time +to pass away too, and be no more. Love and regret go hand +in hand in this world of changes swifter than the shifting of the +clouds reflected in the mirror of the sea.</p> +<p>To penalize a yacht in proportion to the fineness of her +performance is unfair to the craft and to her men. It is +unfair to the perfection of her form and to the skill of her +servants. For we men are, in fact, the servants of our +creations. We remain in everlasting bondage to the +productions of our brain and to the work of our hands. A +man is born to serve his time on this earth, and there is +something fine in the service being given on other grounds than +that of utility. The bondage of art is very exacting. +And, as the writer of the article which started this train of +thought says with lovable warmth, the sailing of yachts is a fine +art.</p> +<p>His contention is that racing, without time allowances for +anything else but tonnage—that is, for size—has +fostered the fine art of sailing to the pitch of +perfection. Every sort of demand is made upon the master of +a sailing-yacht, and to be penalized in proportion to your +success may be of advantage to the sport itself, but it has an +obviously deteriorating effect upon the seamanship. The +fine art is being lost.</p> +<h2>VIII.</h2> +<p>The sailing and racing of yachts has developed a class of +fore-and-aft sailors, men born and bred to the sea, fishing in +winter and yachting in summer; men to whom the handling of that +particular rig presents no mystery. It is their striving +for victory that has elevated the sailing of pleasure craft to +the dignity of a fine art in that special sense. As I have +said, I know nothing of racing and but little of fore-and-aft +rig; but the advantages of such a rig are obvious, especially for +purposes of pleasure, whether in cruising or racing. It +requires less effort in handling; the trimming of the sail-planes +to the wind can be done with speed and accuracy; the unbroken +spread of the sail-area is of infinite advantage; and the +greatest possible amount of canvas can be displayed upon the +least possible quantity of spars. Lightness and +concentrated power are the great qualities of fore-and-aft +rig.</p> +<p>A fleet of fore-and-afters at anchor has its own slender +graciousness. The setting of their sails resembles more +than anything else the unfolding of a bird’s wings; the +facility of their evolutions is a pleasure to the eye. They +are birds of the sea, whose swimming is like flying, and +resembles more a natural function than the handling of +man-invented appliances. The fore-and-aft rig in its +simplicity and the beauty of its aspect under every angle of +vision is, I believe, unapproachable. A schooner, yawl, or +cutter in charge of a capable man seems to handle herself as if +endowed with the power of reasoning and the gift of swift +execution. One laughs with sheer pleasure at a smart piece +of manoeuvring, as at a manifestation of a living +creature’s quick wit and graceful precision.</p> +<p>Of those three varieties of fore-and-aft rig, the +cutter—the racing rig <i>par excellence</i>—is of an +appearance the most imposing, from the fact that practically all +her canvas is in one piece. The enormous mainsail of a +cutter, as she draws slowly past a point of land or the end of a +jetty under your admiring gaze, invests her with an air of lofty +and silent majesty. At anchor a schooner looks better; she +has an aspect of greater efficiency and a better balance to the +eye, with her two masts distributed over the hull with a +swaggering rake aft. The yawl rig one comes in time to +love. It is, I should think, the easiest of all to +manage.</p> +<p>For racing, a cutter; for a long pleasure voyage, a schooner; +for cruising in home waters, the yawl; and the handling of them +all is indeed a fine art. It requires not only the +knowledge of the general principles of sailing, but a particular +acquaintance with the character of the craft. All vessels +are handled in the same way as far as theory goes, just as you +may deal with all men on broad and rigid principles. But if +you want that success in life which comes from the affection and +confidence of your fellows, then with no two men, however similar +they may appear in their nature, will you deal in the same +way. There may be a rule of conduct; there is no rule of +human fellowship. To deal with men is as fine an art as it +is to deal with ships. Both men and ships live in an +unstable element, are subject to subtle and powerful influences, +and want to have their merits understood rather than their faults +found out.</p> +<p>It is not what your ship will <i>not</i> do that you want to +know to get on terms of successful partnership with her; it is, +rather, that you ought to have a precise knowledge of what she +will do for you when called upon to put forth what is in her by a +sympathetic touch. At first sight the difference does not +seem great in either line of dealing with the difficult problem +of limitations. But the difference is great. The +difference lies in the spirit in which the problem is +approached. After all, the art of handling ships is finer, +perhaps, than the art of handling men.</p> +<p>And, like all fine arts, it must be based upon a broad, solid +sincerity, which, like a law of Nature, rules an infinity of +different phenomena. Your endeavour must be +single-minded. You would talk differently to a coal-heaver +and to a professor. But is this duplicity? I deny +it. The truth consists in the genuineness of the feeling, +in the genuine recognition of the two men, so similar and so +different, as your two partners in the hazard of life. +Obviously, a humbug, thinking only of winning his little race, +would stand a chance of profiting by his artifices. Men, +professors or coal-heavers, are easily deceived; they even have +an extraordinary knack of lending themselves to deception, a sort +of curious and inexplicable propensity to allow themselves to be +led by the nose with their eyes open. But a ship is a +creature which we have brought into the world, as it were on +purpose to keep us up to the mark. In her handling a ship +will not put up with a mere pretender, as, for instance, the +public will do with Mr. X, the popular statesman, Mr. Y, the +popular scientist, or Mr. Z, the popular—what shall we +say?—anything from a teacher of high morality to a +bagman—who have won their little race. But I would +like (though not accustomed to betting) to wager a large sum that +not one of the few first-rate skippers of racing yachts has ever +been a humbug. It would have been too difficult. The +difficulty arises from the fact that one does not deal with ships +in a mob, but with a ship as an individual. So we may have +to do with men. But in each of us there lurks some particle +of the mob spirit, of the mob temperament. No matter how +earnestly we strive against each other, we remain brothers on the +lowest side of our intellect and in the instability of our +feelings. With ships it is not so. Much as they are +to us, they are nothing to each other. Those sensitive +creatures have no ears for our blandishments. It takes +something more than words to cajole them to do our will, to cover +us with glory. Luckily, too, or else there would have been +more shoddy reputations for first-rate seamanship. Ships +have no ears, I repeat, though, indeed, I think I have known +ships who really seemed to have had eyes, or else I cannot +understand on what ground a certain 1,000-ton barque of my +acquaintance on one particular occasion refused to answer her +helm, thereby saving a frightful smash to two ships and to a very +good man’s reputation. I knew her intimately for two +years, and in no other instance either before or since have I +known her to do that thing. The man she had served so well +(guessing, perhaps, at the depths of his affection for her) I +have known much longer, and in bare justice to him I must say +that this confidence-shattering experience (though so fortunate) +only augmented his trust in her. Yes, our ships have no +ears, and thus they cannot be deceived. I would illustrate +my idea of fidelity as between man and ship, between the master +and his art, by a statement which, though it might appear +shockingly sophisticated, is really very simple. I would +say that a racing-yacht skipper who thought of nothing else but +the glory of winning the race would never attain to any eminence +of reputation. The genuine masters of their craft—I +say this confidently from my experience of ships—have +thought of nothing but of doing their very best by the vessel +under their charge. To forget one’s self, to +surrender all personal feeling in the service of that fine art, +is the only way for a seaman to the faithful discharge of his +trust.</p> +<p>Such is the service of a fine art and of ships that sail the +sea. And therein I think I can lay my finger upon the +difference between the seamen of yesterday, who are still with +us, and the seamen of to-morrow, already entered upon the +possession of their inheritance. History repeats itself, +but the special call of an art which has passed away is never +reproduced. It is as utterly gone out of the world as the +song of a destroyed wild bird. Nothing will awaken the same +response of pleasurable emotion or conscientious endeavour. +And the sailing of any vessel afloat is an art whose fine form +seems already receding from us on its way to the overshadowed +Valley of Oblivion. The taking of a modern steamship about +the world (though one would not minimize its responsibilities) +has not the same quality of intimacy with nature, which, after +all, is an indispensable condition to the building up of an +art. It is less personal and a more exact calling; less +arduous, but also less gratifying in the lack of close communion +between the artist and the medium of his art. It is, in +short, less a matter of love. Its effects are measured +exactly in time and space as no effect of an art can be. It +is an occupation which a man not desperately subject to +sea-sickness can be imagined to follow with content, without +enthusiasm, with industry, without affection. Punctuality +is its watchword. The incertitude which attends closely +every artistic endeavour is absent from its regulated +enterprise. It has no great moments of self-confidence, or +moments not less great of doubt and heart-searching. It is +an industry which, like other industries, has its romance, its +honour and its rewards, its bitter anxieties and its hours of +ease. But such sea-going has not the artistic quality of a +single-handed struggle with something much greater than yourself; +it is not the laborious absorbing practice of an art whose +ultimate result remains on the knees of the gods. It is not +an individual, temperamental achievement, but simply the skilled +use of a captured force, merely another step forward upon the way +of universal conquest.</p> +<h2>IX.</h2> +<p>Every passage of a ship of yesterday, whose yards were braced +round eagerly the very moment the pilot, with his pockets full of +letters, had got over the side, was like a race—a race +against time, against an ideal standard of achievement +outstripping the expectations of common men. Like all true +art, the general conduct of a ship and her handling in particular +cases had a technique which could be discussed with delight and +pleasure by men who found in their work, not bread alone, but an +outlet for the peculiarities of their temperament. To get +the best and truest effect from the infinitely varying moods of +sky and sea, not pictorially, but in the spirit of their calling, +was their vocation, one and all; and they recognised this with as +much sincerity, and drew as much inspiration from this reality, +as any man who ever put brush to canvas. The diversity of +temperaments was immense amongst those masters of the fine +art.</p> +<p>Some of them were like Royal Academicians of a certain +kind. They never startled you by a touch of originality, by +a fresh audacity of inspiration. They were safe, very +safe. They went about solemnly in the assurance of their +consecrated and empty reputation. Names are odious, but I +remember one of them who might have been their very president, +the P.R.A. of the sea-craft. His weather-beaten and +handsome face, his portly presence, his shirt-fronts and broad +cuffs and gold links, his air of bluff distinction, impressed the +humble beholders (stevedores, tally clerks, tide-waiters) as he +walked ashore over the gangway of his ship lying at the Circular +Quay in Sydney. His voice was deep, hearty, and +authoritative—the voice of a very prince amongst +sailors. He did everything with an air which put your +attention on the alert and raised your expectations, but the +result somehow was always on stereotyped lines, unsuggestive, +empty of any lesson that one could lay to heart. He kept +his ship in apple-pie order, which would have been seamanlike +enough but for a finicking touch in its details. His +officers affected a superiority over the rest of us, but the +boredom of their souls appeared in their manner of dreary +submission to the fads of their commander. It was only his +apprenticed boys whose irrepressible spirits were not affected by +the solemn and respectable mediocrity of that artist. There +were four of these youngsters: one the son of a doctor, another +of a colonel, the third of a jeweller; the name of the fourth was +Twentyman, and this is all I remember of his parentage. But +not one of them seemed to possess the smallest spark of gratitude +in his composition. Though their commander was a kind man +in his way, and had made a point of introducing them to the best +people in the town in order that they should not fall into the +bad company of boys belonging to other ships, I regret to say +that they made faces at him behind his back, and imitated the +dignified carriage of his head without any concealment +whatever.</p> +<p>This master of the fine art was a personage and nothing more; +but, as I have said, there was an infinite diversity of +temperament amongst the masters of the fine art I have +known. Some were great impressionists. They impressed +upon you the fear of God and Immensity—or, in other words, +the fear of being drowned with every circumstance of terrific +grandeur. One may think that the locality of your passing +away by means of suffocation in water does not really matter very +much. I am not so sure of that. I am, perhaps, unduly +sensitive, but I confess that the idea of being suddenly spilt +into an infuriated ocean in the midst of darkness and uproar +affected me always with a sensation of shrinking distaste. +To be drowned in a pond, though it might be called an ignominious +fate by the ignorant, is yet a bright and peaceful ending in +comparison with some other endings to one’s earthly career +which I have mentally quaked at in the intervals or even in the +midst of violent exertions.</p> +<p>But let that pass. Some of the masters whose influence +left a trace upon my character to this very day, combined a +fierceness of conception with a certitude of execution upon the +basis of just appreciation of means and ends which is the highest +quality of the man of action. And an artist is a man of +action, whether he creates a personality, invents an expedient, +or finds the issue of a complicated situation.</p> +<p>There were masters, too, I have known, whose very art +consisted in avoiding every conceivable situation. It is +needless to say that they never did great things in their craft; +but they were not to be despised for that. They were +modest; they understood their limitations. Their own +masters had not handed the sacred fire into the keeping of their +cold and skilful hands. One of those last I remember +specially, now gone to his rest from that sea which his +temperament must have made a scene of little more than a peaceful +pursuit. Once only did he attempt a stroke of audacity, one +early morning, with a steady breeze, entering a crowded +roadstead. But he was not genuine in this display which +might have been art. He was thinking of his own self; he +hankered after the meretricious glory of a showy performance.</p> +<p>As, rounding a dark, wooded point, bathed in fresh air and +sunshine, we opened to view a crowd of shipping at anchor lying +half a mile ahead of us perhaps, he called me aft from my station +on the forecastle head, and, turning over and over his binoculars +in his brown hands, said: “Do you see that big, heavy ship +with white lower masts? I am going to take up a berth +between her and the shore. Now do you see to it that the +men jump smartly at the first order.”</p> +<p>I answered, “Ay, ay, sir,” and verily believed +that this would be a fine performance. We dashed on through +the fleet in magnificent style. There must have been many +open mouths and following eyes on board those ships—Dutch, +English, with a sprinkling of Americans and a German or +two—who had all hoisted their flags at eight o’clock +as if in honour of our arrival. It would have been a fine +performance if it had come off, but it did not. Through a +touch of self-seeking that modest artist of solid merit became +untrue to his temperament. It was not with him art for +art’s sake: it was art for his own sake; and a dismal +failure was the penalty he paid for that greatest of sins. +It might have been even heavier, but, as it happened, we did not +run our ship ashore, nor did we knock a large hole in the big +ship whose lower masts were painted white. But it is a +wonder that we did not carry away the cables of both our anchors, +for, as may be imagined, I did not stand upon the order to +“Let go!” that came to me in a quavering, quite +unknown voice from his trembling lips. I let them both go +with a celerity which to this day astonishes my memory. No +average merchantman’s anchors have ever been let go with +such miraculous smartness. And they both held. I <a +name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>could have +kissed their rough, cold iron palms in gratitude if they had not +been buried in slimy mud under ten fathoms of water. +Ultimately they brought us up with the jibboom of a Dutch brig +poking through our spanker—nothing worse. And a miss +is as good as a mile.</p> +<p>But not in art. Afterwards the master said to me in a +shy mumble, “She wouldn’t luff up in time, +somehow. What’s the matter with her?” And +I made no answer.</p> +<p>Yet the answer was clear. The ship had found out the +momentary weakness of her man. Of all the living creatures +upon land and sea, it is ships alone that cannot be taken in by +barren pretences, that will not put up with bad art from their +masters.</p> +<h2>X.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">From</span> the main truck of the average +tall ship the horizon describes a circle of many miles, in which +you can see another ship right down to her water-line; and these +very eyes which follow this writing have counted in their time +over a hundred sail becalmed, as if within a magic ring, not very +far from the Azores—ships more or less tall. There +were hardly two of them heading exactly the same way, as if each +had meditated breaking out of the enchanted circle at a different +point of the compass. But the spell of the calm is a strong +magic. The following day still saw them scattered within +sight of each other and heading different ways; but when, at +last, the breeze came with the darkling ripple that ran very blue +on a pale sea, they all went in the same direction +together. For this was the homeward-bound fleet from the +far-off ends of the earth, and a Falmouth fruit-schooner, the +smallest of them all, was heading the flight. One could +have imagined her very fair, if not divinely tall, leaving a +scent of lemons and oranges in her wake.</p> +<p>The next day there were very few ships in sight from our +mast-heads—seven at most, perhaps, with a few more distant +specks, hull down, beyond the magic ring of the horizon. +The spell of the fair wind has a subtle power to scatter a +white-winged company of ships looking all the same way, each with +its white fillet of tumbling foam under the bow. It is the +calm that brings ships mysteriously together; it is your wind +that is the great separator.</p> +<p>The taller the ship, the further she can be seen; and her +white tallness breathed upon by the wind first proclaims her +size. The tall masts holding aloft the white canvas, spread +out like a snare for catching the invisible power of the air, +emerge gradually from the water, sail after sail, yard after +yard, growing big, till, under the towering structure of her +machinery, you perceive the insignificant, tiny speck of her +hull.</p> +<p>The tall masts are the pillars supporting the balanced planes +that, motionless and silent, catch from the air the ship’s +motive-power, as it were a gift from Heaven vouchsafed to the +audacity of man; and it is the ship’s tall spars, stripped +and shorn of their white glory, that incline themselves before +the anger of the clouded heaven.</p> +<p>When they yield to a squall in a gaunt and naked submission, +their tallness is brought best home even to the mind of a +seaman. The man who has looked upon his ship going over too +far is made aware of the preposterous tallness of a ship’s +spars. It seems impossible but that those gilt trucks which +one had to tilt one’s head back to see, now falling into +the lower plane of vision, must perforce hit the very edge of the +horizon. Such an experience gives you a better impression +of the loftiness of your spars than any amount of running aloft +could do. And yet in my time the royal yards of an average +profitable ship were a good way up above her decks.</p> +<p>No doubt a fair amount of climbing up iron ladders can be +achieved by an active man in a ship’s engine-room, but I +remember moments when even to my supple limbs and pride of +nimbleness the sailing-ship’s machinery seemed to reach up +to the very stars.</p> +<p>For machinery it is, doing its work in perfect silence and +with a motionless grace, that seems to hide a capricious and not +always governable power, taking nothing away from the material +stores of the earth. Not for it the unerring precision of +steel moved by white steam and living by red fire and fed with +black coal. The other seems to draw its strength from the +very soul of the world, its formidable ally, held to obedience by +the frailest bonds, like a fierce ghost captured in a snare of +something even finer than spun silk. For what is the array +of the strongest ropes, the tallest spars and the stoutest canvas +against the mighty breath of the infinite, but thistle stalks, +cobwebs and gossamer?</p> +<h2>XI.</h2> +<p>Indeed, it is less than nothing, and I have seen, when the +great soul of the world turned over with a heavy sigh, a +perfectly new, extra-stout foresail vanish like a bit of some +airy stuff much lighter than gossamer. Then was the time +for the tall spars to stand fast in the great uproar. The +machinery must do its work even if the soul of the world has gone +mad.</p> +<p>The modern steamship advances upon a still and overshadowed +sea with a pulsating tremor of her frame, an occasional clang in +her depths, as if she had an iron heart in her iron body; with a +thudding rhythm in her progress and the regular beat of her +propeller, heard afar in the night with an august and plodding +sound as of the march of an inevitable future. But in a +gale, the silent machinery of a sailing-ship would catch not only +the power, but the wild and exulting voice of the world’s +soul. Whether she ran with her tall spars swinging, or +breasted it with her tall spars lying over, there was always that +wild song, deep like a chant, for a bass to the shrill pipe of +the wind played on the sea-tops, with a punctuating crash, now +and then, of a breaking wave. At times the weird effects of +that invisible orchestra would get upon a man’s nerves till +he wished himself deaf.</p> +<p>And this recollection of a personal wish, experienced upon +several oceans, where the soul of the world has plenty of room to +turn over with a mighty sigh, brings me to the remark that in +order to take a proper care of a ship’s spars it is just as +well for a seaman to have nothing the matter with his ears. +Such is the intimacy with which a seaman had to live with his +ship of yesterday that his senses were like her senses, that the +stress upon his body made him judge of the strain upon the +ship’s masts.</p> +<p>I had been some time at sea before I became aware of the fact +that hearing plays a perceptible part in gauging the force of the +wind. It was at night. The ship was one of those iron +wool-clippers that the Clyde had floated out in swarms upon the +world during the seventh decade of the last century. It was +a fine period in ship-building, and also, I might say, a period +of over-masting. The spars rigged up on the narrow hulls +were indeed tall then, and the ship of which I think, with her +coloured-glass skylight ends bearing the motto, “Let +Glasgow Flourish,” was certainly one of the most +heavily-sparred specimens. She was built for hard driving, +and unquestionably she got all the driving she could stand. +Our captain was a man famous for the quick passages he had been +used to make in the old <i>Tweed</i>, a ship famous the world +over for her speed. The <i>Tweed</i> had been a wooden +vessel, and he brought the tradition of quick passages with him +into the iron clipper. I was the junior in her, a third +mate, keeping watch with the chief officer; and it was just +during one of the night watches in a strong, freshening breeze +that I overheard two men in a sheltered nook of the main deck +exchanging these informing remarks. Said one:</p> +<p>“Should think ’twas time some of them light sails +were coming off her.”</p> +<p>And the other, an older man, uttered grumpily: “No fear! +not while the chief mate’s on deck. He’s that +deaf he can’t tell how much wind there is.”</p> +<p>And, indeed, poor P—, quite young, and a smart seaman, +was very hard of hearing. At the same time, he had the name +of being the very devil of a fellow for carrying on sail on a +ship. He was wonderfully clever at concealing his deafness, +and, as to carrying on heavily, though he was a fearless man, I +don’t think that he ever meant to take undue risks. I +can never forget his naïve sort of astonishment when +remonstrated with for what appeared a most dare-devil +performance. The only person, of course, that could +remonstrate with telling effect was our captain, himself a man of +dare-devil tradition; and really, for me, who knew under whom I +was serving, those were impressive scenes. Captain S— +had a great name for sailor-like qualities—the sort of name +that compelled my youthful admiration. To this day I +preserve his memory, for, indeed, it was he in a sense who +completed my training. It was often a stormy process, but +let that pass. I am sure he meant well, and I am certain +that never, not even at the time, could I bear him malice for his +extraordinary gift of incisive criticism. And to hear +<i>him</i> make a fuss about too much sail on the ship seemed one +of those incredible experiences that take place only in +one’s dreams.</p> +<p>It generally happened in this way: Night, clouds racing +overhead, wind howling, royals set, and the ship rushing on in +the dark, an immense white sheet of foam level with the lee +rail. Mr. P—, in charge of the deck, hooked on to the +windward mizzen rigging in a state of perfect serenity; myself, +the third mate, also hooked on somewhere to windward of the +slanting poop, in a state of the utmost preparedness to jump at +the very first hint of some sort of order, but otherwise in a +perfectly acquiescent state of mind. Suddenly, out of the +companion would appear a tall, dark figure, bareheaded, with a +short white beard of a perpendicular cut, very visible in the +dark—Captain S—, disturbed in his reading down below +by the frightful bounding and lurching of the ship. Leaning +very much against the precipitous incline of the deck, he would +take a turn or two, perfectly silent, hang on by the compass for +a while, take another couple of turns, and suddenly burst +out:</p> +<p>“What are you trying to do with the ship?”</p> +<p>And Mr. P—, who was not good at catching what was +shouted in the wind, would say interrogatively:</p> +<p>“Yes, sir?”</p> +<p>Then in the increasing gale of the sea there would be a little +private ship’s storm going on in which you could detect +strong language, pronounced in a tone of passion and exculpatory +protestations uttered with every possible inflection of injured +innocence.</p> +<p>“By Heavens, Mr. P-! I used to carry on sail in my +time, but—”</p> +<p>And the rest would be lost to me in a stormy gust of wind.</p> +<p>Then, in a lull, P—’s protesting innocence would +become audible:</p> +<p>“She seems to stand it very well.”</p> +<p>And then another burst of an indignant voice:</p> +<p>“Any fool can carry sail on a ship—”</p> +<p>And so on and so on, the ship meanwhile rushing on her way +with a heavier list, a noisier splutter, a more threatening hiss +of the white, almost blinding, sheet of foam to leeward. +For the best of it was that Captain S— seemed +constitutionally incapable of giving his officers a definite +order to shorten sail; and so that extraordinarily vague row +would go on till at last it dawned upon them both, in some +particularly alarming gust, that it was time to do +something. There is nothing like the fearful inclination of +your tall spars overloaded with canvas to bring a deaf man and an +angry one to their senses.</p> +<h2>XII.</h2> +<p>So sail did get shortened more or less in time even in that +ship, and her tall spars never went overboard while I served in +her. However, all the time I was with them, Captain +S— and Mr. P— did not get on very well +together. If P— carried on “like the very +devil” because he was too deaf to know how much wind there +was, Captain S— (who, as I have said, seemed +constitutionally incapable of ordering one of his officers to +shorten sail) resented the necessity forced upon him by Mr. +P—’s desperate goings on. It was in Captain +S—’s tradition rather to reprove his officers for not +carrying on quite enough—in his phrase “for not +taking every ounce of advantage of a fair wind.” But +there was also a psychological motive that made him extremely +difficult to deal with on board that iron clipper. He had +just come out of the marvellous <i>Tweed</i>, a ship, I have +heard, heavy to look at but of phenomenal speed. In the +middle sixties she had beaten by a day and a half the steam +mail-boat from Hong Kong to Singapore. There was something +peculiarly lucky, perhaps, in the placing of her masts—who +knows? Officers of men-of-war used to come on board to take +the exact dimensions of her sail-plan. Perhaps there had +been a touch of genius or the finger of good fortune in the +fashioning of her lines at bow and stern. It is impossible +to say. She was built in the East Indies somewhere, of +teak-wood throughout, except the deck. She had a great +sheer, high bows, and a clumsy stern. The men who had seen +her described her to me as “nothing much to look +at.” But in the great Indian famine of the seventies +that ship, already old then, made some wonderful dashes across +the Gulf of Bengal with cargoes of rice from Rangoon to +Madras.</p> +<p>She took the secret of her speed with her, and, unsightly as +she was, her image surely has its glorious place in the mirror of +the old sea.</p> +<p>The point, however, is that Captain S—, who used to say +frequently, “She never made a decent passage after I left +her,” seemed to think that the secret of her speed lay in +her famous commander. No doubt the secret of many a +ship’s excellence does lie with the man on board, but it +was hopeless for Captain S— to try to make his new iron +clipper equal the feats which made the old <i>Tweed</i> a name of +praise upon the lips of English-speaking seamen. There was +something pathetic in it, as in the endeavour of an artist in his +old age to equal the masterpieces of his youth—for the +<i>Tweed’s</i> famous passages were Captain +S—’s masterpieces. It was pathetic, and perhaps +just the least bit dangerous. At any rate, I am glad that, +what between Captain S—’s yearning for old triumphs +and Mr. P—’s deafness, I have seen some memorable +carrying on to make a passage. And I have carried on myself +upon the tall spars of that Clyde shipbuilder’s masterpiece +as I have never carried on in a ship before or since.</p> +<p>The second mate falling ill during the passage, I was promoted +to officer of the watch, alone in charge of the deck. Thus +the immense leverage of the ship’s tall masts became a +matter very near my own heart. I suppose it was something +of a compliment for a young fellow to be trusted, apparently +without any supervision, by such a commander as Captain S—; +though, as far as I can remember, neither the tone, nor the +manner, nor yet the drift of Captain S—’s remarks +addressed to myself did ever, by the most strained +interpretation, imply a favourable opinion of my abilities. +And he was, I must say, a most uncomfortable commander to get +your orders from at night. If I had the watch from eight +till midnight, he would leave the deck about nine with the words, +“Don’t take any sail off her.” Then, on +the point of disappearing down the companion-way, he would add +curtly: “Don’t carry anything away.” I am +glad to say that I never did; one night, however, I was caught, +not quite prepared, by a sudden shift of wind.</p> +<p>There was, of course, a good deal of noise—running +about, the shouts of the sailors, the thrashing of the +sails—enough, in fact, to wake the dead. But S— +never came on deck. When I was relieved by the chief mate +an hour afterwards, he sent for me. I went into his +state-room; he was lying on his couch wrapped up in a rug, with a +pillow under his head.</p> +<p>“What was the matter with you up there just now?” +he asked.</p> +<p>“Wind flew round on the lee quarter, sir,” I +said.</p> +<p>“Couldn’t you see the shift coming?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, I thought it wasn’t very far +off.”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you have your courses hauled up at +once, then?” he asked in a tone that ought to have made my +blood run cold.</p> +<p>But this was my chance, and I did not let it slip.</p> +<p>“Well, sir,” I said in an apologetic tone, +“she was going eleven knots very nicely, and I thought she +would do for another half-hour or so.”</p> +<p>He gazed at me darkly out of his head, lying very still on the +white pillow, for a time.</p> +<p>“Ah, yes, another half-hour. That’s the way +ships get dismasted.”</p> +<p>And that was all I got in the way of a wigging. I waited +a little while and then went out, shutting carefully the door of +the state-room after me.</p> +<p>Well, I have loved, lived with, and left the sea without ever +seeing a ship’s tall fabric of sticks, cobwebs and gossamer +go by the board. Sheer good luck, no doubt. But as to +poor P—, I am sure that he would not have got off scot-free +like this but for the god of gales, who called him away early +from this earth, which is three parts ocean, and therefore a fit +abode for sailors. A few years afterwards I met in an +Indian port a man who had served in the ships of the same +company. Names came up in our talk, names of our colleagues +in the same employ, and, naturally enough, I asked after +P—. Had he got a command yet? And the other man +answered carelessly:</p> +<p>“No; but he’s provided for, anyhow. A heavy +sea took him off the poop in the run between New Zealand and the +Horn.”</p> +<p>Thus P— passed away from amongst the tall spars of ships +that he had tried to their utmost in many a spell of boisterous +weather. He had shown me what carrying on meant, but he was +not a man to learn discretion from. He could not help his +deafness. One can only remember his cheery temper, his +admiration for the jokes in <i>Punch</i>, his little +oddities—like his strange passion for borrowing +looking-glasses, for instance. Each of our cabins had its +own looking-glass screwed to the bulkhead, and what he wanted +with more of them we never could fathom. He asked for the +loan in confidential tones. Why? Mystery. We +made various surmises. No one will ever know now. At +any rate, it was a harmless eccentricity, and may the god of +gales, who took him away so abruptly between New Zealand and the +Horn, let his soul rest in some Paradise of true seamen, where no +amount of carrying on will ever dismast a ship!</p> +<h2><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>XIII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> has been a time when a +ship’s chief mate, pocket-book in hand and pencil behind +his ear, kept one eye aloft upon his riggers and the other down +the hatchway on the stevedores, and watched the disposition of +his ship’s cargo, knowing that even before she started he +was already doing his best to secure for her an easy and quick +passage.</p> +<p>The hurry of the times, the loading and discharging +organization of the docks, the use of hoisting machinery which +works quickly and will not wait, the cry for prompt despatch, the +very size of his ship, stand nowadays between the modern seaman +and the thorough knowledge of his craft.</p> +<p>There are profitable ships and unprofitable ships. The +profitable ship will carry a large load through all the hazards +of the weather, and, when at rest, will stand up in dock and +shift from berth to berth without ballast. There is a point +of perfection in a ship as a worker when she is spoken of as +being able to <i>sail</i> without ballast. I have never met +that sort of paragon myself, but I have seen these paragons +advertised amongst ships for sale. Such excess of virtue +and good-nature on the part of a ship always provoked my +mistrust. It is open to any man to say that his ship will +sail without ballast; and he will say it, too, with every mark of +profound conviction, especially if he is not going to sail in her +himself. The risk of advertising her as able to sail +without ballast is not great, since the statement does not imply +a warranty of her arriving anywhere. Moreover, it is +strictly true that most ships will sail without ballast for some +little time before they turn turtle upon the crew.</p> +<p>A shipowner loves a profitable ship; the seaman is proud of +her; a doubt of her good looks seldom exists in his mind; but if +he can boast of her more useful qualities it is an added +satisfaction for his self-love.</p> +<p>The loading of ships was once a matter of skill, judgment, and +knowledge. Thick books have been written about it. +“Stevens on Stowage” is a portly volume with the +renown and weight (in its own world) of Coke on Littleton. +Stevens is an agreeable writer, and, as is the case with men of +talent, his gifts adorn his sterling soundness. He gives +you the official teaching on the whole subject, is precise as to +rules, mentions illustrative events, quotes law cases where +verdicts turned upon a point of stowage. He is never +pedantic, and, for all his close adherence to broad principles, +he is ready to admit that no two ships can be treated exactly +alike.</p> +<p>Stevedoring, which had been a skilled labour, is fast becoming +a labour without the skill. The modern steamship with her +many holds is not loaded within the sailor-like meaning of the +word. She is filled up. Her cargo is not stowed in +any sense; it is simply dumped into her through six hatchways, +more or less, by twelve winches or so, with clatter and hurry and +racket and heat, in a cloud of steam and a mess of +coal-dust. As long as you keep her propeller under water +and take care, say, not to fling down barrels of oil on top of +bales of silk, or deposit an iron bridge-girder of five ton or so +upon a bed of coffee-bags, you have done about all in the way of +duty that the cry for prompt despatch will allow you to do.</p> +<h2>XIV.</h2> +<p>The sailing-ship, when I knew her in her days of perfection, +was a sensible creature. When I say her days of perfection, +I mean perfection of build, gear, seaworthy qualities and ease of +handling, not the perfection of speed. That quality has +departed with the change of building material. No iron ship +of yesterday ever attained the marvels of speed which the +seamanship of men famous in their time had obtained from their +wooden, copper-sheeted predecessors. Everything had been +done to make the iron ship perfect, but no wit of man had managed +to devise an efficient coating composition to keep her bottom +clean with the smooth cleanness of yellow metal sheeting. +After a spell of a few weeks at sea, an iron ship begins to lag +as if she had grown tired too soon. It is only her bottom +that is getting foul. A very little affects the speed of an +iron ship which is not driven on by a merciless propeller. +Often it is impossible to tell what inconsiderate trifle puts her +off her stride. A certain mysteriousness hangs around the +quality of speed as it was displayed by the old sailing-ships +commanded by a competent seaman. In those days the speed +depended upon the seaman; therefore, apart from the laws, rules, +and regulations for the good preservation of his cargo, he was +careful of his loading,—or what is technically called the +trim of his ship. Some ships sailed fast on an even keel, +others had to be trimmed quite one foot by the stern, and I have +heard of a ship that gave her best speed on a wind when so loaded +as to float a couple of inches by the head.</p> +<p>I call to mind a winter landscape in Amsterdam—a flat +foreground of waste land, with here and there stacks of timber, +like the huts of a camp of some very miserable tribe; the long +stretch of the Handelskade; cold, stone-faced quays, with the +snow-sprinkled ground and the hard, frozen water of the canal, in +which were set ships one behind another with their frosty +mooring-ropes hanging slack and their decks idle and deserted, +because, as the master stevedore (a gentle, pale person, with a +few golden hairs on his chin and a reddened nose) informed me, +their cargoes were frozen-in up-country on barges and +schuyts. In the distance, beyond the waste ground, and +running parallel with the line of ships, a line of brown, +warm-toned houses seemed bowed under snow-laden roofs. From +afar at the end of Tsar Peter Straat, issued in the frosty air +the tinkle of bells of the horse tramcars, appearing and +disappearing in the opening between the buildings, like little +toy carriages harnessed with toy horses and played with by people +that appeared no bigger than children.</p> +<p>I was, as the French say, biting my fists with impatience for +that cargo frozen up-country; with rage at that canal set fast, +at the wintry and deserted aspect of all those ships that seemed +to decay in grim depression for want of the open water. I +was chief mate, and very much alone. Directly I had joined +I received from my owners instructions to send all the +ship’s apprentices away on leave together, because in such +weather there was nothing for anybody to do, unless to keep up a +fire in the cabin stove. That was attended to by a snuffy +and mop-headed, inconceivably dirty, and weirdly toothless Dutch +ship-keeper, who could hardly speak three words of English, but +who must have had some considerable knowledge of the language, +since he managed invariably to interpret in the contrary sense +everything that was said to him.</p> +<p>Notwithstanding the little iron stove, the ink froze on the +swing-table in the cabin, and I found it more convenient to go +ashore stumbling over the arctic waste-land and shivering in +glazed tramcars in order to write my evening letter to my owners +in a gorgeous café in the centre of the town. It was +an immense place, lofty and gilt, upholstered in red plush, full +of electric lights and so thoroughly warmed that even the marble +tables felt tepid to the touch. The waiter who brought me +my cup of coffee bore, by comparison with my utter isolation, the +dear aspect of an intimate friend. There, alone in a noisy +crowd, I would write slowly a letter addressed to Glasgow, of +which the gist would be: There is no cargo, and no prospect of +any coming till late spring apparently. And all the time I +sat there the necessity of getting back to the ship bore heavily +on my already half-congealed spirits—the shivering in +glazed tramcars, the stumbling over the snow-sprinkled waste +ground, the vision of ships frozen in a row, appearing vaguely +like corpses of black vessels in a white world, so silent, so +lifeless, so soulless they seemed to be.</p> +<p>With precaution I would go up the side of my own particular +corpse, and would feel her as cold as ice itself and as slippery +under my feet. My cold berth would swallow up like a chilly +burial niche my bodily shivers and my mental excitement. It +was a cruel winter. The very air seemed as hard and +trenchant as steel; but it would have taken much more than this +to extinguish my sacred fire for the exercise of my craft. +No young man of twenty-four appointed chief mate for the first +time in his life would have let that Dutch tenacious winter +penetrate into his heart. I think that in those days I +never forgot the fact of my elevation for five consecutive +minutes. I fancy it kept me warm, even in my slumbers, +better than the high pile of blankets, which positively crackled +with frost as I threw them off in the morning. And I would +get up early for no reason whatever except that I was in sole +charge. The new captain had not been appointed yet.</p> +<p>Almost each morning a letter from my owners would arrive, +directing me to go to the charterers and clamour for the +ship’s cargo; to threaten them with the heaviest penalties +of demurrage; to demand that this assortment of varied +merchandise, set fast in a landscape of ice and windmills +somewhere up-country, should be put on rail instantly, and fed up +to the ship in regular quantities every day. After drinking +some hot coffee, like an Arctic explorer setting off on a sledge +journey towards the North Pole, I would go ashore and roll +shivering in a tramcar into the very heart of the town, past +clean-faced houses, past thousands of brass knockers upon a +thousand painted doors glimmering behind rows of trees of the +pavement species, leafless, gaunt, seemingly dead for ever.</p> +<p>That part of the expedition was easy enough, though the horses +were painfully glistening with icicles, and the aspect of the +tram-conductors’ faces presented a repulsive blending of +crimson and purple. But as to frightening or bullying, or +even wheedling some sort of answer out of Mr. Hudig, that was +another matter altogether. He was a big, swarthy +Netherlander, with black moustaches and a bold glance. He +always began by shoving me into a chair before I had time to open +my mouth, gave me cordially a large cigar, and in excellent +English would start to talk everlastingly about the phenomenal +severity of the weather. It was impossible to threaten a +man who, though he possessed the language perfectly, seemed +incapable of understanding any phrase pronounced in a tone of +remonstrance or discontent. As to quarrelling with him, it +would have been stupid. The weather was too bitter for +that. His office was so warm, his fire so bright, his sides +shook so heartily with laughter, that I experienced always a +great difficulty in making up my mind to reach for my hat.</p> +<p>At last the cargo did come. At first it came dribbling +in by rail in trucks, till the thaw set in; and then fast, in a +multitude of barges, with a great rush of unbound waters. +The gentle master stevedore had his hands very full at last; and +the chief mate became worried in his mind as to the proper +distribution of the weight of his first cargo in a ship he did +not personally know before.</p> +<p>Ships do want humouring. They want humouring in +handling; and if you mean to handle them well, they must have +been humoured in the distribution of the weight which you ask +them to carry through the good and evil fortune of a +passage. Your ship is a tender creature, whose +idiosyncrasies must be attended to if you mean her to come with +credit to herself and you through the rough-and-tumble of her +life.</p> +<h2>XV.</h2> +<p>So seemed to think the new captain, who arrived the day after +we had finished loading, on the very eve of the day of +sailing. I first beheld him on the quay, a complete +stranger to me, obviously not a Hollander, in a black bowler and +a short drab overcoat, ridiculously out of tone with the winter +aspect of the waste-lands, bordered by the brown fronts of houses +with their roofs dripping with melting snow.</p> +<p>This stranger was walking up and down absorbed in the marked +contemplation of the ship’s fore and aft trim; but when I +saw him squat on his heels in the slush at the very edge of the +quay to peer at the draught of water under her counter, I said to +myself, “This is the captain.” And presently I +descried his luggage coming along—a real sailor’s +chest, carried by means of rope-beckets between two men, with a +couple of leather portmanteaus and a roll of charts sheeted in +canvas piled upon the lid. The sudden, spontaneous agility +with which he bounded aboard right off the rail afforded me the +first glimpse of his real character. Without further +preliminaries than a friendly nod, he addressed me: “You +have got her pretty well in her fore and aft trim. Now, +what about your weights?”</p> +<p>I told him I had managed to keep the weight sufficiently well +up, as I thought, one-third of the whole being in the upper part +“above the beams,” as the technical expression has +it. He whistled “Phew!” scrutinizing me from +head to foot. A sort of smiling vexation was visible on his +ruddy face.</p> +<p>“Well, we shall have a lively time of it this passage, I +bet,” he said.</p> +<p>He knew. It turned out he had been chief mate of her for +the two preceding voyages; and I was already familiar with his +handwriting in the old log-books I had been perusing in my cabin +with a natural curiosity, looking up the records of my new +ship’s luck, of her behaviour, of the good times she had +had, and of the troubles she had escaped.</p> +<p>He was right in his prophecy. On our passage from +Amsterdam to Samarang with a general cargo, of which, alas! only +one-third in weight was stowed “above the beams,” we +had a lively time of it. It was lively, but not +joyful. There was not even a single moment of comfort in +it, because no seaman can feel comfortable in body or mind when +he has made his ship uneasy.</p> +<p>To travel along with a cranky ship for ninety days or so is no +doubt a nerve-trying experience; but in this case what was wrong +with our craft was this: that by my system of loading she had +been made much too stable.</p> +<p>Neither before nor since have I felt a ship roll so abruptly, +so violently, so heavily. Once she began, you felt that she +would never stop, and this hopeless sensation, characterizing the +motion of ships whose centre of gravity is brought down too low +in loading, made everyone on board weary of keeping on his +feet. I remember once over-hearing one of the hands say: +“By Heavens, Jack! I feel as if I didn’t mind +how soon I let myself go, and let the blamed hooker knock my +brains out if she likes.” The captain used to remark +frequently: “Ah, yes; I dare say one-third weight above +beams would have been quite enough for most ships. But +then, you see, there’s no two of them alike on the seas, +and she’s an uncommonly ticklish jade to load.”</p> +<p>Down south, running before the gales of high latitudes, she +made our life a burden to us. There were days when nothing +would keep even on the swing-tables, when there was no position +where you could fix yourself so as not to feel a constant strain +upon all the muscles of your body. She rolled and rolled +with an awful dislodging jerk and that dizzily fast sweep of her +masts on every swing. It was a wonder that the men sent +aloft were not flung off the yards, the yards not flung off the +masts, the masts not flung overboard. The captain in his +armchair, holding on grimly at the head of the table, with the +soup-tureen rolling on one side of the cabin and the steward +sprawling on the other, would observe, looking at me: +“That’s your one-third above the beams. The +only thing that surprises me is that the sticks have stuck to her +all this time.”</p> +<p>Ultimately some of the minor spars did go—nothing +important: spanker-booms and such-like—because at times the +frightful impetus of her rolling would part a fourfold tackle of +new three-inch Manilla line as if it were weaker than +pack-thread.</p> +<p>It was only poetic justice that the chief mate who had made a +mistake—perhaps a half-excusable one—about the +distribution of his ship’s cargo should pay the +penalty. A piece of one of the minor spars that did carry +away flew against the chief mate’s back, and sent him +sliding on his face for quite a considerable distance along the +main deck. Thereupon followed various and unpleasant +consequences of a physical order—“queer +symptoms,” as the captain, who treated them, used to say; +inexplicable periods of powerlessness, sudden accesses of +mysterious pain; and the patient agreed fully with the regretful +mutters of his very attentive captain wishing that it had been a +straightforward broken leg. Even the Dutch doctor who took +the case up in Samarang offered no scientific explanation. +All he said was: “Ah, friend, you are young yet; it may be +very serious for your whole life. You must leave your ship; +you must quite silent be for three months—quite +silent.”</p> +<p>Of course, he meant the chief mate to keep quiet—to lay +up, as a matter of fact. His manner was impressive enough, +if his English was childishly imperfect when compared with the +fluency of Mr. Hudig, the figure at the other end of that +passage, and memorable enough in its way. In a great airy +ward of a Far Eastern hospital, lying on my back, I had plenty of +leisure to remember the dreadful cold and snow of Amsterdam, +while looking at the fronds of the palm-trees tossing and +rustling at the height of the window. I could remember the +elated feeling and the soul-gripping cold of those tramway +journeys taken into town to put what in diplomatic language is +called pressure upon the good Hudig, with his warm fire, his +armchair, his big cigar, and the never-failing suggestion in his +good-natured voice: “I suppose in the end it is you they +will appoint captain before the ship sails?” It may +have been his extreme good-nature, the serious, unsmiling +good-nature of a fat, swarthy man with coal-black moustache and +steady eyes; but he might have been a bit of a diplomatist, +too. His enticing suggestions I used to repel modestly by +the assurance that it was extremely unlikely, as I had not enough +experience. “You know very well how to go about +business matters,” he used to say, with a sort of affected +moodiness clouding his serene round face. I wonder whether +he ever laughed to himself after I had left the office. I +dare say he never did, because I understand that diplomatists, in +and out of the career, take themselves and their tricks with an +exemplary seriousness.</p> +<p>But he had nearly persuaded me that I was fit in every way to +be trusted with a command. There came three months of +mental worry, hard rolling, remorse, and physical pain to drive +home the lesson of insufficient experience.</p> +<p>Yes, your ship wants to be humoured with knowledge. You +must treat with an understanding consideration the mysteries of +her feminine nature, and then she will stand by you faithfully in +the unceasing struggle with forces wherein defeat is no +shame. It is a serious relation, that in which a man stands +to his ship. She has her <a name="page86"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 86</span>rights as though she could breathe +and speak; and, indeed, there are ships that, for the right man, +will do anything but speak, as the saying goes.</p> +<p>A ship is not a slave. You must make her easy in a +seaway, you must never forget that you owe her the fullest share +of your thought, of your skill, of your self-love. If you +remember that obligation, naturally and without effort, as if it +were an instinctive feeling of your inner life, she will sail, +stay, run for you as long as she is able, or, like a sea-bird +going to rest upon the angry waves, she will lay out the heaviest +gale that ever made you doubt living long enough to see another +sunrise.</p> +<h2>XVI.</h2> +<p>Often I turn with melancholy eagerness to the space reserved +in the newspapers under the general heading of “Shipping +Intelligence.” I meet there the names of ships I have +known. Every year some of these names disappear—the +names of old friends. “Tempi passati!”</p> +<p>The different divisions of that kind of news are set down in +their order, which varies but slightly in its arrangement of +concise headlines. And first comes +“Speakings”—reports of ships met and signalled +at sea, name, port, where from, where bound for, so many days +out, ending frequently with the words “All +well.” Then come “Wrecks and +Casualties”—a longish array of paragraphs, unless the +weather has been fair and clear, and friendly to ships all over +the world.</p> +<p>On some days there appears the heading +“Overdue”—an ominous threat of loss and sorrow +trembling yet in the balance of fate. There is something +sinister to a seaman in the very grouping of the letters which +form this word, clear in its meaning, and seldom threatening in +vain.</p> +<p>Only a very few days more—appallingly few to the hearts +which had set themselves bravely to hope against hope—three +weeks, a month later, perhaps, the name of ships under the blight +of the “Overdue” heading shall appear again in the +column of “Shipping Intelligence,” but under the +final declaration of “Missing.”</p> +<p>“The ship, or barque, or brig So-and-so, bound from such +a port, with such and such cargo, for such another port, having +left at such and such a date, last spoken at sea on such a day, +and never having been heard of since, was posted to-day as +missing.” Such in its strictly official eloquence is +the form of funeral orations on ships that, perhaps wearied with +a long struggle, or in some unguarded moment that may come to the +readiest of us, had let themselves be overwhelmed by a sudden +blow from the enemy.</p> +<p>Who can say? Perhaps the men she carried had asked her +to do too much, had stretched beyond breaking-point the enduring +faithfulness which seems wrought and hammered into that +assemblage of iron ribs and plating, of wood and steel and canvas +and wire, which goes to the making of a ship—a complete +creation endowed with character, individuality, qualities and +defects, by men whose hands launch her upon the water, and that +other men shall learn to know with an intimacy surpassing the +intimacy of man with man, to love with a love nearly as great as +that of man for woman, and often as blind in its infatuated +disregard of defects.</p> +<p>There are ships which bear a bad name, but I have yet to meet +one whose crew for the time being failed to stand up angrily for +her against every criticism. One ship which I call to mind +now had the reputation of killing somebody every voyage she +made. This was no calumny, and yet I remember well, +somewhere far back in the late seventies, that the crew of that +ship were, if anything, rather proud of her evil fame, as if they +had been an utterly corrupt lot of desperadoes glorying in their +association with an atrocious creature. We, belonging to +other vessels moored all about the Circular Quay in Sydney, used +to shake our heads at her with a great sense of the unblemished +virtue of our own well-loved ships.</p> +<p>I shall not pronounce her name. She is +“missing” now, after a sinister but, from the point +of view of her owners, a useful career extending over many years, +and, I should say, across every ocean of our globe. Having +killed a man for every voyage, and perhaps rendered more +misanthropic by the infirmities that come with years upon a ship, +she had made up her mind to kill all hands at once before leaving +the scene of her exploits. A fitting end, this, to a life +of usefulness and crime—in a last outburst of an evil +passion supremely satisfied on some wild night, perhaps, to the +applauding clamour of wind and wave.</p> +<p>How did she do it? In the word “missing” +there is a horrible depth of doubt and speculation. Did she +go quickly from under the men’s feet, or did she resist to +the end, letting the sea batter her to pieces, start her butts, +wrench her frame, load her with an increasing weight of salt +water, and, dismasted, unmanageable, rolling heavily, her boats +gone, her decks swept, had she wearied her men half to death with +the unceasing labour at the pumps before she sank with them like +a stone?</p> +<p>However, such a case must be rare. I imagine a raft of +some sort could always be contrived; and, even if it saved no +one, it would float on and be picked up, perhaps conveying some +hint of the vanished name. Then that ship would not be, +properly speaking, missing. She would be “lost with +all hands,” and in that distinction there is a subtle +difference—less horror and a less appalling darkness.</p> +<h2>XVII.</h2> +<p>The unholy fascination of dread dwells in the thought of the +last moments of a ship reported as “missing” in the +columns of the <i>Shipping Gazette</i>. Nothing of her ever +comes to light—no grating, no lifebuoy, no piece of boat or +branded oar—to give a hint of the place and date of her +sudden end. The <i>Shipping Gazette</i> does not even call +her “lost with all hands.” She remains simply +“missing”; she has disappeared enigmatically into a +mystery of fate as big as the world, where your imagination of a +brother-sailor, of a fellow-servant and lover of ships, may range +unchecked.</p> +<p>And yet sometimes one gets a hint of what the last scene may +be like in the life of a ship and her crew, which resembles a +drama in its struggle against a great force bearing it up, +formless, ungraspable, chaotic and mysterious, as fate.</p> +<p>It was on a gray afternoon in the lull of a three days’ +gale that had left the Southern Ocean tumbling heavily upon our +ship, under a sky hung with rags of clouds that seemed to have +been cut and hacked by the keen edge of a sou’-west +gale.</p> +<p>Our craft, a Clyde-built barque of 1,000 tons, rolled so +heavily that something aloft had carried away. No matter +what the damage was, but it was serious enough to induce me to go +aloft myself with a couple of hands and the carpenter to see the +temporary repairs properly done.</p> +<p>Sometimes we had to drop everything and cling with both hands +to the swaying spars, holding our breath in fear of a terribly +heavy roll. And, wallowing as if she meant to turn over +with us, the barque, her decks full of water, her gear flying in +bights, ran at some ten knots an hour. We had been driven +far south—much farther that way than we had meant to go; +and suddenly, up there in the slings of the foreyard, in the +midst of our work, I felt my shoulder gripped with such force in +the carpenter’s powerful paw that I positively yelled with +unexpected pain. The man’s eyes stared close in my +face, and he shouted, “Look, sir! look! What’s +this?” pointing ahead with his other hand.</p> +<p>At first I saw nothing. The sea was one empty wilderness +of black and white hills. Suddenly, half-concealed in the +tumult of the foaming rollers I made out awash, something +enormous, rising and falling—something spread out like a +burst of foam, but with a more bluish, more solid look.</p> +<p>It was a piece of an ice-floe melted down to a fragment, but +still big enough to sink a ship, and floating lower than any +raft, right in our way, as if ambushed among the waves with +murderous intent. There was no time to get down on +deck. I shouted from aloft till my head was ready to +split. I was heard aft, and we managed to clear the sunken +floe which had come all the way from the Southern ice-cap to have +a try at our unsuspecting lives. Had it been an hour later, +nothing could have saved the ship, for no eye could have made out +in the dusk that pale piece of ice swept over by the +white-crested waves.</p> +<p>And as we stood near the taffrail side by side, my captain and +I, looking at it, hardly discernible already, but still quite +close-to on our quarter, he remarked in a meditative tone:</p> +<p>“But for the turn of that wheel just in time, there +would have been another case of a ‘missing’ +ship.”</p> +<p>Nobody ever comes back from a “missing” ship to +tell how hard was the death of the craft, and how sudden and +overwhelming the last anguish of her men. Nobody can say +with what thoughts, with what regrets, with what words on their +lips they died. But there is something fine in the sudden +passing away of these hearts from the extremity of struggle and +stress and tremendous uproar—from the vast, unrestful rage +of the surface to the profound peace of the depths, sleeping +untroubled since the beginning of ages.</p> +<h2>XVIII.</h2> +<p>But if the word “missing” brings all hope to an +end and settles the loss of the underwriters, the word +“overdue” confirms the fears already born in many +homes ashore, and opens the door of speculation in the market of +risks.</p> +<p>Maritime risks, be it understood. There is a class of +optimists ready to reinsure an “overdue” ship at a +heavy premium. But nothing can insure the hearts on shore +against the bitterness of waiting for the worst.</p> +<p>For if a “missing” ship has never turned up within +the memory of seamen of my generation, the name of an +“overdue” ship, trembling as it were on the edge of +the fatal heading, has been known to appear as +“arrived.”</p> +<p>It must blaze up, indeed, with a great brilliance the dull +printer’s ink expended on the assemblage of the few letters +that form the ship’s name to the anxious eyes scanning the +page in fear and trembling. It is like the message of +reprieve from the sentence of sorrow suspended over many a home, +even if some of the men in her have been the most homeless +mortals that you may find among the wanderers of the sea.</p> +<p>The reinsurer, the optimist of ill-luck and disaster, slaps +his pocket with satisfaction. The underwriter, who had been +trying to minimize the amount of impending loss, regrets his +premature pessimism. The ship has been stauncher, the skies +more merciful, the seas less angry, or perhaps the men on board +of a finer temper than he has been willing to take for +granted.</p> +<p>“The ship So-and-so, bound to such a port, and posted as +‘overdue,’ has been reported yesterday as having +arrived safely at her destination.”</p> +<p>Thus run the official words of the reprieve addressed to the +hearts ashore lying under a heavy sentence. And they come +swiftly from the other side of the earth, over wires and cables, +for your electric telegraph is a great alleviator of +anxiety. Details, of course, shall follow. And they +may unfold a tale of narrow escape, of steady ill-luck, of high +winds and heavy weather, of ice, of interminable calms or endless +head-gales; a tale of difficulties overcome, of adversity defied +by a small knot of men upon the great loneliness of the sea; a +tale of resource, of courage—of helplessness, perhaps.</p> +<p>Of all ships disabled at sea, a steamer who has lost her +propeller is the most helpless. And if she drifts into an +unpopulated part of the ocean she may soon become overdue. +The menace of the “overdue” and the finality of +“missing” come very quickly to steamers whose life, +fed on coals and breathing the black breath of smoke into the +air, goes on in disregard of wind and wave. Such a one, a +big steamship, too, whose working life had been a record of +faithful keeping time from land to land, in disregard of wind and +sea, once lost her propeller down south, on her passage out to +New Zealand.</p> +<p>It was the wintry, murky time of cold gales and heavy +seas. With the snapping of her tail-shaft her life seemed +suddenly to depart from her big body, and from a stubborn, +arrogant existence she passed all at once into the passive state +of a drifting log. A ship sick with her own weakness has +not the pathos of a ship vanquished in a battle with the +elements, wherein consists the inner drama of her life. No +seaman can look without compassion upon a disabled ship, but to +look at a sailing-vessel with her lofty spars gone is to look +upon a defeated but indomitable warrior. There is defiance +in the remaining stumps of her masts, raised up like maimed limbs +against the menacing scowl of a stormy sky; there is high courage +in the upward sweep of her lines towards the bow; and as soon as, +on a hastily-rigged spar, a strip of canvas is shown to the wind +to keep her head to sea, she faces the waves again with an +unsubdued courage.</p> +<h2>XIX.</h2> +<p>The efficiency of a steamship consists not so much in her +courage as in the power she carries within herself. It +beats and throbs like a pulsating heart within her iron ribs, and +when it stops, the steamer, whose life is not so much a contest +as the disdainful ignoring of the sea, sickens and dies upon the +waves. The sailing-ship, with her unthrobbing body, seemed +to lead mysteriously a sort of unearthly existence, bordering +upon the magic of the invisible forces, sustained by the +inspiration of life-giving and death-dealing winds.</p> +<p>So that big steamer, dying by a sudden stroke, drifted, an +unwieldy corpse, away from the track of other ships. And +she would have been posted really as “overdue,” or +maybe as “missing,” had she not been sighted in a +snowstorm, vaguely, like a strange rolling island, by a whaler +going north from her Polar cruising ground. There was +plenty of food on board, and I don’t know whether the +nerves of her passengers were at all affected by anything else +than the sense of interminable boredom or the vague fear of that +unusual situation. Does a passenger ever feel the life of +the ship in which he is being carried like a sort of honoured +bale of highly sensitive goods? For a man who has never +been a passenger it is impossible to say. But I know that +there is no harder trial for a seaman than to feel a dead ship +under his feet.</p> +<p>There is no mistaking that sensation, so dismal, so tormenting +and so subtle, so full of unhappiness and unrest. I could +imagine no worse eternal punishment for evil seamen who die +unrepentant upon the earthly sea than that their souls should be +condemned to man the ghosts of disabled ships, drifting for ever +across a ghostly and tempestuous ocean.</p> +<p>She must have looked ghostly enough, that broken-down steamer, +rolling in that snowstorm—a dark apparition in a world of +white snowflakes to the staring eyes of that whaler’s +crew. Evidently they didn’t believe in ghosts, for on +arrival into port her captain unromantically reported having +sighted a disabled steamer in latitude somewhere about 50 degrees +S. and a longitude still more uncertain. Other steamers +came out to look for her, and ultimately towed her away from the +cold edge of the world into a harbour with docks and workshops, +where, with many blows of hammers, her pulsating heart of steel +was set going again to go forth presently in the renewed pride of +its strength, fed on fire and water, breathing black smoke into +the air, pulsating, throbbing, shouldering its arrogant way +against the great rollers in blind disdain of winds and sea.</p> +<p>The track she had made when drifting while her heart stood +still within her iron ribs looked like a tangled thread on the +white paper of the chart. It was shown to me by a friend, +her second officer. In that surprising tangle there were +words in minute letters—“gales,” “thick +fog,” “ice”—written by him here and there +as memoranda of the weather. She had interminably turned +upon her tracks, she had crossed and recrossed her haphazard path +till it resembled nothing so much as a puzzling maze of pencilled +lines without a meaning. But in that maze there lurked all +the romance of the “overdue” and a menacing hint of +“missing.”</p> +<p>“We had three weeks of it,” said my friend, +“just think of that!”</p> +<p>“How did you feel about it?” I asked.</p> +<p>He waved his hand as much as to say: It’s all in the +day’s work. But then, abruptly, as if making up his +mind:</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you. Towards the last I used to +shut myself up in my berth and cry.”</p> +<p>“Cry?”</p> +<p>“Shed tears,” he explained briefly, and rolled up +the chart.</p> +<p>I can answer for it, he was a good man—as good as ever +stepped upon a ship’s deck—but he could not bear the +feeling of a dead ship under his feet: the sickly, disheartening +feeling which the men of some “overdue” ships that +come into harbour at last under a jury-rig must have felt, +combated, and overcome in the faithful discharge of their +duty.</p> +<h2><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +102</span>XX.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is difficult for a seaman to +believe that his stranded ship does not feel as unhappy at the +unnatural predicament of having no water under her keel as he is +himself at feeling her stranded.</p> +<p>Stranding is, indeed, the reverse of sinking. The sea +does not close upon the water-logged hull with a sunny ripple, or +maybe with the angry rush of a curling wave, erasing her name +from the roll of living ships. No. It is as if an +invisible hand had been stealthily uplifted from the bottom to +catch hold of her keel as it glides through the water.</p> +<p>More than any other event does stranding bring to the sailor a +sense of utter and dismal failure. There are strandings and +strandings, but I am safe to say that 90 per cent. of them are +occasions in which a sailor, without dishonour, may well wish +himself dead; and I have no doubt that of those who had the +experience of their ship taking the ground, 90 per cent. did +actually for five seconds or so wish themselves dead.</p> +<p>“Taking the ground” is the professional expression +for a ship that is stranded in gentle circumstances. But +the feeling is more as if the ground had taken hold of her. +It is for those on her deck a surprising sensation. It is +as if your feet had been caught in an imponderable snare; you +feel the balance of your body threatened, and the steady poise of +your mind is destroyed at once. This sensation lasts only a +second, for even while you stagger something seems to turn over +in your head, bringing uppermost the mental exclamation, full of +astonishment and dismay, “By Jove! she’s on the +ground!”</p> +<p>And that is very terrible. After all, the only mission +of a seaman’s calling is to keep ships’ keels off the +ground. Thus the moment of her stranding takes away from +him every excuse for his continued existence. To keep ships +afloat is his business; it is his trust; it is the effective +formula of the bottom of all these vague impulses, dreams, and +illusions that go to the making up of a boy’s +vocation. The grip of the land upon the keel of your ship, +even if nothing worse comes of it than the wear and tear of +tackle and the loss of time, remains in a seaman’s memory +an indelibly fixed taste of disaster.</p> +<p>“Stranded” within the meaning of this paper stands +for a more or less excusable mistake. A ship may be +“driven ashore” by stress of weather. It is a +catastrophe, a defeat. To be “run ashore” has +the littleness, poignancy, and bitterness of human error.</p> +<h2>XXI.</h2> +<p>That is why your “strandings” are for the most +part so unexpected. In fact, they are all unexpected, +except those heralded by some short glimpse of the danger, full +of agitation and excitement, like an awakening from a dream of +incredible folly.</p> +<p>The land suddenly at night looms up right over your bows, or +perhaps the cry of “Broken water ahead!” is raised, +and some long mistake, some complicated edifice of self-delusion, +over-confidence, and wrong reasoning is brought down in a fatal +shock, and the heart-searing experience of your ship’s keel +scraping and scrunching over, say, a coral reef. It is a +sound, for its size, far more terrific to your soul than that of +a world coming violently to an end. But out of that chaos +your belief in your own prudence and sagacity reasserts +itself. You ask yourself, Where on earth did I get +to? How on earth did I get there? with a conviction that it +could not be your own act, that there has been at work some +mysterious conspiracy of accident; that the charts are all wrong, +and if the charts are not wrong, that land and sea have changed +their places; that your misfortune shall for ever remain +inexplicable, since you have lived always with the sense of your +trust, the last thing on closing your eyes, the first on opening +them, as if your mind had kept firm hold of your responsibility +during the hours of sleep.</p> +<p>You contemplate mentally your mischance, till little by little +your mood changes, cold doubt steals into the very marrow of your +bones, you see the inexplicable fact in another light. That +is the time when you ask yourself, How on earth could I have been +fool enough to get there? And you are ready to renounce all +belief in your good sense, in your knowledge, in your fidelity, +in what you thought till then was the best in you, giving you the +daily bread of life and the moral support of other men’s +confidence.</p> +<p>The ship is lost or not lost. Once stranded, you have to +do your best by her. She may be saved by your efforts, by +your resource and fortitude bearing up against the heavy weight +of guilt and failure. And there are justifiable strandings +in fogs, on uncharted seas, on dangerous shores, through +treacherous tides. But, saved or not saved, there remains +with her commander a distinct sense of loss, a flavour in the +mouth of the real, abiding danger that lurks in all the forms of +human existence. It is an acquisition, too, that +feeling. A man may be the better for it, but he will not be +the same. Damocles has seen the sword suspended by a hair +over his head, and though a good man need not be made less +valuable by such a knowledge, the feast shall not henceforth have +the same flavour.</p> +<p>Years ago I was concerned as chief mate in a case of stranding +which was not fatal to the ship. We went to work for ten +hours on end, laying out anchors in readiness to heave off at +high water. While I was still busy about the decks forward +I heard the steward at my elbow saying: “The captain asks +whether you mean to come in, sir, and have something to eat +to-day.”</p> +<p>I went into the cuddy. My captain sat at the head of the +table like a statue. There was a strange motionlessness of +everything in that pretty little cabin. The swing-table +which for seventy odd days had been always on the move, if ever +so little, hung quite still above the soup-tureen. Nothing +could have altered the rich colour of my commander’s +complexion, laid on generously by wind and sea; but between the +two tufts of fair hair above his ears, his skull, generally +suffused with the hue of blood, shone dead white, like a dome of +ivory. And he looked strangely untidy. I perceived he +had not shaved himself that day; and yet the wildest motion of +the ship in the most stormy latitudes we had passed through, +never made him miss one single morning ever since we left the +Channel. The fact must be that a commander cannot possibly +shave himself when his ship is aground. I have commanded +ships myself, but I don’t know; I have never tried to shave +in my life.</p> +<p>He did not offer to help me or himself till I had coughed +markedly several times. I talked to him professionally in a +cheery tone, and ended with the confident assertion:</p> +<p>“We shall get her off before midnight, sir.”</p> +<p>He smiled faintly without looking up, and muttered as if to +himself:</p> +<p>“Yes, yes; the captain put the ship ashore and we got +her off.”</p> +<p>Then, raising his head, he attacked grumpily the steward, a +lanky, anxious youth with a long, pale face and two big front +teeth.</p> +<p>“What makes this soup so bitter? I am surprised +the mate can swallow the beastly stuff. I’m sure the +cook’s ladled some salt water into it by +mistake.”</p> +<p>The charge was so outrageous that the steward for all answer +only dropped his eyelids bashfully.</p> +<p>There was nothing the matter with the soup. I had a +second helping. My heart was warm with hours of hard work +at the head of a willing crew. I was elated with having +handled heavy anchors, cables, boats without the slightest hitch; +<a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>pleased +with having laid out scientifically bower, stream, and kedge +exactly where I believed they would do most good. On that +occasion the bitter taste of a stranding was not for my +mouth. That experience came later, and it was only then +that I understood the loneliness of the man in charge.</p> +<p>It’s the captain who puts the ship ashore; it’s we +who get her off.</p> +<h2>XXII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> seems to me that no man born and +truthful to himself could declare that he ever saw the sea +looking young as the earth looks young in spring. But some +of us, regarding the ocean with understanding and affection, have +seen it looking old, as if the immemorial ages had been stirred +up from the undisturbed bottom of ooze. For it is a gale of +wind that makes the sea look old.</p> +<p>From a distance of years, looking at the remembered aspects of +the storms lived through, it is that impression which disengages +itself clearly from the great body of impressions left by many +years of intimate contact.</p> +<p>If you would know the age of the earth, look upon the sea in a +storm. The grayness of the whole immense surface, the wind +furrows upon the faces of the waves, the great masses of foam, +tossed about and waving, like matted white locks, give to the sea +in a gale an appearance of hoary age, lustreless, dull, without +gleams, as though it had been created before light itself.</p> +<p>Looking back after much love and much trouble, the instinct of +primitive man, who seeks to personify the forces of Nature for +his affection and for his fear, is awakened again in the breast +of one civilized beyond that stage even in his infancy. One +seems to have known gales as enemies, and even as enemies one +embraces them in that affectionate regret which clings to the +past.</p> +<p>Gales have their personalities, and, after all, perhaps it is +not strange; for, when all is said and done, they are adversaries +whose wiles you must defeat, whose violence you must resist, and +yet with whom you must live in the intimacies of nights and +days.</p> +<p>Here speaks the man of masts and sails, to whom the sea is not +a navigable element, but an intimate companion. The length +of passages, the growing sense of solitude, the close dependence +upon the very forces that, friendly to-day, without changing +their nature, by the mere putting forth of their might, become +dangerous to-morrow, make for that sense of fellowship which +modern seamen, good men as they are, cannot hope to know. +And, besides, your modern ship which is a steamship makes her +passages on other principles than yielding to the weather and +humouring the sea. She receives smashing blows, but she +advances; it is a slogging fight, and not a scientific +campaign. The machinery, the steel, the fire, the steam, +have stepped in between the man and the sea. A modern fleet +of ships does not so much make use of the sea as exploit a +highway. The modern ship is not the sport of the +waves. Let us say that each of her voyages is a triumphant +progress; and yet it is a question whether it is not a more +subtle and more human triumph to be the sport of the waves and +yet survive, achieving your end.</p> +<p>In his own time a man is always very modern. Whether the +seamen of three hundred years hence will have the faculty of +sympathy it is impossible to say. An incorrigible mankind +hardens its heart in the progress of its own +perfectability. How will they feel on seeing the +illustrations to the sea novels of our day, or of our +yesterday? It is impossible to guess. But the seaman +of the last generation, brought into sympathy with the caravels +of ancient time by his sailing-ship, their lineal descendant, +cannot look upon those lumbering forms navigating the naïve +seas of ancient woodcuts without a feeling of surprise, of +affectionate derision, envy, and admiration. For those +things, whose unmanageableness, even when represented on paper, +makes one gasp with a sort of amused horror, were manned by men +who are his direct professional ancestors.</p> +<p>No; the seamen of three hundred years hence will probably be +neither touched nor moved to derision, affection, or +admiration. They will glance at the photogravures of our +nearly defunct sailing-ships with a cold, inquisitive and +indifferent eye. Our ships of yesterday will stand to their +ships as no lineal ancestors, but as mere predecessors whose +course will have been run and the race extinct. Whatever +craft he handles with skill, the seaman of the future shall be, +not our descendant, but only our successor.</p> +<h2>XXIII.</h2> +<p>And so much depends upon the craft which, made by man, is one +with man, that the sea shall wear for him another aspect. I +remember once seeing the commander—officially the master, +by courtesy the captain—of a fine iron ship of the old wool +fleet shaking his head at a very pretty brigantine. She was +bound the other way. She was a taut, trim, neat little +craft, extremely well kept; and on that serene evening when we +passed her close she looked the embodiment of coquettish comfort +on the sea. It was somewhere near the Cape—<i>The</i> +Cape being, of course, the Cape of Good Hope, the Cape of Storms +of its Portuguese discoverer. And whether it is that the +word “storm” should not be pronounced upon the sea +where the storms dwell thickly, or because men are shy of +confessing their good hopes, it has become the nameless +cape—the Cape <i>tout court</i>. The other great cape +of the world, strangely enough, is seldom if ever called a +cape. We say, “a voyage round the Horn”; +“we rounded the Horn”; “we got a frightful +battering off the Horn”; but rarely “Cape +Horn,” and, indeed, with some reason, for Cape Horn is as +much an island as a cape. The third stormy cape of the +world, which is the Leeuwin, receives generally its full name, as +if to console its second-rate dignity. These are the capes +that look upon the gales.</p> +<p>The little brigantine, then, had doubled the Cape. +Perhaps she was coming from Port Elizabeth, from East +London—who knows? It was many years ago, but I +remember well the captain of the wool-clipper nodding at her with +the words, “Fancy having to go about the sea in a thing +like that!”</p> +<p>He was a man brought up in big deep-water ships, and the size +of the craft under his feet was a part of his conception of the +sea. His own ship was certainly big as ships went +then. He may have thought of the size of his cabin, +or—unconsciously, perhaps—have conjured up a vision +of a vessel so small tossing amongst the great seas. I +didn’t inquire, and to a young second mate the captain of +the little pretty brigantine, sitting astride a camp stool with +his chin resting on his hands that were crossed upon the rail, +might have appeared a minor king amongst men. We passed her +within earshot, without a hail, reading each other’s names +with the naked eye.</p> +<p>Some years later, the second mate, the recipient of that +almost involuntary mutter, could have told his captain that a man +brought up in big ships may yet take a peculiar delight in what +we should both then have called a small craft. Probably the +captain of the big ship would not have understood very +well. His answer would have been a gruff, “Give me +size,” as I heard another man reply to a remark praising +the handiness of a small vessel. It was not a love of the +grandiose or the prestige attached to the command of great +tonnage, for he continued, with an air of disgust and contempt, +“Why, you get flung out of your bunk as likely as not in +any sort of heavy weather.”</p> +<p>I don’t know. I remember a few nights in my +lifetime, and in a big ship, too (as big as they made them then), +when one did not get flung out of one’s bed simply because +one never even attempted to get in; one had been made too weary, +too hopeless, to try. The expedient of turning your bedding +out on to a damp floor and lying on it there was no earthly good, +since you could not keep your place or get a second’s rest +in that or any other position. But of the delight of seeing +a small craft run bravely amongst the great seas there can be no +question to him whose soul does not dwell ashore. Thus I +well remember a three days’ run got out of a little barque +of 400 tons somewhere between the islands of St. Paul and +Amsterdam and Cape Otway on the Australian coast. It was a +hard, long gale, gray clouds and green sea, heavy weather +undoubtedly, but still what a sailor would call manageable. +Under two lower topsails and a reefed foresail the barque seemed +to race with a long, steady sea that did not becalm her in the +troughs. The solemn thundering combers caught her up from +astern, passed her with a fierce boiling up of foam level with +the bulwarks, swept on ahead with a swish and a roar: and the +little vessel, dipping her jib-boom into the tumbling froth, +would go on running in a smooth, glassy hollow, a deep valley +between two ridges of the sea, hiding the horizon ahead and +astern. There was such fascination in her pluck, +nimbleness, the continual exhibition of unfailing seaworthiness, +in the semblance of courage and endurance, that I could not give +up the delight of watching her run through the three +unforgettable days of that gale which my mate also delighted to +extol as “a famous shove.”</p> +<p>And this is one of those gales whose memory in after-years +returns, welcome in dignified austerity, as you would remember +with pleasure the noble features of a stranger with whom you +crossed swords once in knightly encounter and are never to see +again. In this way gales have their physiognomy. You +remember them by your own feelings, and no two gales stamp +themselves in the same way upon your emotions. Some cling +to you in woebegone misery; others come back fiercely and +weirdly, like ghouls bent upon sucking your strength away; +others, again, have a catastrophic splendour; some are +unvenerated recollections, as of spiteful wild-cats clawing at +your agonized vitals; others are severe, like a visitation; and +one or two rise up draped and mysterious, with an aspect of +ominous menace. In each of them there is a characteristic +point at which the whole feeling seems contained in one single +moment. Thus there is a certain four o’clock in the +morning in the confused roar of a black and white world when +coming on deck to take charge of my watch I received the +instantaneous impression that the ship could not live for another +hour in such a raging sea.</p> +<p>I wonder what became of the men who silently (you +couldn’t hear yourself speak) must have shared that +conviction with me. To be left to write about it is not, +perhaps, the most enviable fate; but the point is that this +impression resumes in its intensity the whole recollection of +days and days of desperately dangerous weather. We were +then, for reasons which it is not worth while to specify, in the +close neighbourhood of Kerguelen Land; and now, when I open an +atlas and look at the tiny dots on the map of the Southern Ocean, +I see as if engraved upon the paper the enraged physiognomy of +that gale.</p> +<p>Another, strangely, recalls a silent man. And yet it was +not din that was wanting; in fact, it was terrific. That +one was a gale that came upon the ship swiftly, like a parnpero, +which last is a very sudden wind indeed. Before we knew +very well what was coming all the sails we had set had burst; the +furled ones were blowing loose, ropes flying, sea +hissing—it hissed tremendously—wind howling, and the +ship lying on her side, so that half of the crew were swimming +and the other half clawing desperately at whatever came to hand, +according to the side of the deck each man had been caught on by +the catastrophe, either to leeward or to windward. The +shouting I need not mention—it was the merest drop in an +ocean of noise—and yet the character of the gale seems +contained in the recollection of one small, not particularly +impressive, sallow man without a cap and with a very still +face. Captain Jones—let us call him Jones—had +been caught unawares. Two orders he had given at the first +sign of an utterly unforeseen onset; after that the magnitude of +his mistake seemed to have overwhelmed him. We were doing +what was needed and feasible. The ship behaved well. +Of course, it was some time before we could pause in our fierce +and laborious exertions; but all through the work, the +excitement, the uproar, and some dismay, we were aware of this +silent little man at the break of the poop, perfectly motionless, +soundless, and often hidden from us by the drift of sprays.</p> +<p>When we officers clambered at last upon the poop, he seemed to +come out of that numbed composure, and shouted to us down wind: +“Try the pumps.” Afterwards he +disappeared. As to the ship, I need not say that, although +she was presently swallowed up in one of the blackest nights I +can remember, she did not disappear. In truth, I +don’t fancy that there had ever been much danger of that, +but certainly the experience was noisy and particularly +distracting—and yet it is the memory of a very quiet +silence that survives.</p> +<h2>XXIV.</h2> +<p>For, after all, a gale of wind, the thing of mighty sound, is +inarticulate. It is man who, in a chance phrase, interprets +the elemental passion of his enemy. Thus there is another +gale in my memory, a thing of endless, deep, humming roar, +moonlight, and a spoken sentence.</p> +<p>It was off that other cape which is always deprived of its +title as the Cape of Good Hope is robbed of its name. It +was off the Horn. For a true expression of dishevelled +wildness there is nothing like a gale in the bright moonlight of +a high latitude.</p> +<p>The ship, brought-to and bowing to enormous flashing seas, +glistened wet from deck to trucks; her one set sail stood out a +coal-black shape upon the gloomy blueness of the air. I was +a youngster then, and suffering from weariness, cold, and +imperfect oilskins which let water in at every seam. I +craved human companionship, and, coming off the poop, took my +place by the side of the boatswain (a man whom I did not like) in +a comparatively dry spot where at worst we had water only up to +our knees. Above our heads the explosive booming gusts of +wind passed continuously, justifying the sailor’s saying +“It blows great guns.” And just from that need +of human companionship, being very close to the man, I said, or +rather shouted:</p> +<p>“Blows very hard, boatswain.”</p> +<p>His answer was:</p> +<p>“Ay, and if it blows only a little harder things will +begin to go. I don’t mind as long as everything +holds, but when things begin to go it’s bad.”</p> +<p>The note of dread in the shouting voice, the practical truth +of these words, heard years ago from a man I did not like, have +stamped its peculiar character on that gale.</p> +<p>A look in the eyes of a shipmate, a low murmur in the most +sheltered spot where the watch on duty are huddled together, a +meaning moan from one to the other with a glance at the windward +sky, a sigh of weariness, a gesture of disgust passing into the +keeping of the great wind, become part and parcel of the +gale. The olive hue of hurricane clouds presents an aspect +peculiarly appalling. The inky ragged wrack, flying before +a nor’-west wind, makes you dizzy with its headlong speed +that depicts the rush of the invisible air. A hard +sou’-wester startles you with its close horizon and its low +gray sky, as if the world were a dungeon wherein there is no rest +for body or soul. And there are black squalls, white +squalls, thunder squalls, and unexpected gusts that come without +a single sign in the sky; and of each kind no one of them +resembles another.</p> +<p><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>There +is infinite variety in the gales of wind at sea, and except for +the peculiar, terrible, and mysterious moaning that may be heard +sometimes passing through the roar of a hurricane—except +for that unforgettable sound, as if the soul of the universe had +been goaded into a mournful groan—it is, after all, the +human voice that stamps the mark of human consciousness upon the +character of a gale.</p> +<h2>XXV.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is no part of the world of +coasts, continents, oceans, seas, straits, capes, and islands +which is not under the sway of a reigning wind, the sovereign of +its typical weather. The wind rules the aspects of the sky +and the action of the sea. But no wind rules unchallenged +his realm of land and water. As with the kingdoms of the +earth, there are regions more turbulent than others. In the +middle belt of the earth the Trade Winds reign supreme, +undisputed, like monarchs of long-settled kingdoms, whose +traditional power, checking all undue ambitions, is not so much +an exercise of personal might as the working of long-established +institutions. The intertropical kingdoms of the Trade Winds +are favourable to the ordinary life of a merchantman. The +trumpet-call of strife is seldom borne on their wings to the +watchful ears of men on the decks of ships. The regions +ruled by the north-east and south-east Trade Winds are +serene. In a southern-going ship, bound out for a long +voyage, the passage through their dominions is characterized by a +relaxation of strain and vigilance on the part of the +seamen. Those citizens of the ocean feel sheltered under +the ægis of an uncontested law, of an undisputed +dynasty. There, indeed, if anywhere on earth, the weather +may be trusted.</p> +<p>Yet not too implicitly. Even in the constitutional realm +of Trade Winds, north and south of the equator, ships are +overtaken by strange disturbances. Still, the easterly +winds, and, generally speaking, the easterly weather all the +world over, is characterized by regularity and persistence.</p> +<p>As a ruler, the East Wind has a remarkable stability; as an +invader of the high latitudes lying under the tumultuous sway of +his great brother, the Wind of the West, he is extremely +difficult to dislodge, by the reason of his cold craftiness and +profound duplicity.</p> +<p>The narrow seas around these isles, where British admirals +keep watch and ward upon the marches of the Atlantic Ocean, are +subject to the turbulent sway of the West Wind. Call it +north-west or south-west, it is all one—a different phase +of the same character, a changed expression on the same +face. In the orientation of the winds that rule the seas, +the north and south directions are of no importance. There +are no North and South Winds of any account upon this +earth. The North and South Winds are but small princes in +the dynasties that make peace and war upon the sea. They +never assert themselves upon a vast stage. They depend upon +local causes—the configuration of coasts, the shapes of +straits, the accidents of bold promontories round which they play +their little part. In the polity of winds, as amongst the +tribes of the earth, the real struggle lies between East and +West.</p> +<h2>XXVI.</h2> +<p>The West Wind reigns over the seas surrounding the coasts of +these kingdoms; and from the gateways of the channels, from +promontories as if from watch-towers, from estuaries of rivers as +if from postern gates, from passage-ways, inlets, straits, +firths, the garrison of the Isle and the crews of the ships going +and returning look to the westward to judge by the varied +splendours of his sunset mantle the mood of that arbitrary +ruler. The end of the day is the time to gaze at the kingly +face of the Westerly Weather, who is the arbiter of ships’ +destinies. Benignant and splendid, or splendid and +sinister, the western sky reflects the hidden purposes of the +royal mind. Clothed in a mantle of dazzling gold or draped +in rags of black clouds like a beggar, the might of the Westerly +Wind sits enthroned upon the western horizon with the whole North +Atlantic as a footstool for his feet and the first twinkling +stars making a diadem for his brow. Then the seamen, +attentive courtiers of the weather, think of regulating the +conduct of their ships by the mood of the master. The West +Wind is too great a king to be a dissembler: he is no calculator +plotting deep schemes in a sombre heart; he is too strong for +small artifices; there is passion in all his moods, even in the +soft mood of his serene days, in the grace of his blue sky whose +immense and unfathomable tenderness reflected in the mirror of +the sea embraces, possesses, lulls to sleep the ships with white +sails. He is all things to all oceans; he is like a poet +seated upon a throne—magnificent, simple, barbarous, +pensive, generous, impulsive, changeable, unfathomable—but +when you understand him, always the same. Some of his +sunsets are like pageants devised for the delight of the +multitude, when all the gems of the royal treasure-house are +displayed above the sea. Others are like the opening of his +royal confidence, tinged with thoughts of sadness and compassion +in a melancholy splendour meditating upon the short-lived peace +of the waters. And I have seen him put the pent-up anger of +his heart into the aspect of the inaccessible sun, and cause it +to glare fiercely like the eye of an implacable autocrat out of a +pale and frightened sky.</p> +<p>He is the war-lord who sends his battalions of Atlantic +rollers to the assault of our seaboard. The compelling +voice of the West Wind musters up to his service all the might of +the ocean. At the bidding of the West Wind there arises a +great commotion in the sky above these Islands, and a great rush +of waters falls upon our shores. The sky of the westerly +weather is full of flying clouds, of great big white clouds +coming thicker and thicker till they seem to stand welded into a +solid canopy, upon whose gray face the lower wrack of the gale, +thin, black and angry-looking, flies past with vertiginous +speed. Denser and denser grows this dome of vapours, +descending lower and lower upon the sea, narrowing the horizon +around the ship. And the characteristic aspect of westerly +weather, the thick, gray, smoky and sinister tone sets in, +circumscribing the view of the men, drenching their bodies, +oppressing their souls, taking their breath away with booming +gusts, deafening, blinding, driving, rushing them onwards in a +swaying ship towards our coasts lost in mists and rain.</p> +<p>The caprice of the winds, like the wilfulness of men, is +fraught with the disastrous consequences of +self-indulgence. Long anger, the sense of his uncontrolled +power, spoils the frank and generous nature of the West +Wind. It is as if his heart were corrupted by a malevolent +and brooding rancour. He devastates his own kingdom in the +wantonness of his force. South-west is the quarter of the +heavens where he presents his darkened brow. He breathes +his rage in terrific squalls, and overwhelms his realm with an +inexhaustible welter of clouds. He strews the seeds of +anxiety upon the decks of scudding ships, makes the foam-stripped +ocean look old, and sprinkles with gray hairs the heads of +ship-masters in the homeward-bound ships running for the +Channel. The Westerly Wind asserting his sway from the +south-west quarter is often like a monarch gone mad, driving +forth with wild imprecations the most faithful of his courtiers +to shipwreck, disaster, and death.</p> +<p>The south-westerly weather is the thick weather <i>par +excellence</i>. It is not the thickness of the fog; it is +rather a contraction of the horizon, a mysterious veiling of the +shores with clouds that seem to make a low-vaulted dungeon around +the running ship. It is not blindness; it is a shortening +of the sight. The West Wind does not say to the seaman, +“You shall be blind”; it restricts merely the range +of his vision and raises the dread of land within his +breast. It makes of him a man robbed of half his force, of +half his efficiency. Many times in my life, standing in +long sea-boots and streaming oilskins at the elbow of my +commander on the poop of a homeward-bound ship making for the +Channel, and gazing ahead into the gray and tormented waste, I +have heard a weary sigh shape itself into a studiously casual +comment:</p> +<p>“Can’t see very far in this weather.”</p> +<p>And have made answer in the same low, perfunctory tone</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>It would be merely the instinctive voicing of an ever-present +thought associated closely with the consciousness of the land +somewhere ahead and of the great speed of the ship. Fair +wind, fair wind! Who would dare to grumble at a fair +wind? It was a favour of the Western King, who rules +masterfully the North Atlantic from the latitude of the Azores to +the latitude of Cape Farewell. A famous shove this to end a +good passage with; and yet, somehow, one could not muster upon +one’s lips the smile of a courtier’s gratitude. +This favour was dispensed to you from under an overbearing scowl, +which is the true expression of the great autocrat when he has +made up his mind to give a battering to some ships and to hunt +certain others home in one breath of cruelty and benevolence, +equally distracting.</p> +<p>“No, sir. Can’t see very far.”</p> +<p>Thus would the mate’s voice repeat the thought of the +master, both gazing ahead, while under their feet the ship rushes +at some twelve knots in the direction of the lee shore; and only +a couple of miles in front of her swinging and dripping jib-boom, +carried naked with an upward slant like a spear, a gray horizon +closes the view with a multitude of waves surging upwards +violently as if to strike at the stooping clouds.</p> +<p>Awful and threatening scowls darken the face of the West Wind +in his clouded, south-west mood; and from the King’s +throne-hall in the western board stronger gusts reach you, like +the fierce shouts of raving fury to which only the gloomy +grandeur of the scene imparts a saving dignity. A shower +pelts the deck and the sails of the ship as if flung with a +scream by an angry hand; and when the night closes in, the night +of a south-westerly gale, it seems more hopeless than the shade +of Hades. The south-westerly mood of the great West Wind is +a lightless mood, without sun, moon, or stars, with no gleam of +light but the phosphorescent flashes of the great sheets of foam +that, boiling up on each side of the ship, fling bluish gleams +upon her dark and narrow hull, rolling as she runs, chased by +enormous seas, distracted in the tumult.</p> +<p>There are some bad nights in the kingdom of the West Wind for +homeward-bound ships making for the Channel; and the days of +wrath dawn upon them colourless and vague like the timid turning +up of invisible lights upon the scene of a tyrannical and +passionate outbreak, awful in the monotony of its method and the +increasing strength of its violence. It is the same wind, +the same clouds, the same wildly racing seas, the same thick +horizon around the ship. Only the wind is stronger, the +clouds seem denser and more overwhelming, the waves appear to +have grown bigger and more threatening during the night. +The hours, whose minutes are marked by the crash of the breaking +seas, slip by with the screaming, pelting squalls overtaking the +ship as she runs on and on with darkened canvas, with streaming +spars and dripping ropes. The down-pours thicken. +Preceding each shower a mysterious gloom, like the passage of a +shadow above the firmament of gray clouds, filters down upon the +ship. Now and then the rain pours upon your head in streams +as if from spouts. It seems as if your ship were going to +be drowned before she sank, as if all atmosphere had turned to +water. You gasp, you splutter, you are blinded and +deafened, you are submerged, obliterated, dissolved, annihilated, +streaming all over as if your limbs, too, had turned to +water. And every nerve on the alert you watch for the +clearing-up mood of the Western King, that shall come with a +shift of wind as likely as not to whip all the three masts out of +your ship in the twinkling of an eye.</p> +<h2>XXVII.</h2> +<p>Heralded by the increasing fierceness of the squalls, +sometimes by a faint flash of lightning like the signal of a +lighted torch waved far away behind the clouds, the shift of wind +comes at last, the crucial moment of the change from the brooding +and veiled violence of the south-west gale to the sparkling, +flashing, cutting, clear-eyed anger of the King’s +north-westerly mood. You behold another phase of his +passion, a fury bejewelled with stars, mayhap bearing the +crescent of the moon on its brow, shaking the last vestiges of +its torn cloud-mantle in inky-black squalls, with hail and sleet +descending like showers of crystals and pearls, bounding off the +spars, drumming on the sails, pattering on the oilskin coats, +whitening the decks of homeward-bound ships. Faint, ruddy +flashes of lightning flicker in the starlight upon her +mastheads. A chilly blast hums in the taut rigging, causing +the ship to tremble to her very keel, and the soaked men on her +decks to shiver in their wet clothes to the very marrow of their +bones. Before one squall has flown over to sink in the +eastern board, the edge of another peeps up already above the +western horizon, racing up swift, shapeless, like a black bag +full of frozen water ready to burst over your devoted head. +The temper of the ruler of the ocean has changed. Each gust +of the clouded mood that seemed warmed by the heat of a heart +flaming with anger has its counterpart in the chilly blasts that +seem blown from a breast turned to ice with a sudden revulsion of +feeling. Instead of blinding your eyes and crushing your +soul with a terrible apparatus of cloud and mists and seas and +rain, the King of the West turns his power to contemptuous +pelting of your back with icicles, to making your weary eyes +water as if in grief, and your worn-out carcass quake +pitifully. But each mood of the great autocrat has its own +greatness, and each is hard to bear. Only the north-west +phase of that mighty display is not demoralizing to the same +extent, because between the hail and sleet squalls of a +north-westerly gale one can see a long way ahead.</p> +<p>To see! to see!—this is the craving of the sailor, as of +the rest of blind humanity. To have his path made clear for +him is the aspiration of every human being in our beclouded and +tempestuous existence. I have heard a reserved, silent man, +with no nerves to speak of, after three days of hard running in +thick south-westerly weather, burst out passionately: “I +wish to God we could get sight of something!”</p> +<p>We had just gone down below for a moment to commune in a +battened-down cabin, with a large white chart lying limp and damp +upon a cold and clammy table under the light of a smoky +lamp. Sprawling over that seaman’s silent and trusted +adviser, with one elbow upon the coast of Africa and the other +planted in the neighbourhood of Cape Hatteras (it was a general +track-chart of the North Atlantic), my skipper lifted his rugged, +hairy face, and glared at me in a half-exasperated, +half-appealing way. We have seen no sun, moon, or stars for +something like seven days. By the effect of the West +Wind’s wrath the celestial bodies had gone into hiding for +a week or more, and the last three days had seen the force of a +south-west gale grow from fresh, through strong, to heavy, as the +entries in my log-book could testify. Then we separated, he +to go on deck again, in obedience to that mysterious call that +seems to sound for ever in a shipmaster’s ears, I to +stagger into my cabin with some vague notion of putting down the +words “Very heavy weather” in a log-book not quite +written up-to-date. But I gave it up, and crawled into my +bunk instead, boots and hat on, all standing (it did not matter; +everything was soaking wet, a heavy sea having burst the poop +skylights the night before), to remain in a nightmarish state +between waking and sleeping for a couple of hours of so-called +rest.</p> +<p>The south-westerly mood of the West Wind is an enemy of sleep, +and even of a recumbent position, in the responsible officers of +a ship. After two hours of futile, light-headed, +inconsequent thinking upon all things under heaven in that dark, +dank, wet and devastated cabin, I arose suddenly and staggered up +on deck. The autocrat of the North Atlantic was still +oppressing his kingdom and its outlying dependencies, even as far +as the Bay of Biscay, in the dismal secrecy of thick, very thick, +weather. The force of the wind, though we were running +before it at the rate of some ten knots an hour, was so great +that it drove me with a steady push to the front of the poop, +where my commander was holding on.</p> +<p>“What do you think of it?” he addressed me in an +interrogative yell.</p> +<p>What I really thought was that we both had had just about +enough of it. The manner in which the great West Wind +chooses at times to administer his possessions does not commend +itself to a person of peaceful and law-abiding disposition, +inclined to draw distinctions between right and wrong in the face +of natural forces, whose standard, naturally, is that of might +alone. But, of course, I said nothing. For a man +caught, as it were, between his skipper and the great West Wind +silence is the safest sort of diplomacy. Moreover, I knew +my skipper. He did not want to know what I thought. +Shipmasters hanging on a breath before the thrones of the winds +ruling the seas have their psychology, whose workings are as +important to the ship and those on board of her as the changing +moods of the weather. The man, as a matter of fact, under +no circumstances, ever cared a brass farthing for what I or +anybody else in his ship thought. He had had just about +enough of it, I guessed, and what he was at really was a process +of fishing for a suggestion. It was the pride of his life +that he had never wasted a chance, no matter how boisterous, +threatening, and dangerous, of a fair wind. Like men racing +blindfold for a gap in a hedge, we were finishing a splendidly +quick passage from the Antipodes, with a tremendous rush for the +Channel in as thick a weather as any I can remember, but his +psychology did not permit him to bring the ship to with a fair +wind blowing—at least not on his own initiative. And +yet he felt that very soon indeed something would have to be +done. He wanted the suggestion to come from me, so that +later on, when the trouble was over, he could argue this point +with his own uncompromising spirit, laying the blame upon my +shoulders. I must render him the justice that this sort of +pride was his only weakness.</p> +<p>But he got no suggestion from me. I understood his +psychology. Besides, I had my own stock of weaknesses at +the time (it is a different one now), and amongst them was the +conceit of being remarkably well up in the psychology of the +Westerly weather. I believed—not to mince +matters—that I had a genius for reading the mind of the +great ruler of high latitudes. I fancied I could discern +already the coming of a change in his royal mood. And all I +said was:</p> +<p>“The weather’s bound to clear up with the shift of +wind.”</p> +<p>“Anybody knows that much!” he snapped at me, at +the highest pitch of his voice.</p> +<p>“I mean before dark!” I cried.</p> +<p>This was all the opening he ever got from me. The +eagerness with which he seized upon it gave me the measure of the +anxiety he had been labouring under.</p> +<p>“Very well,” he shouted, with an affectation of +impatience, as if giving way to long entreaties. “All +right. If we don’t get a shift by then we’ll +take that foresail off her and put her head under her wing for +the night.”</p> +<p>I was struck by the picturesque character of the phrase as +applied to a ship brought-to in order to ride out a gale with +wave after wave passing under her breast. I could see her +resting in the tumult of the elements like a sea-bird sleeping in +wild weather upon the raging waters with its head tucked under +its wing. In imaginative precision, in true feeling, this +is one of the most expressive sentences I have ever heard on +human lips. But as to taking the foresail off that ship +before we put her head under her wing, I had my grave +doubts. They were justified. That long enduring piece +of canvas was confiscated by the arbitrary decree of the West +Wind, to whom belong the lives of men and the contrivances of +their hands within the limits of his kingdom. With the +sound of a faint explosion it vanished into the thick weather +bodily, leaving behind of its stout substance not so much as one +solitary strip big enough to be picked into a handful of lint +for, say, a wounded elephant. Torn out of its bolt-ropes, +it faded like a whiff of smoke in the smoky drift of clouds +shattered and torn by the shift of wind. For the shift of +wind had come. The unveiled, low sun glared angrily from a +chaotic sky upon a confused and tremendous sea dashing itself +upon a coast. We recognised the headland, and looked at +each other in the silence of dumb wonder. Without knowing +it in the least, we had run up alongside the Isle of Wight, and +that tower, tinged a faint evening red in the salt wind-haze, was +the lighthouse on St. Catherine’s Point.</p> +<p>My skipper recovered first from his astonishment. His +bulging eyes sank back gradually into their orbits. His +psychology, taking it all round, was really very creditable for +an average sailor. He had been spared the humiliation of +laying his ship to with a fair wind; and at once that man, of an +open and truthful nature, spoke up in perfect good faith, rubbing +together his brown, hairy hands—the hands of a +master-craftsman upon the sea:</p> +<p>“Humph! that’s just about where I reckoned we had +got to.”</p> +<p>The transparency and ingenuousness, in a way, of that +delusion, the airy tone, the hint of already growing pride, were +perfectly delicious. But, in truth, this was one of the +greatest surprises ever sprung by the clearing up mood of the +West Wind upon one of the most accomplished of his courtiers.</p> +<h2>XXVIII.</h2> +<p>The winds of North and South are, as I have said, but small +princes amongst the powers of the sea. They have no +territory of their own; they are not reigning winds +anywhere. Yet it is from their houses that the reigning +dynasties which have shared between them the waters of the earth +are sprung. All the weather of the world is based upon the +contest of the Polar and Equatorial strains of that tyrannous +race. The West Wind is the greatest king. The East +rules between the Tropics. They have shared each ocean +between them. Each has his genius of supreme rule. +The King of the West never intrudes upon the recognised dominion +of his kingly brother. He is a barbarian, of a northern +type. Violent without craftiness, and furious without +malice, one may imagine him seated masterfully with a +double-edged sword on his knees upon the painted and gilt clouds +of the sunset, bowing his shock head of golden locks, a flaming +beard over his breast, imposing, colossal, mighty-limbed, with a +thundering voice, distended cheeks and fierce blue eyes, urging +the speed of his gales. The other, the East king, the king +of blood-red sunrises, I represent to myself as a spare +Southerner with clear-cut features, black-browed and dark-eyed, +gray-robed, upright in sunshine, resting a smooth-shaven cheek in +the palm of his hand, impenetrable, secret, full of wiles, +fine-drawn, keen—meditating aggressions.</p> +<p>The West Wind keeps faith with his brother, the King of the +Easterly weather. “What we have divided we have +divided,” he seems to say in his gruff voice, this ruler +without guile, who hurls as if in sport enormous masses of cloud +across the sky, and flings the great waves of the Atlantic clear +across from the shores of the New World upon the hoary headlands +of Old Europe, which harbours more kings and rulers upon its +seamed and furrowed body than all the oceans of the world +together. “What we have divided we have divided; and +if no rest and peace in this world have fallen to my share, leave +me alone. Let me play at quoits with cyclonic gales, +flinging the discs of spinning cloud and whirling air from one +end of my dismal kingdom to the other: over the Great Banks or +along the edges of pack-ice—this one with true aim right +into the bight of the Bay of Biscay, that other upon the fiords +of Norway, across the North Sea where the fishermen of many +nations look watchfully into my angry eye. This is the time +of kingly sport.”</p> +<p>And the royal master of high latitudes sighs mightily, with +the sinking sun upon his breast and the double-edged sword upon +his knees, as if wearied by the innumerable centuries of a +strenuous rule and saddened by the unchangeable aspect of the +ocean under his feet—by the endless vista of future ages +where the work of sowing the wind and reaping the whirlwind shall +go on and on till his realm of living waters becomes a frozen and +motionless ocean. But the other, crafty and unmoved, +nursing his shaven chin between the thumb and forefinger of his +slim and treacherous hand, thinks deep within his heart full of +guile: “Aha! our brother of the West has fallen into the +mood of kingly melancholy. He is tired of playing with +circular gales, and blowing great guns, and unrolling thick +streamers of fog in wanton sport at the cost of his own poor, +miserable subjects. Their fate is most pitiful. Let +us make a foray upon the dominions of that noisy barbarian, a +great raid from Finisterre to Hatteras, catching his fishermen +unawares, baffling the fleets that trust to his power, and +shooting sly arrows into the livers of men who court his good +graces. He is, indeed, a worthless fellow.” And +forthwith, while the West Wind meditates upon the vanity of his +irresistible might, the thing is done, and the Easterly weather +sets in upon the North Atlantic.</p> +<p>The prevailing weather of the North Atlantic is typical of the +way in which the West Wind rules his realm on which the sun never +sets. North Atlantic is the heart of a great empire. +It is the part of the West Wind’s dominions most thickly +populated with generations of fine ships and hardy men. +Heroic deeds and adventurous exploits have been performed there, +within the very stronghold of his sway. The best sailors in +the world have been born and bred under the shadow of his +sceptre, learning to manage their ships with skill and audacity +before the steps of his stormy throne. Reckless +adventurers, toiling fishermen, admirals as wise and brave as the +world has ever known, have waited upon the signs of his westerly +sky. Fleets of victorious ships have hung upon his +breath. He has tossed in his hand squadrons of war-scarred +three-deckers, and shredded out in mere sport the bunting of +flags hallowed in the traditions of honour and glory. He is +a good friend and a dangerous enemy, without mercy to unseaworthy +ships and faint-hearted seamen. In his kingly way he has +taken but little account of lives sacrificed to his impulsive +policy; he is a king with a double-edged sword bared in his right +hand. The East Wind, an interloper in the dominions of +Westerly weather, is an impassive-faced tyrant with a sharp +poniard held behind his back for a treacherous stab.</p> +<p>In his forays into the North Atlantic the East Wind behaves +like a subtle and cruel adventurer without a notion of honour or +fair play. Veiling his clear-cut, lean face in a thin layer +of a hard, high cloud, I have seen him, like a wizened robber +sheik of the sea, hold up large caravans of ships to the number +of three hundred or more at the very gates of the English +Channel. And the worst of it was that there was no ransom +that we could pay to satisfy his avidity; for whatever evil is +wrought by the raiding East Wind, it is done only to spite his +kingly brother of the West. We gazed helplessly at the +systematic, cold, gray-eyed obstinacy of the Easterly weather, +while short rations became the order of the day, and the pinch of +hunger under the breast-bone grew familiar to every sailor in +that held-up fleet. Every day added to our numbers. +In knots and groups and straggling parties we flung to and fro +before the closed gate. And meantime the outward-bound +ships passed, running through our humiliated ranks under all the +canvas they could show. It is my idea that the Easterly +Wind helps the ships away from home in the wicked hope that they +shall all come to an untimely end and be heard of no more. +For six weeks did the robber sheik hold the trade route of the +earth, while our liege lord, the West Wind, slept profoundly like +a tired Titan, or else remained lost in a mood of idle sadness +known only to frank natures. All was still to the westward; +we looked in vain towards his stronghold: the King slumbered on +so deeply that he let his foraging brother steal the very mantle +of gold-lined purple clouds from his bowed shoulders. What +had become of the dazzling hoard of royal jewels exhibited at +every close of day? Gone, disappeared, extinguished, +carried off without leaving a single gold band or the flash of a +single sunbeam in the evening sky! Day after day through a +cold streak of heavens as bare and poor as the inside of a rifled +safe a rayless and despoiled sun would slink shamefacedly, +without pomp or show, to hide in haste under the waters. +And still the King slept on, or mourned the vanity of his might +and his power, while the thin-lipped intruder put the impress of +his cold and implacable spirit upon the sky and sea. With +every daybreak the rising sun had to wade through a crimson +stream, luminous and sinister, like the spilt blood of celestial +bodies murdered during the night.</p> +<p>In this particular instance the mean interloper held the road +for some six weeks on end, establishing his particular +administrative methods over the best part of the North +Atlantic. It looked as if the easterly weather had come to +stay for ever, or, at least, till we had all starved to death in +the held-up fleet—starved within sight, as it were, of +plenty, within touch, almost, of the bountiful heart of the +Empire. There we were, dotting with our white dry sails the +hard blueness of the deep sea. There we were, a growing +company of ships, each with her burden of grain, of timber, of +wool, of hides, and even of oranges, for we had one or two +belated fruit schooners in company. There we were, in that +memorable spring of a certain year in the late seventies, dodging +to and fro, baffled on every tack, and with our stores running +down to sweepings of bread-lockers and scrapings of +sugar-casks. It was just like the East Wind’s nature +to inflict starvation upon the bodies of unoffending sailors, +while he corrupted their simple souls by an exasperation leading +to outbursts of profanity as lurid as his blood-red +sunrises. They were followed by gray days under the cover +of high, motionless clouds that looked as if carved in a slab of +ash-coloured marble. And each mean starved sunset left us +calling with imprecations upon the West Wind even in its most +veiled misty mood to wake up and give us our liberty, if only to +rush on and dash the heads of our ships against the very walls of +our unapproachable home.</p> +<h2>XXIX.</h2> +<p>In the atmosphere of the Easterly weather, as pellucid as a +piece of crystal and refracting like a prism, we could see the +appalling numbers of our helpless company, even to those who in +more normal conditions would have remained invisible, sails down +under the horizon. It is the malicious pleasure of the East +Wind to augment the power of your eyesight, in order, perhaps, +that you should see better the perfect humiliation, the hopeless +character of your captivity. Easterly weather is generally +clear, and that is all that can be said for it—almost +supernaturally clear when it likes; but whatever its mood, there +is something uncanny in its nature. Its duplicity is such +that it will deceive a scientific instrument. No barometer +will give warning of an easterly gale, were it ever so wet. +It would be an unjust and ungrateful thing to say that a +barometer is a stupid contrivance. It is simply that the +wiles of the East Wind are too much for its fundamental +honesty. After years and years of experience the most +trusty instrument of the sort that ever went to sea screwed on to +a ship’s cabin bulkhead will, almost invariably, be induced +to rise by the diabolic ingenuity of the Easterly weather, just +at the moment when the Easterly weather, discarding its methods +of hard, dry, impassive cruelty, contemplates drowning what is +left of your spirit in torrents of a peculiarly cold and horrid +rain. The sleet-and-hail squalls following the lightning at +the end of a westerly gale are cold and benumbing and stinging +and cruel enough. But the dry, Easterly weather, when it +turns to wet, seems to rain poisoned showers upon your +head. It is a sort of steady, persistent, overwhelming, +endlessly driving downpour, which makes your heart sick, and +opens it to dismal forebodings. And the stormy mood of the +Easterly weather looms black upon the sky with a peculiar and +amazing blackness. The West Wind hangs heavy gray curtains +of mist and spray before your gaze, but the Eastern interloper of +the narrow seas, when he has mustered his courage and cruelty to +the point of a gale, puts your eyes out, puts them out +completely, makes you feel blind for life upon a lee-shore. +It is the wind, also, that brings snow.</p> +<p>Out of his black and merciless heart he flings a white +blinding sheet upon the ships of the sea. He has more +manners of villainy, and no more conscience than an Italian +prince of the seventeenth century. His weapon is a dagger +carried under a black cloak when he goes out on his unlawful +enterprises. The mere hint of his approach fills with dread +every craft that swims the sea, from fishing-smacks to +four-masted ships that recognise the sway of the West Wind. +Even in his most accommodating mood he inspires a dread of +treachery. I have heard upwards of ten score of windlasses +spring like one into clanking life in the dead of night, filling +the Downs with a panic-struck sound of anchors being torn +hurriedly out of the ground at the first breath of his +approach. Fortunately, his heart often fails him: he does +not always blow home upon our exposed coast; he has not the +fearless temper of his Westerly brother.</p> +<p>The natures of those two winds that share the dominions of the +great oceans are fundamentally different. It is strange +that the winds which men are prone to style capricious remain +true to their character in all the various regions of the +earth. To us here, for instance, the East Wind comes across +a great continent, sweeping over the greatest body of solid land +upon this earth. For the Australian east coast the East +Wind is the wind of the ocean, coming across the greatest body of +water upon the globe; and yet here and there its characteristics +remain the same with a strange consistency in everything that is +vile and base. The members of the West Wind’s dynasty +are modified in a way by the regions they rule, as a +Hohenzollern, without ceasing to be himself, becomes a Roumanian +by virtue of his throne, or a Saxe-Coburg learns to put the dress +of Bulgarian phrases upon his particular thoughts, whatever they +are.</p> +<p>The autocratic sway of the West Wind, whether forty north or +forty south of the Equator, is characterized by an open, +generous, frank, barbarous recklessness. For he is a great +autocrat, and to be a great autocrat you must be a great +barbarian. I have been too much moulded to his sway to +nurse now any idea of rebellion in my heart. Moreover, what +is a rebellion within the four walls of a room against the +tempestuous rule of the West Wind? I remain faithful to the +memory of the mighty King with a double-edged sword in one hand, +and in the other holding out rewards of great daily runs and +famously quick passages to those of his courtiers who knew how to +wait watchfully for every sign of his secret mood. As we +deep-water men always reckoned, he made one year in three fairly +lively for anybody having business upon the Atlantic or down +there along the “forties” of the Southern +Ocean. You had to take the bitter with the sweet; and it +cannot be denied he played carelessly with our lives and +fortunes. But, then, he was always a great king, fit to +rule over the great waters where, strictly speaking, a man would +have no business whatever but for his audacity.</p> +<p>The audacious should not complain. A mere trader ought +not to grumble at the tolls levied by a mighty king. His +mightiness was sometimes very overwhelming; but even when you had +to defy him openly, as on the banks of the Agulhas homeward bound +from the East Indies, or on the outward passage round the Horn, +he struck at you fairly his stinging blows (full in the face, +too), and it was your business not to get too much +staggered. And, after all, if you showed anything of a +countenance, the good-natured barbarian would let you fight your +way past the very steps of his throne. It was only now and +then that the sword descended and a head fell; but if you fell +you were sure of impressive obsequies and of a roomy, generous +grave.</p> +<p>Such is the king to whom Viking chieftains bowed their heads, +and whom the modern and palatial steamship defies with impunity +seven times a week. And yet it is but defiance, not +victory. The magnificent barbarian sits enthroned in a +mantle of gold-lined clouds looking from on high on great ships +gliding like mechanical toys upon his sea and on men who, armed +with fire and iron, no longer need to watch anxiously for the +slightest sign of his royal mood. He is disregarded; but he +has kept all his strength, all his splendour, and a great part of +his power. Time itself, that shakes all the thrones, is on +the side of that king. The sword in his hand remains as +sharp as ever upon both its edges; and he may well go on playing +his royal game of quoits with hurricanes, tossing them over from +the continent of republics to the continent of kingdoms, in the +assurance that both the new republics and the old <a +name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>kingdoms, +the heat of fire and the strength of iron, with the untold +generations of audacious men, shall crumble to dust at the steps +of his throne, and pass away, and be forgotten before his own +rule comes to an end.</p> +<h2>XXX.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> estuaries of rivers appeal +strongly to an adventurous imagination. This appeal is not +always a charm, for there are estuaries of a particularly +dispiriting ugliness: lowlands, mud-flats, or perhaps barren +sandhills without beauty of form or amenity of aspect, covered +with a shabby and scanty vegetation conveying the impression of +poverty and uselessness. Sometimes such an ugliness is +merely a repulsive mask. A river whose estuary resembles a +breach in a sand rampart may flow through a most fertile +country. But all the estuaries of great rivers have their +fascination, the attractiveness of an open portal. Water is +friendly to man. The ocean, a part of Nature furthest +removed in the unchangeableness and majesty of its might from the +spirit of mankind, has ever been a friend to the enterprising +nations of the earth. And of all the elements this is the +one to which men have always been prone to trust themselves, as +if its immensity held a reward as vast as itself.</p> +<p>From the offing the open estuary promises every possible +fruition to adventurous hopes. That road open to enterprise +and courage invites the explorer of coasts to new efforts towards +the fulfilment of great expectations. The commander of the +first Roman galley must have looked with an intense absorption +upon the estuary of the Thames as he turned the beaked prow of +his ship to the westward under the brow of the North +Foreland. The estuary of the Thames is not beautiful; it +has no noble features, no romantic grandeur of aspect, no smiling +geniality; but it is wide open, spacious, inviting, hospitable at +the first glance, with a strange air of mysteriousness which +lingers about it to this very day. The navigation of his +craft must have engrossed all the Roman’s attention in the +calm of a summer’s day (he would choose his weather), when +the single row of long sweeps (the galley would be a light one, +not a trireme) could fall in easy cadence upon a sheet of water +like plate-glass, reflecting faithfully the classic form of his +vessel and the contour of the lonely shores close on his left +hand. I assume he followed the land and passed through what +is at present known as Margate Roads, groping his careful way +along the hidden sandbanks, whose every tail and spit has its +beacon or buoy nowadays. He must have been anxious, though +no doubt he had collected beforehand on the shores of the Gauls a +store of information from the talk of traders, adventurers, +fishermen, slave-dealers, pirates—all sorts of unofficial +men connected with the sea in a more or less reputable way. +He would have heard of channels and sandbanks, of natural +features of the land useful for sea-marks, of villages and tribes +and modes of barter and precautions to take: with the instructive +tales about native chiefs dyed more or less blue, whose character +for greediness, ferocity, or amiability must have been expounded +to him with that capacity for vivid language which seems joined +naturally to the shadiness of moral character and recklessness of +disposition. With that sort of spiced food provided for his +anxious thought, watchful for strange men, strange beasts, +strange turns of the tide, he would make the best of his way up, +a military seaman with a short sword on thigh and a bronze helmet +on his head, the pioneer post-captain of an imperial fleet. +Was the tribe inhabiting the Isle of Thanet of a ferocious +disposition, I wonder, and ready to fall with stone-studded clubs +and wooden lances hardened in the fire, upon the backs of unwary +mariners?</p> +<p>Amongst the great commercial streams of these islands, the +Thames is the only one, I think, open to romantic feeling, from +the fact that the sight of human labour and the sounds of human +industry do not come down its shores to the very sea, destroying +the suggestion of mysterious vastness caused by the configuration +of the shore. The broad inlet of the shallow North Sea +passes gradually into the contracted shape of the river; but for +a long time the feeling of the open water remains with the ship +steering to the westward through one of the lighted and buoyed +passage-ways of the Thames, such as Queen’s Channel, +Prince’s Channel, Four-Fathom Channel; or else coming down +the Swin from the north. The rush of the yellow flood-tide +hurries her up as if into the unknown between the two fading +lines of the coast. There are no features to this land, no +conspicuous, far-famed landmarks for the eye; there is nothing so +far down to tell you of the greatest agglomeration of mankind on +earth dwelling no more than five and twenty miles away, where the +sun sets in a blaze of colour flaming on a gold background, and +the dark, low shores trend towards each other. And in the +great silence the deep, faint booming of the big guns being +tested at Shoeburyness hangs about the Nore—a historical +spot in the keeping of one of England’s appointed +guardians.</p> +<h2>XXXI.</h2> +<p>The Nore sand remains covered at low-water, and never seen by +human eye; but the Nore is a name to conjure with visions of +historical events, of battles, of fleets, of mutinies, of watch +and ward kept upon the great throbbing heart of the State. +This ideal point of the estuary, this centre of memories, is +marked upon the steely gray expanse of the waters by a lightship +painted red that, from a couple of miles off, looks like a cheap +and bizarre little toy. I remember how, on coming up the +river for the first time, I was surprised at the smallness of +that vivid object—a tiny warm speck of crimson lost in an +immensity of gray tones. I was startled, as if of necessity +the principal beacon in the water-way of the greatest town on +earth should have presented imposing proportions. And, +behold! the brown sprit-sail of a barge hid it entirely from my +view.</p> +<p>Coming in from the eastward, the bright colouring of the +lightship marking the part of the river committed to the charge +of an Admiral (the Commander-in-Chief at the Nore) accentuates +the dreariness and the great breadth of the Thames Estuary. +But soon the course of the ship opens the entrance of the Medway, +with its men-of-war moored in line, and the long wooden jetty of +Port Victoria, with its few low buildings like the beginning of a +hasty settlement upon a wild and unexplored shore. The +famous Thames barges sit in brown clusters upon the water with an +effect of birds floating upon a pond. On the imposing +expanse of the great estuary the traffic of the port where so +much of the world’s work and the world’s thinking is +being done becomes insignificant, scattered, streaming away in +thin lines of ships stringing themselves out into the eastern +quarter through the various navigable channels of which the Nore +lightship marks the divergence. The coasting traffic +inclines to the north; the deep-water ships steer east with a +southern inclination, on through the Downs, to the most remote +ends of the world. In the widening of the shores sinking +low in the gray, smoky distances the greatness of the sea +receives the mercantile fleet of good ships that London sends out +upon the turn of every tide. They follow each other, going +very close by the Essex shore. Such as the beads of a +rosary told by business-like shipowners for the greater profit of +the world they slip one by one into the open: while in the offing +the inward-bound ships come up singly and in bunches from under +the sea horizon closing the mouth of the river between Orfordness +and North Foreland. They all converge upon the Nore, the +warm speck of red upon the tones of drab and gray, with the +distant shores running together towards the west, low and flat, +like the sides of an enormous canal. The sea-reach of the +Thames is straight, and, once Sheerness is left behind, its banks +seem very uninhabited, except for the cluster of houses which is +Southend, or here and there a lonely wooden jetty where petroleum +ships discharge their dangerous cargoes, and the oil-storage +tanks, low and round with slightly-domed roofs, peep over the +edge of the fore-shore, as it were a village of Central African +huts imitated in iron. Bordered by the black and shining +mud-flats, the level marsh extends for miles. Away in the +far background the land rises, closing the view with a continuous +wooded slope, forming in the distance an interminable rampart +overgrown with bushes.</p> +<p>Then, on the slight turn of the Lower Hope Reach, clusters of +factory chimneys come distinctly into view, tall and slender +above the squat ranges of cement works in Grays and +Greenhithe. Smoking quietly at the top against the great +blaze of a magnificent sunset, they give an industrial character +to the scene, speak of work, manufactures, and trade, as +palm-groves on the coral strands of distant islands speak of the +luxuriant grace, beauty and vigour of tropical nature. The +houses of Gravesend crowd upon the shore with an effect of +confusion as if they had tumbled down haphazard from the top of +the hill at the back. The flatness of the Kentish shore +ends there. A fleet of steam-tugs lies at anchor in front +of the various piers. A conspicuous church spire, the first +seen distinctly coming from the sea, has a thoughtful grace, the +serenity of a fine form above the chaotic disorder of men’s +houses. But on the other side, on the flat Essex side, a +shapeless and desolate red edifice, a vast pile of bricks with +many windows and a slate roof more inaccessible than an Alpine +slope, towers over the bend in monstrous ugliness, the tallest, +heaviest building for miles around, a thing like an hotel, like a +mansion of flats (all to let), exiled into these fields out of a +street in West Kensington. Just round the corner, as it +were, on a pier defined with stone blocks and wooden piles, a +white mast, slender like a stalk of straw and crossed by a yard +like a knitting-needle, flying the signals of flag and balloon, +watches over a set of heavy dock-gates. Mast-heads and +funnel-tops of ships peep above the ranges of corrugated iron +roofs. This is the entrance to Tilbury Dock, the most +recent of all London docks, the nearest to the sea.</p> +<p>Between the crowded houses of Gravesend and the monstrous +red-brick pile on the Essex shore the ship is surrendered fairly +to the grasp of the river. That hint of loneliness, that +soul of the sea which had accompanied her as far as the Lower +Hope Reach, abandons her at the turn of the first bend +above. The salt, acrid flavour is gone out of the air, +together with a sense of unlimited space opening free beyond the +threshold of sandbanks below the Nore. The waters of the +sea rush on past Gravesend, tumbling the big mooring buoys laid +along the face of the town; but the sea-freedom stops short +there, surrendering the salt tide to the needs, the artifices, +the contrivances of toiling men. Wharves, landing-places, +dock-gates, waterside stairs, follow each other continuously +right up to London Bridge, and the hum of men’s work fills +the river with a menacing, muttering note as of a breathless, +ever-driving gale. The water-way, so fair above and wide +below, flows oppressed by bricks and mortar and stone, by +blackened timber and grimed glass and rusty iron, covered with +black barges, whipped up by paddles and screws, overburdened with +craft, overhung with chains, overshadowed by walls making a steep +gorge for its bed, filled with a haze of smoke and dust.</p> +<p>This stretch of the Thames from London Bridge to the Albert +Docks is to other watersides of river ports what a virgin forest +would be to a garden. It is a thing grown up, not +made. It recalls a jungle by the confused, varied, and +impenetrable aspect of the buildings that line the shore, not +according to a planned purpose, but as if sprung up by accident +from scattered seeds. Like the matted growth of bushes and +creepers veiling the silent depths of an unexplored wilderness, +they hide the depths of London’s infinitely varied, +vigorous, seething life. In other river ports it is not +so. They lie open to their stream, with quays like broad +clearings, with streets like avenues cut through thick timber for +the convenience of trade. I am thinking now of river ports +I have seen—of Antwerp, for instance; of Nantes or +Bordeaux, or even old Rouen, where the night-watchmen of ships, +elbows on rail, gaze at shop-windows and brilliant cafés, +and see the audience go in and come out of the opera-house. +But London, the oldest and greatest of river ports, does not +possess as much as a hundred yards of open quays upon its river +front. Dark and impenetrable at night, like the face of a +forest, is the London waterside. It is the waterside of +watersides, where only one aspect of the world’s life can +be seen, and only one kind of men toils on the edge of the +stream. The lightless walls seem to spring from the very +mud upon which the stranded barges lie; and the narrow lanes +coming down to the foreshore resemble the paths of smashed bushes +and crumbled earth where big game comes to drink on the banks of +tropical streams.</p> +<p>Behind the growth of the London waterside the docks of London +spread out unsuspected, smooth, and placid, lost amongst the +buildings like dark lagoons hidden in a thick forest. They +lie concealed in the intricate growth of houses with a few stalks +of mastheads here and there overtopping the roof of some +four-story warehouse.</p> +<p>It is a strange conjunction this of roofs and mastheads, of +walls and yard-arms. I remember once having the incongruity +of the relation brought home to me in a practical way. I +was the chief officer of a fine ship, just docked with a cargo of +wool from Sydney, after a ninety days’ passage. In +fact, we had not been in more than half an hour and I was still +busy making her fast to the stone posts of a very narrow quay in +front of a lofty warehouse. An old man with a gray whisker +under the chin and brass buttons on his pilot-cloth jacket, +hurried up along the quay hailing my ship by name. He was +one of those officials called berthing-masters—not the one +who had berthed us, but another, who, apparently, had been busy +securing a steamer at the other end of the dock. I could +see from afar his hard blue eyes staring at us, as if fascinated, +with a queer sort of absorption. I wondered what that +worthy sea-dog had found to criticise in my ship’s +rigging. And I, too, glanced aloft anxiously. I could +see nothing wrong there. But perhaps that superannuated +fellow-craftsman was simply admiring the ship’s perfect +order aloft, I thought, with some secret pride; for the chief +officer is responsible for his ship’s appearance, and as to +her outward condition, he is the man open to praise or +blame. Meantime the old salt (“ex-coasting +skipper” was writ large all over his person) had hobbled up +alongside in his bumpy, shiny boots, and, waving an arm, short +and thick like the flipper of a seal, terminated by a paw red as +an uncooked beef-steak, addressed the poop in a muffled, faint, +roaring voice, as if a sample of every North-Sea fog of his life +had been permanently lodged in his throat: “Haul ’em +round, Mr. Mate!” were his words. “If you +don’t look sharp, you’ll have your topgallant yards +through the windows of that ’ere warehouse +presently!” This was the only cause of his interest +in the ship’s beautiful spars. I own that for a time +I was struck dumb by the bizarre associations of yard-arms and +window-panes. To break windows is the last thing one would +think of in connection with a ship’s topgallant yard, +unless, indeed, one were an experienced berthing-master in one of +the London docks. This old chap was doing his little share +of the world’s work with proper efficiency. His +little blue eyes had made out the danger many hundred yards +off. His rheumaticky feet, tired with balancing that squat +body for many years upon the decks of small coasters, and made +sore by miles of tramping upon the flagstones of the dock side, +had hurried up in time to avert a ridiculous catastrophe. I +answered him pettishly, I fear, and as if I had known all about +it before.</p> +<p>“All right, all right! can’t do everything at +once.”</p> +<p>He remained near by, muttering to himself till the yards had +been hauled round at my order, and then raised again his foggy, +thick voice:</p> +<p>“None too soon,” he observed, with a critical +glance up at the towering side of the warehouse. +“That’s a half-sovereign in your pocket, Mr. +Mate. You should always look first how you are for them +windows before you begin to breast in your ship to the +quay.”</p> +<p>It was good advice. But one cannot think of everything +or foresee contacts of things apparently as remote as stars and +hop-poles.</p> +<h2>XXXII.</h2> +<p>The view of ships lying moored in some of the older docks of +London has always suggested to my mind the image of a flock of +swans kept in the flooded backyard of grim tenement houses. +The flatness of the walls surrounding the dark pool on which they +float brings out wonderfully the flowing grace of the lines on +which a ship’s hull is built. The lightness of these +forms, devised to meet the winds and the seas, makes, by contrast +with the great piles of bricks, the chains and cables of their +moorings appear very necessary, as if nothing less could prevent +them from soaring upwards and over the roofs. The least +puff of wind stealing round the corners of the dock buildings +stirs these captives fettered to rigid shores. It is as if +the soul of a ship were impatient of confinement. Those +masted hulls, relieved of their cargo, become restless at the +slightest hint of the wind’s freedom. However tightly +moored, they range a little at their berths, swaying +imperceptibly the spire-like assemblages of cordage and +spars. You can detect their impatience by watching the sway +of the mastheads against the motionless, the soulless gravity of +mortar and stones. As you pass alongside each hopeless +prisoner chained to the quay, the slight grinding noise of the +wooden fenders makes a sound of angry muttering. But, after +all, it may be good for ships to go through a period of restraint +and repose, as the restraint and self-communion of inactivity may +be good for an unruly soul—not, indeed, that I mean to say +that ships are unruly; on the contrary, they are faithful +creatures, as so many men can testify. And faithfulness is +a great restraint, the strongest bond laid upon the self-will of +men and ships on this globe of land and sea.</p> +<p>This interval of bondage in the docks rounds each period of a +ship’s life with the sense of accomplished duty, of an +effectively played part in the work of the world. The dock +is the scene of what the world would think the most serious part +in the light, bounding, swaying life of a ship. But there +are docks and docks. The ugliness of some docks is +appalling. Wild horses would not drag from me the name of a +certain river in the north whose narrow estuary is inhospitable +and dangerous, and whose docks are like a nightmare of dreariness +and misery. Their dismal shores are studded thickly with +scaffold-like, enormous timber structures, whose lofty heads are +veiled periodically by the infernal gritty night of a cloud of +coal-dust. The most important ingredient for getting the +world’s work along is distributed there under the +circumstances of the greatest cruelty meted out to helpless +ships. Shut up in the desolate circuit of these basins, you +would think a free ship would droop and die like a wild bird put +into a dirty cage. But a ship, perhaps because of her +faithfulness to men, will endure an extraordinary lot of +ill-usage. Still, I have seen ships issue from certain +docks like half-dead prisoners from a dungeon, bedraggled, +overcome, wholly disguised in dirt, and with their men rolling +white eyeballs in black and worried faces raised to a heaven +which, in its smoky and soiled aspect, seemed to reflect the +sordidness of the earth below. One thing, however, may be +said for the docks of the Port of London on both sides of the +river: for all the complaints of their insufficient equipment, of +their obsolete rules, of failure (they say) in the matter of +quick despatch, no ship need ever issue from their gates in a +half-fainting condition. London is a general cargo port, as +is only proper for the greatest capital of the world to be. +General cargo ports belong to the aristocracy of the +earth’s trading places, and in that aristocracy London, as +it is its way, has a unique physiognomy.</p> +<p>The absence of picturesqueness cannot be laid to the charge of +the docks opening into the Thames. For all my unkind +comparisons to swans and backyards, it cannot be denied that each +dock or group of docks along the north side of the river has its +own individual attractiveness. Beginning with the cosy +little St. Katherine’s Dock, lying overshadowed and black +like a quiet pool amongst rocky crags, through the venerable and +sympathetic London Docks, with not a single line of rails in the +whole of their area and the aroma of spices lingering between its +warehouses, with their far-famed wine-cellars—down through +the interesting group of West India Docks, the fine docks at +Blackwall, on past the Galleons Reach entrance of the Victoria +and Albert Docks, right down to the vast gloom of the great +basins in Tilbury, each of those places of restraint for ships +has its own peculiar physiognomy, its own expression. And +what makes them unique and attractive is their common trait of +being romantic in their usefulness.</p> +<p>In their way they are as romantic as the river they serve is +unlike all the other commercial streams of the world. The +cosiness of the St. Katherine’s Dock, the old-world air of +the London Docks, remain impressed upon the memory. The +docks down the river, abreast of Woolwich, are imposing by their +proportions and the vast scale of the ugliness that forms their +surroundings—ugliness so picturesque as to become a delight +to the eye. When one talks of the Thames docks, +“beauty” is a vain word, but romance has lived too +long upon this river not to have thrown a mantle of glamour upon +its banks.</p> +<p>The antiquity of the port appeals to the imagination by the +long chain of adventurous enterprises that had their inception in +the town and floated out into the world on the waters of the +river. Even the newest of the docks, the Tilbury Dock, +shares in the glamour conferred by historical associations. +Queen Elizabeth has made one of her progresses down there, not +one of her journeys of pomp and ceremony, but an anxious business +progress at a crisis of national history. The menace of +that time has passed away, and now Tilbury is known by its +docks. These are very modern, but their remoteness and +isolation upon the Essex marsh, the days of failure attending +their creation, invested them with a romantic air. Nothing +in those days could have been more striking than the vast, empty +basins, surrounded by miles of bare quays and the ranges of +cargo-sheds, where two or three ships seemed lost like bewitched +children in a forest of gaunt, hydraulic cranes. One +received a wonderful impression of utter abandonment, of wasted +efficiency. From the first the Tilbury Docks were very +efficient and ready for their task, but they had come, perhaps, +too soon into the field. A great future lies before Tilbury +Docks. They shall never fill a long-felt want (in the +sacramental phrase that is applied to railways, tunnels, +newspapers, and new editions of books). They were too early +in the field. The want shall never be felt because, free of +the trammels of the tide, easy of access, magnificent and +desolate, they are already there, prepared to take and keep the +biggest ships that float upon the sea. They are worthy of +the oldest river port in the world.</p> +<p>And, truth to say, for all the criticisms flung upon the heads +of the dock companies, the other docks of the Thames are no +disgrace to the town with a population greater than that of some +commonwealths. The growth of London as a well-equipped port +has been slow, while not unworthy of a great capital, of a great +centre of distribution. It must not be forgotten that +London has not the backing of great industrial districts or great +fields of natural exploitation. In this it differs from +Liverpool, from Cardiff, from Newcastle, from Glasgow; and +therein the Thames differs from the Mersey, from the Tyne, from +the Clyde. It is an historical river; it is a romantic +stream flowing through the centre of great affairs, and for all +the criticism of the river’s administration, my contention +is that its development has been worthy of its dignity. For +a long time the stream itself could accommodate quite easily the +oversea and coasting traffic. That was in the days when, in +the part called the Pool, just below London Bridge, the vessels +moored stem and stern in the very strength of the tide formed one +solid mass like an island covered with a forest of gaunt, +leafless trees; and when the trade had grown too big for the +river there came the St. Katherine’s Docks and the London +Docks, magnificent undertakings answering to the need of their +time. The same may be said of the other artificial lakes +full of ships that go in and out upon this high road to all parts +of the world. The labour of the imperial waterway goes on +from generation to generation, goes on day and night. +Nothing ever arrests its sleepless industry but the coming of a +heavy fog, which clothes the teeming stream in a mantle of +impenetrable stillness.</p> +<p>After the gradual cessation of all sound and movement on the +faithful river, only the ringing of ships’ bells is heard, +mysterious and muffled in the white vapour from London Bridge +right down to the Nore, for miles and miles in a decrescendo +tinkling, to where the estuary broadens out into the North Sea, +and the anchored ships lie scattered thinly in the shrouded +channels between the sand-banks of the Thames’ mouth. +Through the <a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +180</span>long and glorious tale of years of the river’s +strenuous service to its people these are its only breathing +times.</p> +<h2>XXXIII.</h2> +<p>A <span class="smcap">ship</span> in dock, surrounded by quays +and the walls of warehouses, has the appearance of a prisoner +meditating upon freedom in the sadness of a free spirit put under +restraint. Chain cables and stout ropes keep her bound to +stone posts at the edge of a paved shore, and a berthing-master, +with brass buttons on his coat, walks about like a weather-beaten +and ruddy gaoler, casting jealous, watchful glances upon the +moorings that fetter a ship lying passive and still and safe, as +if lost in deep regrets of her days of liberty and danger on the +sea.</p> +<p>The swarm of renegades—dock-masters, berthing-masters, +gatemen, and such like—appear to nurse an immense distrust +of the captive ship’s resignation. There never seem +chains and ropes enough to satisfy their minds concerned with the +safe binding of free ships to the strong, muddy, enslaved +earth. “You had better put another bight of a hawser +astern, Mr. Mate,” is the usual phrase in their +mouth. I brand them for renegades, because most of them +have been sailors in their time. As if the infirmities of +old age—the gray hair, the wrinkles at the corners of the +eyes, and the knotted veins of the hands—were the symptoms +of moral poison, they prowl about the quays with an underhand air +of gloating over the broken spirit of noble captives. They +want more fenders, more breasting-ropes; they want more springs, +more shackles, more fetters; they want to make ships with +volatile souls as motionless as square blocks of stone. +They stand on the mud of pavements, these degraded sea-dogs, with +long lines of railway-trucks clanking their couplings behind +their backs, and run malevolent glances over your ship from +headgear to taffrail, only wishing to tyrannize over the poor +creature under the hypocritical cloak of benevolence and +care. Here and there cargo cranes looking like instruments +of torture for ships swing cruel hooks at the end of long +chains. Gangs of dock-labourers swarm with muddy feet over +the gangways. It is a moving sight this, of so many men of +the earth, earthy, who never cared anything for a ship, trampling +unconcerned, brutal and hob-nailed upon her helpless body.</p> +<p>Fortunately, nothing can deface the beauty of a ship. +That sense of a dungeon, that sense of a horrible and degrading +misfortune overtaking a creature fair to see and safe to trust, +attaches only to ships moored in the docks of great European +ports. You feel that they are dishonestly locked up, to be +hunted about from wharf to wharf on a dark, greasy, square pool +of black water as a brutal reward at the end of a faithful +voyage.</p> +<p>A ship anchored in an open roadstead, with cargo-lighters +alongside and her own tackle swinging the burden over the rail, +is accomplishing in freedom a function of her life. There +is no restraint; there is space: clear water around her, and a +clear sky above her mastheads, with a landscape of green hills +and charming bays opening around her anchorage. She is not +abandoned by her own men to the tender mercies of shore +people. She still shelters, and is looked after by, her own +little devoted band, and you feel that presently she will glide +between the headlands and disappear. It is only at home, in +dock, that she lies abandoned, shut off from freedom by all the +artifices of men that think of quick despatch and profitable +freights. It is only then that the odious, rectangular +shadows of walls and roofs fall upon her decks, with showers of +soot.</p> +<p>To a man who has never seen the extraordinary nobility, +strength, and grace that the devoted generations of ship-builders +have evolved from some pure nooks of their simple souls, the +sight that could be seen five-and-twenty years ago of a large +fleet of clippers moored along the north side of the New South +Dock was an inspiring spectacle. Then there was a quarter +of a mile of them, from the iron dockyard-gates guarded by +policemen, in a long, forest-like perspective of masts, moored +two and two to many stout wooden jetties. Their spars +dwarfed with their loftiness the corrugated-iron sheds, their +jibbooms extended far over the shore, their white-and-gold +figure-heads, almost dazzling in their purity, overhung the +straight, long quay above the mud and dirt of the wharfside, with +the busy figures of groups and single men moving to and fro, +restless and grimy under their soaring immobility.</p> +<p>At tide-time you would see one of the loaded ships with +battened-down hatches drop out of the ranks and float in the +clear space of the dock, held by lines dark and slender, like the +first threads of a spider’s web, extending from her bows +and her quarters to the mooring-posts on shore. There, +graceful and still, like a bird ready to spread its wings, she +waited till, at the opening of the gates, a tug or two would +hurry in noisily, hovering round her with an air of fuss and +solicitude, and take her out into the river, tending, shepherding +her through open bridges, through dam-like gates between the flat +pier-heads, with a bit of green lawn surrounded by gravel and a +white signal-mast with yard and gaff, flying a couple of dingy +blue, red, or white flags.</p> +<p>This New South Dock (it was its official name), round which my +earlier professional memories are centred, belongs to the group +of West India Docks, together with two smaller and much older +basins called Import and Export respectively, both with the +greatness of their trade departed from them already. +Picturesque and clean as docks go, these twin basins spread side +by side the dark lustre of their glassy water, sparely peopled by +a few ships laid up on buoys or tucked far away from each other +at the end of sheds in the corners of empty quays, where they +seemed to slumber quietly remote, untouched by the bustle of +men’s affairs—in retreat rather than in +captivity. They were quaint and sympathetic, those two +homely basins, unfurnished and silent, with no aggressive display +of cranes, no apparatus of hurry and work on their narrow +shores. No railway-lines cumbered them. The knots of +labourers trooping in clumsily round the corners of cargo-sheds +to eat their food in peace out of red cotton handkerchiefs had +the air of picnicking by the side of a lonely mountain +pool. They were restful (and I should say very +unprofitable), those basins, where the chief officer of one of +the ships involved in the harassing, strenuous, noisy activity of +the New South Dock only a few yards away could escape in the +dinner-hour to stroll, unhampered by men and affairs, meditating +(if he chose) on the vanity of all things human. At one +time they must have been full of good old slow West Indiamen of +the square-stern type, that took their captivity, one imagines, +as stolidly as they had faced the buffeting of the waves with +their blunt, honest bows, and disgorged sugar, rum, molasses, +coffee, or logwood sedately with their own winch and +tackle. But when I knew them, of exports there was never a +sign that one could detect; and all the imports I have ever seen +were some rare cargoes of tropical timber, enormous baulks +roughed out of iron trunks grown in the woods about the Gulf of +Mexico. They lay piled up in stacks of mighty boles, and it +was hard to believe that all this mass of dead and stripped trees +had come out of the flanks of a slender, innocent-looking little +barque with, as likely as not, a homely woman’s +name—Ellen this or Annie that—upon her fine +bows. But this is generally the case with a discharged +cargo. Once spread at large over the quay, it looks the +most impossible bulk to have all come there out of that ship +alongside.</p> +<p>They were quiet, serene nooks in the busy world of docks, +these basins where it has never been my good luck to get a berth +after some more or less arduous passage. But one could see +at a glance that men and ships were never hustled there. +They were so quiet that, remembering them well, one comes to +doubt that they ever existed—places of repose for tired +ships to dream in, places of meditation rather than work, where +wicked ships—the cranky, the lazy, the wet, the bad sea +boats, the wild steerers, the capricious, the pig-headed, the +generally ungovernable—would have full leisure to take +count and repent of their sins, sorrowful and naked, with their +rent garments of sailcloth stripped off them, and with the dust +and ashes of the London atmosphere upon their mastheads. +For that the worst of ships would repent if she were ever given +time I make no doubt. I have known too many of them. +No ship is wholly bad; and now that their bodies that had braved +so many tempests have been blown off the face of the sea by a +puff of steam, the evil and the good together into the limbo of +things that have served their time, there can be no harm in +affirming that in these vanished generations of willing servants +there never has been one utterly unredeemable soul.</p> +<p>In the New South Dock there was certainly no time for remorse, +introspection, repentance, or any phenomena of inner life either +for the captive ships or for their officers. From six in +the morning till six at night the hard labour of the +prison-house, which rewards the valiance of ships that win the +harbour went on steadily, great slings of general cargo swinging +over the rail, to drop plumb into the hatchways at the sign of +the gangway-tender’s hand. The New South Dock was +especially a loading dock for the Colonies in those great (and +last) days of smart wool-clippers, good to look at +and—well—exciting to handle. Some of them were +more fair to see than the others; many were (to put it mildly) +somewhat over-masted; all were expected to make good passages; +and of all that line of ships, whose rigging made a thick, +enormous network against the sky, whose brasses flashed almost as +far as the eye of the policeman at the gates could reach, there +was hardly one that knew of any other port amongst all the ports +on the wide earth but London and Sydney, or London and Melbourne, +or London and Adelaide, perhaps with Hobart Town added for those +of smaller tonnage. One could almost have believed, as her +gray-whiskered second mate used to say of the old <i>Duke of +S—</i>, that they knew the road to the Antipodes better +than their own skippers, who, year in, year out, took them from +London—the place of captivity—to some Australian port +where, twenty-five years ago, though moored well and tight enough +to the wooden wharves, they felt themselves no captives, but +honoured guests.</p> +<h2>XXXIV.</h2> +<p>These towns of the Antipodes, not so great then as they are +now, took an interest in the shipping, the running links with +“home,” whose numbers confirmed the sense of their +growing importance. They made it part and parcel of their +daily interests. This was especially the case in Sydney, +where, from the heart of the fair city, down the vista of +important streets, could be seen the wool-clippers lying at the +Circular Quay—no walled prison-house of a dock that, but +the integral part of one of the finest, most beautiful, vast, and +safe bays the sun ever shone upon. Now great steam-liners +lie at these berths, always reserved for the sea +aristocracy—grand and imposing enough ships, but here +to-day and gone next week; whereas the general cargo, emigrant, +and passenger clippers of my time, rigged with heavy spars, and +built on fine lines, used to remain for months together waiting +for their load of wool. Their names attained the dignity of +household words. On Sundays and holidays the citizens +trooped down, on visiting bent, and the lonely officer on duty +solaced himself by playing the cicerone—especially to the +citizenesses with engaging manners and a well-developed sense of +the fun that may be got out of the inspection of a ship’s +cabins and state-rooms. The tinkle of more or less untuned +cottage pianos floated out of open stern-ports till the gas-lamps +began to twinkle in the streets, and the ship’s +night-watchman, coming sleepily on duty after his unsatisfactory +day slumbers, hauled down the flags and fastened a lighted +lantern at the break of the gangway. The night closed +rapidly upon the silent ships with their crews on shore. Up +a short, steep ascent by the King’s Head pub., patronized +by the cooks and stewards of the fleet, the voice of a man crying +“Hot saveloys!” at the end of George Street, where +the cheap eating-houses (sixpence a meal) were kept by Chinamen +(Sun-kum-on’s was not bad), is heard at regular +intervals. I have listened for hours to this most +pertinacious pedlar (I wonder whether he is dead or has made a +fortune), while sitting on the rail of the old <i>Duke of +S—</i> (she’s dead, poor thing! a violent death on +the coast of New Zealand), fascinated by the monotony, the +regularity, the abruptness of the recurring cry, and so +exasperated at the absurd spell, that I wished the fellow would +choke himself to death with a mouthful of his own infamous +wares.</p> +<p>A stupid job, and fit only for an old man, my comrades used to +tell me, to be the night-watchman of a captive (though honoured) +ship. And generally the oldest of the able seamen in a +ship’s crew does get it. But sometimes neither the +oldest nor any other fairly steady seaman is forthcoming. +Ships’ crews had the trick of melting away swiftly in those +days. So, probably on account of my youth, innocence, and +pensive habits (which made me sometimes dilatory in my work about +the rigging), I was suddenly nominated, in our chief mate Mr. +B—’s most sardonic tones, to that enviable +situation. I do not regret the experience. The night +humours of the town descended from the street to the waterside in +the still watches of the night: larrikins rushing down in bands +to settle some quarrel by a stand-up fight, away from the police, +in an indistinct ring half hidden by piles of cargo, with the +sounds of blows, a groan now and then, the stamping of feet, and +the cry of “Time!” rising suddenly above the sinister +and excited murmurs; night-prowlers, pursued or pursuing, with a +stifled shriek followed by a profound silence, or slinking +stealthily alongside like ghosts, and addressing me from the quay +below in mysterious tones with incomprehensible +propositions. The cabmen, too, who twice a week, on the +night when the A.S.N. Company’s passenger-boat was due to +arrive, used to range a battalion of blazing lamps opposite the +ship, were very amusing in their way. They got down from +their perches and told each other impolite stories in racy +language, every word of which reached me distinctly over the +bulwarks as I sat smoking on the main-hatch. On one +occasion I had an hour or so of a most intellectual conversation +with a person whom I could not see distinctly, a gentleman from +England, he said, with a cultivated voice, I on deck and he on +the quay sitting on the case of a piano (landed out of our hold +that very afternoon), and smoking a cigar which smelt very +good. We touched, in our discourse, upon science, politics, +natural history, and operatic singers. Then, after +remarking abruptly, “You seem to be rather intelligent, my +man,” he informed me pointedly that his name was Mr. +Senior, and walked off—to his hotel, I suppose. +Shadows! Shadows! I think I saw a white whisker as he +turned under the lamp-post. It is a shock to think that in +the natural course of nature he must be dead by now. There +was nothing to object to in his intelligence but a little +dogmatism maybe. And his name was Senior! Mr. +Senior!</p> +<p>The position had its drawbacks, however. One wintry, +blustering, dark night in July, as I stood sleepily out of the +rain under the break of the poop something resembling an ostrich +dashed up the gangway. I say ostrich because the creature, +though it ran on two legs, appeared to help its progress by +working a pair of short wings; it was a man, however, only his +coat, ripped up the back and flapping in two halves above his +shoulders, gave him that weird and fowl-like appearance. At +least, I suppose it was his coat, for it was impossible to make +him out distinctly. How he managed to come so straight upon +me, at speed and without a stumble over a strange deck, I cannot +imagine. He must have been able to see in the dark better +than any cat. He overwhelmed me with panting entreaties to +let him take shelter till morning in our forecastle. +Following my strict orders, I refused his request, mildly at +first, in a sterner tone as he insisted with growing +impudence.</p> +<p>“For God’s sake let me, matey! Some of +’em are after me—and I’ve got hold of a ticker +here.”</p> +<p>“You clear out of this!” I said.</p> +<p>“Don’t be hard on a chap, old man!” he +whined pitifully.</p> +<p>“Now then, get ashore at once. Do you +hear?”</p> +<p>Silence. He appeared to cringe, mute, as if words had +failed him through grief; then—bang! came a concussion and +a great flash of light in which he vanished, leaving me prone on +my back with the most abominable black eye that anybody ever got +in the faithful discharge of duty. Shadows! +Shadows! I hope he escaped the enemies he was fleeing from +to live and flourish to this day. But his fist was +uncommonly hard and his aim miraculously true in the dark.</p> +<p>There were other experiences, less painful and more funny for +the most part, with one amongst them of a dramatic complexion; +but the greatest experience of them all was Mr. B—, our +chief mate himself.</p> +<p>He used to go ashore every night to foregather in some +hotel’s parlour with his crony, the mate of the barque +<i>Cicero</i>, lying on the other side of the Circular +Quay. Late at night I would hear from afar their stumbling +footsteps and their voices raised in endless argument. The +mate of the <i>Cicero</i> was seeing his friend on board. +They would continue their senseless and muddled discourse in +tones of profound friendship for half an hour or so at the shore +end of our gangway, and then I would hear Mr. B— insisting +that he must see the other on board his ship. And away they +would go, their voices, still conversing with excessive amity, +being heard moving all round the harbour. It happened more +than once that they would thus perambulate three or four times +the distance, each seeing the other on board his ship out of pure +and disinterested affection. Then, through sheer weariness, +or perhaps in a moment of forgetfulness, they would manage to +part from each other somehow, and by-and-by the planks of our +long gangway would bend and creak under the weight of Mr. +B— coming on board for good at last.</p> +<p>On the rail his burly form would stop and stand swaying.</p> +<p>“Watchman!”</p> +<p>“Sir.”</p> +<p>A pause.</p> +<p>He waited for a moment of steadiness before negotiating the +three steps of the inside ladder from rail to deck; and the +watchman, taught by experience, would forbear offering help which +would be received as an insult at that particular stage of the +mate’s return. But many times I trembled for his +neck. He was a heavy man.</p> +<p>Then with a rush and a thump it would be done. He never +had to pick himself up; but it took him a minute or so to pull +himself together after the descent.</p> +<p>“Watchman!”</p> +<p>“Sir.”</p> +<p>“Captain aboard?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>Pause.</p> +<p>“Dog aboard?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>Pause.</p> +<p>Our dog was a gaunt and unpleasant beast, more like a wolf in +poor health than a dog, and I never noticed Mr. B— at any +other time show the slightest interest in the doings of the +animal. But that question never failed.</p> +<p>“Let’s have your arm to steady me +along.”</p> +<p>I was always prepared for that request. He leaned on me +heavily till near enough the cabin-door to catch hold of the +handle. Then he would let go my arm at once.</p> +<p>“That’ll do. I can manage now.”</p> +<p>And he could manage. He could manage to find his way +into his berth, light his lamp, get into his bed—ay, and +get out of it when I called him at half-past five, the first man +on deck, lifting the cup of morning coffee to his lips with a +steady hand, ready for duty as though he had virtuously slept ten +solid hours—a better chief officer than many a man who had +never tasted grog in his life. He could manage all that, +but could never manage to get on in life.</p> +<p>Only once he failed to seize the cabin-door handle at the +first grab. He waited a little, tried again, and again +failed. His weight was growing heavier on my arm. He +sighed slowly.</p> +<p>“D—n that handle!”</p> +<p>Without letting go his hold of me he turned about, his face +lit up bright as day by the full moon.</p> +<p>“I wish she were out at sea,” he growled +savagely.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>I felt the need to say something, because he hung on to me as +if lost, breathing heavily.</p> +<p>“Ports are no good—ships rot, men go to the +devil!”</p> +<p>I kept still, and after a while he repeated with a sigh.</p> +<p>“I wish she were at sea out of this.”</p> +<p>“So do I, sir,” I ventured.</p> +<p>Holding my shoulder, he turned upon me.</p> +<p>“You! What’s that to you where she is? +You don’t—drink.”</p> +<p>And even on that night he “managed it” at +last. He got hold of the handle. But he did not +manage to light his lamp (I don’t think he even tried), +though in the morning as usual he was the first on deck, +bull-necked, curly-headed, watching the hands turn-to with his +sardonic expression and unflinching gaze.</p> +<p>I met him ten years afterwards, casually, unexpectedly, in the +street, on coming out of my consignee office. I was not +likely to have forgotten him with his “I can manage +now.” He recognised me at once, remembered my name, +and in what ship I had served under his orders. He looked +me over from head to foot.</p> +<p>“What are you doing here?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I am commanding a little barque,” I said, +“loading here for Mauritius.” Then, +thoughtlessly, I added: “And what are you doing, Mr. +B-?”</p> +<p>“I,” he said, looking at me unflinchingly, with +his old sardonic grin—“I am looking for something to +do.”</p> +<p>I felt I would rather have bitten out my tongue. His +jet-black, curly hair had turned iron-gray; he was scrupulously +neat as ever, but frightfully threadbare. His shiny boots +were worn down at heel. But he forgave me, and we drove off +together in a hansom to dine on board my ship. He went over +her conscientiously, praised her heartily, congratulated me on my +command with absolute sincerity. At dinner, as I offered +him wine and beer he shook his head, and as I sat looking at him +interrogatively, muttered in an undertone:</p> +<p>“I’ve given up all that.”</p> +<p>After dinner we came again on deck. It seemed as though +he could not tear himself away from the ship. We were +fitting some new lower rigging, and he hung about, approving, +suggesting, giving me advice in his old manner. Twice he +addressed me as “My boy,” and corrected himself +quickly to “Captain.” My mate was about to +leave me (to get married), but I concealed the fact from Mr. +B—. I was afraid he would ask me to give him the +berth in some ghastly jocular hint that I could not refuse to +take. I was afraid. It would have been +impossible. I could not have given orders to Mr. B—, +and I am sure he would not have taken them from me very +long. He could not have managed that, though he had managed +to break himself from drink—too late.</p> +<p><a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 201</span>He +said good-bye at last. As I watched his burly, bull-necked +figure walk away up the street, I wondered with a sinking heart +whether he had much more than the price of a night’s +lodging in his pocket. And I understood that if that very +minute I were to call out after him, he would not even turn his +head. He, too, is no more than a shadow, but I seem to hear +his words spoken on the moonlit deck of the old <i>Duke</i> +—:</p> +<p>“Ports are no good—ships rot, men go to the +devil!”</p> +<h2>XXXV.</h2> +<p>“Ships!” exclaimed an elderly seaman in clean +shore togs. “Ships”—and his keen glance, +turning away from my face, ran along the vista of magnificent +figure-heads that in the late seventies used to overhang in a +serried rank the muddy pavement by the side of the New South +Dock—“ships are all right; it’s the men in +’em. . .”</p> +<p>Fifty hulls, at least, moulded on lines of beauty and +speed—hulls of wood, of iron, expressing in their forms the +highest achievement of modern ship-building—lay moored all +in a row, stem to quay, as if assembled there for an exhibition, +not of a great industry, but of a great art. Their colours +were gray, black, dark green, with a narrow strip of yellow +moulding defining their sheer, or with a row of painted ports +decking in warlike decoration their robust flanks of +cargo-carriers that would know no triumph but of speed in +carrying a burden, no glory other than of a long service, no +victory but that of an endless, obscure contest with the +sea. The great empty hulls with swept holds, just out of +dry-dock, with their paint glistening freshly, sat high-sided +with ponderous dignity alongside the wooden jetties, looking more +like unmovable buildings than things meant to go afloat; others, +half loaded, far on the way to recover the true sea-physiognomy +of a ship brought down to her load-line, looked more +accessible. Their less steeply slanting gangways seemed to +invite the strolling sailors in search of a berth to walk on +board and try “for a chance” with the chief mate, the +guardian of a ship’s efficiency. As if anxious to +remain unperceived amongst their overtopping sisters, two or +three “finished” ships floated low, with an air of +straining at the leash of their level headfasts, exposing to view +their cleared decks and covered hatches, prepared to drop stern +first out of the labouring ranks, displaying the true comeliness +of form which only her proper sea-trim gives to a ship. And +for a good quarter of a mile, from the dockyard gate to the +farthest corner, where the old housed-in hulk, the +<i>President</i> (drill-ship, then, of the Naval Reserve), used +to lie with her frigate side rubbing against the stone of the +quay, above all these hulls, ready and unready, a hundred and +fifty lofty masts, more or less, held out the web of their +rigging like an immense net, in whose close mesh, black against +the sky, the heavy yards seemed to be entangled and +suspended.</p> +<p>It was a sight. The humblest craft that floats makes its +appeal to a seaman by the faithfulness of her life; and this was +the place where one beheld the aristocracy of ships. It was +a noble gathering of the fairest and the swiftest, each bearing +at the bow the carved emblem of her name, as in a gallery of +plaster-casts, figures of women with mural crowns, women with +flowing robes, with gold fillets on their hair or blue scarves +round their waists, stretching out rounded arms as if to point +the way; heads of men helmeted or bare; full lengths of warriors, +of kings, of statesmen, of lords and princesses, all white from +top to toe; with here and there a dusky turbaned figure, +bedizened in many colours, of some Eastern sultan or hero, all +inclined forward under the slant of mighty bowsprits as if eager +to begin another run of 11,000 miles in their leaning +attitudes. These were the fine figure-heads of the finest +ships afloat. But why, unless for the love of the life +those effigies shared with us in their wandering impassivity, +should one try to reproduce in words an impression of whose +fidelity there can be no critic and no judge, since such an +exhibition of the art of shipbuilding and the art of figure-head +carving as was seen from year’s end to year’s end in +the open-air gallery of the New South Dock no man’s eye +shall behold again? All that patient, pale company of +queens and princesses, of kings and warriors, of allegorical +women, of heroines and statesmen and heathen gods, crowned, +helmeted, bare-headed, has run for good off the sea stretching to +the last above the tumbling foam their fair, rounded arms; +holding out their spears, swords, shields, tridents in the same +unwearied, striving forward pose. And nothing remains but +lingering perhaps in the memory of a few men, the sound of their +names, vanished a long time ago from the first page of the great +London dailies; from big posters in railway-stations and the +doors of shipping offices; from the minds of sailors, +dockmasters, pilots, and tugmen; from the hail of gruff voices +and the flutter of signal flags exchanged between ships closing +upon each other and drawing apart in the open immensity of the +sea.</p> +<p>The elderly, respectable seaman, withdrawing his gaze from +that multitude of spars, gave me a glance to make sure of our +fellowship in the craft and mystery of the sea. We had met +casually, and had got into contact as I had stopped near him, my +attention being caught by the same peculiarity he was looking at +in the rigging of an obviously new ship, a ship with her +reputation all to make yet in the talk of the seamen who were to +share their life with her. Her name was already on their +lips. I had heard it uttered between two thick, red-necked +fellows of the semi-nautical type at the Fenchurch Street +Railway-station, where, in those days, the everyday male crowd +was attired in jerseys and pilot-cloth mostly, and had the air of +being more conversant with the times of high-water than with the +times of the trains. I had noticed that new ship’s +name on the first page of my morning paper. I had stared at +the unfamiliar grouping of its letters, blue on white ground, on +the advertisement-boards, whenever the train came to a standstill +alongside one of the shabby, wooden, wharf-like platforms of the +dock railway-line. She had been named, with proper +observances, on the day she came off the stocks, no doubt, but +she was very far yet from “having a name.” +Untried, ignorant of the ways of the sea, she had been thrust +amongst that renowned company of ships to load for her maiden +voyage. There was nothing to vouch for her soundness and +the worth of her character, but the reputation of the +building-yard whence she was launched headlong into the world of +waters. She looked modest to me. I imagined her +diffident, lying very quiet, with her side nestling shyly against +the wharf to which she was made fast with very new lines, +intimidated by the company of her tried and experienced sisters +already familiar with all the violences of the ocean and the +exacting love of men. They had had more long voyages to +make their names in than she had known weeks of carefully tended +life, for a new ship receives as much attention as if she were a +young bride. Even crabbed old dock-masters look at her with +benevolent eyes. In her shyness at the threshold of a +laborious and uncertain life, where so much is expected of a +ship, she could not have been better heartened and comforted, had +she only been able to hear and understand, than by the tone of +deep conviction in which my elderly, respectable seaman repeated +the first part of his saying, “Ships are all right . . +.”</p> +<p>His civility prevented him from repeating the other, the +bitter part. It had occurred to him that it was perhaps +indelicate to insist. He had recognised in me a +ship’s officer, very possibly looking for a berth like +himself, and so far a comrade, but still a man belonging to that +sparsely-peopled after-end of a ship, where a great part of her +reputation as a “good ship,” in seaman’s +parlance, is made or marred.</p> +<p>“Can you say that of all ships without exception?” +I asked, being in an idle mood, because, if an obvious +ship’s officer, I was not, as a matter of fact, down at the +docks to “look for a berth,” an occupation as +engrossing as gambling, and as little favourable to the free +exchange of ideas, besides being destructive of the kindly temper +needed for casual intercourse with one’s +fellow-creatures.</p> +<p>“You can always put up with ’em,” opined the +respectable seaman judicially.</p> +<p>He was not averse from talking, either. If he had come +down to the dock to look for a berth, he did not seem oppressed +by anxiety as to his chances. He had the serenity of a man +whose estimable character is fortunately expressed by his +personal appearance in an unobtrusive, yet convincing, manner +which no chief officer in want of hands could resist. And, +true enough, I learned presently that the mate of the +<i>Hyperion</i> had “taken down” his name for +quarter-master. “We sign on Friday, and join next day +for the morning tide,” he remarked, in a deliberate, +careless tone, which contrasted strongly with his evident +readiness to stand there yarning for an hour or so with an utter +stranger.</p> +<p>“<i>Hyperion</i>,” I said. “I +don’t remember ever seeing that ship anywhere. What +sort of a name has she got?”</p> +<p>It appeared from his discursive answer that she had not much +of a name one way or another. She was not very fast. +It took no fool, though, to steer her straight, he +believed. Some years ago he had seen her in Calcutta, and +he remembered being told by somebody then, that on her passage up +the river she had carried away both her hawse-pipes. But +that might have been the pilot’s fault. Just now, +yarning with the apprentices on board, he had heard that this +very voyage, brought up in the Downs, outward bound, she broke +her sheer, struck adrift, and lost an anchor and chain. But +that might have occurred through want of careful tending in a +tideway. All the same, this looked as though she were +pretty hard on her ground-tackle. Didn’t it? +She seemed a heavy ship to handle, anyway. For the rest, as +she had a new captain and a new mate this voyage, he understood, +one couldn’t say how she would turn out. . . .</p> +<p>In such marine shore-talk as this is the name of a ship slowly +established, her fame made for her, the tale of her qualities and +of her defects kept, her idiosyncrasies commented upon with the +zest of personal gossip, her achievements made much of, her +faults glossed over as things that, being without remedy in our +imperfect world, should not be dwelt upon too much by men who, +with the help of ships, wrest out a bitter living from the rough +grasp of the sea. All that talk makes up her +“name,” which is handed over from one crew to another +without bitterness, without animosity, with the indulgence of +mutual dependence, and with the feeling of close association in +the exercise of her perfections and in the danger of her +defects.</p> +<p>This feeling explains men’s pride in ships. +“Ships are all right,” as my middle-aged, respectable +quartermaster said with much conviction and some irony; but they +are not exactly what men make them. They have their own +nature; they can of themselves minister to our self-esteem by the +demand their qualities make upon our skill and their shortcomings +upon our hardiness and endurance. Which is the more +flattering exaction it is hard to say; but there is the fact that +in listening for upwards of twenty years to the sea-talk that +goes on afloat and ashore I have never detected the true note of +animosity. I won’t deny that at sea, sometimes, the +note of profanity was audible enough in those chiding +interpellations a wet, cold, weary seaman addresses to his ship, +and in moments of exasperation is disposed to extend to all ships +that ever were launched—to the whole everlastingly exacting +brood that swims in deep waters. And I have heard curses +launched at the unstable element itself, whose fascination, +outlasting the accumulated experience of ages, had captured him +as it had captured the generations of his forebears.</p> +<p>For all that has been said of the love that certain natures +(on shore) have professed to feel for it, for all the +celebrations it had been the object of in prose and song, the sea +has never been friendly to man. At most it has been the +accomplice of human restlessness, and playing the part of +dangerous abettor of world-wide ambitions. Faithful to no +race after the manner of the kindly earth, receiving no impress +from valour and toil and self-sacrifice, recognising no finality +of dominion, the sea has never adopted the cause of its masters +like those lands where the victorious nations of mankind have +taken root, rocking their cradles and setting up their +gravestones. He—man or people—who, putting his +trust in the friendship of the sea, neglects the strength and +cunning of his right hand, is a fool! As if it were too +great, too mighty for common virtues, the ocean has no +compassion, no faith, no law, no memory. Its fickleness is +to be held true to men’s purposes only by an undaunted +resolution and by a sleepless, armed, jealous vigilance, in +which, perhaps, there has always been more hate than love. +<i>Odi et amo</i> may well be the confession of those who +consciously or blindly have surrendered their existence to the +fascination of the sea. All the tempestuous passions of +mankind’s young days, the love of loot and the love of +glory, the love of adventure and the love of danger, with the +great love of the unknown and vast dreams of dominion and power, +have passed like images reflected from a mirror, leaving no +record upon the mysterious face of the sea. Impenetrable +and heartless, the sea has given nothing of itself to the suitors +for its precarious favours. Unlike the earth, it cannot be +subjugated at any cost of patience and toil. For all its +fascination that has lured so many to a violent death, its +immensity has never been loved as the mountains, the plains, the +desert itself, have been loved. Indeed, I suspect that, +leaving aside the protestations and tributes of writers who, one +is safe in saying, care for little else in the world than the +rhythm of their lines and the cadence of their phrase, the love +of the sea, to which some men and nations confess so readily, is +a complex sentiment wherein pride enters for much, necessity for +not a little, and the love of ships—the untiring servants +of our hopes and our self-esteem—for the best and most +genuine part. For the hundreds who have reviled the sea, +beginning with Shakespeare in the line—</p> +<blockquote><p>“More fell than hunger, anguish, or the +sea,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>down to the last obscure sea-dog of the “old +model,” having but few words and still fewer thoughts, +there could not be found, I believe, one sailor who has ever +coupled a curse with the good or bad name of a ship. If +ever his profanity, provoked by the hardships of the sea, went so +far as to touch his ship, it would be lightly, as a hand may, +without sin, be laid in the way of kindness on a woman.</p> +<h2>XXXVI.</h2> +<p>The love that is given to ships is profoundly different from +the love men feel for every other work of their hands—the +love they bear to their houses, for instance—because it is +untainted by the pride of possession. The pride of skill, +the pride of responsibility, the pride of endurance there may be, +but otherwise it is a disinterested sentiment. No seaman +ever cherished a ship, even if she belonged to him, merely +because of the profit she put in his pocket. No one, I +think, ever did; for a ship-owner, even of the best, has always +been outside the pale of that sentiment embracing in a feeling of +intimate, equal fellowship the ship and the man, backing each +other against the implacable, if sometimes dissembled, hostility +of their world of waters. The sea—this truth must be +confessed—has no generosity. No display of manly +qualities—courage, hardihood, endurance, +faithfulness—has ever been known to touch its irresponsible +consciousness of power. The ocean has the conscienceless +temper of a savage autocrat spoiled by much adulation. He +cannot brook the slightest appearance of defiance, and has +remained the irreconcilable enemy of ships and men ever since +ships and men had the unheard of audacity to go afloat together +in the face of his frown. From that day he has gone on +swallowing up fleets and men without his resentment being glutted +by the number of victims—by so many wrecked ships and +wrecked lives. To-day, as ever, he is ready to beguile and +betray, to smash and to drown the incorrigible optimism of men +who, backed by the fidelity of ships, are trying to wrest from +him the fortune of their house, the dominion of their world, or +only a dole of food for their hunger. If not always in the +hot mood to smash, he is always stealthily ready for a +drowning. The most amazing wonder of the deep is its +unfathomable cruelty.</p> +<p>I felt its dread for the first time in mid-Atlantic one day, +many years ago, when we took off the crew of a Danish brig +homeward bound from the West Indies. A thin, silvery mist +softened the calm and majestic splendour of light without +shadows—seemed to render the sky less remote and the ocean +less immense. It was one of the days, when the might of the +sea appears indeed lovable, like the nature of a strong man in +moments of quiet intimacy. At sunrise we had made out a +black speck to the westward, apparently suspended high up in the +void behind a stirring, shimmering veil of silvery blue gauze +that seemed at times to stir and float in the breeze which fanned +us slowly along. The peace of that enchanting forenoon was +so profound, so untroubled, that it seemed that every word +pronounced loudly on our deck would penetrate to the very heart +of that infinite mystery born from the conjunction of water and +sky. We did not raise our voices. “A +water-logged derelict, I think, sir,” said the second +officer quietly, coming down from aloft with the binoculars in +their case slung across his shoulders; and our captain, without a +word, signed to the helmsman to steer for the black speck. +Presently we made out a low, jagged stump sticking up +forward—all that remained of her departed masts.</p> +<p>The captain was expatiating in a low conversational tone to +the chief mate upon the danger of these derelicts, and upon his +dread of coming upon them at night, when suddenly a man forward +screamed out, “There’s people on board of her, +sir! I see them!” in a most extraordinary +voice—a voice never heard before in our ship; the amazing +voice of a stranger. It gave the signal for a sudden tumult +of shouts. The watch below ran up the forecastle head in a +body, the cook dashed out of the galley. Everybody saw the +poor fellows now. They were there! And all at once +our ship, which had the well-earned name of being without a rival +for speed in light winds, seemed to us to have lost the power of +motion, as if the sea, becoming viscous, had clung to her +sides. And yet she moved. Immensity, the inseparable +companion of a ship’s life, chose that day to breathe upon +her as gently as a sleeping child. The clamour of our +excitement had died out, and our living ship, famous for never +losing steerage way as long as there was air enough to float a +feather, stole, without a ripple, silent and white as a ghost, +towards her mutilated and wounded sister, come upon at the point +of death in the sunlit haze of a calm day at sea.</p> +<p>With the binoculars glued to his eyes, the captain said in a +quavering tone: “They are waving to us with something aft +there.” He put down the glasses on the skylight +brusquely, and began to walk about the poop. “A shirt +or a flag,” he ejaculated irritably. +“Can’t make it out. . . Some damn rag or +other!” He took a few more turns on the poop, +glancing down over the rail now and then to see how fast we were +moving. His nervous footsteps rang sharply in the quiet of +the ship, where the other men, all looking the same way, had +forgotten themselves in a staring immobility. “This +will never do!” he cried out suddenly. “Lower +the boats at once! Down with them!”</p> +<p>Before I jumped into mine he took me aside, as being an +inexperienced junior, for a word of warning:</p> +<p>“You look out as you come alongside that she +doesn’t take you down with her. You +understand?”</p> +<p>He murmured this confidentially, so that none of the men at +the falls should overhear, and I was shocked. +“Heavens! as if in such an emergency one stopped to think +of danger!” I exclaimed to myself mentally, in scorn of +such cold-blooded caution.</p> +<p>It takes many lessons to make a real seaman, and I got my +rebuke at once. My experienced commander seemed in one +searching glance to read my thoughts on my ingenuous face.</p> +<p>“What you’re going for is to save life, not to +drown your boat’s crew for nothing,” he growled +severely in my ear. But as we shoved off he leaned over and +cried out: “It all rests on the power of your arms, +men. Give way for life!”</p> +<p>We made a race of it, and I would never have believed that a +common boat’s crew of a merchantman could keep up so much +determined fierceness in the regular swing of their stroke. +What our captain had clearly perceived before we left had become +plain to all of us since. The issue of our enterprise hung +on a hair above that abyss of waters which will not give up its +dead till the Day of Judgment. It was a race of two +ship’s boats matched against Death for a prize of nine +men’s lives, and Death had a long start. We saw the +crew of the brig from afar working at the pumps—still +pumping on that wreck, which already had settled so far down that +the gentle, low swell, over which our boats rose and fell easily +without a check to their speed, welling up almost level with her +head-rails, plucked at the ends of broken gear swinging +desolately under her naked bowsprit.</p> +<p>We could not, in all conscience, have picked out a better day +for our regatta had we had the free choice of all the days that +ever dawned upon the lonely struggles and solitary agonies of +ships since the Norse rovers first steered to the westward +against the run of Atlantic waves. It was a very good +race. At the finish there was not an oar’s length +between the first and second boat, with Death coming in a good +third on the top of the very next smooth swell, for all one knew +to the contrary. The scuppers of the brig gurgled softly +all together when the water rising against her sides subsided +sleepily with a low wash, as if playing about an immovable +rock. Her bulwarks were gone fore and aft, and one saw her +bare deck low-lying like a raft and swept clean of boats, spars, +houses—of everything except the ringbolts and the heads of +the pumps. I had one dismal glimpse of it as I braced +myself up to receive upon my breast the last man to leave her, +the captain, who literally let himself fall into my arms.</p> +<p>It had been a weirdly silent rescue—a rescue without a +hail, without a single uttered word, without a gesture or a sign, +without a conscious exchange of glances. Up to the very +last moment those on board stuck to their pumps, which spouted +two clear streams of water upon their bare feet. Their +brown skin showed through the rents of their shirts; and the two +small bunches of half-naked, tattered men went on bowing from the +waist to each other in their back-breaking labour, up and down, +absorbed, with no time for a glance over the shoulder at the help +that was coming to them. As we dashed, unregarded, +alongside a voice let out one, only one hoarse howl of command, +and then, just as they stood, without caps, with the salt drying +gray in the wrinkles and folds of their hairy, haggard faces, +blinking stupidly at us their red eyelids, they made a bolt away +from the handles, tottering and jostling against each other, and +positively flung themselves over upon our very heads. The +clatter they made tumbling into the boats had an extraordinarily +destructive effect upon the illusion of tragic dignity our +self-esteem had thrown over the contests of mankind with the +sea. On that exquisite day of gently breathing peace and +veiled sunshine perished my romantic love to what men’s +imagination had proclaimed the most august aspect of +Nature. The cynical indifference of the sea to the merits +of human suffering and courage, laid bare in this ridiculous, +panic-tainted performance extorted from the dire extremity of +nine good and honourable seamen, revolted me. I saw the +duplicity of the sea’s most tender mood. It was so +because it could not help itself, but the awed respect of the +early days was gone. I felt ready to smile bitterly at its +enchanting charm and glare viciously at its furies. In a +moment, before we shoved off, I had looked coolly at the life of +my choice. Its illusions were gone, but its fascination +remained. I had become a seaman at last.</p> +<p>We pulled hard for a quarter of an hour, then laid on our oars +waiting for our ship. She was coming down on us with +swelling sails, looking delicately tall and exquisitely noble +through the mist. The captain of the brig, who sat in the +stern sheets by my side with his face in his hands, raised his +head and began to speak with a sort of sombre volubility. +They had lost their masts and sprung a leak in a hurricane; +drifted for weeks, always at the pumps, met more bad weather; the +ships they sighted failed to make them out, the leak gained upon +them slowly, and the seas had left them nothing to make a raft +of. It was very hard to see ship after ship pass by at a +distance, “as if everybody had agreed that we must be left +to drown,” he added. But they went on trying to keep +the brig afloat as long as possible, and working the pumps +constantly on insufficient food, mostly raw, till +“yesterday evening,” he continued monotonously, +“just as the sun went down, the men’s hearts +broke.”</p> +<p>He made an almost imperceptible pause here, and went on again +with exactly the same intonation:</p> +<p>“They told me the brig could not be saved, and they +thought they had done enough for themselves. I said nothing +to that. It was true. It was no mutiny. I had +nothing to say to them. They lay about aft all night, as +still as so many dead men. I did not lie down. I kept +a look-out. When the first light came I saw your ship at +once. I waited for more light; the breeze began to fail on +my face. Then I shouted out as loud as I was able, +‘Look at that ship!’ but only two men got up very +slowly and came to me. At first only we three stood alone, +for a long time, watching you coming down to us, and feeling the +breeze drop to a calm almost; but afterwards others, too, rose, +one after another, and by-and-by I had all my crew behind +me. I turned round and said to them that they could see the +ship was coming our way, but in this small breeze she might come +too late after all, unless we turned to and tried to keep the +brig afloat long enough to give you time to save us all. I +spoke like that to them, and then I gave the command to man the +pumps.”</p> +<p>He gave the command, and gave the example, too, by going +himself to the handles, but it seems that these men did actually +hang back for a moment, looking at each other dubiously before +they followed him. “He! he! he!” He broke +out into a most unexpected, imbecile, pathetic, nervous little +giggle. “Their hearts were broken so! They had +been played with too long,” he explained apologetically, +lowering his eyes, and became silent.</p> +<p>Twenty-five years is a long time—a quarter of a century +is a dim and distant past; but to this day I remember the +dark-brown feet, hands, and faces of two of these men whose +hearts had been broken by the sea. They were lying very +still on their sides on the bottom boards between the thwarts, +curled up like dogs. My boat’s crew, leaning over the +looms of their oars, stared and listened as if at the play. +The master of the brig looked up suddenly to ask me what day it +was.</p> +<p>They had lost the date. When I told him it was Sunday, +the 22nd, he frowned, making some mental calculation, then nodded +twice sadly to himself, staring at nothing.</p> +<p>His aspect was miserably unkempt and wildly sorrowful. +Had it not been for the unquenchable candour of his blue eyes, +whose unhappy, tired glance every moment sought his abandoned, +sinking brig, as if it could find rest nowhere else, he would +have appeared mad. But he was too simple to go mad, too +simple with that manly simplicity which alone can bear men +unscathed in mind and body through an encounter with the deadly +playfulness of the sea or with its less abominable fury.</p> +<p>Neither angry, nor playful, nor smiling, it enveloped our +distant ship growing bigger as she neared us, our boats with the +rescued men and the dismantled hull of the brig we were leaving +behind, in the large and placid embrace of its quietness, half +lost in the fair haze, as if in a dream of infinite and tender +clemency. There was no frown, no wrinkle on its face, not a +ripple. And the run of the slight swell was so smooth that +it resembled the graceful undulation of a piece of shimmering +gray silk shot with gleams of green. We pulled an easy +stroke; but when the master of the brig, after a glance over his +shoulder, stood up with a low exclamation, my men feathered their +oars instinctively, without an order, and the boat lost her +way.</p> +<p>He was steadying himself on my shoulder with a strong grip, +while his other arm, flung up rigidly, pointed a denunciatory +finger at the immense tranquillity of the ocean. After his +first exclamation, which stopped the swing of our oars, he made +no sound, but his whole attitude seemed to cry out an indignant +“Behold!” . . . I could not imagine what vision of +evil had come to him. I was startled, and the amazing +energy of his immobilized gesture made my heart beat faster with +the anticipation of something monstrous and unsuspected. +The stillness around us became crushing.</p> +<p>For a moment the succession of silky undulations ran on +innocently. I saw each of them swell up the misty line of +the horizon, far, far away beyond the derelict brig, and the next +moment, with a slight friendly toss of our boat, it had passed +under us and was gone. The lulling cadence of the rise and +fall, the invariable gentleness of this irresistible force, the +great charm of the deep waters, warmed my breast deliciously, +like the subtle poison of a love-potion. But all this +lasted only a few soothing seconds before I jumped up too, making +the boat roll like the veriest landlubber.</p> +<p>Something startling, mysterious, hastily confused, was taking +place. I watched it with incredulous and fascinated awe, as +one watches the confused, swift movements of some deed of +violence done in the dark. As if at a given signal, the run +of the smooth undulations seemed checked suddenly around the +brig. By a strange optical delusion the whole sea appeared +to rise upon her in one overwhelming heave of its silky surface, +where in one spot a smother of foam broke out ferociously. +And then the effort subsided. It was all over, and the +smooth swell ran on as before from the horizon in uninterrupted +cadence of motion, passing under us with a slight friendly toss +of our boat. Far away, where the brig had been, an angry +white stain undulating on the surface of steely-gray waters, shot +with gleams of green, diminished swiftly, without a hiss, like a +patch of pure snow melting in the sun. And the great +stillness after this initiation into the sea’s implacable +hate seemed full of dread thoughts and shadows of disaster.</p> +<p>“Gone!” ejaculated from the depths of his chest my +bowman in a final tone. He spat in his hands, and took a +better grip on his oar. The captain of the brig lowered his +rigid arm slowly, and looked at our faces in a solemnly conscious +silence, which called upon us to share in his simple-minded, +marvelling awe. All at once he sat down by my side, and +leaned forward earnestly at my boat’s crew, who, swinging +together in a long, easy stroke, kept their eyes fixed upon him +faithfully.</p> +<p>“No ship could have done so well,” he addressed +them firmly, after a moment of strained silence, during which he +seemed with trembling lips to seek for words fit to bear such +high testimony. “She was small, but she was +good. I had no anxiety. She was strong. Last +voyage I had my wife and two children in her. No other ship +could have stood so long the weather she had to live through for +days and days before we got dismasted a fortnight ago. She +was fairly worn out, and that’s all. You may believe +me. She lasted under us for days and days, but she could +not last for ever. It was long enough. I am glad it +is over. No better ship was ever left to sink at sea on +such a day as this.”</p> +<p>He was competent to pronounce the funereal oration of a ship, +this son of ancient sea-folk, whose national existence, so little +stained by the excesses of manly virtues, had demanded nothing +but the merest foothold from the earth. By the merits of +his sea-wise forefathers and by the artlessness of his heart, he +was made fit to deliver this excellent discourse. There was +nothing wanting in its orderly arrangement—neither piety +nor faith, nor the tribute of praise due to the worthy dead, with +the edifying recital of their achievement. She had lived, +he had loved her; she had suffered, and he was glad she was at +rest. It was an excellent discourse. And it was +orthodox, too, in its fidelity to the cardinal article of a +seaman’s faith, of which it was a single-minded +confession. “Ships are all right.” They +are. They who live with the sea have got to hold by that +creed first and last; and it came to me, as I glanced at him +sideways, that some men were not altogether unworthy in honour +and conscience to pronounce the funereal eulogium of a +ship’s constancy in life and death.</p> +<p>After this, sitting by my side with his loosely-clasped hands +hanging between his knees, he uttered no word, made no movement +till the shadow of our ship’s sails fell on the boat, when, +at the loud cheer greeting the return of the victors with their +prize, he lifted up his troubled face with a faint smile of +pathetic indulgence. This smile of the worthy descendant of +the most ancient sea-folk whose audacity and hardihood had left +no trace of greatness and glory upon the waters, completed the +cycle of my initiation. There was an infinite depth of +hereditary wisdom in its pitying sadness. It made the +hearty bursts of cheering sound like a childish noise of +triumph. Our crew shouted with immense +confidence—honest souls! As if anybody could ever +make sure of having prevailed against the sea, which has betrayed +so many ships of great “name,” so many proud men, so +many towering ambitions of fame, power, wealth, greatness!</p> +<p>As I brought the boat under the falls my captain, in high +good-humour, leaned over, spreading his red and freckled elbows +on the rail, and called down to me sarcastically, out of the +depths of his cynic philosopher’s beard:</p> +<p>“So you have brought the boat back after all, have +you?”</p> +<p>Sarcasm was “his way,” and the most that can be +said for it is that it was natural. This did not make it +lovable. But it is decorous and expedient to fall in with +one’s commander’s way. “Yes. I +brought the boat back all right, sir,” I answered. +And the good man believed me. It was not for him to discern +upon me the marks of my recent initiation. And yet I was +not exactly the same youngster who had taken the boat +away—all impatience for a race against death, with the +prize of nine men’s lives at the end.</p> +<p>Already I looked with other eyes upon the sea. I knew it +capable of betraying the generous ardour of youth as implacably +as, indifferent to evil and good, it would have betrayed the +basest greed or the noblest heroism. My conception of its +magnanimous greatness was gone. And I looked upon the true +sea—the sea that plays with men till their hearts are +broken, and wears stout ships to death. Nothing can touch +the brooding bitterness of its heart. Open to all and +faithful to none, it exercises its fascination for the undoing of +the best. To love it is not well. It knows no bond of +plighted troth, no fidelity to misfortune, to long companionship, +to long devotion. The promise it holds out perpetually is +very great; but the only secret of its possession is strength, +strength—the jealous, sleepless strength of a man guarding +a coveted treasure within his gates.</p> +<h2><a name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +233</span>XXXVII.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> cradle of oversea traffic and +of the art of naval combats, the Mediterranean, apart from all +the associations of adventure and glory, the common heritage of +all mankind, makes a tender appeal to a seaman. It has +sheltered the infancy of his craft. He looks upon it as a +man may look at a vast nursery in an old, old mansion where +innumerable generations of his own people have learned to +walk. I say his own people because, in a sense, all sailors +belong to one family: all are descended from that adventurous and +shaggy ancestor who, bestriding a shapeless log and paddling with +a crooked branch, accomplished the first coasting-trip in a +sheltered bay ringing with the admiring howls of his tribe. +It is a matter of regret that all those brothers in craft and +feeling, whose generations have learned to walk a ship’s +deck in that nursery, have been also more than once fiercely +engaged in cutting each other’s throats there. But +life, apparently, has such exigencies. Without human +propensity to murder and other sorts of unrighteousness there +would have been no historical heroism. It is a consoling +reflection. And then, if one examines impartially the deeds +of violence, they appear of but small consequence. From +Salamis to Actium, through Lepanto and the Nile to the naval +massacre of Navarino, not to mention other armed encounters of +lesser interest, all the blood heroically spilt into the +Mediterranean has not stained with a single trail of purple the +deep azure of its classic waters.</p> +<p>Of course, it may be argued that battles have shaped the +destiny of mankind. The question whether they have shaped +it well would remain open, however. But it would be hardly +worth discussing. It is very probable that, had the Battle +of Salamis never been fought, the face of the world would have +been much as we behold it now, fashioned by the mediocre +inspiration and the short-sighted labours of men. From a +long and miserable experience of suffering, injustice, disgrace +and aggression the nations of the earth are mostly swayed by +fear—fear of the sort that a little cheap oratory turns +easily to rage, hate, and violence. Innocent, guileless +fear has been the cause of many wars. Not, of course, the +fear of war itself, which, in the evolution of sentiments and +ideas, has come to be regarded at last as a half-mystic and +glorious ceremony with certain fashionable rites and preliminary +incantations, wherein the conception of its true nature has been +lost. To apprehend the true aspect, force, and morality of +war as a natural function of mankind one requires a feather in +the hair and a ring in the nose, or, better still, teeth filed to +a point and a tattooed breast. Unfortunately, a return to +such simple ornamentation is impossible. We are bound to +the chariot of progress. There is no going back; and, as +bad luck would have it, our civilization, which has done so much +for the comfort and adornment of our bodies and the elevation of +our minds, has made lawful killing frightfully and needlessly +expensive.</p> +<p>The whole question of improved armaments has been approached +by the governments of the earth in a spirit of nervous and +unreflecting haste, whereas the right way was lying plainly +before them, and had only to be pursued with calm +determination. The learned vigils and labours of a certain +class of inventors should have been rewarded with honourable +liberality as justice demanded; and the bodies of the inventors +should have been blown to pieces by means of their own perfected +explosives and improved weapons with extreme publicity as the +commonest prudence dictated. By this method the ardour of +research in that direction would have been restrained without +infringing the sacred privileges of science. For the lack +of a little cool thinking in our guides and masters this course +has not been followed, and a beautiful simplicity has been +sacrificed for no real advantage. A frugal mind cannot +defend itself from considerable bitterness when reflecting that +at the Battle of Actium (which was fought for no less a stake +than the dominion of the world) the fleet of Octavianus +Cæsar and the fleet of Antonius, including the Egyptian +division and Cleopatra’s galley with purple sails, probably +cost less than two modern battleships, or, as the modern naval +book-jargon has it, two capital units. But no amount of +lubberly book-jargon can disguise a fact well calculated to +afflict the soul of every sound economist. It is not likely +that the Mediterranean will ever behold a battle with a greater +issue; but when the time comes for another historical fight its +bottom will be enriched as never before by a quantity of jagged +scrap-iron, paid for at pretty nearly its weight of gold by the +deluded populations inhabiting the isles and continents of this +planet.</p> +<h2>XXXVIII.</h2> +<p>Happy he who, like Ulysses, has made an adventurous voyage; +and there is no such sea for adventurous voyages as the +Mediterranean—the inland sea which the ancients looked upon +as so vast and so full of wonders. And, indeed, it was +terrible and wonderful; for it is we alone who, swayed by the +audacity of our minds and the tremors of our hearts, are the sole +artisans of all the wonder and romance of the world.</p> +<p>It was for the Mediterranean sailors that fair-haired sirens +sang among the black rocks seething in white foam and mysterious +voices spoke in the darkness above the moving wave—voices +menacing, seductive, or prophetic, like that voice heard at the +beginning of the Christian era by the master of an African vessel +in the Gulf of Syrta, whose calm nights are full of strange +murmurs and flitting shadows. It called him by name, +bidding him go and tell all men that the great god Pan was +dead. But the great legend of the Mediterranean, the legend +of traditional song and grave history, lives, fascinating and +immortal, in our minds.</p> +<p>The dark and fearful sea of the subtle Ulysses’ +wanderings, agitated by the wrath of Olympian gods, harbouring on +its isles the fury of strange monsters and the wiles of strange +women; the highway of heroes and sages, of warriors, pirates, and +saints; the workaday sea of Carthaginian merchants and the +pleasure lake of the Roman Cæsars, claims the veneration of +every seaman as the historical home of that spirit of open +defiance against the great waters of the earth which is the very +soul of his calling. Issuing thence to the west and south, +as a youth leaves the shelter of his parental house, this spirit +found the way to the Indies, discovered the coasts of a new +continent, and traversed at last the immensity of the great +Pacific, rich in groups of islands remote and mysterious like the +constellations of the sky.</p> +<p>The first impulse of navigation took its visible form in that +tideless basin freed from hidden shoals and treacherous currents, +as if in tender regard for the infancy of the art. The +steep shores of the Mediterranean favoured the beginners in one +of humanity’s most daring enterprises, and the enchanting +inland sea of classic adventure has led mankind gently from +headland to headland, from bay to bay, from island to island, out +into the promise of world-wide oceans beyond the Pillars of +Hercules.</p> +<h2>XXXIX.</h2> +<p>The charm of the Mediterranean dwells in the unforgettable +flavour of my early days, and to this hour this sea, upon which +the Romans alone ruled without dispute, has kept for me the +fascination of youthful romance. The very first Christmas +night I ever spent away from land was employed in running before +a Gulf of Lions gale, which made the old ship groan in every +timber as she skipped before it over the short seas until we +brought her to, battered and out of breath, under the lee of +Majorca, where the smooth water was torn by fierce +cat’s-paws under a very stormy sky.</p> +<p>We—or, rather, they, for I had hardly had two glimpses +of salt water in my life till then—kept her standing off +and on all that day, while I listened for the first time with the +curiosity of my tender years to the song of the wind in a +ship’s rigging. The monotonous and vibrating note was +destined to grow into the intimacy of the heart, pass into blood +and bone, accompany the thoughts and acts of two full decades, +remain to haunt like a reproach the peace of the quiet fireside, +and enter into the very texture of respectable dreams dreamed +safely under a roof of rafters and tiles. The wind was +fair, but that day we ran no more.</p> +<p>The thing (I will not call her a ship twice in the same +half-hour) leaked. She leaked fully, generously, +overflowingly, all over—like a basket. I took an +enthusiastic part in the excitement caused by that last infirmity +of noble ships, without concerning myself much with the why or +the wherefore. The surmise of my maturer years is that, +bored by her interminable life, the venerable antiquity was +simply yawning with ennui at every seam. But at the time I +did not know; I knew generally very little, and least of all what +I was doing in that <i>galère</i>.</p> +<p>I remember that, exactly as in the comedy of Molière, +my uncle asked the precise question in the very words—not +of my confidential valet, however, but across great distances of +land, in a letter whose mocking but indulgent turn ill concealed +his almost paternal anxiety. I fancy I tried to convey to +him my (utterly unfounded) impression that the West Indies +awaited my coming. I had to go there. It was a sort +of mystic conviction—something in the nature of a +call. But it was difficult to state intelligibly the +grounds of this belief to that man of rigorous logic, if of +infinite charity.</p> +<p>The truth must have been that, all unversed in the arts of the +wily Greek, the deceiver of gods, the lover of strange women, the +evoker of bloodthirsty shades, I yet longed for the beginning of +my own obscure Odyssey, which, as was proper for a modern, should +unroll its wonders and terrors beyond the Pillars of +Hercules. The disdainful ocean did not open wide to swallow +up my audacity, though the ship, the ridiculous and ancient +<i>galère</i> of my folly, the old, weary, disenchanted +sugar-waggon, seemed extremely disposed to open out and swallow +up as much salt water as she could hold. This, if less +grandiose, would have been as final a catastrophe.</p> +<p>But no catastrophe occurred. I lived to watch on a +strange shore a black and youthful Nausicaa, with a joyous train +of attendant maidens, carrying baskets of linen to a clear stream +overhung by the heads of slender palm-trees. The vivid +colours of their draped raiment and the gold of their earrings +invested with a barbaric and regal magnificence their figures, +stepping out freely in a shower of broken sunshine. The +whiteness of their teeth was still more dazzling than the +splendour of jewels at their ears. The shaded side of the +ravine gleamed with their smiles. They were as unabashed as +so many princesses, but, alas! not one of them was the daughter +of a jet-black sovereign. Such was my abominable luck in +being born by the mere hair’s breadth of twenty-five +centuries too late into a world where kings have been growing +scarce with scandalous rapidity, while the few who remain have +adopted the uninteresting manners and customs of simple +millionaires. Obviously it was a vain hope in 187– to +see the ladies of a royal household walk in chequered sunshine, +with baskets of linen on their heads, to the banks of a clear +stream overhung by the starry fronds of palm-trees. It was +a vain hope. If I did not ask myself whether, limited by +such discouraging impossibilities, life were still worth living, +it was only because I had then before me several other pressing +questions, some of which have remained unanswered to this +day. The resonant, laughing voices of these gorgeous +maidens scared away the multitude of humming-birds, whose +delicate wings wreathed with the mist of their vibration the tops +of flowering bushes.</p> +<p>No, they were not princesses. Their unrestrained +laughter filling the hot, fern-clad ravine had a soulless +limpidity, as of wild, inhuman dwellers in tropical +woodlands. Following the example of certain prudent +travellers, I withdrew unseen—and returned, not much wiser, +to the Mediterranean, the sea of classic adventures.</p> +<h2><a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +244</span>XL.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was written that there, in the +nursery of our navigating ancestors, I should learn to walk in +the ways of my craft and grow in the love of the sea, blind as +young love often is, but absorbing and disinterested as all true +love must be. I demanded nothing from it—not even +adventure. In this I showed, perhaps, more intuitive wisdom +than high self-denial. No adventure ever came to one for +the asking. He who starts on a deliberate quest of +adventure goes forth but to gather dead-sea fruit, unless, +indeed, he be beloved of the gods and great amongst heroes, like +that most excellent cavalier Don Quixote de la Mancha. By +us ordinary mortals of a mediocre animus that is only too anxious +to pass by wicked giants for so many honest windmills, adventures +are entertained like visiting angels. They come upon our +complacency unawares. As unbidden guests are apt to do, +they often come at inconvenient times. And we are glad to +let them go unrecognised, without any acknowledgment of so high a +favour. After many years, on looking back from the middle +turn of life’s way at the events of the past, which, like a +friendly crowd, seem to gaze sadly after us hastening towards the +Cimmerian shore, we may see here and there, in the gray throng, +some figure glowing with a faint radiance, as though it had +caught all the light of our already crepuscular sky. And by +this glow we may recognise the faces of our true adventures, of +the once unbidden guests entertained unawares in our young +days.</p> +<p>If the Mediterranean, the venerable (and sometimes atrociously +ill-tempered) nurse of all navigators, was to rock my youth, the +providing of the cradle necessary for that operation was +entrusted by Fate to the most casual assemblage of irresponsible +young men (all, however, older than myself) that, as if drunk +with Provençal sunshine, frittered life away in joyous +levity on the model of Balzac’s “Histoire des +Treize” qualified by a dash of romance <i>de cape et +d’épée</i>.</p> +<p>She who was my cradle in those years had been built on the +River of Savona by a famous builder of boats, was rigged in +Corsica by another good man, and was described on her papers as a +‘tartane’ of sixty tons. In reality, she was a +true balancelle, with two short masts raking forward and two +curved yards, each as long as her hull; a true child of the Latin +lake, with a spread of two enormous sails resembling the pointed +wings on a sea-bird’s slender body, and herself, like a +bird indeed, skimming rather than sailing the seas.</p> +<p>Her name was the <i>Tremolino</i>. How is this to be +translated? The <i>Quiverer</i>? What a name to give +the pluckiest little craft that ever dipped her sides in angry +foam! I had felt her, it is true, trembling for nights and +days together under my feet, but it was with the high-strung +tenseness of her faithful courage. In her short, but +brilliant, career she has taught me nothing, but she has given me +everything. I owe to her the awakened love for the sea +that, with the quivering of her swift little body and the humming +of the wind under the foot of her lateen sails, stole into my +heart with a sort of gentle violence, and brought my imagination +under its despotic sway. The <i>Tremolino</i>! To +this day I cannot utter or even write that name without a strange +tightening of the breast and the gasp of mingled delight and +dread of one’s first passionate experience.</p> +<h2>XLI.</h2> +<p>We four formed (to use a term well understood nowadays in +every social sphere) a “syndicate” owning the +<i>Tremolino</i>: an international and astonishing +syndicate. And we were all ardent Royalists of the +snow-white Legitimist complexion—Heaven only knows +why! In all associations of men there is generally one who, +by the authority of age and of a more experienced wisdom, imparts +a collective character to the whole set. If I mention that +the oldest of us was very old, extremely old—nearly thirty +years old—and that he used to declare with gallant +carelessness, “I live by my sword,” I think I have +given enough information on the score of our collective +wisdom. He was a North Carolinian gentleman, J. M. K. B. +were the initials of his name, and he really did live by the +sword, as far as I know. He died by it, too, later on, in a +Balkanian squabble, in the cause of some Serbs or else +Bulgarians, who were neither Catholics nor gentlemen—at +least, not in the exalted but narrow sense he attached to that +last word.</p> +<p>Poor J. M. K. B., <i>Américain</i>, <i>Catholique</i>, +<i>et gentilhomme</i>, as he was disposed to describe himself in +moments of lofty expansion! Are there still to be found in +Europe gentlemen keen of face and elegantly slight of body, of +distinguished aspect, with a fascinating drawing-room manner and +with a dark, fatal glance, who live by their swords, I +wonder? His family had been ruined in the Civil War, I +fancy, and seems for a decade or so to have led a wandering life +in the Old World. As to Henry C—, the next in age and +wisdom of our band, he had broken loose from the unyielding +rigidity of his family, solidly rooted, if I remember rightly, in +a well-to-do London suburb. On their respectable authority +he introduced himself meekly to strangers as a “black +sheep.” I have never seen a more guileless specimen +of an outcast. Never.</p> +<p>However, his people had the grace to send him a little money +now and then. Enamoured of the South, of Provence, of its +people, its life, its sunshine and its poetry, narrow-chested, +tall and short-sighted, he strode along the streets and the +lanes, his long feet projecting far in advance of his body, and +his white nose and gingery moustache buried in an open book: for +he had the habit of reading as he walked. How he avoided +falling into precipices, off the quays, or down staircases is a +great mystery. The sides of his overcoat bulged out with +pocket editions of various poets. When not engaged in +reading Virgil, Homer, or Mistral, in parks, restaurants, +streets, and suchlike public places, he indited sonnets (in +French) to the eyes, ears, chin, hair, and other visible +perfections of a nymph called Thérèse, the +daughter, honesty compels me to state, of a certain Madame +Leonore who kept a small café for sailors in one of the +narrowest streets of the old town.</p> +<p>No more charming face, clear-cut like an antique gem, and +delicate in colouring like the petal of a flower, had ever been +set on, alas! a somewhat squat body. He read his verses +aloud to her in the very café with the innocence of a +little child and the vanity of a poet. We followed him +there willingly enough, if only to watch the divine +Thérèse laugh, under the vigilant black eyes of +Madame Leonore, her mother. She laughed very prettily, not +so much at the sonnets, which she could not but esteem, as at +poor Henry’s French accent, which was unique, resembling +the warbling of birds, if birds ever warbled with a stuttering, +nasal intonation.</p> +<p>Our third partner was Roger P. de la S—, the most +Scandinavian-looking of Provençal squires, fair, and six +feet high, as became a descendant of sea-roving Northmen, +authoritative, incisive, wittily scornful, with a comedy in three +acts in his pocket, and in his breast a heart blighted by a +hopeless passion for his beautiful cousin, married to a wealthy +hide and tallow merchant. He used to take us to lunch at +their house without ceremony. I admired the good +lady’s sweet patience. The husband was a conciliatory +soul, with a great fund of resignation, which he expended on +“Roger’s friends.” I suspect he was +secretly horrified at these invasions. But it was a Carlist +salon, and as such we were made welcome. The possibility of +raising Catalonia in the interest of the <i>Rey netto</i>, who +had just then crossed the Pyrenees, was much discussed there.</p> +<p>Don Carlos, no doubt, must have had many queer friends (it is +the common lot of all Pretenders), but amongst them none more +extravagantly fantastic than the <i>Tremolino</i> Syndicate, +which used to meet in a tavern on the quays of the old +port. The antique city of Massilia had surely never, since +the days of the earliest Phoenicians, known an odder set of +ship-owners. We met to discuss and settle the plan of +operations for each voyage of the <i>Tremolino</i>. In +these operations a banking-house, too, was concerned—a very +respectable banking-house. But I am afraid I shall end by +saying too much. Ladies, too, were concerned (I am really +afraid I am saying too much)—all sorts of ladies, some old +enough to know better than to put their trust in princes, others +young and full of illusions.</p> +<p>One of these last was extremely amusing in the imitations, she +gave us in confidence, of various highly-placed personages she +was perpetually rushing off to Paris to interview in the +interests of the cause—<i>Por el Rey</i>! For she was +a Carlist, and of Basque blood at that, with something of a +lioness in the expression of her courageous face (especially when +she let her hair down), and with the volatile little soul of a +sparrow dressed in fine Parisian feathers, which had the trick of +coming off disconcertingly at unexpected moments.</p> +<p>But her imitations of a Parisian personage, very highly placed +indeed, as she represented him standing in the corner of a room +with his face to the wall, rubbing the back of his head and +moaning helplessly, “Rita, you are the death of me!” +were enough to make one (if young and free from cares) split +one’s sides laughing. She had an uncle still living, +a very effective Carlist, too, the priest of a little mountain +parish in Guipuzcoa. As the sea-going member of the +syndicate (whose plans depended greatly on Doña +Rita’s information), I used to be charged with humbly +affectionate messages for the old man. These messages I was +supposed to deliver to the Arragonese muleteers (who were sure to +await at certain times the <i>Tremolino</i> in the neighbourhood +of the Gulf of Rosas), for faithful transportation inland, +together with the various unlawful goods landed secretly from +under the <i>Tremolino’s</i> hatches.</p> +<p>Well, now, I have really let out too much (as I feared I +should in the end) as to the usual contents of my +sea-cradle. But let it stand. And if anybody remarks +cynically that I must have been a promising infant in those days, +let that stand, too. I am concerned but for the good name +of the <i>Tremolino</i>, and I affirm that a ship is ever +guiltless of the sins, transgressions, and follies of her +men.</p> +<h2>XLII.</h2> +<p>It was not <i>Tremolino’s</i> fault that the syndicate +depended so much on the wit and wisdom and the information of +Doña Rita. She had taken a little furnished house on +the Prado for the good of the cause—<i>Por el +Rey</i>! She was always taking little houses for +somebody’s good, for the sick or the sorry, for broken-down +artists, cleaned-out gamblers, temporarily unlucky +speculators—<i>vieux amis</i>—old friends, as she +used to explain apologetically, with a shrug of her fine +shoulders.</p> +<p>Whether Don Carlos was one of the “old friends,” +too, it’s hard to say. More unlikely things have been +heard of in smoking-rooms. All I know is that one evening, +entering incautiously the salon of the little house just after +the news of a considerable Carlist success had reached the +faithful, I was seized round the neck and waist and whirled +recklessly three times round the room, to the crash of upsetting +furniture and the humming of a valse tune in a warm contralto +voice.</p> +<p>When released from the dizzy embrace, I sat down on the +carpet—suddenly, without affectation. In this +unpretentious attitude I became aware that J. M. K. B. had +followed me into the room, elegant, fatal, correct and severe in +a white tie and large shirt-front. In answer to his +politely sinister, prolonged glance of inquiry, I overheard +Doña Rita murmuring, with some confusion and annoyance, +“<i>Vous êtes bête mon cher</i>. +<i>Voyons</i>! <i>Ça n’a aucune +conséquence</i>.” Well content in this case to +be of no particular consequence, I had already about me the +elements of some worldly sense.</p> +<p>Rearranging my collar, which, truth to say, ought to have been +a round one above a short jacket, but was not, I observed +felicitously that I had come to say good-bye, being ready to go +off to sea that very night with the <i>Tremolino</i>. Our +hostess, slightly panting yet, and just a shade dishevelled, +turned tartly upon J. M. K. B., desiring to know when <i>he</i> +would be ready to go off by the <i>Tremolino</i>, or in any other +way, in order to join the royal headquarters. Did he +intend, she asked ironically, to wait for the very eve of the +entry into Madrid? Thus by a judicious exercise of tact and +asperity we re-established the atmospheric equilibrium of the +room long before I left them a little before midnight, now +tenderly reconciled, to walk down to the harbour and hail the +<i>Tremolino</i> by the usual soft whistle from the edge of the +quay. It was our signal, invariably heard by the +ever-watchful Dominic, the <i>padrone</i>.</p> +<p>He would raise a lantern silently to light my steps along the +narrow, springy plank of our primitive gangway. “And +so we are going off,” he would murmur directly my foot +touched the deck. I was the harbinger of sudden departures, +but there was nothing in the world sudden enough to take Dominic +unawares. His thick black moustaches, curled every morning +with hot tongs by the barber at the corner of the quay, seemed to +hide a perpetual smile. But nobody, I believe, had ever +seen the true shape of his lips. From the slow, +imperturbable gravity of that broad-chested man you would think +he had never smiled in his life. In his eyes lurked a look +of perfectly remorseless irony, as though he had been provided +with an extremely experienced soul; and the slightest distension +of his nostrils would give to his bronzed face a look of +extraordinary boldness. This was the only play of feature +of which he seemed capable, being a Southerner of a concentrated, +deliberate type. His ebony hair curled slightly on the +temples. He may have been forty years old, and he was a +great voyager on the inland sea.</p> +<p>Astute and ruthless, he could have rivalled in resource the +unfortunate son of Laertes and Anticlea. If he did not pit +his craft and audacity against the very gods, it is only because +the Olympian gods are dead. Certainly no woman could +frighten him. A one-eyed giant would not have had the ghost +of a chance against Dominic Cervoni, of Corsica, not Ithaca; and +no king, son of kings, but of very respectable +family—authentic Caporali, he affirmed. But that is +as it may be. The Caporali families date back to the +twelfth century.</p> +<p>For want of more exalted adversaries Dominic turned his +audacity fertile in impious stratagems against the powers of the +earth, as represented by the institution of Custom-houses and +every mortal belonging thereto—scribes, officers, and +guardacostas afloat and ashore. He was the very man for us, +this modern and unlawful wanderer with his own legend of loves, +dangers, and bloodshed. He told us bits of it sometimes in +measured, ironic tones. He spoke Catalonian, the Italian of +Corsica and the French of Provençe with the same easy +naturalness. Dressed in shore-togs, a white starched shirt, +black jacket, and round hat, as I took him once to see +Doña Rita, he was extremely presentable. He could +make himself interesting by a tactful and rugged reserve set off +by a grim, almost imperceptible, playfulness of tone and +manner.</p> +<p>He had the physical assurance of strong-hearted men. +After half an hour’s interview in the dining-room, during +which they got in touch with each other in an amazing way, Rita +told us in her best <i>grande dame</i> manner: “<i>Mais il +esi parfait</i>, <i>cet homme</i>.” He was +perfect. On board the <i>Tremolino</i>, wrapped up in a +black <i>caban</i>, the picturesque cloak of Mediterranean +seamen, with those massive moustaches and his remorseless eyes +set off by the shadow of the deep hood, he looked piratical and +monkish and darkly initiated into the most awful mysteries of the +sea.</p> +<h2>XLIII.</h2> +<p>Anyway, he was perfect, as Doña Rita had +declared. The only thing unsatisfactory (and even +inexplicable) about our Dominic was his nephew, Cesar. It +was startling to see a desolate expression of shame veil the +remorseless audacity in the eyes of that man superior to all +scruples and terrors.</p> +<p>“I would never have dared to bring him on board your +balancelle,” he once apologized to me. “But +what am I to do? His mother is dead, and my brother has +gone into the bush.”</p> +<p>In this way I learned that our Dominic had a brother. As +to “going into the bush,” this only means that a man +has done his duty successfully in the pursuit of a hereditary +vendetta. The feud which had existed for ages between the +families of Cervoni and Brunaschi was so old that it seemed to +have smouldered out at last. One evening Pietro Brunaschi, +after a laborious day amongst his olive-trees, sat on a chair +against the wall of his house with a bowl of broth on his knees +and a piece of bread in his hand. Dominic’s brother, +going home with a gun on his shoulder, found a sudden offence in +this picture of content and rest so obviously calculated to +awaken the feelings of hatred and revenge. He and Pietro +had never had any personal quarrel; but, as Dominic explained, +“all our dead cried out to him.” He shouted +from behind a wall of stones, “O Pietro! Behold what +is coming!” And as the other looked up innocently he +took aim at the forehead and squared the old vendetta account so +neatly that, according to Dominic, the dead man continued to sit +with the bowl of broth on his knees and the piece of bread in his +hand.</p> +<p>This is why—because in Corsica your dead will not leave +you alone—Dominic’s brother had to go into the +<i>maquis</i>, into the bush on the wild mountain-side, to dodge +the gendarmes for the insignificant remainder of his life, and +Dominic had charge of his nephew with a mission to make a man of +him.</p> +<p>No more unpromising undertaking could be imagined. The +very material for the task seemed wanting. The Cervonis, if +not handsome men, were good sturdy flesh and blood. But +this extraordinarily lean and livid youth seemed to have no more +blood in him than a snail.</p> +<p>“Some cursed witch must have stolen my brother’s +child from the cradle and put that spawn of a starved devil in +its place,” Dominic would say to me. “Look at +him! Just look at him!”</p> +<p>To look at Cesar was not pleasant. His parchment skin, +showing dead white on his cranium through the thin wisps of dirty +brown hair, seemed to be glued directly and tightly upon his big +bones, Without being in any way deformed, he was the nearest +approach which I have ever seen or could imagine to what is +commonly understood by the word “monster.” That +the source of the effect produced was really moral I have no +doubt. An utterly, hopelessly depraved nature was expressed +in physical terms, that taken each separately had nothing +positively startling. You imagined him clammily cold to the +touch, like a snake. The slightest reproof, the most mild +and justifiable remonstrance, would be met by a resentful glare +and an evil shrinking of his thin dry upper lip, a snarl of hate +to which he generally added the agreeable sound of grinding +teeth.</p> +<p>It was for this venomous performance rather than for his lies, +impudence, and laziness that his uncle used to knock him +down. It must not be imagined that it was anything in the +nature of a brutal assault. Dominic’s brawny arm +would be seen describing deliberately an ample horizontal +gesture, a dignified sweep, and Cesar would go over suddenly like +a ninepin—which was funny to see. But, once down, he +would writhe on the deck, gnashing his teeth in impotent +rage—which was pretty horrible to behold. And it also +happened more than once that he would disappear +completely—which was startling to observe. This is +the exact truth. Before some of these majestic cuffs Cesar +would go down and vanish. He would vanish heels overhead +into open hatchways, into scuttles, behind up-ended casks, +according to the place where he happened to come into contact +with his uncle’s mighty arm.</p> +<p>Once—it was in the old harbour, just before the +<i>Tremolino’s</i> last voyage—he vanished thus +overboard to my infinite consternation. Dominic and I had +been talking business together aft, and Cesar had sneaked up +behind us to listen, for, amongst his other perfections, he was a +consummate eavesdropper and spy. At the sound of the heavy +plop alongside horror held me rooted to the spot; but Dominic +stepped quietly to the rail and leaned over, waiting for his +nephew’s miserable head to bob up for the first time.</p> +<p>“Ohé, Cesar!” he yelled contemptuously to +the spluttering wretch. “Catch hold of that mooring +hawser—<i>charogne</i>!”</p> +<p>He approached me to resume the interrupted conversation.</p> +<p>“What about Cesar?” I asked anxiously.</p> +<p>“Canallia! Let him hang there,” was his +answer. And he went on talking over the business in hand +calmly, while I tried vainly to dismiss from my mind the picture +of Cesar steeped to the chin in the water of the old harbour, a +decoction of centuries of marine refuse. I tried to dismiss +it, because the mere notion of that liquid made me feel very +sick. Presently Dominic, hailing an idle boatman, directed +him to go and fish his nephew out; and by-and-by Cesar appeared +walking on board from the quay, shivering, streaming with filthy +water, with bits of rotten straws in his hair and a piece of +dirty orange-peel stranded on his shoulder. His teeth +chattered; his yellow eyes squinted balefully at us as he passed +forward. I thought it my duty to remonstrate.</p> +<p>“Why are you always knocking him about, Dominic?” +I asked. Indeed, I felt convinced it was no earthly +good—a sheer waste of muscular force.</p> +<p>“I must try to make a man of him,” Dominic +answered hopelessly.</p> +<p>I restrained the obvious retort that in this way he ran the +risk of making, in the words of the immortal Mr. Mantalini, +“a demnition damp, unpleasant corpse of him.”</p> +<p>“He wants to be a locksmith!” burst out +Cervoni. “To learn how to pick locks, I +suppose,” he added with sardonic bitterness.</p> +<p>“Why not let him be a locksmith?” I ventured.</p> +<p>“Who would teach him?” he cried. +“Where could I leave him?” he asked, with a drop in +his voice; and I had my first glimpse of genuine despair. +“He steals, you know, alas! <i>Par ta +Madonne</i>! I believe he would put poison in your food and +mine—the viper!”</p> +<p>He raised his face and both his clenched fists slowly to +heaven. However, Cesar never dropped poison into our +cups. One cannot be sure, but I fancy he went to work in +another way.</p> +<p>This voyage, of which the details need not be given, we had to +range far afield for sufficient reasons. Coming up from the +South to end it with the important and really dangerous part of +the scheme in hand, we found it necessary to look into Barcelona +for certain definite information. This appears like running +one’s head into the very jaws of the lion, but in reality +it was not so. We had one or two high, influential friends +there, and many others humble but valuable because bought for +good hard cash. We were in no danger of being molested; +indeed, the important information reached us promptly by the +hands of a Custom-house officer, who came on board full of showy +zeal to poke an iron rod into the layer of oranges which made the +visible part of our cargo in the hatchway.</p> +<p>I forgot to mention before that the <i>Tremolino</i> was +officially known as a fruit and cork-wood trader. The +zealous officer managed to slip a useful piece of paper into +Dominic’s hand as he went ashore, and a few hours +afterwards, being off duty, he returned on board again athirst +for drinks and gratitude. He got both as a matter of +course. While he sat sipping his liqueur in the tiny cabin, +Dominic plied him with questions as to the whereabouts of the +guardacostas. The preventive service afloat was really the +one for us to reckon with, and it was material for our success +and safety to know the exact position of the patrol craft in the +neighbourhood. The news could not have been more +favourable. The officer mentioned a small place on the +coast some twelve miles off, where, unsuspicious and unready, she +was lying at anchor, with her sails unbent, painting yards and +scraping spars. Then he left us after the usual +compliments, smirking reassurringly over his shoulder.</p> +<p>I had kept below pretty close all day from excess of +prudence. The stake played on that trip was big.</p> +<p>“We are ready to go at once, but for Cesar, who has been +missing ever since breakfast,” announced Dominic to me in +his slow, grim way.</p> +<p>Where the fellow had gone, and why, we could not +imagine. The usual surmises in the case of a missing seaman +did not apply to Cesar’s absence. He was too odious +for love, friendship, gambling, or even casual intercourse. +But once or twice he had wandered away like this before.</p> +<p>Dominic went ashore to look for him, but returned at the end +of two hours alone and very angry, as I could see by the token of +the invisible smile under his moustache being intensified. +We wondered what had become of the wretch, and made a hurried +investigation amongst our portable property. He had stolen +nothing.</p> +<p>“He will be back before long,” I said +confidently.</p> +<p>Ten minutes afterwards one of the men on deck called out +loudly:</p> +<p>“I can see him coming.”</p> +<p>Cesar had only his shirt and trousers on. He had sold +his coat, apparently for pocket-money.</p> +<p>“You knave!” was all Dominic said, with a terrible +softness of voice. He restrained his choler for a +time. “Where have you been, vagabond?” he asked +menacingly.</p> +<p>Nothing would induce Cesar to answer that question. It +was as if he even disdained to lie. He faced us, drawing +back his lips and gnashing his teeth, and did not shrink an inch +before the sweep of Dominic’s arm. He went down as if +shot, of course. But this time I noticed that, when picking +himself up, he remained longer than usual on all fours, baring +his big teeth over his shoulder and glaring upwards at his uncle +with a new sort of hate in his round, yellow eyes. That +permanent sentiment seemed pointed at that moment by especial +malice and curiosity. I became quite interested. If +he ever manages to put poison in the dishes, I thought to myself, +this is how he will look at us as we sit at our meal. But I +did not, of course, believe for a moment that he would ever put +poison in our food. He ate the same things himself. +Moreover, he had no poison. And I could not imagine a human +being so blinded by cupidity as to sell poison to such an +atrocious creature.</p> +<h2>XLIV.</h2> +<p>We slipped out to sea quietly at dusk, and all through the +night everything went well. The breeze was gusty; a +southerly blow was making up. It was fair wind for our +course. Now and then Dominic slowly and rhythmically struck +his hands together a few times, as if applauding the performance +of the <i>Tremolino</i>. The balancelle hummed and quivered +as she flew along, dancing lightly under our feet.</p> +<p>At daybreak I pointed out to Dominic, amongst the several sail +in view running before the gathering storm, one particular +vessel. The press of canvas she carried made her loom up +high, end-on, like a gray column standing motionless directly in +our wake.</p> +<p>“Look at this fellow, Dominic,” I said. +“He seems to be in a hurry.”</p> +<p>The Padrone made no remark, but, wrapping his black cloak +close about him, stood up to look. His weather-tanned face, +framed in the hood, had an aspect of authority and challenging +force, with the deep-set eyes gazing far away fixedly, without a +wink, like the intent, merciless, steady eyes of a sea-bird.</p> +<p>“<i>Chi va piano va sano</i>,” he remarked at +last, with a derisive glance over the side, in ironic allusion to +our own tremendous speed.</p> +<p>The <i>Tremolino</i> was doing her best, and seemed to hardly +touch the great burst of foam over which she darted. I +crouched down again to get some shelter from the low +bulwark. After more than half an hour of swaying immobility +expressing a concentrated, breathless watchfulness, Dominic sank +on the deck by my side. Within the monkish cowl his eyes +gleamed with a fierce expression which surprised me. All he +said was:</p> +<p>“He has come out here to wash the new paint off his +yards, I suppose.”</p> +<p>“What?” I shouted, getting up on my knees. +“Is she the guardacosta?”</p> +<p>The perpetual suggestion of a smile under Dominic’s +piratical moustaches seemed to become more +accentuated—quite real, grim, actually almost visible +through the wet and uncurled hair. Judging by that symptom, +he must have been in a towering rage. But I could also see +that he was puzzled, and that discovery affected me +disagreeably. Dominic puzzled! For a long time, +leaning against the bulwark, I gazed over the stern at the gray +column that seemed to stand swaying slightly in our wake always +at the same distance.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Dominic, black and cowled, sat cross-legged on the +deck, with his back to the wind, recalling vaguely an Arab chief +in his burnuss sitting on the sand. Above his motionless +figure the little cord and tassel on the stiff point of the hood +swung about inanely in the gale. At last I gave up facing +the wind and rain, and crouched down by his side. I was +satisfied that the sail was a patrol craft. Her presence +was not a thing to talk about, but soon, between two clouds +charged with hail-showers, a burst of sunshine fell upon her +sails, and our men discovered her character for themselves. +From that moment I noticed that they seemed to take no heed of +each other or of anything else. They could spare no eyes +and no thought but for the slight column-shape astern of +us. Its swaying had become perceptible. For a moment +she remained dazzlingly white, then faded away slowly to nothing +in a squall, only to reappear again, nearly black, resembling a +post stuck upright against the slaty background of solid +cloud. Since first noticed she had not gained on us a +foot.</p> +<p>“She will never catch the <i>Tremolino</i>,” I +said exultingly.</p> +<p>Dominic did not look at me. He remarked absently, but +justly, that the heavy weather was in our pursuer’s +favour. She was three times our size. What we had to +do was to keep our distance till dark, which we could manage +easily, and then haul off to seaward and consider the +situation. But his thoughts seemed to stumble in the +darkness of some not-solved enigma, and soon he fell +silent. We ran steadily, wing-and-wing. Cape San +Sebastian nearly ahead seemed to recede from us in the squalls of +rain, and come out again to meet our rush, every time more +distinct between the showers.</p> +<p>For my part I was by no means certain that this <i>gabelou</i> +(as our men alluded to her opprobriously) was after us at +all. There were nautical difficulties in such a view which +made me express the sanguine opinion that she was in all +innocence simply changing her station. At this Dominic +condescended to turn his head.</p> +<p>“I tell you she is in chase,” he affirmed moodily, +after one short glance astern.</p> +<p>I never doubted his opinion. But with all the ardour of +a neophyte and the pride of an apt learner I was at that time a +great nautical casuist.</p> +<p>“What I can’t understand,” I insisted +subtly, “is how on earth, with this wind, she has managed +to be just where she was when we first made her out. It is +clear that she could not, and did not, gain twelve miles on us +during the night. And there are other impossibilities. . . +.”</p> +<p>Dominic had been sitting motionless, like an inanimate black +cone posed on the stern deck, near the rudder-head, with a small +tassel fluttering on its sharp point, and for a time he preserved +the immobility of his meditation. Then, bending over with a +short laugh, he gave my ear the bitter fruit of it. He +understood everything now perfectly. She was where we had +seen her first, not because she had caught us up, but because we +had passed her during the night while she was already waiting for +us, hove-to, most likely, on our very track.</p> +<p>“Do you understand—already?” Dominic +muttered in a fierce undertone. “Already! You +know we left a good eight hours before we were expected to leave, +otherwise she would have been in time to lie in wait for us on +the other side of the Cape, and”—he snapped his teeth +like a wolf close to my face—“and she would have had +us like—that.”</p> +<p>I saw it all plainly enough now. They had eyes in their +heads and all their wits about them in that craft. We had +passed them in the dark as they jogged on easily towards their +ambush with the idea that we were yet far behind. At +daylight, however, sighting a balancelle ahead under a press of +canvas, they had made sail in chase. But if that was so, +then—</p> +<p>Dominic seized my arm.</p> +<p>“Yes, yes! She came out on an information—do +you see, it?—on information. . . . We have been +sold—betrayed. Why? How? What for? +We always paid them all so well on shore. . . . No! But it +is my head that is going to burst.”</p> +<p>He seemed to choke, tugged at the throat button of the cloak, +jumped up open-mouthed as if to hurl curses and denunciation, but +instantly mastered himself, and, wrapping up the cloak closer +about him, sat down on the deck again as quiet as ever.</p> +<p>“Yes, it must be the work of some scoundrel +ashore,” I observed.</p> +<p>He pulled the edge of the hood well forward over his brow +before he muttered:</p> +<p>“A scoundrel. . . . Yes. . . . It’s +evident.”</p> +<p>“Well,” I said, “they can’t get us, +that’s clear.”</p> +<p>“No,” he assented quietly, “they +cannot.”</p> +<p>We shaved the Cape very close to avoid an adverse +current. On the other side, by the effect of the land, the +wind failed us so completely for a moment that the +<i>Tremolino’s</i> two great lofty sails hung idle to the +masts in the thundering uproar of the seas breaking upon the +shore we had left behind. And when the returning gust +filled them again, we saw with amazement half of the new +mainsail, which we thought fit to drive the boat under before +giving way, absolutely fly out of the bolt-ropes. We +lowered the yard at once, and saved it all, but it was no longer +a sail; it was only a heap of soaked strips of canvas cumbering +the deck and weighting the craft. Dominic gave the order to +throw the whole lot overboard.</p> +<p>I would have had the yard thrown overboard, too, he said, +leading me aft again, “if it had not been for the +trouble. Let no sign escape you,” he continued, +lowering his voice, “but I am going to tell you something +terrible. Listen: I have observed that the roping stitches +on that sail have been cut! You hear? Cut with a +knife in many places. And yet it stood all that time. +Not enough cut. That flap did it at last. What +matters it? But look! there’s treachery seated on +this very deck. By the horns of the devil! seated here at +our very backs. Do not turn, signorine.”</p> +<p>We were facing aft then.</p> +<p>“What’s to be done?” I asked, appalled.</p> +<p>“Nothing. Silence! Be a man, +signorine.”</p> +<p>“What else?” I said.</p> +<p>To show I could be a man, I resolved to utter no sound as long +as Dominic himself had the force to keep his lips closed. +Nothing but silence becomes certain situations. Moreover, +the experience of treachery seemed to spread a hopeless +drowsiness over my thoughts and senses. For an hour or more +we watched our pursuer surging out nearer and nearer from amongst +the squalls that sometimes hid her altogether. But even +when not seen, we felt her there like a knife at our +throats. She gained on us frightfully. And the +<i>Tremolino</i>, in a fierce breeze and in much smoother water, +swung on easily under her one sail, with something appallingly +careless in the joyous freedom of her motion. Another +half-hour went by. I could not stand it any longer.</p> +<p>“They will get the poor barky,” I stammered out +suddenly, almost on the verge of tears.</p> +<p>Dominic stirred no more than a carving. A sense of +catastrophic loneliness overcame my inexperienced soul. The +vision of my companions passed before me. The whole +Royalist gang was in Monte Carlo now, I reckoned. And they +appeared to me clear-cut and very small, with affected voices and +stiff gestures, like a procession of rigid marionettes upon a toy +stage. I gave a start. What was this? A +mysterious, remorseless whisper came from within the motionless +black hood at my side.</p> +<p>“<i>Il faul la tuer</i>.”</p> +<p>I heard it very well.</p> +<p>“What do you say, Dominic?” I asked, moving +nothing but my lips.</p> +<p>And the whisper within the hood repeated mysteriously, +“She must be killed.”</p> +<p>My heart began to beat violently.</p> +<p>“That’s it,” I faltered out. +“But how?”</p> +<p>“You love her well?”</p> +<p>“I do.”</p> +<p>“Then you must find the heart for that work too. +You must steer her yourself, and I shall see to it that she dies +quickly, without leaving as much as a chip behind.”</p> +<p>“Can you?” I murmured, fascinated by the black +hood turned immovably over the stern, as if in unlawful communion +with that old sea of magicians, slave-dealers, exiles and +warriors, the sea of legends and terrors, where the mariners of +remote antiquity used to hear the restless shade of an old +wanderer weep aloud in the dark.</p> +<p>“I know a rock,” whispered the initiated voice +within the hood secretly. “But—caution! +It must be done before our men perceive what we are about. +Whom can we trust now? A knife drawn across the fore +halyards would bring the foresail down, and put an end to our +liberty in twenty minutes. And the best of our men may be +afraid of drowning. There is our little boat, but in an +affair like this no one can be sure of being saved.”</p> +<p>The voice ceased. We had started from Barcelona with our +dinghy in tow; afterwards it was too risky to try to get her in, +so we let her take her chance of the seas at the end of a +comfortable scope of rope. Many times she had seemed to us +completely overwhelmed, but soon we would see her bob up again on +a wave, apparently as buoyant and whole as ever.</p> +<p>“I understand,” I said softly. “Very +well, Dominic. When?”</p> +<p>“Not yet. We must get a little more in +first,” answered the voice from the hood in a ghostly +murmur.</p> +<h2>XLV.</h2> +<p>It was settled. I had now the courage to turn +about. Our men crouched about the decks here and there with +anxious, crestfallen faces, all turned one way to watch the +chaser. For the first time that morning I perceived Cesar +stretched out full length on the deck near the foremast and +wondered where he had been skulking till then. But he might +in truth have been at my elbow all the time for all I knew. +We had been too absorbed in watching our fate to pay attention to +each other. Nobody had eaten anything that morning, but the +men had been coming constantly to drink at the water-butt.</p> +<p>I ran down to the cabin. I had there, put away in a +locker, ten thousand francs in gold of whose presence on board, +so far as I was aware, not a soul, except Dominic had the +slightest inkling. When I emerged on deck again Dominic had +turned about and was peering from under his cowl at the +coast. Cape Creux closed the view ahead. To the left +a wide bay, its waters torn and swept by fierce squalls, seemed +full of smoke. Astern the sky had a menacing look.</p> +<p>Directly he saw me, Dominic, in a placid tone, wanted to know +what was the matter. I came close to him and, looking as +unconcerned as I could, told him in an undertone that I had found +the locker broken open and the money-belt gone. Last +evening it was still there.</p> +<p>“What did you want to do with it?” he asked me, +trembling violently.</p> +<p>“Put it round my waist, of course,” I answered, +amazed to hear his teeth chattering.</p> +<p>“Cursed gold!” he muttered. “The +weight of the money might have cost you your life, +perhaps.” He shuddered. “There is no time +to talk about that now.”</p> +<p>“I am ready.”</p> +<p>“Not yet. I am waiting for that squall to come +over,” he muttered. And a few leaden minutes +passed.</p> +<p>The squall came over at last. Our pursuer, overtaken by +a sort of murky whirlwind, disappeared from our sight. The +<i>Tremolino</i> quivered and bounded forward. The land +ahead vanished, too, and we seemed to be left alone in a world of +water and wind.</p> +<p>“<i>Prenez la barre</i>, <i>monsieur</i>,” Dominic +broke the silence suddenly in an austere voice. “Take +hold of the tiller.” He bent his hood to my +ear. “The balancelle is yours. Your own hands +must deal the blow. I—I have yet another piece of +work to do.” He spoke up loudly to the man who +steered. “Let the signorino take the tiller, and you +with the others stand by to haul the boat alongside quickly at +the word.”</p> +<p>The man obeyed, surprised, but silent. The others +stirred, and pricked up their ears at this. I heard their +murmurs. “What now? Are we going to run in +somewhere and take to our heels? The Padrone knows what he +is doing.”</p> +<p>Dominic went forward. He paused to look down at Cesar, +who, as I have said before, was lying full length face down by +the foremast, then stepped over him, and dived out of my sight +under the foresail. I saw nothing ahead. It was +impossible for me to see anything except the foresail open and +still, like a great shadowy wing. But Dominic had his +bearings. His voice came to me from forward, in a just +audible cry:</p> +<p>“Now, signorino!”</p> +<p>I bore on the tiller, as instructed before. Again I +heard him faintly, and then I had only to hold her +straight. No ship ran so joyously to her death +before. She rose and fell, as if floating in space, and +darted forward, whizzing like an arrow. Dominic, stooping +under the foot of the foresail, reappeared, and stood steadying +himself against the mast, with a raised forefinger in an attitude +of expectant attention. A second before the shock his arm +fell down by his side. At that I set my teeth. And +then—</p> +<p>Talk of splintered planks and smashed timbers! This +shipwreck lies upon my soul with the dread and horror of a +homicide, with the unforgettable remorse of having crushed a +living, faithful heart at a single blow. At one moment the +rush and the soaring swing of speed; the next a crash, and death, +stillness—a moment of horrible immobility, with the song of +the wind changed to a strident wail, and the heavy waters boiling +up menacing and sluggish around the corpse. I saw in a +distracting minute the foreyard fly fore and aft with a brutal +swing, the men all in a heap, cursing with fear, and hauling +frantically at the line of the boat. With a strange +welcoming of the familiar I saw also Cesar amongst them, and +recognised Dominic’s old, well-known, effective gesture, +the horizontal sweep of his powerful arm. I recollect +distinctly saying to myself, “Cesar must go down, of +course,” and then, as I was scrambling on all fours, the +swinging tiller I had let go caught me a crack under the ear, and +knocked me over senseless.</p> +<p>I don’t think I was actually unconscious for more than a +few minutes, but when I came to myself the dinghy was driving +before the wind into a sheltered cove, two men just keeping her +straight with their oars. Dominic, with his arm round my +shoulders, supported me in the stern-sheets.</p> +<p>We landed in a familiar part of the country. Dominic +took one of the boat’s oars with him. I suppose he +was thinking of the stream we would have presently to cross, on +which there was a miserable specimen of a punt, often robbed of +its pole. But first of all we had to ascend the ridge of +land at the back of the Cape. He helped me up. I was +dizzy. My head felt very large and heavy. At the top +of the ascent I clung to him, and we stopped to rest.</p> +<p>To the right, below us, the wide, smoky bay was empty. +Dominic had kept his word. There was not a chip to be seen +around the black rock from which the <i>Tremolino</i>, with her +plucky heart crushed at one blow, had slipped off into deep water +to her eternal rest. The vastness of the open sea was +smothered in driving mists, and in the centre of the thinning +squall, phantom-like, under a frightful press of canvas, the +unconscious guardacosta dashed on, still chasing to the +northward. Our men were already descending the reverse +slope to look for that punt which we knew from experience was not +always to be found easily. I looked after them with dazed, +misty eyes. One, two, three, four.</p> +<p>“Dominic, where’s Cesar?” I cried.</p> +<p>As if repulsing the very sound of the name, the Padrone made +that ample, sweeping, knocking-down gesture. I stepped back +a pace and stared at him fearfully. His open shirt +uncovered his muscular neck and the thick hair on his +chest. He planted the oar upright in the soft soil, and +rolling up slowly his right sleeve, extended the bare arm before +my face.</p> +<p>“This,” he began, with an extreme deliberation, +whose superhuman restraint vibrated with the suppressed violence +of his feelings, “is the arm which delivered the +blow. I am afraid it is your own gold that did the +rest. I forgot all about your money.” He +clasped his hands together in sudden distress. “I +forgot, I forgot,” he repeated disconsolately.</p> +<p>“Cesar stole the belt?” I stammered out, +bewildered.</p> +<p>“And who else? <i>Canallia</i>! He must have +been spying on you for days. And he did the whole +thing. Absent all day in Barcelona. +<i>Traditore</i>! Sold his jacket—to hire a +horse. Ha! ha! A good affair! I tell you it was +he who set him at us. . . .”</p> +<p>Dominic pointed at the sea, where the guardacosta was a mere +dark speck. His chin dropped on his breast.</p> +<p>“. . . On information,” he murmured, in a gloomy +voice. “A Cervoni! Oh! my poor brother! . . +.”</p> +<p>“And you drowned him,” I said feebly.</p> +<p>“I struck once, and the wretch went down like a +stone—with the gold. Yes. But he had time to +read in my eyes that nothing could save him while I was +alive. And had I not the right—I, Dominic Cervoni, +Padrone, who brought him aboard your fellucca—my nephew, a +traitor?”</p> +<p>He pulled the oar out of the ground and helped me carefully +down the slope. All the time he never once looked me in the +face. He punted us over, then shouldered the oar again and +waited till our men were at some distance before he offered me +his arm. After we had gone a little way, the fishing hamlet +we were making for came into view. Dominic stopped.</p> +<p>“Do you think you can make your way as far as the houses +by yourself?” he asked me quietly.</p> +<p>“Yes, I think so. But why? Where are you +going, Dominic?”</p> +<p>“Anywhere. What a question! Signorino, you +are but little more than a boy to ask such a question of a man +having this tale in his family. <i>Ah</i>! +<i>Traditore</i>! What made me ever own that spawn of a +hungry devil for our own blood! Thief, cheat, coward, +liar—other men can deal with that. But I was his +uncle, and so . . . I wish he had poisoned +me—<i>charogne</i>! But this: that I, a confidential +man and a Corsican, should have to ask your pardon for bringing +on board your vessel, of which I was Padrone, a Cervoni, who has +betrayed you—a traitor!—that is too much. It is +too much. Well, I beg your pardon; and you may spit in +Dominic’s face because a traitor of our blood taints us +all. A theft may be made good between men, a lie may be set +right, a death avenged, but what can one do to atone for a +treachery like this? . . . Nothing.”</p> +<p>He turned and walked away from me along the bank of the +stream, flourishing a vengeful arm and repeating to himself +slowly, with savage emphasis: “<i>Ah</i>! +<i>Canaille</i>! <i>Canaille</i>! <i>Canaille</i>! . +. .” He left me there trembling with weakness and +mute with awe. Unable to make a sound, I gazed after the +strangely desolate figure of that seaman carrying an oar on his +shoulder up a barren, rock-strewn ravine under the dreary leaden +sky of <i>Tremolino’s</i> last day. Thus, walking +deliberately, with his back to the sea, Dominic vanished from my +sight.</p> +<p>With the quality of our desires, thoughts, and wonder +proportioned to our infinite littleness, we measure even time +itself by our own stature. Imprisoned in the house of +personal illusions, thirty centuries in mankind’s history +seem less to look back upon than thirty years of our own +life. And Dominic Cervoni takes his place in my memory by +the side of the legendary wanderer on the sea of marvels and +terrors, by the side of the fatal and impious adventurer, to whom +the evoked shade of the soothsayer predicted a journey inland +with an oar on his shoulder, till he met men who had never set +eyes on ships and oars. It seems to me I can see them side +by side in the twilight of an arid land, the unfortunate +possessors of the secret lore of the sea, bearing the emblem of +their hard calling on their shoulders, surrounded by silent and +curious men: even as I, too, having turned my back upon the sea, +am bearing those few pages in the twilight, with the hope of +finding in an inland valley the silent welcome of some patient +listener.</p> +<h2><a name="page289"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +289</span>XLVI.</h2> +<p>“A <span class="smcap">fellow</span> has now no chance +of promotion unless he jumps into the muzzle of a gun and crawls +out of the touch-hole.”</p> +<p>He who, a hundred years ago, more or less, pronounced the +above words in the uneasiness of his heart, thirsting for +professional distinction, was a young naval officer. Of his +life, career, achievements, and end nothing is preserved for the +edification of his young successors in the fleet of +to-day—nothing but this phrase, which, sailor-like in the +simplicity of personal sentiment and strength of graphic +expression, embodies the spirit of the epoch. This obscure +but vigorous testimony has its price, its significance, and its +lesson. It comes to us from a worthy ancestor. We do +not know whether he lived long enough for a chance of that +promotion whose way was so arduous. He belongs to the great +array of the unknown—who are great, indeed, by the sum +total of the devoted effort put out, and the colossal scale of +success attained by their insatiable and steadfast +ambition. We do not know his name; we only know of him what +is material for us to know—that he was never backward on +occasions of desperate service. We have this on the +authority of a distinguished seaman of Nelson’s time. +Departing this life as Admiral of the Fleet on the eve of the +Crimean War, Sir Thomas Byam Martin has recorded for us amongst +his all too short autobiographical notes these few characteristic +words uttered by one young man of the many who must have felt +that particular inconvenience of a heroic age.</p> +<p>The distinguished Admiral had lived through it himself, and +was a good judge of what was expected in those days from men and +ships. A brilliant frigate captain, a man of sound +judgment, of dashing bravery and of serene mind, scrupulously +concerned for the welfare and honour of the navy, he missed a +larger fame only by the chances of the service. We may well +quote on this day the words written of Nelson, in the decline of +a well-spent life, by Sir T. B. Martin, who died just fifty years +ago on the very anniversary of Trafalgar.</p> +<p>“Nelson’s nobleness of mind was a prominent and +beautiful part of his character. His foibles—faults +if you like—will never be dwelt upon in any memorandum of +mine,” he declares, and goes on—“he whose +splendid and matchless achievements will be remembered with +admiration while there is gratitude in the hearts of Britons, or +while a ship floats upon the ocean; he whose example on the +breaking out of the war gave so chivalrous an impulse to the +younger men of the service that all rushed into rivalry of daring +which disdained every warning of prudence, and led to acts of +heroic enterprise which tended greatly to exalt the glory of our +nation.”</p> +<p>These are his words, and they are true. The dashing +young frigate captain, the man who in middle age was nothing loth +to give chase single-handed in his seventy-four to a whole fleet, +the man of enterprise and consummate judgment, the old Admiral of +the Fleet, the good and trusted servant of his country under two +kings and a queen, had felt correctly Nelson’s influence, +and expressed himself with precision out of the fulness of his +seaman’s heart.</p> +<p>“Exalted,” he wrote, not +“augmented.” And therein his feeling and his +pen captured the very truth. Other men there were ready and +able to add to the treasure of victories the British navy has +given to the nation. It was the lot of Lord Nelson to exalt +all this glory. Exalt! the word seems to be created for the +man.</p> +<h2>XLVII.</h2> +<p>The British navy may well have ceased to count its +victories. It is rich beyond the wildest dreams of success +and fame. It may well, rather, on a culminating day of its +history, cast about for the memory of some reverses to appease +the jealous fates which attend the prosperity and triumphs of a +nation. It holds, indeed, the heaviest inheritance that has +ever been entrusted to the courage and fidelity of armed men.</p> +<p>It is too great for mere pride. It should make the +seamen of to-day humble in the secret of their hearts, and +indomitable in their unspoken resolution. In all the +records of history there has never been a time when a victorious +fortune has been so faithful to men making war upon the +sea. And it must be confessed that on their part they knew +how to be faithful to their victorious fortune. They were +exalted. They were always watching for her smile; night or +day, fair weather or foul, they waited for her slightest sign +with the offering of their stout hearts in their hands. And +for the inspiration of this high constancy they were indebted to +Lord Nelson alone. Whatever earthly affection he abandoned +or grasped, the great Admiral was always, before all, beyond all, +a lover of Fame. He loved her jealously, with an +inextinguishable ardour and an insatiable desire—he loved +her with a masterful devotion and an infinite trustfulness. +In the plenitude of his passion he was an exacting lover. +And she never betrayed the greatness of his trust! She +attended him to the end of his life, and he died pressing her +last gift (nineteen prizes) to his heart. “Anchor, +Hardy—anchor!” was as much the cry of an ardent lover +as of a consummate seaman. Thus he would hug to his breast +the last gift of Fame.</p> +<p>It was this ardour which made him great. He was a +flaming example to the wooers of glorious fortune. There +have been great officers before—Lord Hood, for instance, +whom he himself regarded as the greatest sea officer England ever +had. A long succession of great commanders opened the sea +to the vast range of Nelson’s genius. His time had +come; and, after the great sea officers, the great naval +tradition passed into the keeping of a great man. Not the +least glory of the navy is that it understood Nelson. Lord +Hood trusted him. Admiral Keith told him: “We +can’t spare you either as Captain or Admiral.” +Earl St. Vincent put into his hands, untrammelled by orders, a +division of his fleet, and Sir Hyde Parker gave him two more +ships at Copenhagen than he had asked for. So much for the +chiefs; the rest of the navy surrendered to him their devoted +affection, trust, and admiration. In return he gave them no +less than his own exalted soul. He breathed into them his +own ardour and his own ambition. In a few short years he +revolutionized, not the strategy or tactics of sea-warfare, but +the very conception of victory itself. And this is +genius. In that alone, through the fidelity of his fortune +and the power of his inspiration, he stands unique amongst the +leaders of fleets and sailors. He brought heroism into the +line of duty. Verily he is a terrible ancestor.</p> +<p>And the men of his day loved him. They loved him not +only as victorious armies have loved great commanders; they loved +him with a more intimate feeling as one of themselves. In +the words of a contemporary, he had “a most happy way of +gaining the affectionate respect of all who had the felicity to +serve under his command.”</p> +<p>To be so great and to remain so accessible to the affection of +one’s fellow-men is the mark of exceptional humanity. +Lord Nelson’s greatness was very human. It had a +moral basis; it needed to feel itself surrounded by the warm +devotion of a band of brothers. He was vain and +tender. The love and admiration which the navy gave him so +unreservedly soothed the restlessness of his professional +pride. He trusted them as much as they trusted him. +He was a seaman of seamen. Sir T. B. Martin states that he +never conversed with any officer who had served under Nelson +“without hearing the heartiest expressions of attachment to +his person and admiration of his frank and conciliatory manner to +his subordinates.” And Sir Robert Stopford, who +commanded one of the ships with which Nelson chased to the West +Indies a fleet nearly double in number, says in a letter: +“We are half-starved and otherwise inconvenienced by being +so long out of port, but our reward is that we are with +Nelson.”</p> +<p>This heroic spirit of daring and endurance, in which all +public and private differences were sunk throughout the whole +fleet, is Lord Nelson’s great legacy, triply sealed by the +victorious impress of the Nile, Copenhagen, and Trafalgar. +This is a legacy whose value the changes of time cannot +affect. The men and the ships he knew how to lead lovingly +to the work of courage and the reward of glory have passed away, +but Nelson’s uplifting touch remains in the standard of +achievement he has set for all time. The principles of +strategy may be immutable. It is certain they have been, +and shall be again, disregarded from timidity, from blindness, +through infirmity of purpose. The tactics of great captains +on land and sea can be infinitely discussed. The first +object of tactics is to close with the adversary on terms of the +greatest possible advantage; yet no hard-and-fast rules can be +drawn from experience, for this capital reason, amongst +others—that the quality of the adversary is a variable +element in the problem. The tactics of Lord Nelson have +been amply discussed, with much pride and some profit. And +yet, truly, they are already of but archaic interest. A +very few years more and the hazardous difficulties of handling a +fleet under canvas shall have passed beyond the conception of +seamen who hold in trust for their country Lord Nelson’s +legacy of heroic spirit. The change in the character of the +ships is too great and too radical. It is good and proper +to study the acts of great men with thoughtful reverence, but +already the precise intention of Lord Nelson’s famous +memorandum seems to lie under that veil which Time throws over +the clearest conceptions of every great art. It must not be +forgotten that this was the first time when Nelson, commanding in +chief, had his opponents under way—the first time and the +last. Had he lived, had there been other fleets left to +oppose him, we would, perhaps, have learned something more of his +greatness as a sea officer. Nothing could have been added +to his greatness as a leader. All that can be affirmed is, +that on no other day of his short and glorious career was Lord +Nelson more splendidly true to his genius and to his +country’s fortune.</p> +<h2>XLVIII.</h2> +<p>And yet the fact remains that, had the wind failed and the +fleet lost steerage way, or, worse still, had it been taken aback +from the eastward, with its leaders within short range of the +enemy’s guns, nothing, it seems, could have saved the +headmost ships from capture or destruction. No skill of a +great sea officer would have availed in such a contingency. +Lord Nelson was more than that, and his genius would have +remained undiminished by defeat. But obviously tactics, +which are so much at the mercy of irremediable accident, must +seem to a modern seaman a poor matter of study. The +Commander-in-Chief in the great fleet action that will take its +place next to the Battle of Trafalgar in the history of the +British navy will have no such anxiety, and will feel the weight +of no such dependence. For a hundred years now no British +fleet has engaged the enemy in line of battle. A hundred +years is a long time, but the difference of modern conditions is +enormous. The gulf is great. Had the last great fight +of the English navy been that of the First of June, for instance, +had there been no Nelson’s victories, it would have been +wellnigh impassable. The great Admiral’s slight and +passion-worn figure stands at the parting of the ways. He +had the audacity of genius, and a prophetic inspiration.</p> +<p>The modern naval man must feel that the time has come for the +tactical practice of the great sea officers of the past to be +laid by in the temple of august memories. The fleet tactics +of the sailing days have been governed by two points: the deadly +nature of a raking fire, and the dread, natural to a commander +dependent upon the winds, to find at some crucial moment part of +his fleet thrown hopelessly to leeward. These two points +were of the very essence of sailing tactics, and these two points +have been eliminated from the modern tactical problem by the +changes of propulsion and armament. Lord Nelson was the +first to disregard them with conviction and audacity sustained by +an unbounded trust in the men he led. This conviction, this +audacity and this trust stand out from amongst the lines of the +celebrated memorandum, which is but a declaration of his faith in +a crushing superiority of fire as the only means of victory and +the only aim of sound tactics. Under the difficulties of +the then existing conditions he strove for that, and for that +alone, putting his faith into practice against every risk. +And in that exclusive faith Lord Nelson appears to us as the +first of the moderns.</p> +<p>Against every risk, I have said; and the men of to-day, born +and bred to the use of steam, can hardly realize how much of that +risk was in the weather. Except at the Nile, where the +conditions were ideal for engaging a fleet moored in shallow +water, Lord Nelson was not lucky in his weather. +Practically it was nothing but a quite unusual failure of the +wind which cost him his arm during the Teneriffe +expedition. On Trafalgar Day the weather was not so much +unfavourable as extremely dangerous.</p> +<p>It was one of these covered days of fitful sunshine, of light, +unsteady winds, with a swell from the westward, and hazy in +general, but with the land about the Cape at times distinctly +visible. It has been my lot to look with reverence upon the +very spot more than once, and for many hours together. All +but thirty years ago, certain exceptional circumstances made me +very familiar for a time with that bight in the Spanish coast +which would be enclosed within a straight line drawn from Faro to +Spartel. My well-remembered experience has convinced me +that, in that corner of the ocean, once the wind has got to the +northward of west (as it did on the 20th, taking the British +fleet aback), appearances of westerly weather go for nothing, and +that it is infinitely more likely to veer right round to the east +than to shift back again. It was in those conditions that, +at seven on the morning of the 21st, the signal for the fleet to +bear up and steer east was made. Holding a clear +recollection of these languid easterly sighs rippling +unexpectedly against the run of the smooth swell, with no other +warning than a ten-minutes’ calm and a queer darkening of +the coast-line, I cannot think, without a gasp of professional +awe, of that fateful moment. Perhaps personal experience, +at a time of life when responsibility had a special freshness and +importance, has induced me to exaggerate to myself the danger of +the weather. The great Admiral and good seaman could read +aright the signs of sea and sky, as his order to prepare to +anchor at the end of the day sufficiently proves; but, all the +same, the mere idea of these baffling easterly airs, coming on at +any time within half an hour or so, after the firing of the first +shot, is enough to take one’s breath away, with the image +of the rearmost ships of both divisions falling off, +unmanageable, broadside on to the westerly swell, and of two +British Admirals in desperate jeopardy. To this day I +cannot free myself from the impression that, for some forty +minutes, the fate of the great battle hung upon a breath of wind +such as I have felt stealing from behind, as it were, upon my +cheek while engaged in looking to the westward for the signs of +the true weather.</p> +<p>Never more shall British seamen going into action have to +trust the success of their valour to a breath of wind. The +God of gales and battles favouring her arms to the last, has let +the sun of England’s sailing-fleet and of its greatest +master set in unclouded glory. And now the old ships and +their men are gone; the new ships and the new men, many of them +bearing the old, auspicious names, have taken up their watch on +the stern and impartial sea, which offers no opportunities but to +those who know how to grasp them with a ready hand and an +undaunted heart.</p> +<h2>XLIX.</h2> +<p>This the navy of the Twenty Years’ War knew well how to +do, and never better than when Lord Nelson had breathed into its +soul his own passion of honour and fame. It was a fortunate +navy. Its victories were no mere smashing of helpless ships +and massacres of cowed men. It was spared that cruel +favour, for which no brave heart had ever prayed. It was +fortunate in its adversaries. I say adversaries, for on +recalling such proud memories we should avoid the word +“enemies,” whose hostile sound perpetuates the +antagonisms and strife of nations, so irremediable perhaps, so +fateful—and also so vain. War is one of the gifts of +life; but, alas! no war appears so very necessary when time has +laid its soothing hand upon the passionate misunderstandings and +the passionate desires of great peoples. “Le +temps,” as a distinguished Frenchman has said, “est +un galant homme.” He fosters the spirit of concord +and justice, in whose work there is as much glory to be reaped as +in the deeds of arms.</p> +<p>One of them disorganized by revolutionary changes, the other +rusted in the neglect of a decayed monarchy, the two fleets +opposed to us entered the contest with odds against them from the +first. By the merit of our daring and our faithfulness, and +the genius of a great leader, we have in the course of the war +augmented our advantage and kept it to the last. But in the +exulting illusion of irresistible might a long series of military +successes brings to a nation the less obvious aspect of such a +fortune may perchance be lost to view. The old navy in its +last days earned a fame that no belittling malevolence dare cavil +at. And this supreme favour they owe to their adversaries +alone.</p> +<p>Deprived by an ill-starred fortune of that self-confidence +which strengthens the hands of an armed host, impaired in skill +but not in courage, it may safely be said that our adversaries +managed yet to make a better fight of it in 1797 than they did in +1793. Later still, the resistance offered at the Nile was +all, and more than all, that could be demanded from seamen, who, +unless blind or without understanding, must have seen their doom +sealed from the moment that the <i>Goliath</i>, bearing up under +the bows of the <i>Guerrier</i>, took up an inshore berth. +The combined fleets of 1805, just come out of port, and attended +by nothing but the disturbing memories of reverses, presented to +our approach a determined front, on which Captain Blackwood, in a +knightly spirit, congratulated his Admiral. By the +exertions of their valour our adversaries have but added a +greater lustre to our arms. No friend could have done more, +for even in war, which severs for a time all the sentiments of +human fellowship, this subtle bond of association remains between +brave men—that the final testimony to the value of victory +must be received at the hands of the vanquished.</p> +<p>Those who from the heat of that battle sank together to their +repose in the cool depths of the ocean would not understand the +watchwords of our day, would gaze with amazed eyes at the engines +of our strife. All passes, all changes: the animosity of +peoples, the handling of fleets, the forms of ships; and even the +sea itself seems to wear a different and diminished aspect from +the sea of Lord Nelson’s day. In this ceaseless rush +of shadows and shades, that, like the fantastic forms of clouds +cast darkly upon the waters on a windy day, fly past us to fall +headlong below the hard edge of an implacable horizon, we must +turn to the national spirit, which, superior in its force and +continuity to good and evil fortune, can alone give us the +feeling of an enduring existence and of an invincible power +against the fates.</p> +<p>Like a subtle and mysterious elixir poured into the perishable +clay of successive generations, it grows in truth, splendour, and +potency with the march of ages. In its incorruptible flow +all round the globe of the earth it preserves from the decay and +forgetfulness of death the greatness of our great men, and +amongst them the passionate and gentle greatness of Nelson, the +nature of whose genius was, on the faith of a brave seaman and +distinguished Admiral, such as to “Exalt the glory of our +nation.”</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIRROR OF THE SEA***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1058-h.htm or 1058-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/5/1058 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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