diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/hmndr10.txt | 4271 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/hmndr10.zip | bin | 0 -> 76676 bytes |
2 files changed, 4271 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/hmndr10.txt b/old/hmndr10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..29b3e6a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/hmndr10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4271 @@ +*The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Human Drift, by Jack London* +#62-#69 in our series by Jack London + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +The Human Drift + +by Jack London + +March, 1999 [Etext #1669] + + +*The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Human Drift, by Jack London* +******This file should be named hmndr10.txt or hmndr10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, hmndr11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, hmndr10a.txt + + +This etext was prepared from the 1919 Mills and Boon edition +by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, +all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a +copyright notice is included. Therefore, we do NOT keep these books +in compliance with any particular paper edition, usually otherwise. + + +We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance +of the official release dates, for time for better editing. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an +up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes +in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has +a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a +look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a +new copy has at least one byte more or less. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-six text +files per month, or 432 more Etexts in 1999 for a total of 2000+ +If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the +total should reach over 200 billion Etexts given away this year. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only ~5% of the present number of computer users. + +At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third +of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 3,333 Etexts unless we +manage to get some real funding; currently our funding is mostly +from Michael Hart's salary at Carnegie-Mellon University, and an +assortment of sporadic gifts; this salary is only good for a few +more years, so we are looking for something to replace it, as we +don't want Project Gutenberg to be so dependent on one person. + +We need your donations more than ever! + + +All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/CMU": and are +tax deductible to the extent allowable by law. (CMU = Carnegie- +Mellon University). + +For these and other matters, please mail to: + +Project Gutenberg +P. O. Box 2782 +Champaign, IL 61825 + +When all other email fails try our Executive Director: +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +We would prefer to send you this information by email. + +****** + +To access Project Gutenberg etexts, use any Web browser +to view http://promo.net/pg. This site lists Etexts by +author and by title, and includes information about how +to get involved with Project Gutenberg. You could also +download our past Newsletters, or subscribe here. This +is one of our major sites, please email hart@pobox.com, +for a more complete list of our various sites. + +To go directly to the etext collections, use FTP or any +Web browser to visit a Project Gutenberg mirror (mirror +sites are available on 7 continents; mirrors are listed +at http://promo.net/pg). + +Mac users, do NOT point and click, typing works better. + +Example FTP session: + +ftp sunsite.unc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd pub/docs/books/gutenberg +cd etext90 through etext99 +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET GUTINDEX.?? [to get a year's listing of books, e.g., GUTINDEX.99] +GET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books] + +*** + +**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** + +(Three Pages) + + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- +tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor +Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at +Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project"). Among other +things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + net profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared from the 1919 Mills and Boon edition +by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +THE HUMAN DRIFT + +by Jack London + + + + +Contents: + + +The Human Drift +Small-Boat Sailing +Four Horses and a Sailor +Nothing that Ever Came to Anything +That Dead Men Rise up Never +A Classic of the Sea + A Wicked Woman (Curtain Raiser) + The Birth Mark (Sketch) + + + + +THE HUMAN DRIFT + + + +"The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd +Who rose before us, and as Prophets Burn'd, +Are all but stories, which, awoke from Sleep, +They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd." + + +The history of civilisation is a history of wandering, sword in +hand, in search of food. In the misty younger world we catch +glimpses of phantom races, rising, slaying, finding food, building +rude civilisations, decaying, falling under the swords of stronger +hands, and passing utterly away. Man, like any other animal, has +roved over the earth seeking what he might devour; and not romance +and adventure, but the hunger-need, has urged him on his vast +adventures. Whether a bankrupt gentleman sailing to colonise +Virginia or a lean Cantonese contracting to labour on the sugar +plantations of Hawaii, in each case, gentleman and coolie, it is a +desperate attempt to get something to eat, to get more to eat than +he can get at home. + +It has always been so, from the time of the first pre-human +anthropoid crossing a mountain-divide in quest of better berry- +bushes beyond, down to the latest Slovak, arriving on our shores +to-day, to go to work in the coal-mines of Pennsylvania. These +migratory movements of peoples have been called drifts, and the +word is apposite. Unplanned, blind, automatic, spurred on by the +pain of hunger, man has literally drifted his way around the +planet. There have been drifts in the past, innumerable and +forgotten, and so remote that no records have been left, or +composed of such low-typed humans or pre-humans that they made no +scratchings on stone or bone and left no monuments to show that +they had been. + +These early drifts we conjecture and know must have occurred, just +as we know that the first upright-walking brutes were descended +from some kin of the quadrumana through having developed "a pair +of great toes out of two opposable thumbs." Dominated by fear, +and by their very fear accelerating their development, these early +ancestors of ours, suffering hunger-pangs very like the ones we +experience to-day, drifted on, hunting and being hunted, eating +and being eaten, wandering through thousand-year-long odysseys of +screaming primordial savagery, until they left their skeletons in +glacial gravels, some of them, and their bone-scratchings in cave- +men's lairs. + +There have been drifts from east to west and west to east, from +north to south and back again, drifts that have criss-crossed one +another, and drifts colliding and recoiling and caroming off in +new directions. From Central Europe the Aryans have drifted into +Asia, and from Central Asia the Turanians have drifted across +Europe. Asia has thrown forth great waves of hungry humans from +the prehistoric "round-barrow" "broad-heads" who overran Europe +and penetrated to Scandinavia and England, down through the hordes +of Attila and Tamerlane, to the present immigration of Chinese and +Japanese that threatens America. The Phoenicians and the Greeks, +with unremembered drifts behind them, colonised the Mediterranean. +Rome was engulfed in the torrent of Germanic tribes drifting down +from the north before a flood of drifting Asiatics. The Angles, +Saxons, and Jutes, after having drifted whence no man knows, +poured into Britain, and the English have carried this drift on +around the world. Retreating before stronger breeds, hungry and +voracious, the Eskimo has drifted to the inhospitable polar +regions, the Pigmy to the fever-rotten jungles of Africa. And in +this day the drift of the races continues, whether it be of +Chinese into the Philippines and the Malay Peninsula, of Europeans +to the United States or of Americans to the wheat-lands of +Manitoba and the Northwest. + +Perhaps most amazing has been the South Sea Drift. Blind, +fortuitous, precarious as no other drift has been, nevertheless +the islands in that waste of ocean have received drift after drift +of the races. Down from the mainland of Asia poured an Aryan +drift that built civilisations in Ceylon, Java, and Sumatra. Only +the monuments of these Aryans remain. They themselves have +perished utterly, though not until after leaving evidences of +their drift clear across the great South Pacific to far Easter +Island. And on that drift they encountered races who had +accomplished the drift before them, and they, the Aryans, passed, +in turn, before the drift of other and subsequent races whom we +to-day call the Polynesian and the Melanesian. + +Man early discovered death. As soon as his evolution permitted, +he made himself better devices for killing than the old natural +ones of fang and claw. He devoted himself to the invention of +killing devices before he discovered fire or manufactured for +himself religion. And to this day, his finest creative energy and +technical skill are devoted to the same old task of making better +and ever better killing weapons. All his days, down all the past, +have been spent in killing. And from the fear-stricken, jungle- +lurking, cave-haunting creature of long ago, he won to empery over +the whole animal world because he developed into the most terrible +and awful killer of all the animals. He found himself crowded. +He killed to make room, and as he made room ever he increased and +found himself crowded, and ever he went on killing to make more +room. Like a settler clearing land of its weeds and forest bushes +in order to plant corn, so man was compelled to clear all manner +of life away in order to plant himself. And, sword in hand, he +has literally hewn his way through the vast masses of life that +occupied the earth space he coveted for himself. And ever he has +carried the battle wider and wider, until to-day not only is he a +far more capable killer of men and animals than ever before, but +he has pressed the battle home to the infinite and invisible hosts +of menacing lives in the world of micro-organisms. + +It is true, that they that rose by the sword perished by the +sword. And yet, not only did they not all perish, but more rose +by the sword than perished by it, else man would not to-day be +over-running the world in such huge swarms. Also, it must not be +forgotten that they who did not rise by the sword did not rise at +all. They were not. In view of this, there is something wrong +with Doctor Jordan's war-theory, which is to the effect that the +best being sent out to war, only the second best, the men who are +left, remain to breed a second-best race, and that, therefore, the +human race deteriorates under war. If this be so, if we have sent +forth the best we bred and gone on breeding from the men who were +left, and since we have done this for ten thousand millenniums and +are what we splendidly are to-day, then what unthinkably splendid +and god-like beings must have been our forebears those ten +thousand millenniums ago! Unfortunately for Doctor Jordan's +theory, those ancient forebears cannot live up to this fine +reputation. We know them for what they were, and before the +monkey cage of any menagerie we catch truer glimpses and hints and +resemblances of what our ancestors really were long and long ago. +And by killing, incessant killing, by making a shambles of the +planet, those ape-like creatures have developed even into you and +me. As Henley has said in "The Song of the Sword": + + +"The Sword Singing - + +Driving the darkness, +Even as the banners +And spear of the Morning; +Sifting the nations, +The Slag from the metal, +The waste and the weak +From the fit and the strong; +Fighting the brute, +The abysmal Fecundity; +Checking the gross +Multitudinous blunders, +The groping, the purblind +Excesses in service +Of the Womb universal, +The absolute drudge." + + +As time passed and man increased, he drifted ever farther afield +in search of room. He encountered other drifts of men, and the +killing of men became prodigious. The weak and the decadent fell +under the sword. Nations that faltered, that waxed prosperous in +fat valleys and rich river deltas, were swept away by the drifts +of stronger men who were nourished on the hardships of deserts and +mountains and who were more capable with the sword. Unknown and +unnumbered billions of men have been so destroyed in prehistoric +times. Draper says that in the twenty years of the Gothic war, +Italy lost 15,000,000 of her population; "and that the wars, +famines, and pestilences of the reign of Justinian diminished the +human species by the almost incredible number of 100,000,000." +Germany, in the Thirty Years' War, lost 6,000,000 inhabitants. +The record of our own American Civil War need scarcely be +recalled. + +And man has been destroyed in other ways than by the sword. +Flood, famine, pestilence and murder are potent factors in +reducing population--in making room. As Mr. Charles Woodruff, in +his "Expansion of Races," has instanced: In 1886, when the dikes +of the Yellow River burst, 7,000,000 people were drowned. The +failure of crops in Ireland, in 1848, caused 1,000,000 deaths. +The famines in India of 1896-7 and 1899-1900 lessened the +population by 21,000,000. The T'ai'ping rebellion and the +Mohammedan rebellion, combined with the famine of 1877-78, +destroyed scores of millions of Chinese. Europe has been swept +repeatedly by great plagues. In India, for the period of 1903 to +1907, the plague deaths averaged between one and two millions a +year. Mr. Woodruff is responsible for the assertion that +10,000,000 persons now living in the United States are doomed to +die of tuberculosis. And in this same country ten thousand +persons a year are directly murdered. In China, between three and +six millions of infants are annually destroyed, while the total +infanticide record of the whole world is appalling. In Africa, +now, human beings are dying by millions of the sleeping sickness. + +More destructive of life than war, is industry. In all civilised +countries great masses of people are crowded into slums and +labour-ghettos, where disease festers, vice corrodes, and famine +is chronic, and where they die more swiftly and in greater numbers +than do the soldiers in our modern wars. The very infant +mortality of a slum parish in the East End of London is three +times that of a middle-class parish in the West End. In the +United States, in the last fourteen years, a total of coal-miners, +greater than our entire standing army, has been killed and +injured. The United States Bureau of Labour states that during +the year 1908, there were between 30,000 and 35,000 deaths of +workers by accidents, while 200,000 more were injured. In fact, +the safest place for a working-man is in the army. And even if +that army be at the front, fighting in Cuba or South Africa, the +soldier in the ranks has a better chance for life than the +working-man at home. + +And yet, despite this terrible roll of death, despite the enormous +killing of the past and the enormous killing of the present, there +are to-day alive on the planet a billion and three quarters of +human beings. Our immediate conclusion is that man is exceedingly +fecund and very tough. Never before have there been so many +people in the world. In the past centuries the world's population +has been smaller; in the future centuries it is destined to be +larger. And this brings us to that old bugbear that has been so +frequently laughed away and that still persists in raising its +grisly head--namely, the doctrine of Malthus. While man's +increasing efficiency of food-production, combined with +colonisation of whole virgin continents, has for generations given +the apparent lie to Malthus' mathematical statement of the Law of +Population, nevertheless the essential significance of his +doctrine remains and cannot be challenged. Population DOES press +against subsistence. And no matter how rapidly subsistence +increases, population is certain to catch up with it. + +When man was in the hunting stage of development, wide areas were +necessary for the maintenance of scant populations. With the +shepherd stages, the means of subsistence being increased, a +larger population was supported on the same territory. The +agricultural stage gave support to a still larger population; and, +to-day, with the increased food-getting efficiency of a machine +civilisation, an even larger population is made possible. Nor is +this theoretical. The population is here, a billion and three +quarters of men, women, and children, and this vast population is +increasing on itself by leaps and bounds. + +A heavy European drift to the New World has gone on and is going +on; yet Europe, whose population a century ago was 170,000,000, +has to-day 500,000,000. At this rate of increase, provided that +subsistence is not overtaken, a century from now the population of +Europe will be 1,500,000,000. And be it noted of the present rate +of increase in the United States that only one-third is due to +immigration, while two-thirds is due to excess of births over +deaths. And at this present rate of increase, the population of +the United States will be 500,000,000 in less than a century from +now. + +Man, the hungry one, the killer, has always suffered for lack of +room. The world has been chronically overcrowded. Belgium with +her 572 persons to the square mile is no more crowded than was +Denmark when it supported only 500 palaeolithic people. According +to Mr. Woodruff, cultivated land will produce 1600 times as much +food as hunting land. From the time of the Norman Conquest, for +centuries Europe could support no more than 25 to the square mile. +To-day Europe supports 81 to the square mile. The explanation of +this is that for the several centuries after the Norman Conquest +her population was saturated. Then, with the development of +trading and capitalism, of exploration and exploitation of new +lands, and with the invention of labour-saving machinery and the +discovery and application of scientific principles, was brought +about a tremendous increase in Europe's food-getting efficiency. +And immediately her population sprang up. + +According to the census of Ireland, of 1659, that country had a +population of 500,000. One hundred and fifty years later, her +population was 8,000,000. For many centuries the population of +Japan was stationary. There seemed no way of increasing her food- +getting efficiency. Then, sixty years ago, came Commodore Perry, +knocking down her doors and letting in the knowledge and machinery +of the superior food-getting efficiency of the Western world. +Immediately upon this rise in subsistence began the rise of +population; and it is only the other day that Japan, finding her +population once again pressing against subsistence, embarked, +sword in hand, on a westward drift in search of more room. And, +sword in hand, killing and being killed, she has carved out for +herself Formosa and Korea, and driven the vanguard of her drift +far into the rich interior of Manchuria. + +For an immense period of time China's population has remained at +400,000,000--the saturation point. The only reason that the +Yellow River periodically drowns millions of Chinese is that there +is no other land for those millions to farm. And after every such +catastrophe the wave of human life rolls up and now millions flood +out upon that precarious territory. They are driven to it, +because they are pressed remorselessly against subsistence. It is +inevitable that China, sooner or later, like Japan, will learn and +put into application our own superior food-getting efficiency. +And when that time comes, it is likewise inevitable that her +population will increase by unguessed millions until it again +reaches the saturation point. And then, inoculated with Western +ideas, may she not, like Japan, take sword in hand and start forth +colossally on a drift of her own for more room? This is another +reputed bogie--the Yellow Peril; yet the men of China are only +men, like any other race of men, and all men, down all history, +have drifted hungrily, here, there and everywhere over the planet, +seeking for something to eat. What other men do, may not the +Chinese do? + +But a change has long been coming in the affairs of man. The more +recent drifts of the stronger races, carving their way through the +lesser breeds to more earth-space, has led to peace, ever to wider +and more lasting peace. The lesser breeds, under penalty of being +killed, have been compelled to lay down their weapons and cease +killing among themselves. The scalp-talking Indian and the head- +hunting Melanesian have been either destroyed or converted to a +belief in the superior efficacy of civil suits and criminal +prosecutions. The planet is being subdued. The wild and the +hurtful are either tamed or eliminated. From the beasts of prey +and the cannibal humans down to the death-dealing microbes, no +quarter is given; and daily, wider and wider areas of hostile +territory, whether of a warring desert-tribe in Africa or a +pestilential fever-hole like Panama, are made peaceable and +habitable for mankind. As for the great mass of stay-at-home +folk, what percentage of the present generation in the United +States, England, or Germany, has seen war or knows anything of war +at first hand? There was never so much peace in the world as +there is to-day. + +War itself, the old red anarch, is passing. It is safer to be a +soldier than a working-man. The chance for life is greater in an +active campaign than in a factory or a coal-mine. In the matter +of killing, war is growing impotent, and this in face of the fact +that the machinery of war was never so expensive in the past nor +so dreadful. War-equipment to-day, in time of peace, is more +expensive than of old in time of war. A standing army costs more +to maintain than it used to cost to conquer an empire. It is more +expensive to be ready to kill, than it used to be to do the +killing. The price of a Dreadnought would furnish the whole army +of Xerxes with killing weapons. And, in spite of its magnificent +equipment, war no longer kills as it used to when its methods were +simpler. A bombardment by a modern fleet has been known to result +in the killing of one mule. The casualties of a twentieth century +war between two world-powers are such as to make a worker in an +iron-foundry turn green with envy. War has become a joke. Men +have made for themselves monsters of battle which they cannot face +in battle. Subsistence is generous these days, life is not cheap, +and it is not in the nature of flesh and blood to indulge in the +carnage made possible by present-day machinery. This is not +theoretical, as will be shown by a comparison of deaths in battle +and men involved, in the South African War and the Spanish- +American War on the one hand, and the Civil War or the Napoleonic +Wars on the other. + +Not only has war, by its own evolution, rendered itself futile, +but man himself, with greater wisdom and higher ethics, is opposed +to war. He has learned too much. War is repugnant to his common +sense. He conceives it to be wrong, to be absurd, and to be very +expensive. For the damage wrought and the results accomplished, +it is not worth the price. Just as in the disputes of individuals +the arbitration of a civil court instead of a blood feud is more +practical, so, man decides, is arbitration more practical in the +disputes of nations. + +War is passing, disease is being conquered, and man's food-getting +efficiency is increasing. It is because of these factors that +there are a billion and three quarters of people alive to-day +instead of a billion, or three-quarters of a billion. And it is +because of these factors that the world's population will very +soon be two billions and climbing rapidly toward three billions. +The lifetime of the generation is increasing steadily. Men live +longer these days. Life is not so precarious. The newborn infant +has a greater chance for survival than at any time in the past. +Surgery and sanitation reduce the fatalities that accompany the +mischances of life and the ravages of disease. Men and women, +with deficiencies and weaknesses that in the past would have +effected their rapid extinction, live to-day and father and mother +a numerous progeny. And high as the food-getting efficiency may +soar, population is bound to soar after it. "The abysmal +fecundity" of life has not altered. Given the food, and life will +increase. A small percentage of the billion and three-quarters +that live to-day may hush the clamour of life to be born, but it +is only a small percentage. In this particular, the life in the +man-animal is very like the life in the other animals. + +And still another change is coming in human affairs. Though +politicians gnash their teeth and cry anathema, and man, whose +superficial book-learning is vitiated by crystallised prejudice, +assures us that civilisation will go to smash, the trend of +society, to-day, the world over, is toward socialism. The old +individualism is passing. The state interferes more and more in +affairs that hitherto have been considered sacredly private. And +socialism, when the last word is said, is merely a new economic +and political system whereby more men can get food to eat. In +short, socialism is an improved food-getting efficiency. + +Furthermore, not only will socialism get food more easily and in +greater quantity, but it will achieve a more equitable +distribution of that food. Socialism promises, for a time, to +give all men, women, and children all they want to eat, and to +enable them to eat all they want as often as they want. +Subsistence will be pushed back, temporarily, an exceedingly long +way. In consequence, the flood of life will rise like a tidal +wave. There will be more marriages and more children born. The +enforced sterility that obtains to-day for many millions, will no +longer obtain. Nor will the fecund millions in the slums and +labour-ghettos, who to-day die of all the ills due to chronic +underfeeding and overcrowding, and who die with their fecundity +largely unrealised, die in that future day when the increased +food-getting efficiency of socialism will give them all they want +to eat. + +It is undeniable that population will increase prodigiously-just +as it has increased prodigiously during the last few centuries, +following upon the increase in food-getting efficiency. The +magnitude of population in that future day is well nigh +unthinkable. But there is only so much land and water on the +surface of the earth. Man, despite his marvellous +accomplishments, will never be able to increase the diameter of +the planet. The old days of virgin continents will be gone. The +habitable planet, from ice-cap to ice-cap, will be inhabited. And +in the matter of food-getting, as in everything else, man is only +finite. Undreamed-of efficiencies in food-getting may be +achieved, but, soon or late, man will find himself face to face +with Malthus' grim law. Not only will population catch up with +subsistence, but it will press against subsistence, and the +pressure will be pitiless and savage. Somewhere in the future is +a date when man will face, consciously, the bitter fact that there +is not food enough for all of him to eat. + +When this day comes, what then? Will there be a recrudescence of +old obsolete war? In a saturated population life is always cheap, +as it is cheap in China, in India, to-day. Will new human drifts +take place, questing for room, carving earth-space out of crowded +life. Will the Sword again sing: + + +"Follow, O follow, then, +Heroes, my harvesters! +Where the tall grain is ripe +Thrust in your sickles! +Stripped and adust +In a stubble of empire +Scything and binding +The full sheaves of sovereignty." + + +Even if, as of old, man should wander hungrily, sword in hand, +slaying and being slain, the relief would be only temporary. Even +if one race alone should hew down the last survivor of all the +other races, that one race, drifting the world around, would +saturate the planet with its own life and again press against +subsistence. And in that day, the death rate and the birth rate +will have to balance. Men will have to die, or be prevented from +being born. Undoubtedly a higher quality of life will obtain, and +also a slowly decreasing fecundity. But this decrease will be so +slow that the pressure against subsistence will remain. The +control of progeny will be one of the most important problems of +man and one of the most important functions of the state. Men +will simply be not permitted to be born. + +Disease, from time to time, will ease the pressure. Diseases are +parasites, and it must not be forgotten that just as there are +drifts in the world of man, so are there drifts in the world of +micro-organisms--hunger-quests for food. Little is known of the +micro-organic world, but that little is appalling; and no census +of it will ever be taken, for there is the true, literal "abysmal +fecundity." Multitudinous as man is, all his totality of +individuals is as nothing in comparison with the inconceivable +vastness of numbers of the micro-organisms. In your body, or in +mine, right now, are swarming more individual entities than there +are human beings in the world to-day. It is to us an invisible +world. We only guess its nearest confines. With our powerful +microscopes and ultramicroscopes, enlarging diameters twenty +thousand times, we catch but the slightest glimpses of that +profundity of infinitesimal life. + +Little is known of that world, save in a general way. We know +that out of it arise diseases, new to us, that afflict and destroy +man. We do not know whether these diseases are merely the drifts, +in a fresh direction, of already-existing breeds of micro- +organisms, or whether they are new, absolutely new, breeds +themselves just spontaneously generated. The latter hypothesis is +tenable, for we theorise that if spontaneous generation still +occurs on the earth, it is far more likely to occur in the form of +simple organisms than of complicated organisms. + +Another thing we know, and that is that it is in crowded +populations that new diseases arise. They have done so in the +past. They do so to-day. And no matter how wise are our +physicians and bacteriologists, no matter how successfully they +cope with these invaders, new invaders continue to arise--new +drifts of hungry life seeking to devour us. And so we are +justified in believing that in the saturated populations of the +future, when life is suffocating in the pressure against +subsistence, that new, and ever new, hosts of destroying micro- +organisms will continue to arise and fling themselves upon earth- +crowded man to give him room. There may even be plagues of +unprecedented ferocity that will depopulate great areas before the +wit of man can overcome them. And this we know: that no matter +how often these invisible hosts may be overcome by man's becoming +immune to them through a cruel and terrible selection, new hosts +will ever arise of these micro-organisms that were in the world +before he came and that will be here after he is gone. + +After he is gone? Will he then some day be gone, and this planet +know him no more? Is it thither that the human drift in all its +totality is trending? God Himself is silent on this point, though +some of His prophets have given us vivid representations of that +last day when the earth shall pass into nothingness. Nor does +science, despite its radium speculations and its attempted +analyses of the ultimate nature of matter, give us any other word +than that man will pass. So far as man's knowledge goes, law is +universal. Elements react under certain unchangeable conditions. +One of these conditions is temperature. Whether it be in the test +tube of the laboratory or the workshop of nature, all organic +chemical reactions take place only within a restricted range of +heat. Man, the latest of the ephemera, is pitifully a creature of +temperature, strutting his brief day on the thermometer. Behind +him is a past wherein it was too warm for him to exist. Ahead of +him is a future wherein it will be too cold for him to exist. He +cannot adjust himself to that future, because he cannot alter +universal law, because he cannot alter his own construction nor +the molecules that compose him. + +It would be well to ponder these lines of Herbert Spencer's which +follow, and which embody, possibly, the wildest vision the +scientific mind has ever achieved: + + +"Motion as well as Matter being fixed in quantity, it would seem +that the change in the distribution of Matter which Motion +effects, coming to a limit in whichever direction it is carried, +the indestructible Motion thereupon necessitates a reverse +distribution. Apparently, the universally-co-existent forces of +attraction and repulsion, which, as we have seen, necessitate +rhythm in all minor changes throughout the Universe, also +necessitate rhythm in the totality of its changes--produce now an +immeasurable period during which the attractive forces +predominating, cause universal concentration, and then an +immeasurable period during which the repulsive forces +predominating, cause universal diffusion--alternate eras of +Evolution and Dissolution. AND THUS THERE IS SUGGESTED THE +CONCEPTION OF A PAST DURING WHICH THERE HAVE BEEN SUCCESSIVE +EVOLUTIONS ANALOGOUS TO THAT WHICH IS NOW GOING ON; A FUTURE +DURING WHICH SUCCESSIVE OTHER EVOLUTIONS MAY GO ON--EVER THE SAME +IN PRINCIPLE BUT NEVER THE SAME IN CONCRETE RESULT." + + +That is it--the most we know--alternate eras of evolution and +dissolution. In the past there have been other evolutions similar +to that one in which we live, and in the future there may be other +similar evolutions--that is all. The principle of all these +evolutions remains, but the concrete results are never twice +alike. Man was not; he was; and again he will not be. In +eternity which is beyond our comprehension, the particular +evolution of that solar satellite we call the "Earth" occupied but +a slight fraction of time. And of that fraction of time man +occupies but a small portion. All the whole human drift, from the +first ape-man to the last savant, is but a phantom, a flash of +light and a flutter of movement across the infinite face of the +starry night. + +When the thermometer drops, man ceases--with all his lusts and +wrestlings and achievements; with all his race-adventures and +race-tragedies; and with all his red killings, billions upon +billions of human lives multiplied by as many billions more. This +is the last word of Science, unless there be some further, +unguessed word which Science will some day find and utter. In the +meantime it sees no farther than the starry void, where the +"fleeting systems lapse like foam." Of what ledger-account is the +tiny life of man in a vastness where stars snuff out like candles +and great suns blaze for a time-tick of eternity and are gone? + +And for us who live, no worse can happen than has happened to the +earliest drifts of man, marked to-day by ruined cities of +forgotten civilisation--ruined cities, which, on excavation, are +found to rest on ruins of earlier cities, city upon city, and +fourteen cities, down to a stratum where, still earlier, wandering +herdsmen drove their flocks, and where, even preceding them, wild +hunters chased their prey long after the cave-man and the man of +the squatting-place cracked the knuckle-bones of wild animals and +vanished from the earth. There is nothing terrible about it. +With Richard Hovey, when he faced his death, we can say: "Behold! +I have lived!" And with another and greater one, we can lay +ourselves down with a will. The one drop of living, the one taste +of being, has been good; and perhaps our greatest achievement will +be that we dreamed immortality, even though we failed to realise +it. + + + +SMALL-BOAT SAILING + + + +A sailor is born, not made. And by "sailor" is meant, not the +average efficient and hopeless creature who is found to-day in the +forecastle of deepwater ships, but the man who will take a fabric +compounded of wood and iron and rope and canvas and compel it to +obey his will on the surface of the sea. Barring captains and +mates of big ships, the small-boat sailor is the real sailor. He +knows--he must know--how to make the wind carry his craft from one +given point to another given point. He must know about tides and +rips and eddies, bar and channel markings, and day and night +signals; he must be wise in weather-lore; and he must be +sympathetically familiar with the peculiar qualities of his boat +which differentiate it from every other boat that was ever built +and rigged. He must know how to gentle her about, as one instance +of a myriad, and to fill her on the other tack without deadening +her way or allowing her to fall off too far. + +The deepwater sailor of to-day needs know none of these things. +And he doesn't. He pulls and hauls as he is ordered, swabs decks, +washes paint, and chips iron-rust. He knows nothing, and cares +less. Put him in a small boat and he is helpless. He will cut an +even better figure on the hurricane deck of a horse. + +I shall never forget my child-astonishment when I first +encountered one of these strange beings. He was a runaway English +sailor. I was a lad of twelve, with a decked-over, fourteen-foot, +centre-board skiff which I had taught myself to sail. I sat at +his feet as at the feet of a god, while he discoursed of strange +lands and peoples, deeds of violence, and hair-raising gales at +sea. Then, one day, I took him for a sail. With all the +trepidation of the veriest little amateur, I hoisted sail and got +under way. Here was a man, looking on critically, I was sure, who +knew more in one second about boats and the water than I could +ever know. After an interval, in which I exceeded myself, he took +the tiller and the sheet. I sat on the little thwart amidships, +open-mouthed, prepared to learn what real sailing was. My mouth +remained open, for I learned what a real sailor was in a small +boat. He couldn't trim the sheet to save himself, he nearly +capsized several times in squalls, and, once again, by +blunderingly jibing over; he didn't know what a centre-board was +for, nor did he know that in running a boat before the wind one +must sit in the middle instead of on the side; and finally, when +we came back to the wharf, he ran the skiff in full tilt, +shattering her nose and carrying away the mast-step. And yet he +was a really truly sailor fresh from the vasty deep. + +Which points my moral. A man can sail in the forecastles of big +ships all his life and never know what real sailing is. From the +time I was twelve, I listened to the lure of the sea. When I was +fifteen I was captain and owner of an oyster-pirate sloop. By the +time I was sixteen I was sailing in scow-schooners, fishing salmon +with the Greeks up the Sacramento River, and serving as sailor on +the Fish Patrol. And I was a good sailor, too, though all my +cruising had been on San Francisco Bay and the rivers tributary to +it. I had never been on the ocean in my life. + +Then, the month I was seventeen, I signed before the mast as an +able seaman on a three-top-mast schooner bound on a seven-months' +cruise across the Pacific and back again. As my shipmates +promptly informed me, I had had my nerve with me to sign on as +able seaman. Yet behold, I WAS an able seaman. I had graduated +from the right school. It took no more than minutes to learn the +names and uses of the few new ropes. It was simple. I did not do +things blindly. As a small-boat sailor I had learned to reason +out and know the WHY of everything. It is true, I had to learn +how to steer by compass, which took maybe half a minute; but when +it came to steering "full-and-by" and "close-and-by," I could beat +the average of my shipmates, because that was the very way I had +always sailed. Inside fifteen minutes I could box the compass +around and back again. And there was little else to learn during +that seven-months' cruise, except fancy rope-sailorising, such as +the more complicated lanyard knots and the making of various kinds +of sennit and rope-mats. The point of all of which is that it is +by means of small-boat sailing that the real sailor is best +schooled. + +And if a man is a born sailor, and has gone to the school of the +sea, never in all his life can he get away from the sea again. +The salt of it is in his bones as well as his nostrils, and the +sea will call to him until he dies. Of late years, I have found +easier ways of earning a living. I have quit the forecastle for +keeps, but always I come back to the sea. In my case it is +usually San Francisco Bay, than which no lustier, tougher, sheet +of water can be found for small-boat sailing. + +It really blows on San Francisco Bay. During the winter, which is +the best cruising season, we have southeasters, southwesters, and +occasional howling northers. Throughout the summer we have what +we call the "sea-breeze," an unfailing wind off the Pacific that +on most afternoons in the week blows what the Atlantic Coast +yachtsmen would name a gale. They are always surprised by the +small spread of canvas our yachts carry. Some of them, with +schooners they have sailed around the Horn, have looked proudly at +their own lofty sticks and huge spreads, then patronisingly and +even pityingly at ours. Then, perchance, they have joined in a +club cruise from San Francisco to Mare Island. They found the +morning run up the Bay delightful. In the afternoon, when the +brave west wind ramped across San Pablo Bay and they faced it on +the long beat home, things were somewhat different. One by one, +like a flight of swallows, our more meagrely sparred and canvassed +yachts went by, leaving them wallowing and dead and shortening +down in what they called a gale but which we called a dandy +sailing breeze. The next time they came out, we would notice +their sticks cut down, their booms shortened, and their after- +leeches nearer the luffs by whole cloths. + +As for excitement, there is all the difference in the world +between a ship in trouble at sea, and a small boat in trouble on +land-locked water. Yet for genuine excitement and thrill, give me +the small boat. Things happen so quickly, and there are always so +few to do the work--and hard work, too, as the small-boat sailor +knows. I have toiled all night, both watches on deck, in a +typhoon off the coast of Japan, and been less exhausted than by +two hours' work at reefing down a thirty-foot sloop and heaving up +two anchors on a lee shore in a screaming south-easter. + +Hard work and excitement? Let the wind baffle and drop in a heavy +tide-way just as you are sailing your little sloop through a +narrow draw-bridge. Behold your sails, upon which you are +depending, flap with sudden emptiness, and then see the impish +wind, with a haul of eight points, fill your jib aback with a +gusty puff. Around she goes, and sweeps, not through the open +draw, but broadside on against the solid piles. Hear the roar of +the tide, sucking through the trestle. And hear and see your +pretty, fresh-painted boat crash against the piles. Feel her +stout little hull give to the impact. See the rail actually pinch +in. Hear your canvas tearing, and see the black, square-ended +timbers thrusting holes through it. Smash! There goes your +topmast stay, and the topmast reels over drunkenly above you. +There is a ripping and crunching. If it continues, your starboard +shrouds will be torn out. Grab a rope--any rope--and take a turn +around a pile. But the free end of the rope is too short. You +can't make it fast, and you hold on and wildly yell for your one +companion to get a turn with another and longer rope. Hold on! +You hold on till you are purple in the face, till it seems your +arms are dragging out of their sockets, till the blood bursts from +the ends of your fingers. But you hold, and your partner gets the +longer rope and makes it fast. You straighten up and look at your +hands. They are ruined. You can scarcely relax the crooks of the +fingers. The pain is sickening. But there is no time. The +skiff, which is always perverse, is pounding against the barnacles +on the piles which threaten to scrape its gunwale off. It's drop +the peak! Down jib! Then you run lines, and pull and haul and +heave, and exchange unpleasant remarks with the bridge-tender who +is always willing to meet you more than half way in such repartee. +And finally, at the end of an hour, with aching back, sweat-soaked +shirt, and slaughtered hands, you are through and swinging along +on the placid, beneficent tide between narrow banks where the +cattle stand knee-deep and gaze wonderingly at you. Excitement! +Work! Can you beat it in a calm day on the deep sea? + +I've tried it both ways. I remember labouring in a fourteen days' +gale off the coast of New Zealand. We were a tramp collier, rusty +and battered, with six thousand tons of coal in our hold. Life +lines were stretched fore and aft; and on our weather side, +attached to smokestack guys and rigging, were huge rope-nettings, +hung there for the purpose of breaking the force of the seas and +so saving our mess-room doors. But the doors were smashed and the +mess-rooms washed out just the same. And yet, out of it all, +arose but the one feeling, namely, of monotony. + +In contrast with the foregoing, about the liveliest eight days of +my life were spent in a small boat on the west coast of Korea. +Never mind why I was thus voyaging up the Yellow Sea during the +month of February in below-zero weather. The point is that I was +in an open boat, a sampan, on a rocky coast where there were no +light-houses and where the tides ran from thirty to sixty feet. +My crew were Japanese fishermen. We did not speak each other's +language. Yet there was nothing monotonous about that trip. +Never shall I forget one particular cold bitter dawn, when, in the +thick of driving snow, we took in sail and dropped our small +anchor. The wind was howling out of the northwest, and we were on +a lee shore. Ahead and astern, all escape was cut off by rocky +headlands, against whose bases burst the unbroken seas. To +windward a short distance, seen only between the snow-squalls, was +a low rocky reef. It was this that inadequately protected us from +the whole Yellow Sea that thundered in upon us. + +The Japanese crawled under a communal rice mat and went to sleep. +I joined them, and for several hours we dozed fitfully. Then a +sea deluged us out with icy water, and we found several inches of +snow on top the mat. The reef to windward was disappearing under +the rising tide, and moment by moment the seas broke more strongly +over the rocks. The fishermen studied the shore anxiously. So +did I, and with a sailor's eye, though I could see little chance +for a swimmer to gain that surf-hammered line of rocks. I made +signs toward the headlands on either flank. The Japanese shook +their heads. I indicated that dreadful lee shore. Still they +shook their heads and did nothing. My conclusion was that they +were paralysed by the hopelessness of the situation. Yet our +extremity increased with every minute, for the rising tide was +robbing us of the reef that served as buffer. It soon became a +case of swamping at our anchor. Seas were splashing on board in +growing volume, and we baled constantly. And still my fishermen +crew eyed the surf-battered shore and did nothing. + +At last, after many narrow escapes from complete swamping, the +fishermen got into action. All hands tailed on to the anchor and +hove it up. For'ard, as the boat's head paid off, we set a patch +of sail about the size of a flour-sack. And we headed straight +for shore. I unlaced my shoes, unbottoned my great-coat and coat, +and was ready to make a quick partial strip a minute or so before +we struck. But we didn't strike, and, as we rushed in, I saw the +beauty of the situation. Before us opened a narrow channel, +frilled at its mouth with breaking seas. Yet, long before, when I +had scanned the shore closely, there had been no such channel. I +HAD FORGOTTEN THE THIRTY-FOOT TIDE. And it was for this tide that +the Japanese had so precariously waited. We ran the frill of +breakers, curved into a tiny sheltered bay where the water was +scarcely flawed by the gale, and landed on a beach where the salt +sea of the last tide lay frozen in long curving lines. And this +was one gale of three in the course of those eight days in the +sampan. Would it have been beaten on a ship? I fear me the ship +would have gone aground on the outlying reef and that its people +would have been incontinently and monotonously drowned. + +There are enough surprises and mishaps in a three-days' cruise in +a small boat to supply a great ship on the ocean for a full year. +I remember, once, taking out on her trial trip a little thirty- +footer I had just bought. In six days we had two stiff blows, +and, in addition, one proper southwester and one ripsnorting +southeaster. The slight intervals between these blows were dead +calms. Also, in the six days, we were aground three times. Then, +too, we tied up to the bank in the Sacramento River, and, +grounding by an accident on the steep slope on a falling tide, +nearly turned a side somersault down the bank. In a stark calm +and heavy tide in the Carquinez Straits, where anchors skate on +the channel-scoured bottom, we were sucked against a big dock and +smashed and bumped down a quarter of a mile of its length before +we could get clear. Two hours afterward, on San Pablo Bay, the +wind was piping up and we were reefing down. It is no fun to pick +up a skiff adrift in a heavy sea and gale. That was our next +task, for our skiff, swamping, parted both towing painters we had +bent on. Before we recovered it we had nearly killed ourselves +with exhaustion, and we certainly had strained the sloop in every +part from keelson to truck. And to cap it all, coming into our +home port, beating up the narrowest part of the San Antonio +Estuary, we had a shave of inches from collision with a big ship +in tow of a tug. I have sailed the ocean in far larger craft a +year at a time, in which period occurred no such chapter of moving +incident. + +After all, the mishaps are almost the best part of small-boat +sailing. Looking back, they prove to be punctuations of joy. At +the time they try your mettle and your vocabulary, and may make +you so pessimistic as to believe that God has a grudge against +you--but afterward, ah, afterward, with what pleasure you remember +them and with what gusto do you relate them to your brother +skippers in the fellowhood of small-boat sailing! + +A narrow, winding slough; a half tide, exposing mud surfaced with +gangrenous slime; the water itself filthy and discoloured by the +waste from the vats of a near-by tannery; the marsh grass on +either side mottled with all the shades of a decaying orchid; a +crazy, ramshackled, ancient wharf; and at the end of the wharf a +small, white-painted sloop. Nothing romantic about it. No hint +of adventure. A splendid pictorial argument against the alleged +joys of small-boat sailing. Possibly that is what Cloudesley and +I thought, that sombre, leaden morning as we turned out to cook +breakfast and wash decks. The latter was my stunt, but one look +at the dirty water overside and another at my fresh-painted deck, +deterred me. After breakfast, we started a game of chess. The +tide continued to fall, and we felt the sloop begin to list. We +played on until the chess men began to fall over. The list +increased, and we went on deck. Bow-line and stern-line were +drawn taut. As we looked the boat listed still farther with an +abrupt jerk. The lines were now very taut. + +"As soon as her belly touches the bottom she will stop," I said. + +Cloudesley sounded with a boat-hook along the outside. + +"Seven feet of water," he announced. "The bank is almost up and +down. The first thing that touches will be her mast when she +turns bottom up." + +An ominous, minute snapping noise came from the stern-line. Even +as we looked, we saw a strand fray and part. Then we jumped. +Scarcely had we bent another line between the stern and the wharf, +when the original line parted. As we bent another line for'ard, +the original one there crackled and parted. After that, it was an +inferno of work and excitement. + +We ran more and more lines, and more and more lines continued to +part, and more and more the pretty boat went over on her side. We +bent all our spare lines; we unrove sheets and halyards; we used +our two-inch hawser; we fastened lines part way up the mast, half +way up, and everywhere else. We toiled and sweated and enounced +our mutual and sincere conviction that God's grudge still held +against us. Country yokels came down on the wharf and sniggered +at us. When Cloudesley let a coil of rope slip down the inclined +deck into the vile slime and fished it out with seasick +countenance, the yokels sniggered louder and it was all I could do +to prevent him from climbing up on the wharf and committing +murder. + +By the time the sloop's deck was perpendicular, we had unbent the +boom-lift from below, made it fast to the wharf, and, with the +other end fast nearly to the mast-head, heaved it taut with block +and tackle. The lift was of steel wire. We were confident that +it could stand the strain, but we doubted the holding-power of the +stays that held the mast. + +The tide had two more hours to ebb (and it was the big run-out), +which meant that five hours must elapse ere the returning tide +would give us a chance to learn whether or not the sloop would +rise to it and right herself. + +The bank was almost up and down, and at the bottom, directly +beneath us, the fast-ebbing tide left a pit of the vilest, illest- +smelling, illest-appearing muck to be seen in many a day's ride. +Said Cloudesley to me gazing down into it: + +"I love you as a brother. I'd fight for you. I'd face roaring +lions, and sudden death by field and flood. But just the same, +don't you fall into that." He shuddered nauseously. "For if you +do, I haven't the grit to pull you out. I simply couldn't. You'd +be awful. The best I could do would be to take a boat-hook and +shove you down out of sight." + +We sat on the upper side-wall of the cabin, dangled our legs down +the top of the cabin, leaned our backs against the deck, and +played chess until the rising tide and the block and tackle on the +boom-lift enabled us to get her on a respectable keel again. +Years afterward, down in the South Seas, on the island of Ysabel, +I was caught in a similar predicament. In order to clean her +copper, I had careened the Snark broadside on to the beach and +outward. When the tide rose, she refused to rise. The water +crept in through the scuppers, mounted over the rail, and the +level of the ocean slowly crawled up the slant of the deck. We +battened down the engine-room hatch, and the sea rose to it and +over it and climbed perilously near to the cabin companion-way and +skylight. We were all sick with fever, but we turned out in the +blazing tropic sun and toiled madly for several hours. We carried +our heaviest lines ashore from our mast-heads and heaved with our +heaviest purchase until everything crackled including ourselves. +We would spell off and lie down like dead men, then get up and +heave and crackle again. And in the end, our lower rail five feet +under water and the wavelets lapping the companion-way combing, +the sturdy little craft shivered and shook herself and pointed her +masts once more to the zenith. + +There is never lack of exercise in small-boat sailing, and the +hard work is not only part of the fun of it, but it beats the +doctors. San Francisco Bay is no mill pond. It is a large and +draughty and variegated piece of water. I remember, one winter +evening, trying to enter the mouth of the Sacramento. There was a +freshet on the river, the flood tide from the bay had been beaten +back into a strong ebb, and the lusty west wind died down with the +sun. It was just sunset, and with a fair to middling breeze, dead +aft, we stood still in the rapid current. We were squarely in the +mouth of the river; but there was no anchorage and we drifted +backward, faster and faster, and dropped anchor outside as the +last breath of wind left us. The night came on, beautiful and +warm and starry. My one companion cooked supper, while on deck I +put everything in shape Bristol fashion. When we turned in at +nine o'clock the weather-promise was excellent. (If I had carried +a barometer I'd have known better.) By two in the morning our +shrouds were thrumming in a piping breeze, and I got up and gave +her more scope on her hawser. Inside another hour there was no +doubt that we were in for a southeaster. + +It is not nice to leave a warm bed and get out of a bad anchorage +in a black blowy night, but we arose to the occasion, put in two +reefs, and started to heave up. The winch was old, and the strain +of the jumping head sea was too much for it. With the winch out +of commission, it was impossible to heave up by hand. We knew, +because we tried it and slaughtered our hands. Now a sailor hates +to lose an anchor. It is a matter of pride. Of course, we could +have buoyed ours and slipped it. Instead, however, I gave her +still more hawser, veered her, and dropped the second anchor. + +There was little sleep after that, for first one and then the +other of us would be rolled out of our bunks. The increasing size +of the seas told us we were dragging, and when we struck the +scoured channel we could tell by the feel of it that our two +anchors were fairly skating across. It was a deep channel, the +farther edge of it rising steeply like the wall of a canyon, and +when our anchors started up that wall they hit in and held. + +Yet, when we fetched up, through the darkness we could hear the +seas breaking on the solid shore astern, and so near was it that +we shortened the skiff's painter. + +Daylight showed us that between the stern of the skiff and +destruction was no more than a score of feet. And how it did +blow! There were times, in the gusts, when the wind must have +approached a velocity of seventy or eighty miles an hour. But the +anchors held, and so nobly that our final anxiety was that the +for'ard bitts would be jerked clean out of the boat. All day the +sloop alternately ducked her nose under and sat down on her stern; +and it was not till late afternoon that the storm broke in one +last and worst mad gust. For a full five minutes an absolute dead +calm prevailed, and then, with the suddenness of a thunderclap, +the wind snorted out of the southwest--a shift of eight points and +a boisterous gale. Another night of it was too much for us, and +we hove up by hand in a cross head-sea. It was not stiff work. +It was heart-breaking. And I know we were both near to crying +from the hurt and the exhaustion. And when we did get the first +anchor up-and-down we couldn't break it out. Between seas we +snubbed her nose down to it, took plenty of turns, and stood clear +as she jumped. Almost everything smashed and parted except the +anchor-hold. The chocks were jerked out, the rail torn off, and +the very covering-board splintered, and still the anchor held. At +last, hoisting the reefed main-sail and slacking off a few of the +hard-won feet of the chain, we sailed the anchor out. It was nip +and tuck, though, and there were times when the boat was knocked +down flat. We repeated the manoeuvre with the remaining anchor, +and in the gathering darkness fled into the shelter of the river's +mouth. + +I was born so long ago that I grew up before the era of gasolene. +As a result, I am old-fashioned. I prefer a sail-boat to a motor- +boat, and it is my belief that boat-sailing is a finer, more +difficult, and sturdier art than running a motor. Gasolene +engines are becoming fool-proof, and while it is unfair to say +that any fool can run an engine, it is fair to say that almost any +one can. Not so, when it comes to sailing a boat. More skill, +more intelligence, and a vast deal more training are necessary. +It is the finest training in the world for boy and youth and man. +If the boy is very small, equip him with a small, comfortable +skiff. He will do the rest. He won't need to be taught. Shortly +he will be setting a tiny leg-of-mutton and steering with an oar. +Then he will begin to talk keels and centreboards and want to take +his blankets out and stop aboard all night. + +But don't be afraid for him. He is bound to run risks and +encounter accidents. Remember, there are accidents in the nursery +as well as out on the water. More boys have died from hot-house +culture than have died on boats large and small; and more boys +have been made into strong and reliant men by boat-sailing than by +lawn-croquet and dancing-school. + +And once a sailor, always a sailor. The savour of the salt never +stales. The sailor never grows so old that he does not care to go +back for one more wrestling bout with wind and wave. I know it of +myself. I have turned rancher, and live beyond sight of the sea. +Yet I can stay away from it only so long. After several months +have passed, I begin to grow restless. I find myself day-dreaming +over incidents of the last cruise, or wondering if the striped +bass are running on Wingo Slough, or eagerly reading the +newspapers for reports of the first northern flights of ducks. +And then, suddenly, there is a hurried pack of suit-cases and +overhauling of gear, and we are off for Vallejo where the little +Roamer lies, waiting, always waiting, for the skiff to come +alongside, for the lighting of the fire in the galley-stove, for +the pulling off of gaskets, the swinging up of the mainsail, and +the rat-tat-tat of the reef-points, for the heaving short and the +breaking out, and for the twirling of the wheel as she fills away +and heads up Bay or down. + +JACK LONDON +On Board Roamer, +Sonoma Creek, +April 15, 1911 + + + +FOUR HORSES AND A SAILOR + + + +"Huh! Drive four horses! I wouldn't sit behind you--not for a +thousand dollars--over them mountain roads." + +So said Henry, and he ought to have known, for he drives four +horses himself. + +Said another Glen Ellen friend: "What? London? He drive four +horses? Can't drive one!" + +And the best of it is that he was right. Even after managing to +get a few hundred miles with my four horses, I don't know how to +drive one. Just the other day, swinging down a steep mountain +road and rounding an abrupt turn, I came full tilt on a horse and +buggy being driven by a woman up the hill. We could not pass on +the narrow road, where was only a foot to spare, and my horses did +not know how to back, especially up-hill. About two hundred yards +down the hill was a spot where we could pass. The driver of the +buggy said she didn't dare back down because she was not sure of +the brake. And as I didn't know how to tackle one horse, I didn't +try it. So we unhitched her horse and backed down by hand. Which +was very well, till it came to hitching the horse to the buggy +again. She didn't know how. I didn't either, and I had depended +on her knowledge. It took us about half an hour, with frequent +debates and consultations, though it is an absolute certainty that +never in its life was that horse hitched in that particular way. + +No; I can't harness up one horse. But I can four, which compels +me to back up again to get to my beginning. Having selected +Sonoma Valley for our abiding place, Charmian and I decided it was +about time we knew what we had in our own county and the +neighbouring ones. How to do it, was the first question. Among +our many weaknesses is the one of being old-fashioned. We don't +mix with gasolene very well. And, as true sailors should, we +naturally gravitate toward horses. Being one of those lucky +individuals who carries his office under his hat, I should have to +take a typewriter and a load of books along. This put saddle- +horses out of the running. Charmian suggested driving a span. +She had faith in me; besides, she could drive a span herself. But +when I thought of the many mountains to cross, and of crossing +them for three months with a poor tired span, I vetoed the +proposition and said we'd have to come back to gasolene after all. +This she vetoed just as emphatically, and a deadlock obtained +until I received inspiration. + +"Why not drive four horses?" I said. + +"But you don't know how to drive four horses," was her objection. + +I threw my chest out and my shoulders back. "What man has done, I +can do," I proclaimed grandly. "And please don't forget that when +we sailed on the Snark I knew nothing of navigation, and that I +taught myself as I sailed." + +"Very well," she said. (And there's faith for you! ) "They shall +be four saddle horses, and we'll strap our saddles on behind the +rig." + +It was my turn to object. "Our saddle horses are not broken to +harness." + +"Then break them." + +And what I knew about horses, much less about breaking them, was +just about as much as any sailor knows. Having been kicked, +bucked off, fallen over backward upon, and thrown out and run +over, on very numerous occasions, I had a mighty vigorous respect +for horses; but a wife's faith must be lived up to, and I went at +it. + +King was a polo pony from St. Louis, and Prince a many-gaited +love-horse from Pasadena. The hardest thing was to get them to +dig in and pull. They rollicked along on the levels and galloped +down the hills, but when they struck an up-grade and felt the +weight of the breaking-cart, they stopped and turned around and +looked at me. But I passed them, and my troubles began. Milda +was fourteen years old, an unadulterated broncho, and in +temperament was a combination of mule and jack-rabbit blended +equally. If you pressed your hand on her flank and told her to +get over, she lay down on you. If you got her by the head and +told her to back, she walked forward over you. And if you got +behind her and shoved and told her to "Giddap!" she sat down on +you. Also, she wouldn't walk. For endless weary miles I strove +with her, but never could I get her to walk a step. Finally, she +was a manger-glutton. No matter how near or far from the stable, +when six o'clock came around she bolted for home and never missed +the directest cross-road. Many times I rejected her. + +The fourth and most rejected horse of all was the Outlaw. From +the age of three to seven she had defied all horse-breakers and +broken a number of them. Then a long, lanky cowboy, with a fifty- +pound saddle and a Mexican bit had got her proud goat. I was the +next owner. She was my favourite riding horse. Charmian said I'd +have to put her in as a wheeler where I would have more control +over her. Now Charmian had a favourite riding mare called Maid. +I suggested Maid as a substitute. Charmian pointed out that my +mare was a branded range horse, while hers was a near- +thoroughbred, and that the legs of her mare would be ruined +forever if she were driven for three months. I acknowledged her +mare's thoroughbredness, and at the same time defied her to find +any thoroughbred with as small and delicately-viciously pointed +ears as my Outlaw. She indicated Maid's exquisitely thin +shinbone. I measured the Outlaw's. It was equally thin, +although, I insinuated, possibly more durable. This stabbed +Charmian's pride. Of course her near-thoroughbred Maid, carrying +the blood of "old" Lexington, Morella, and a streak of the super- +enduring Morgan, could run, walk, and work my unregistered Outlaw +into the ground; and that was the very precise reason why such a +paragon of a saddle animal should not be degraded by harness. + +So it was that Charmian remained obdurate, until, one day, I got +her behind the Outlaw for a forty-mile drive. For every inch of +those forty miles the Outlaw kicked and jumped, in between the +kicks and jumps finding time and space in which to seize its team- +mate by the back of the neck and attempt to drag it to the ground. +Another trick the Outlaw developed during that drive was suddenly +to turn at right angles in the traces and endeavour to butt its +team-mate over the grade. Reluctantly and nobly did Charmian give +in and consent to the use of Maid. The Outlaw's shoes were pulled +off, and she was turned out on range. + +Finally, the four horses were hooked to the rig--a light +Studebaker trap. With two hours and a half of practice, in which +the excitement was not abated by several jack-poles and numerous +kicking matches, I announced myself as ready for the start. Came +the morning, and Prince, who was to have been a wheeler with Maid, +showed up with a badly kicked shoulder. He did not exactly show +up; we had to find him, for he was unable to walk. His leg +swelled and continually swelled during the several days we waited +for him. Remained only the Outlaw. In from pasture she came, +shoes were nailed on, and she was harnessed into the wheel. +Friends and relatives strove to press accident policies on me, but +Charmian climbed up alongside, and Nakata got into the rear seat +with the typewriter--Nakata, who sailed cabin-boy on the Snark for +two years and who had shown himself afraid of nothing, not even of +me and my amateur jamborees in experimenting with new modes of +locomotion. And we did very nicely, thank you, especially after +the first hour or so, during which time the Outlaw had kicked +about fifty various times, chiefly to the damage of her own legs +and the paintwork, and after she had bitten a couple of hundred +times, to the damage of Maid's neck and Charmian's temper. It was +hard enough to have her favourite mare in the harness without also +enduring the spectacle of its being eaten alive. + +Our leaders were joys. King being a polo pony and Milda a rabbit, +they rounded curves beautifully and darted ahead like coyotes out +of the way of the wheelers. Milda's besetting weakness was a +frantic desire not to have the lead-bar strike her hocks. When +this happened, one of three things occurred: either she sat down +on the lead-bar, kicked it up in the air until she got her back +under it, or exploded in a straight-ahead, harness-disrupting +jump. Not until she carried the lead-bar clean away and danced a +break-down on it and the traces, did she behave decently. Nakata +and I made the repairs with good old-fashioned bale-rope, which is +stronger than wrought-iron any time, and we went on our way. + +In the meantime I was learning--I shall not say to tool a four-in- +hand--but just simply to drive four horses. Now it is all right +enough to begin with four work-horses pulling a load of several +tons. But to begin with four light horses, all running, and a +light rig that seems to outrun them--well, when things happen they +happen quickly. My weakness was total ignorance. In particular, +my fingers lacked training, and I made the mistake of depending on +my eyes to handle the reins. This brought me up against a +disastrous optical illusion. The bight of the off head-line, +being longer and heavier than that of the off wheel-line, hung +lower. In a moment requiring quick action, I invariably mistook +the two lines. Pulling on what I thought was the wheel-line, in +order to straighten the team, I would see the leaders swing +abruptly around into a jack-pole. Now for sensations of sheer +impotence, nothing can compare with a jack-pole, when the +horrified driver beholds his leaders prancing gaily up the road +and his wheelers jogging steadily down the road, all at the same +time and all harnessed together and to the same rig. + +I no longer jack-pole, and I don't mind admitting how I got out of +the habit. It was my eyes that enslaved my fingers into ill +practices. So I shut my eyes and let the fingers go it alone. +To-day my fingers are independent of my eyes and work +automatically. I do not see what my fingers do. They just do it. +All I see is the satisfactory result. + +Still we managed to get over the ground that first day--down sunny +Sonoma Valley to the old town of Sonoma, founded by General +Vallejo as the remotest outpost on the northern frontier for the +purpose of holding back the Gentiles, as the wild Indians of those +days were called. Here history was made. Here the last Spanish +mission was reared; here the Bear flag was raised; and here Kit +Carson, and Fremont, and all our early adventurers came and rested +in the days before the days of gold. + +We swung on over the low, rolling hills, through miles of dairy +farms and chicken ranches where every blessed hen is white, and +down the slopes to Petaluma Valley. Here, in 1776, Captain Quiros +came up Petaluma Creek from San Pablo Bay in quest of an outlet to +Bodega Bay on the coast. And here, later, the Russians, with +Alaskan hunters, carried skin boats across from Fort Ross to poach +for sea-otters on the Spanish preserve of San Francisco Bay. +Here, too, still later, General Vallejo built a fort, which still +stands--one of the finest examples of Spanish adobe that remain to +us. And here, at the old fort, to bring the chronicle up to date, +our horses proceeded to make peculiarly personal history with +astonishing success and dispatch. King, our peerless, polo-pony +leader, went lame. So hopelessly lame did he go that no expert, +then and afterward, could determine whether the lameness was in +his frogs, hoofs, legs, shoulders, or head. Maid picked up a nail +and began to limp. Milda, figuring the day already sufficiently +spent and maniacal with manger-gluttony, began to rabbit-jump. +All that held her was the bale-rope. And the Outlaw, game to the +last, exceeded all previous exhibitions of skin-removing, paint- +marring, and horse-eating. + +At Petaluma we rested over while King was returned to the ranch +and Prince sent to us. Now Prince had proved himself an excellent +wheeler, yet he had to go into the lead and let the Outlaw retain +his old place. There is an axiom that a good wheeler is a poor +leader. I object to the last adjective. A good wheeler makes an +infinitely worse kind of a leader than that. I know . . . now. I +ought to know. Since that day I have driven Prince a few hundred +miles in the lead. He is neither any better nor any worse than +the first mile he ran in the lead; and his worst is even extremely +worse than what you are thinking. Not that he is vicious. He is +merely a good-natured rogue who shakes hands for sugar, steps on +your toes out of sheer excessive friendliness, and just goes on +loving you in your harshest moments. + +But he won't get out of the way. Also, whenever he is reproved +for being in the wrong, he accuses Milda of it and bites the back +of her neck. So bad has this become that whenever I yell +"Prince!" in a loud voice, Milda immediately rabbit-jumps to the +side, straight ahead, or sits down on the lead-bar. All of which +is quite disconcerting. Picture it yourself. You are swinging +round a sharp, down-grade, mountain curve, at a fast trot. The +rock wall is the outside of the curve. The inside of the curve is +a precipice. The continuance of the curve is a narrow, unrailed +bridge. You hit the curve, throwing the leaders in against the +wall and making the polo-horse do the work. All is lovely. The +leaders are hugging the wall like nestling doves. But the moment +comes in the evolution when the leaders must shoot out ahead. +They really must shoot, or else they'll hit the wall and miss the +bridge. Also, behind them are the wheelers, and the rig, and you +have just eased the brake in order to put sufficient snap into the +manoeuvre. If ever team-work is required, now is the time. Milda +tries to shoot. She does her best, but Prince, bubbling over with +roguishness, lags behind. He knows the trick. Milda is half a +length ahead of him. He times it to the fraction of a second. +Maid, in the wheel, over-running him, naturally bites him. This +disturbs the Outlaw, who has been behaving beautifully, and she +immediately reaches across for Maid. Simultaneously, with a fine +display of firm conviction that it's all Milda's fault, Prince +sinks his teeth into the back of Milda's defenceless neck. The +whole thing has occurred in less than a second. Under the +surprise and pain of the bite, Milda either jumps ahead to the +imminent peril of harness and lead-bar, or smashes into the wall, +stops short with the lead-bar over her back, and emits a couple of +hysterical kicks. The Outlaw invariably selects this moment to +remove paint. And after things are untangled and you have had +time to appreciate the close shave, you go up to Prince and +reprove him with your choicest vocabulary. And Prince, gazelle- +eyed and tender, offers to shake hands with you for sugar. I +leave it to any one: a boat would never act that way. + +We have some history north of the Bay. Nearly three centuries and +a half ago, that doughty pirate and explorer, Sir Francis Drake, +combing the Pacific for Spanish galleons, anchored in the bight +formed by Point Reyes, on which to-day is one of the richest dairy +regions in the world. Here, less than two decades after Drake, +Sebastien Carmenon piled up on the rocks with a silk-laden galleon +from the Philippines. And in this same bay of Drake, long +afterward, the Russian fur-poachers rendezvous'd their bidarkas +and stole in through the Golden Gate to the forbidden waters of +San Francisco Bay. + +Farther up the coast, in Sonoma County, we pilgrimaged to the +sites of the Russian settlements. At Bodega Bay, south of what +to-day is called Russian River, was their anchorage, while north +of the river they built their fort. And much of Fort Ross still +stands. Log-bastions, church, and stables hold their own, and so +well, with rusty hinges creaking, that we warmed ourselves at the +hundred-years-old double fireplace and slept under the hand-hewn +roof beams still held together by spikes of hand-wrought iron. + +We went to see where history had been made, and we saw scenery as +well. One of our stretches in a day's drive was from beautiful +Inverness on Tomales Bay, down the Olema Valley to Bolinas Bay, +along the eastern shore of that body of water to Willow Camp, and +up over the sea-bluffs, around the bastions of Tamalpais, and down +to Sausalito. From the head of Bolinas Bay to Willow Camp the +drive on the edge of the beach, and actually, for half-mile +stretches, in the waters of the bay itself, was a delightful +experience. The wonderful part was to come. Very few San +Franciscans, much less Californians, know of that drive from +Willow Camp, to the south and east, along the poppy-blown cliffs, +with the sea thundering in the sheer depths hundreds of feet below +and the Golden Gate opening up ahead, disclosing smoky San +Francisco on her many hills. Far off, blurred on the breast of +the sea, can be seen the Farallones, which Sir Francis Drake +passed on a S. W. course in the thick of what he describes as a +"stynking fog." Well might he call it that, and a few other +names, for it was the fog that robbed him of the glory of +discovering San Francisco Bay. + +It was on this part of the drive that I decided at last I was +learning real mountain-driving. To confess the truth, for +delicious titillation of one's nerve, I have since driven over no +mountain road that was worse, or better, rather, than that piece. + +And then the contrast! From Sausalito, over excellent, park-like +boulevards, through the splendid redwoods and homes of Mill +Valley, across the blossomed hills of Marin County, along the +knoll-studded picturesque marshes, past San Rafael resting warmly +among her hills, over the divide and up the Petaluma Valley, and +on to the grassy feet of Sonoma Mountain and home. We covered +fifty-five miles that day. Not so bad, eh, for Prince the Rogue, +the paint-removing Outlaw, the thin-shanked thoroughbred, and the +rabbit-jumper? And they came in cool and dry, ready for their +mangers and the straw. + +Oh, we didn't stop. We considered we were just starting, and that +was many weeks ago. We have kept on going over six counties which +are comfortably large, even for California, and we are still +going. We have twisted and tabled, criss-crossed our tracks, made +fascinating and lengthy dives into the interior valleys in the +hearts of Napa and Lake Counties, travelled the coast for hundreds +of miles on end, and are now in Eureka, on Humboldt Bay, which was +discovered by accident by the gold-seekers, who were trying to +find their way to and from the Trinity diggings. Even here, the +white man's history preceded them, for dim tradition says that the +Russians once anchored here and hunted sea-otter before the first +Yankee trader rounded the Horn, or the first Rocky Mountain +trapper thirsted across the "Great American Desert" and trickled +down the snowy Sierras to the sun-kissed land. No; we are not +resting our horses here on Humboldt Bay. We are writing this +article, gorging on abalones and mussels, digging clams, and +catching record-breaking sea-trout and rock-cod in the intervals +in which we are not sailing, motor-boating, and swimming in the +most temperately equable climate we have ever experienced. + +These comfortably large counties! They are veritable empires. +Take Humboldt, for instance. It is three times as large as Rhode +Island, one and a half times as large as Delaware, almost as large +as Connecticut, and half as large as Massachusetts. The pioneer +has done his work in this north of the bay region, the foundations +are laid, and all is ready for the inevitable inrush of population +and adequate development of resources which so far have been no +more than skimmed, and casually and carelessly skimmed at that. +This region of the six counties alone will some day support a +population of millions. In the meanwhile, O you home-seekers, you +wealth-seekers, and, above all, you climate-seekers, now is the +time to get in on the ground floor. + +Robert Ingersoll once said that the genial climate of California +would in a fairly brief time evolve a race resembling the +Mexicans, and that in two or three generations the Californians +would be seen of a Sunday morning on their way to a cockfight with +a rooster under each arm. Never was made a rasher generalisation, +based on so absolute an ignorance of facts. It is to laugh. Here +is a climate that breeds vigour, with just sufficient geniality to +prevent the expenditure of most of that vigour in fighting the +elements. Here is a climate where a man can work three hundred +and sixty-five days in the year without the slightest hint of +enervation, and where for three hundred and sixty-five nights he +must perforce sleep under blankets. What more can one say? I +consider myself somewhat of climate expert, having adventured +among most of the climates of five out of the six zones. I have +not yet been in the Antarctic, but whatever climate obtains there +will not deter me from drawing the conclusion that nowhere is +there a climate to compare with that of this region. Maybe I am +as wrong as Ingersoll was. Nevertheless I take my medicine by +continuing to live in this climate. Also, it is the only medicine +I ever take. + +But to return to the horses. There is some improvement. Milda +has actually learned to walk. Maid has proved her +thoroughbredness by never tiring on the longest days, and, while +being the strongest and highest spirited of all, by never causing +any trouble save for an occasional kick at the Outlaw. And the +Outlaw rarely gallops, no longer butts, only periodically kicks, +comes in to the pole and does her work without attempting to +vivisect Maid's medulla oblongata, and--marvel of marvels--is +really and truly getting lazy. But Prince remains the same +incorrigible, loving and lovable rogue he has always been. + +And the country we've been over! The drives through Napa and Lake +Counties! One, from Sonoma Valley, via Santa Rosa, we could not +refrain from taking several ways, and on all the ways we found the +roads excellent for machines as well as horses. One route, and a +more delightful one for an automobile cannot be found, is out from +Santa Rosa, past old Altruria and Mark West Springs, then to the +right and across to Calistoga in Napa Valley. By keeping to the +left, the drive holds on up the Russian River Valley, through the +miles of the noted Asti Vineyards to Cloverdale, and then by way +of Pieta, Witter, and Highland Springs to Lakeport. Still another +way we took, was down Sonoma Valley, skirting San Pablo Bay, and +up the lovely Napa Valley. From Napa were side excursions through +Pope and Berryessa Valleys, on to AEtna Springs, and still on, +into Lake County, crossing the famous Langtry Ranch. + +Continuing up the Napa Valley, walled on either hand by great rock +palisades and redwood forests and carpeted with endless vineyards, +and crossing the many stone bridges for which the County is noted +and which are a joy to the beauty-loving eyes as well as to the +four-horse tyro driver, past Calistoga with its old mud-baths and +chicken-soup springs, with St. Helena and its giant saddle ever +towering before us, we climbed the mountains on a good grade and +dropped down past the quicksilver mines to the canyon of the +Geysers. After a stop over night and an exploration of the +miniature-grand volcanic scene, we pulled on across the canyon and +took the grade where the cicadas simmered audibly in the noon +sunshine among the hillside manzanitas. Then, higher, came the +big cattle-dotted upland pastures, and the rocky summit. And here +on the summit, abruptly, we caught a vision, or what seemed a +mirage. The ocean we had left long days before, yet far down and +away shimmered a blue sea, framed on the farther shore by rugged +mountains, on the near shore by fat and rolling farm lands. Clear +Lake was before us, and like proper sailors we returned to our +sea, going for a sail, a fish, and a swim ere the day was done and +turning into tired Lakeport blankets in the early evening. Well +has Lake County been called the Walled-in County. But the +railroad is coming. They say the approach we made to Clear Lake +is similar to the approach to Lake Lucerne. Be that as it may, +the scenery, with its distant snow-capped peaks, can well be +called Alpine. + +And what can be more exquisite than the drive out from Clear Lake +to Ukiah by way of the Blue Lakes chain!--every turn bringing into +view a picture of breathless beauty; every glance backward +revealing some perfect composition in line and colour, the intense +blue of the water margined with splendid oaks, green fields, and +swaths of orange poppies. But those side glances and backward +glances were provocative of trouble. Charmian and I disagreed as +to which way the connecting stream of water ran. We still +disagree, for at the hotel, where we submitted the affair to +arbitration, the hotel manager and the clerk likewise disagreed. +I assume, now, that we never will know which way that stream runs. +Charmian suggests "both ways." I refuse such a compromise. No +stream of water I ever saw could accomplish that feat at one and +the same time. The greatest concession I can make is that +sometimes it may run one way and sometimes the other, and that in +the meantime we should both consult an oculist. + +More valley from Ukiah to Willits, and then we turned westward +through the virgin Sherwood Forest of magnificent redwood, +stopping at Alpine for the night and continuing on through +Mendocino County to Fort Bragg and "salt water." We also came to +Fort Bragg up the coast from Fort Ross, keeping our coast journey +intact from the Golden Gate. The coast weather was cool and +delightful, the coast driving superb. Especially in the Fort Ross +section did we find the roads thrilling, while all the way along +we followed the sea. At every stream, the road skirted dizzy +cliff-edges, dived down into lush growths of forest and ferns and +climbed out along the cliff-edges again. The way was lined with +flowers--wild lilac, wild roses, poppies, and lupins. Such +lupins!--giant clumps of them, of every lupin-shade and -colour. +And it was along the Mendocino roads that Charmian caused many +delays by insisting on getting out to pick the wild blackberries, +strawberries, and thimble-berries which grew so profusely. And +ever we caught peeps, far down, of steam schooners loading lumber +in the rocky coves; ever we skirted the cliffs, day after day, +crossing stretches of rolling farm lands and passing through +thriving villages and saw-mill towns. Memorable was our launch- +trip from Mendocino City up Big River, where the steering gears of +the launches work the reverse of anywhere else in the world; where +we saw a stream of logs, of six to twelve and fifteen feet in +diameter, which filled the river bed for miles to the obliteration +of any sign of water; and where we were told of a white or albino +redwood tree. We did not see this last, so cannot vouch for it. + +All the streams were filled with trout, and more than once we saw +the side-hill salmon on the slopes. No, side-hill salmon is not a +peripatetic fish; it is a deer out of season. But the trout! At +Gualala Charmian caught her first one. Once before in my life I +had caught two . . . on angleworms. On occasion I had tried fly +and spinner and never got a strike, and I had come to believe that +all this talk of fly-fishing was just so much nature-faking. But +on the Gualala River I caught trout--a lot of them--on fly and +spinners; and I was beginning to feel quite an expert, until +Nakata, fishing on bottom with a pellet of bread for bait, caught +the biggest trout of all. I now affirm there is nothing in +science nor in art. Nevertheless, since that day poles and +baskets have been added to our baggage, we tackle every stream we +come to, and we no longer are able to remember the grand total of +our catch. + +At Usal, many hilly and picturesque miles north of Fort Bragg, we +turned again into the interior of Mendocino, crossing the ranges +and coming out in Humboldt County on the south fork of Eel River +at Garberville. Throughout the trip, from Marin County north, we +had been warned of "bad roads ahead." Yet we never found those +bad roads. We seemed always to be just ahead of them or behind +them. The farther we came the better the roads seemed, though +this was probably due to the fact that we were learning more and +more what four horses and a light rig could do on a road. And +thus do I save my face with all the counties. I refuse to make +invidious road comparisons. I can add that while, save in rare +instances on steep pitches, I have trotted my horses down all the +grades, I have never had one horse fall down nor have I had to +send the rig to a blacksmith shop for repairs. + +Also, I am learning to throw leather. If any tyro thinks it is +easy to take a short-handled, long-lashed whip, and throw the end +of that lash just where he wants it, let him put on automobile +goggles and try it. On reconsideration, I would suggest the +substitution of a wire fencing-mask for the goggles. For days I +looked at that whip. It fascinated me, and the fascination was +composed mostly of fear. At my first attempt, Charmian and Nakata +became afflicted with the same sort of fascination, and for a long +time afterward, whenever they saw me reach for the whip, they +closed their eyes and shielded their heads with their arms. + +Here's the problem. Instead of pulling honestly, Prince is +lagging back and manoeuvring for a bite at Milda's neck. I have +four reins in my hands. I must put these four reins into my left +hand, properly gather the whip handle and the bight of the lash in +my right hand, and throw that lash past Maid without striking her +and into Prince. If the lash strikes Maid, her thoroughbredness +will go up in the air, and I'll have a case of horse hysteria on +my hands for the next half hour. But follow. The whole problem +is not yet stated. Suppose that I miss Maid and reach the +intended target. The instant the lash cracks, the four horses +jump, Prince most of all, and his jump, with spread wicked teeth, +is for the back of Milda's neck. She jumps to escape--which is +her second jump, for the first one came when the lash exploded. +The Outlaw reaches for Maid's neck, and Maid, who has already +jumped and tried to bolt, tries to bolt harder. And all this +infinitesimal fraction of time I am trying to hold the four +animals with my left hand, while my whip-lash, writhing through +the air, is coming back to me. Three simultaneous things I must +do: keep hold of the four reins with my left hand; slam on the +brake with my foot; and on the rebound catch that flying lash in +the hollow of my right arm and get the bight of it safely into my +right hand. Then I must get two of the four lines back into my +right hand and keep the horses from running away or going over the +grade. Try it some time. You will find life anything but +wearisome. Why, the first time I hit the mark and made the lash +go off like a revolver shot, I was so astounded and delighted that +I was paralysed. I forgot to do any of the multitudinous other +things, tangled the whip lash in Maid's harness, and was forced to +call upon Charmian for assistance. And now, confession. I carry +a few pebbles handy. They're great for reaching Prince in a tight +place. But just the same I'm learning that whip every day, and +before I get home I hope to discard the pebbles. And as long as I +rely on pebbles, I cannot truthfully speak of myself as "tooling a +four-in-hand." + +From Garberville, where we ate eel to repletion and got acquainted +with the aborigines, we drove down the Eel River Valley for two +days through the most unthinkably glorious body of redwood timber +to be seen anywhere in California. From Dyerville on to Eureka, +we caught glimpses of railroad construction and of great concrete +bridges in the course of building, which advertised that at least +Humboldt County was going to be linked to the rest of the world. + +We still consider our trip is just begun. As soon as this is +mailed from Eureka, it's heigh ho! for the horses and pull on. We +shall continue up the coast, turn in for Hoopa Reservation and the +gold mines, and shoot down the Trinity and Klamath rivers in +Indian canoes to Requa. After that, we shall go on through Del +Norte County and into Oregon. The trip so far has justified us in +taking the attitude that we won't go home until the winter rains +drive us in. And, finally, I am going to try the experiment of +putting the Outlaw in the lead and relegating Prince to his old +position in the near wheel. I won't need any pebbles then. + + + +NOTHING THAT EVER CAME TO ANYTHING + + + +It was at Quito, the mountain capital of Ecuador, that the +following passage at correspondence took place. Having occasion +to buy a pair of shoes in a shop six feet by eight in size and +with walls three feet thick, I noticed a mangy leopard skin on the +floor. I had no Spanish. The shop-keeper had no English. But I +was an adept at sign language. I wanted to know where I should go +to buy leopard skins. On my scribble-pad I drew the interesting +streets of a city. Then I drew a small shop, which, after much +effort, I persuaded the proprietor into recognising as his shop. +Next, I indicated in my drawing that on the many streets there +were many shops. And, finally, I made myself into a living +interrogation mark, pointing all the while from the mangy leopard +skin to the many shops I had sketched. + +But the proprietor failed to follow me. So did his assistant. +The street came in to help--that is, as many as could crowd into +the six-by-eight shop; while those that could not force their way +in held an overflow meeting on the sidewalk. The proprietor and +the rest took turns at talking to me in rapid-fire Spanish, and, +from the expressions on their faces, all concluded that I was +remarkably stupid. Again I went through my programme, pointing on +the sketch from the one shop to the many shops, pointing out that +in this particular shop was one leopard skin, and then questing +interrogatively with my pencil among all the shops. All regarded +me in blank silence, until I saw comprehension suddenly dawn on +the face of a small boy. + +"Tigres montanya!" he cried. + +This appealed to me as mountain tigers, namely, leopards; and in +token that he understood, the boy made signs for me to follow him, +which I obeyed. He led me for a quarter of a mile, and paused +before the doorway of a large building where soldiers slouched on +sentry duty and in and out of which went other soldiers. +Motioning for me to remain, he ran inside. + +Fifteen minutes later he was out again, without leopard skins, but +full of information. By means of my card, of my hotel card, of my +watch, and of the boy's fingers, I learned the following: that at +six o'clock that evening he would arrive at my hotel with ten +leopard skins for my inspection. Further, I learned that the +skins were the property of one Captain Ernesto Becucci. Also, I +learned that the boy's name was Eliceo. + +The boy was prompt. At six o'clock he was at my room. In his +hand was a small roll addressed to me. On opening it I found it +to be manuscript piano music, the Hora Tranquila Valse, or +"Tranquil Hour Waltz," by Ernesto Becucci. I came for leopard +skins, thought I, and the owner sends me sheet music instead. But +the boy assured me that he would have the skins at the hotel at +nine next morning, and I entrusted to him the following letter of +acknowledgment: + + +"DEAR CAPTAIN BECUCCI: + +"A thousand thanks for your kind presentation of Hora Tranquila +Valse. Mrs. London will play it for me this evening. + +Sincerely yours, + +"Jack London." + + +Next morning Eliceo was back, but without the skins. Instead, he +gave me a letter, written in Spanish, of which the following is a +free translation: + + +"To my dearest and always appreciated friend, I submit myself - + +"DEAR SIR: + +" I sent you last night an offering by the bearer of this note, +and you returned me a letter which I translated. + +"Be it known to you, sir, that I am giving this waltz away in the +best society, and therefore to your honoured self. Therefore it +is beholden to you to recognise the attention, I mean by a +tangible return, as this composition was made by myself. You will +therefore send by your humble servant, the bearer, any offering, +however minute, that you may be prompted to make. Send it under +cover of an envelope. The bearer may be trusted. + +"I did not indulge in the pleasure of visiting your honourable +self this morning, as I find my body not to be enjoying the normal +exercise of its functions. + +"As regards the skins from the mountain, you shall be waited on by +a small boy at seven o'clock at night with ten skins from which +you may select those which most satisfy your aspirations. + +"In the hope that you will look upon this in the same light as +myself, I beg to be allowed to remain, + +"Your most faithful servant, + +" CAPTAIN ERNESTO BECUCCI." + + +Well, thought I, this Captain Ernesto Becucci has shown himself to +be such an undependable person, that, while I don't mind rewarding +him for his composition, I fear me if I do I never shall lay eyes +on those leopard skins. So to Eliceo I gave this letter for the +Captain: + + +"MY DEAR CAPTAIN BECUCCI: + +"Have the boy bring the skins at seven o'clock this evening, when +I shall be glad to look at them. This evening when the boy brings +the skins, I shall be pleased to give him, in an envelope, for +you, a tangible return for your musical composition. + +"Please put the price on each skin, and also let me know for what +sum all the skins will sell together. + +"Sincerely yours, + +"JACK LONDON." + + +Now, thought I, I have him. No skins, no tangible return; and +evidently he is set on receiving that tangible return. + +At seven o'clock Eliceo was back, but without leopard skins. He +handed me this letter: + + +"SENOR LONDON: + +"I wish to instil in you the belief that I lost to-day, at half +past three in the afternoon, the key to my cubicle. While +distributing rations to the soldiers I dropped it. I see in this +loss the act of God. + +"I received a letter from your honourable self, delivered by the +one who bears you this poor response of mine. To-morrow I will +burst open the door to permit me to keep my word with you. I feel +myself eternally shamed not to be able to dominate the evils that +afflict colonial mankind. Please send me the trifle that you +offered me. Send me this proof of your appreciation by the +bearer, who is to be trusted. Also give to him a small sum of +money for himself, and earn the undying gratitude of + +Your most faithful servant, + +"CAPTAIN ERNESTO BECUCCI." + + +Also, inclosed in the foregoing letter was the following original +poem, e propos neither of leopard skins nor tangible returns, so +far as I can make out: + + +EFFUSION + + +Thou canst not weep; +Nor ask I for a year +To rid me of my woes +Or make my life more dear. + +The mystic chains that bound +Thy all-fond heart to mine, +Alas! asundered are +For now and for all time. + +In vain you strove to hide, +From vulgar gaze of man, +The burning glance of love +That none but Love can scan. + +Go on thy starlit way +And leave me to my fate; +Our souls must needs unite - +But, God! 'twill be too late. + + +To all and sundry of which I replied: + + +"MY DEAR CAPTAIN BECUCCI: + +"I regret exceedingly to hear that by act of God, at half past +three this afternoon, you lost the key to your cubicle. Please +have the boy bring the skins at seven o'clock to-morrow morning, +at which time, when he brings the skins, I shall be glad to make +you that tangible return for your "Tranquil Hour Waltz." + +"Sincerely yours, + +"JACK LONDON." + + +At seven o'clock came no skins, but the following: + + +"SIR: + +"After offering you my most sincere respects, I beg to continue by +telling you that no one, up to the time of writing, has treated me +with such lack of attention. It was a present to GENTLEMEN who +were to retain the piece of music, and who have all, without +exception, made me a present of five dollars. It is beyond my +humble capacity to believe that you, after having offered to send +me money in an envelope, should fail to do so. + +"Send me, I pray of you, the money to remunerate the small boy for +his repeated visits to you. Please be discreet and send it in an +envelope by the bearer. + +"Last night I came to the hotel with the boy. You were dining. I +waited more than an hour for you and then went to the theatre. +Give the boy some small amount, and send me a like offering of +larger proportions. + +"Awaiting incessantly a slight attention on your part, + +"CAPTAIN ERNESTO BECUCCI." + + +And here, like one of George Moore's realistic studies, ends this +intercourse with Captain Ernesto Becucci. Nothing happened. +Nothing ever came to anything. He got no tangible return, and I +got no leopard skins. The tangible return he might have got, I +presented to Eliceo, who promptly invested it in a pair of +trousers and a ticket to the bull-fight. + +(NOTE TO EDITOR.--This is a faithful narration of what actually +happened in Quito, Ecuador.) + + + +THAT DEAD MEN RISE UP NEVER + + + +The month in which my seventeenth birthday arrived I signed on +before the mast on the Sophie Sutherland, a three-topmast schooner +bound on a seven-months' seal-hunting cruise to the coast of +Japan. We sailed from San Francisco, and immediately I found +confronting me a problem of no inconsiderable proportions. There +were twelve men of us in the forecastle, ten of whom were +hardened, tarry-thumbed sailors. Not alone was I a youth and on +my first voyage, but I had for shipmates men who had come through +the hard school of the merchant service of Europe. As boys, they +had had to perform their ship's duty, and, in addition, by +immemorial sea custom, they had had to be the slaves of the +ordinary and able-bodied seamen. When they became ordinary seamen +they were still the slaves of the able-bodied. Thus, in the +forecastle, with the watch below, an able seaman, lying in his +bunk, will order an ordinary seaman to fetch him his shoes or +bring him a drink of water. Now the ordinary seaman may be lying +in HIS bunk. He is just as tired as the able seaman. Yet he must +get out of his bunk and fetch and carry. If he refuses, he will +be beaten. If, perchance, he is so strong that he can whip the +able seaman, then all the able seamen, or as many as may be +necessary, pitch upon the luckless devil and administer the +beating. + +My problem now becomes apparent. These hard-bit Scandinavian +sailors had come through a hard school. As boys they had served +their mates, and as able seamen they looked to be served by other +boys. I was a boy--withal with a man's body. I had never been to +sea before--withal I was a good sailor and knew my business. It +was either a case of holding my own with them or of going under. +I had signed on as an equal, and an equal I must maintain myself, +or else endure seven months of hell at their hands. And it was +this very equality they resented. By what right was I an equal? +I had not earned that high privilege. I had not endured the +miseries they had endured as maltreated boys or bullied +ordinaries. Worse than that, I was a land-lubber making his first +voyage. And yet, by the injustice of fate, on the ship's articles +I was their equal. + +My method was deliberate, and simple, and drastic. In the first +place, I resolved to do my work, no matter how hard or dangerous +it might be, so well that no man would be called upon to do it for +me. Further, I put ginger in my muscles. I never malingered when +pulling on a rope, for I knew the eagle eyes of my forecastle +mates were squinting for just such evidences of my inferiority. I +made it a point to be among the first of the watch going on deck, +among the last going below, never leaving a sheet or tackle for +some one else to coil over a pin. I was always eager for the run +aloft for the shifting of topsail sheets and tacks, or for the +setting or taking in of topsails; and in these matters I did more +than my share. + +Furthermore, I was on a hair-trigger of resentment myself. I knew +better than to accept any abuse or the slightest patronizing. At +the first hint of such, I went off-- I exploded. I might be +beaten in the subsequent fight, but I left the impression that I +was a wild-cat and that I would just as willingly fight again. My +intention was to demonstrate that I would tolerate no imposition. +I proved that the man who imposed on me must have a fight on his +hands. And doing my work well, the innate justice of the men, +assisted by their wholesome dislike for a clawing and rending +wild-cat ruction, soon led them to give over their hectoring. +After a bit of strife, my attitude was accepted, and it was my +pride that I was taken in as an equal in spirit as well as in +fact. From then on, everything was beautiful, and the voyage +promised to be a happy one. + +But there was one other man in the forecastle. Counting the +Scandinavians as ten, and myself as the eleventh, this man was the +twelfth and last. We never knew his name, contenting ourselves +with calling him the "Bricklayer." He was from Missouri--at least +he so informed us in the one meagre confidence he was guilty of in +the early days of the voyage. Also, at that time, we learned +several other things. He was a brick-layer by trade. He had +never even seen salt water until the week before he joined us, at +which time he had arrived in San Francisco and looked upon San +Francisco Bay. Why he, of all men, at forty years of age, should +have felt the prod to go to sea, was beyond all of us; for it was +our unanimous conviction that no man less fitted for the sea had +ever embarked on it. But to sea he had come. After a week's stay +in a sailors' boarding-house, he had been shoved aboard of us as +an able seaman. + +All hands had to do his work for him. Not only did he know +nothing, but he proved himself unable to learn anything. Try as +they would, they could never teach him to steer. To him the +compass must have been a profound and awful whirligig. He never +mastered its cardinal points, much less the checking and steadying +of the ship on her course. He never did come to know whether +ropes should be coiled from left to right or from right to left. +It was mentally impossible for him to learn the easy muscular +trick of throwing his weight on a rope in pulling and hauling. +The simplest knots and turns were beyond his comprehension, while +he was mortally afraid of going aloft. Bullied by captain and +mate, he was one day forced aloft. He managed to get underneath +the crosstrees, and there he froze to the ratlines. Two sailors +had to go after him to help him down. + +All of which was bad enough had there been no worse. But he was +vicious, malignant, dirty, and without common decency. He was a +tall, powerful man, and he fought with everybody. And there was +no fairness in his fighting. His first fight on board, the first +day out, was with me, when he, desiring to cut a plug of chewing +tobacco, took my personal table-knife for the purpose, and +whereupon, I, on a hair-trigger, promptly exploded. After that he +fought with nearly every member of the crew. When his clothing +became too filthy to be bearable by the rest of us, we put it to +soak and stood over him while he washed it. In short, the +Bricklayer was one of those horrible and monstrous things that one +must see in order to be convinced that they exist. + +I will only say that he was a beast, and that we treated him like +a beast. It is only by looking back through the years that I +realise how heartless we were to him. He was without sin. He +could not, by the very nature of things, have been anything else +than he was. He had not made himself, and for his making he was +not responsible. Yet we treated him as a free agent and held him +personally responsible for all that he was and that he should not +have been. As a result, our treatment of him was as terrible as +he was himself terrible. Finally we gave him the silent +treatment, and for weeks before he died we neither spoke to him +nor did he speak to us. And for weeks he moved among us, or lay +in his bunk in our crowded house, grinning at us his hatred and +malignancy. He was a dying man, and he knew it, and we knew it. +And furthermore, he knew that we wanted him to die. He cumbered +our life with his presence, and ours was a rough life that made +rough men of us. And so he died, in a small space crowded by +twelve men and as much alone as if he had died on some desolate +mountain peak. No kindly word, no last word, was passed between. +He died as he had lived, a beast, and he died hating us and hated +by us. + +And now I come to the most startling moment of my life. No sooner +was he dead than he was flung overboard. He died in a night of +wind, drawing his last breath as the men tumbled into their +oilskins to the cry of "All hands!" And he was flung overboard, +several hours later, on a day of wind. Not even a canvas wrapping +graced his mortal remains; nor was he deemed worthy of bars of +iron at his feet. We sewed him up in the blankets in which he +died and laid him on a hatch-cover for'ard of the main-hatch on +the port side. A gunnysack, half full of galley coal, was +fastened to his feet. + +It was bitter cold. The weather-side of every rope, spar, and +stay was coated with ice, while all the rigging was a harp, +singing and shouting under the fierce hand of the wind. The +schooner, hove to, lurched and floundered through the sea, rolling +her scuppers under and perpetually flooding the deck with icy salt +water. We of the forecastle stood in sea-boots and oilskins. Our +hands were mittened, but our heads were bared in the presence of +the death we did not respect. Our ears stung and numbed and +whitened, and we yearned for the body to be gone. But the +interminable reading of the burial service went on. The captain +had mistaken his place, and while he read on without purpose we +froze our ears and resented this final hardship thrust upon us by +the helpless cadaver. As from the beginning, so to the end, +everything had gone wrong with the Bricklayer. Finally, the +captain's son, irritated beyond measure, jerked the book from the +palsied fingers of the old man and found the place. Again the +quavering voice of the captain arose. Then came the cue: "And +the body shall be cast into the sea." We elevated one end of the +hatch-cover, and the Bricklayer plunged outboard and was gone. + +Back into the forecastle we cleaned house, washing out the dead +man's bunk and removing every vestige of him. By sea law and sea +custom, we should have gathered his effects together and turned +them over to the captain, who, later, would have held an auction +in which we should have bid for the various articles. But no man +wanted them, so we tossed them up on deck and overboard in the +wake of the departed body--the last ill-treatment we could devise +to wreak upon the one we had hated so. Oh, it was raw, believe +me; but the life we lived was raw, and we were as raw as the life. + +The Bricklayer's bunk was better than mine. Less sea water leaked +down through the deck into it, and the light was better for lying +in bed and reading. Partly for this reason I proceeded to move +into his bunk. My other reason was pride. I saw the sailors were +superstitious, and by this act I determined to show that I was +braver than they. I would cap my proved equality by a deed that +would compel their recognition of my superiority. Oh, the +arrogance of youth! But let that pass. The sailors were appalled +by my intention. One and all, they warned me that in the history +of the sea no man had taken a dead man's bunk and lived to the end +of the voyage. They instanced case after case in their personal +experience. I was obdurate. Then they begged and pleaded with +me, and my pride was tickled in that they showed they really liked +me and were concerned about me. This but served to confirm me in +my madness. I moved in, and, lying in the dead man's bunk, all +afternoon and evening listened to dire prophecies of my future. +Also were told stories of awful deaths and gruesome ghosts that +secretly shivered the hearts of all of us. Saturated with this, +yet scoffing at it, I rolled over at the end of the second dog- +watch and went to sleep. + +At ten minutes to twelve I was called, and at twelve I was dressed +and on deck, relieving the man who had called me. On the sealing +grounds, when hove to, a watch of only a single man is kept +through the night, each man holding the deck for an hour. It was +a dark night, though not a black one. The gale was breaking up, +and the clouds were thinning. There should have been a moon, and, +though invisible, in some way a dim, suffused radiance came from +it. I paced back and forth across the deck amidships. My mind +was filled with the event of the day and with the horrible tales +my shipmates had told, and yet I dare to say, here and now, that I +was not afraid. I was a healthy animal, and furthermore, +intellectually, I agreed with Swinburne that dead men rise up +never. The Bricklayer was dead, and that was the end of it. He +would rise up never--at least, never on the deck of the Sophie +Sutherland. Even then he was in the ocean depths miles to +windward of our leeward drift, and the likelihood was that he was +already portioned out in the maws of many sharks. Still, my mind +pondered on the tales of the ghosts of dead men I had heard, and I +speculated on the spirit world. My conclusion was that if the +spirits of the dead still roamed the world they carried the +goodness or the malignancy of the earth-life with them. +Therefore, granting the hypothesis (which I didn't grant at all), +the ghost of the Bricklayer was bound to be as hateful and +malignant as he in life had been. But there wasn't any +Bricklayer's ghost--that I insisted upon. + +A few minutes, thinking thus, I paced up and down. Then, glancing +casually for'ard, along the port side, I leaped like a startled +deer and in a blind madness of terror rushed aft along the poop, +heading for the cabin. Gone was all my arrogance of youth and my +intellectual calm. I had seen a ghost. There, in the dim light, +where we had flung the dead man overboard, I had seen a faint and +wavering form. Six-feet in length it was, slender, and of +substance so attenuated that I had distinctly seen through it the +tracery of the fore-rigging. + +As for me, I was as panic-stricken as a frightened horse. I, as +I, had ceased to exist. Through me were vibrating the fibre- +instincts of ten thousand generations of superstitious forebears +who had been afraid of the dark and the things of the dark. I was +not I. I was, in truth, those ten thousand forebears. I was the +race, the whole human race, in its superstitious infancy. Not +until part way down the cabin-companionway did my identity return +to me. I checked my flight and clung to the steep ladder, +suffocating, trembling, and dizzy. Never, before nor since, have +I had such a shock. I clung to the ladder and considered. I +could not doubt my senses. That I had seen something there was no +discussion. But what was it? Either a ghost or a joke. There +could be nothing else. If a ghost, the question was: would it +appear again? If it did not, and I aroused the ship's officers, I +would make myself the laughing stock of all on board. And by the +same token, if it were a joke, my position would be still more +ridiculous. If I were to retain my hard-won place of equality, it +would never do to arouse any one until I ascertained the nature of +the thing. + +I am a brave man. I dare to say so; for in fear and trembling I +crept up the companion-way and went back to the spot from which I +had first seen the thing. It had vanished. My bravery was +qualified, however. Though I could see nothing, I was afraid to +go for'ard to the spot where I had seen the thing. I resumed my +pacing up and down, and though I cast many an anxious glance +toward the dread spot, nothing manifested itself. As my +equanimity returned to me, I concluded that the whole affair had +been a trick of the imagination and that I had got what I deserved +for allowing my mind to dwell on such matters. + +Once more my glances for'ard were casual, and not anxious; and +then, suddenly, I was a madman, rushing wildly aft. I had seen +the thing again, the long, wavering attenuated substance through +which could be seen the fore-rigging. This time I had reached +only the break of the poop when I checked myself. Again I +reasoned over the situation, and it was pride that counselled +strongest. I could not afford to make myself a laughing-stock. +This thing, whatever it was, I must face alone. I must work it +out myself. I looked back to the spot where we had tilted the +Bricklayer. It was vacant. Nothing moved. And for a third time +I resumed my amid-ships pacing. + +In the absence of the thing my fear died away and my intellectual +poise returned. Of course it was not a ghost. Dead men did not +rise up. It was a joke, a cruel joke. My mates of the +forecastle, by some unknown means, were frightening me. Twice +already must they have seen me run aft. My cheeks burned with +shame. In fancy I could hear the smothered chuckling and laughter +even then going on in the forecastle. I began to grow angry. +Jokes were all very well, but this was carrying the thing too far. +I was the youngest on board, only a youth, and they had no right +to play tricks on me of the order that I well knew in the past had +made raving maniacs of men and women. I grew angrier and angrier, +and resolved to show them that I was made of sterner stuff and at +the same time to wreak my resentment upon them. If the thing +appeared again, I made my mind up that I would go up to it-- +furthermore, that I would go up to it knife in hand. When within +striking distance, I would strike. If a man, he would get the +knife-thrust he deserved. If a ghost, well, it wouldn't hurt the +ghost any, while I would have learned that dead men did rise up. + +Now I was very angry, and I was quite sure the thing was a trick; +but when the thing appeared a third time, in the same spot, long, +attenuated, and wavering, fear surged up in me and drove most of +my anger away. But I did not run. Nor did I take my eyes from +the thing. Both times before, it had vanished while I was running +away, so I had not seen the manner of its going. I drew my +sheath-knife from my belt and began my advance. Step by step, +nearer and nearer, the effort to control myself grew more severe. +The struggle was between my will, my identity, my very self, on +the one hand, and on the other, the ten thousand ancestors who +were twisted into the fibres of me and whose ghostly voices were +whispering of the dark and the fear of the dark that had been +theirs in the time when the world was dark and full of terror. + +I advanced more slowly, and still the thing wavered and flitted +with strange eerie lurches. And then, right before my eyes, it +vanished. I saw it vanish. Neither to the right nor left did it +go, nor backward. Right there, while I gazed upon it, it faded +away, ceased to be. I didn't die, but I swear, from what I +experienced in those few succeeding moments, that I know full well +that men can die of fright. I stood there, knife in hand, swaying +automatically to the roll of the ship, paralysed with fear. Had +the Bricklayer suddenly seized my throat with corporeal fingers +and proceeded to throttle me, it would have been no more than I +expected. Dead men did rise up, and that would be the most likely +thing the malignant Bricklayer would do. + +But he didn't seize my throat. Nothing happened. And, since +nature abhors a status, I could not remain there in the one place +forever paralysed. I turned and started aft. I did not run. +What was the use? What chance had I against the malevolent world +of ghosts? Flight, with me, was the swiftness of my legs. The +pursuit, with a ghost, was the swiftness of thought. And there +were ghosts. I had seen one. + +And so, stumbling slowly aft, I discovered the explanation of the +seeming. I saw the mizzen topmast lurching across a faint +radiance of cloud behind which was the moon. The idea leaped in +my brain. I extended the line between the cloudy radiance and the +mizzen-topmast and found that it must strike somewhere near the +fore-rigging on the port side. Even as I did this, the radiance +vanished. The driving clouds of the breaking gale were +alternately thickening and thinning before the face of the moon, +but never exposing the face of the moon. And when the clouds were +at their thinnest, it was a very dim radiance that the moon was +able to make. I watched and waited. The next time the clouds +thinned I looked for'ard, and there was the shadow of the topmast, +long and attenuated, wavering and lurching on the deck and against +the rigging. + +This was my first ghost. Once again have I seen a ghost. It +proved to be a Newfoundland dog, and I don't know which of us was +the more frightened, for I hit that Newfoundland a full right-arm +swing to the jaw. Regarding the Bricklayer's ghost, I will say +that I never mentioned it to a soul on board. Also, I will say +that in all my life I never went through more torment and mental +suffering than on that lonely night-watch on the Sophie +Sutherland. + +(TO THE EDITOR.--This is not a fiction. It is a true page out of +my life.) + + + +A CLASSIC OF THE SEA + + + +Introduction to "Two Years before the Mast." + + +Once in a hundred years is a book written that lives not alone for +its own century but which becomes a document for the future +centuries. Such a book is Dana's. When Marryat's and Cooper's +sea novels are gone to dust, stimulating and joyful as they have +been to generations of men, still will remain "Two Years Before +the Mast." + +Paradoxical as it may seem, Dana's book is the classic of the sea, +not because there was anything extraordinary about Dana, but for +the precise contrary reason that he was just an ordinary, normal +man, clear-seeing, hard-headed, controlled, fitted with adequate +education to go about the work. He brought a trained mind to put +down with untroubled vision what he saw of a certain phase of +work-a-day life. There was nothing brilliant nor fly-away about +him. He was not a genius. His heart never rode his head. He was +neither overlorded by sentiment nor hag-ridden by imagination. +Otherwise he might have been guilty of the beautiful exaggerations +in Melville's "Typee" or the imaginative orgies in the latter's +"Moby Dick." It was Dana's cool poise that saved him from being +spread-eagled and flogged when two of his mates were so treated; +it was his lack of abandon that prevented him from taking up +permanently with the sea, that prevented him from seeing more than +one poetical spot, and more than one romantic spot on all the +coast of Old California. Yet these apparent defects were his +strength. They enabled him magnificently to write, and for all +time, the picture of the sea-life of his time. + +Written close to the middle of the last century, such has been the +revolution worked in man's method of trafficking with the sea, +that the life and conditions described in Dana's book have passed +utterly away. Gone are the crack clippers, the driving captains, +the hard-bitten but efficient foremast hands. Remain only +crawling cargo tanks, dirty tramps, greyhound liners, and a +sombre, sordid type of sailing ship. The only records broken to- +day by sailing vessels are those for slowness. They are no longer +built for speed, nor are they manned before the mast by as sturdy +a sailor stock, nor aft the mast are they officered by sail- +carrying captains and driving mates. + +Speed is left to the liners, who run the silk, and tea, and +spices. Admiralty courts, boards of trade, and underwriters frown +upon driving and sail-carrying. No more are the free-and-easy, +dare-devil days, when fortunes were made in fast runs and lucky +ventures, not alone for owners, but for captains as well. Nothing +is ventured now. The risks of swift passages cannot be abided. +Freights are calculated to the last least fraction of per cent. +The captains do no speculating, no bargain-making for the owners. +The latter attend to all this, and by wire and cable rake the +ports of the seven seas in quest of cargoes, and through their +agents make all business arrangements. + +It has been learned that small crews only, and large carriers +only, can return a decent interest on the investment. The +inevitable corollary is that speed and spirit are at a discount. +There is no discussion of the fact that in the sailing merchant +marine the seamen, as a class, have sadly deteriorated. Men no +longer sell farms to go to sea. But the time of which Dana writes +was the heyday of fortune-making and adventure on the sea--with +the full connotation of hardship and peril always attendant. + +It was Dana's fortune, for the sake of the picture, that the +Pilgrim was an average ship, with an average crew and officers, +and managed with average discipline. Even the HAZING that took +place after the California coast was reached, was of the average +sort. The Pilgrim savoured not in any way of a hell-ship. The +captain, while not the sweetest-natured man in the world, was only +an average down-east driver, neither brilliant nor slovenly in his +seamanship, neither cruel nor sentimental in the treatment of his +men. While, on the one hand, there were no extra liberty days, no +delicacies added to the meagre forecastle fare, nor grog or hot +coffee on double watches, on the other hand the crew were not +chronically crippled by the continual play of knuckle-dusters and +belaying pins. Once, and once only, were men flogged or ironed--a +very fair average for the year 1834, for at that time flogging on +board merchant vessels was already well on the decline. + +The difference between the sea-life then and now can be no better +epitomised than in Dana's description of the dress of the sailor +of his day: + +"The trousers tight around the hips, and thence hanging long and +loose around the feet, a superabundance of checked shirt, a low- +crowned, well-varnished black hat, worn on the back of the head, +with half a fathom of black ribbon hanging over the left eye, and +a peculiar tie to the black silk neckerchief." + +Though Dana sailed from Boston only three-quarters of a century +ago, much that is at present obsolete was then in full sway. For +instance, the old word LARBOARD was still in use. He was a member +of the LARBOARD watch. The vessel was on the LARBOARD tack. It +was only the other day, because of its similarity in sound to +starboard, that LARBOARD was changed to PORT. Try to imagine "All +larboard bowlines on deck!" being shouted down into the forecastle +of a present day ship. Yet that was the call used on the Pilgrim +to fetch Dana and the rest of his watch on deck. + +The chronometer, which is merely the least imperfect time-piece +man has devised, makes possible the surest and easiest method by +far of ascertaining longitude. Yet the Pilgrim sailed in a day +when the chronometer was just coming into general use. So little +was it depended upon that the Pilgrim carried only one, and that +one, going wrong at the outset, was never used again. A navigator +of the present would be aghast if asked to voyage for two years, +from Boston, around the Horn to California, and back again, +without a chronometer. In those days such a proceeding was a +matter of course, for those were the days when dead reckoning was +indeed something to reckon on, when running down the latitude was +a common way of finding a place, and when lunar observations were +direly necessary. It may be fairly asserted that very few +merchant officers of to-day ever make a lunar observation, and +that a large percentage are unable to do it. + +"Sept. 22nd., upon coming on deck at seven bells in the morning we +found the other watch aloft throwing water upon the sails, and +looking astern we saw a small, clipper-built brig with a black +hull heading directly after us. We went to work immediately, and +put all the canvas upon the brig which we could get upon her, +rigging out oars for studding-sail yards; and contined wetting +down the sails by buckets of water whipped up to the mast-head . . +. She was armed, and full of men, and showed no colours." + +The foregoing sounds like a paragraph from "Midshipman Easy" or +the "Water Witch," rather than a paragraph from the soberest, +faithfullest, and most literal chronicle of the sea ever written. +And yet the chase by a pirate occurred, on board the brig Pilgrim, +on September 22nd, 1834--something like only two generations ago. + +Dana was the thorough-going type of man, not overbalanced and +erratic, without quirk or quibble of temperament. He was +efficient, but not brilliant. His was a general all-round +efficiency. He was efficient at the law; he was efficient at +college; he was efficient as a sailor; he was efficient in the +matter of pride, when that pride was no more than the pride of a +forecastle hand, at twelve dollars a month, in his seaman's task +well done, in the smart sailing of his captain, in the clearness +and trimness of his ship. + +There is no sailor whose cockles of the heart will not warm to +Dana's description of the first time he sent down a royal yard. +Once or twice he had seen it done. He got an old hand in the crew +to coach him. And then, the first anchorage at Monterey, being +pretty THICK with the second mate, he got him to ask the mate to +be sent up the first time the royal yards were struck. +"Fortunately," as Dana describes it, "I got through without any +word from the officer; and heard the 'well done' of the mate, when +the yard reached the deck, with as much satisfaction as I ever +felt at Cambridge on seeing a 'bene' at the foot of a Latin +exercise." + +"This was the first time I had taken a weather ear-ring, and I +felt not a little proud to sit astride of the weather yard-arm, +past the ear-ring, and sing out 'Haul out to leeward!'" He had +been over a year at sea before he essayed this able seaman's task, +but he did it, and he did it with pride. And with pride, he went +down a four-hundred foot cliff, on a pair of top-gallant studding- +sail halyards bent together, to dislodge several dollars worth of +stranded bullock hides, though all the acclaim he got from his +mates was: "What a d-d fool you were to risk your life for half a +dozen hides!" + +In brief, it was just this efficiency in pride, as well as work, +that enabled Dana to set down, not merely the photograph detail of +life before the mast and hide-droghing on the coast of California, +but of the untarnished simple psychology and ethics of the +forecastle hands who droghed the hides, stood at the wheel, made +and took in sail, tarred down the rigging, holystoned the decks, +turned in all-standing, grumbled as they cut about the kid, +criticised the seamanship of their officers, and estimated the +duration of their exile from the cubic space of the hide-house. + +JACK LONDON +Glen Ellen, California, +August 13, 1911. + + + +A WICKED WOMAN +(Curtain Raiser) +BY JACK LONDON + + + +Scene--California. +Time--Afternoon of a summer day. + +CHARACTERS + +LORETTA, A sweet, young thing. Frightfully innocent. About +nineteen years old. Slender, delicate, a fragile flower. +Ingenuous. + +NED BASHFORD, A jaded young man of the world, who has +philosophised his experiences and who is without faith in the +veracity or purity of women. + +BILLY MARSH, A boy from a country town who is just about as +innocent as Loretta. Awkward. Positive. Raw and callow youth. + +ALICE HEMINGWAY, A society woman, good-hearted, and a match-maker. + +JACK HEMINGWAY, Her husband. + +MAID. + + +A WICKED WOMAN + + +[Curtain rises on a conventional living room of a country house in +California. It is the Hemingway house at Santa Clara. The room +is remarkable for magnificent stone fireplace at rear centre. On +either side of fireplace are generous, diamond-paned windows. +Wide, curtained doorways to right and left. To left, front, +table, with vase of flowers and chairs. To right, front, grand +piano.] + +[Curtain discovers LORETTA seated at piano, not playing, her back +to it, facing NED BASHFORD, who is standing.] + +LORETTA. [Petulantly, fanning herself with sheet of music.] No, +I won't go fishing. It's too warm. Besides, the fish won't bite +so early in the afternoon. + +NED. Oh, come on. It's not warm at all. And anyway, we won't +really fish. I want to tell you something. + +LORETTA. [Still petulantly.] You are always wanting to tell me +something. + +NED. Yes, but only in fun. This is different. This is serious. +Our . . . my happiness depends upon it. + +LORETTA. [Speaking eagerly, no longer petulant, looking, serious +and delighted, divining a proposal.] Then don't wait. Tell me +right here. + +NED. [Almost threateningly.] Shall I? + +LORETTA. [Challenging.] Yes. + +[He looks around apprehensively as though fearing interruption, +clears his throat, takes resolution, also takes LORETTA's hand.] + +[LORETTA is startled, timid, yet willing to hear, naively unable +to conceal her love for him.] + +NED. [Speaking softly.] Loretta . . . I, . . . ever since I met +you I have - + +[JACK HEMINGWAY appears in the doorway to the left, just +entering.] + +[NED suddenly drops LORETTA's hand. He shows exasperation.] + +[LORETTA shows disappointment at interruption.] + +NED. Confound it + +LORETTA. [Shocked.] Ned! Why will you swear so? + +NED. [Testily.] That isn't swearing. + +LORETTA. What is it, pray? + +NED. Displeasuring. + +JACK HEMINGWAY. [Who is crossing over to right.] Squabbling +again? + +LORETTA. [Indignantly and with dignity.] No, we're not. + +NED. [Gruffly.] What do you want now? + +JACK HEMINGWAY. [Enthusiastically.] Come on fishing. + +NED. [Snappily.] No. It's too warm. + +JACK HEMINGWAY. [Resignedly, going out right.] You needn't take +a fellow's head off. + +LORETTA. I thought you wanted to go fishing. + +NED. Not with Jack. + +LORETTA. [Accusingly, fanning herself vigorously.] And you told +me it wasn't warm at all. + +NED. [Speaking softly.] That isn't what I wanted to tell you, +Loretta. [He takes her hand.] Dear Loretta - + +[Enter abruptly ALICE HEMINGWAY from right.] + +[LORETTA sharply jerks her hand away, and looks put out.] + +[NED tries not to look awkward.] + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. Goodness! I thought you'd both gone fishing! + +LORETTA. [Sweetly.] Is there anything you want, Alice? + +NED. [Trying to be courteous.] Anything I can do? + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Speaking quickly, and trying to withdraw.] No, +no. I only came to see if the mail had arrived. + +LORETTA AND NED + +[Speaking together.] No, it hasn't arrived. + +LORETTA. [Suddenly moving toward door to right.] I am going to +see. + +[NED looks at her reproachfully.] + +[LORETTA looks back tantalisingly from doorway and disappears.] + +[NED flings himself disgustedly into Morris chair.] + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Moving over and standing in front of him. +Speaks accusingly.] What have you been saying to her? + +NED. [Disgruntled.] Nothing. + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Threateningly.] Now listen to me, Ned. + +NED. [Earnestly.] On my word, Alice, I've been saying nothing to +her. + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [With sudden change of front.] Then you ought +to have been saying something to her. + +NED. [Irritably. Getting chair for her, seating her, and seating +himself again.] Look here, Alice, I know your game. You invited +me down here to make a fool of me. + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. Nothing of the sort, sir. I asked you down to +meet a sweet and unsullied girl--the sweetest, most innocent and +ingenuous girl in the world. + +NED. [Dryly.] That's what you said in your letter. + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. And that's why you came. Jack had been trying +for a year to get you to come. He did not know what kind of a +letter to write. + +NED. If you think I came because of a line in a letter about a +girl I'd never seen - + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Mockingly.] The poor, jaded, world-worn man, +who is no longer interested in women . . . and girls! The poor, +tired pessimist who has lost all faith in the goodness of women - + +NED. For which you are responsible. + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Incredulously.] I? + +NED. You are responsible. Why did you throw me over and marry +Jack? + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. Do you want to know? + +NED. Yes. + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Judiciously.] First, because I did not love +you. Second, because you did not love me. [She smiles at his +protesting hand and at the protesting expression on his face.] +And third, because there were just about twenty-seven other women +at that time that you loved, or thought you loved. That is why I +married Jack. And that is why you lost faith in the goodness of +women. You have only yourself to blame. + +NED. [Admiringly.] You talk so convincingly. I almost believe +you as I listen to you. And yet I know all the time that you are +like all the rest of your sex--faithless, unveracious, and . . . + +[He glares at her, but does not proceed.] + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. Go on. I'm not afraid. + +NED. [With finality.] And immoral. + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. Oh! You wretch! + +NED. [Gloatingly.] That's right. Get angry. You may break the +furniture if you wish. I don't mind. + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [With sudden change of front, softly.] And how +about Loretta? + +[NED gasps and remains silent.] + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. The depths of duplicity that must lurk under +that sweet and innocent exterior . . . according to your +philosophy! + +NED. [Earnestly.] Loretta is an exception, I confess. She is +all that you said in your letter. She is a little fairy, an +angel. I never dreamed of anything like her. It is remarkable to +find such a woman in this age. + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Encouragingly.] She is so naive. + +NED. [Taking the bait.] Yes, isn't she? Her face and her tongue +betray all her secrets. + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Nodding her head.] Yes, I have noticed it. + +NED. [Delightedly.] Have you? + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. She cannot conceal anything. Do you know that +she loves you? + +NED. [Falling into the trap, eagerly.] Do you think so? + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Laughing and rising.] And to think I once +permitted you to make love to me for three weeks! + +[NED rises.] + +[MAID enters from left with letters, which she brings to ALICE +HEMINGWAY.] + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Running over letters.] None for you, Ned. +[Selecting two letters for herself.] Tradesmen. [Handing +remainder of letters to MAID.] And three for Loretta. [Speaking +to MAID.] Put them on the table, Josie. + +[MAID puts letters on table to left front, and makes exit to +left.] + +NED. [With shade of jealousy.] Loretta seems to have quite a +correspondence. + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [With a sigh.] Yes, as I used to when I was a +girl. + +NED. But hers are family letters. + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. Yes, I did not notice any from Billy. + +NED. [Faintly.] Billy? + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Nodding.] Of course she has told you about +him? + +NED. [Gasping.] She has had lovers . . . already? + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. And why not? She is nineteen. + +NED. [Haltingly.] This . . . er . . . this Billy . . . ? + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Laughing and putting her hand reassuringly on +his arm.] Now don't be alarmed, poor, tired philosopher. She +doesn't love Billy at all. + +[LORETTA enters from right.] + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [To LORETTA, nodding toward table.] Three +letters for you. + +LORETTA. [Delightedly.] Oh! Thank you. + +[LORETTA trips swiftly across to table, looks at letters, sits +down, opens letters, and begins to read.] + +NED. [Suspiciously.] But Billy? + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. I am afraid he loves her very hard. That is why +she is here. They had to send her away. Billy was making life +miserable for her. They were little children together--playmates. +And Billy has been, well, importunate. And Loretta, poor child, +does not know anything about marriage. That is all. + +NED. [Reassured.] Oh, I see. + +[ALICE HEMINGWAY starts slowly toward right exit, continuing +conversation and accompanied by NED.] + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [Calling to LORETTA.] Are you going fishing, +Loretta? + +[LORETTA looks up from letter and shakes head.] + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. [To NED.] Then you're not, I suppose? + +NED. No, it's too warm. + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. Then I know the place for you. + +NED. Where? + +ALICE HEMINGWAY. Right here. [Looks significantly in direction +of LORETTA.] Now is your opportunity to say what you ought to +say. + +[ALICE HEMINGWAY laughs teasingly and goes out to right.] + +[NED hesitates, starts to follow her, looks at LORETTA, and stops. +He twists his moustache and continues to look at her +meditatively.] + +[LORETTA is unaware of his presence and goes on reading. Finishes +letter, folds it, replaces in envelope, looks up, and discovers +NED.] + +LORETTA. [Startled.] Oh! I thought you were gone. + +NED. [Walking across to her.] I thought I'd stay and finish our +conversation. + +LORETTA. [Willingly, settling herself to listen.] Yes, you were +going to . . . [Drops eyes and ceases talking.] + +NED. [Taking her hand, tenderly.] I little dreamed when I came +down here visiting that I was to meet my destiny in--[Abruptly +releases LORETTA's hand.] + +[MAID enters from left with tray.] + +[LORETTA glances into tray and discovers that it is empty. She +looks inquiringly at MAID.] + +MAID. A gentleman to see you. He hasn't any card. He said for +me to tell you that it was Billy. + +LORETTA. [Starting, looking with dismay and appeal to NED.] Oh! +. . . Ned! + +NED [Gracefully and courteously, rising to his feet and preparing +to go.] If you'll excuse me now, I'll wait till afterward to tell +you what I wanted. + +LORETTA. [In dismay.] What shall I do? + +NED. [Pausing.] Don't you want to see him? [LORETTA shakes her +head.] Then don't. + +LORETTA. [Slowly.] I can't do that. We are old friends. We . . +. were children together. [To the MAID.] Send him in. [To NED, +who has started to go out toward right.] Don't go, Ned. + +[MAID makes exit to left.] + +NED. [Hesitating a moment.] I'll come back. + +[NED makes exit to right.] + +[LORETTA, left alone on stage, shows perturbation and dismay.] + +[BILLY enters from left. Stands in doorway a moment. His shoes +are dusty. He looks overheated. His eyes and face brighten at +sight of LORETTA.] + +BILLY. [Stepping forward, ardently.] Loretta! + +LORETTA. [Not exactly enthusiastic in her reception, going slowly +to meet him.] You never said you were coming. + +[BILLY shows that he expects to kiss her, but she merely shakes +his hand.] + +BILLY. [Looking down at his very dusty shoes.] I walked from the +station. + +LORETTA. If you had let me know, the carriage would have been +sent for you. + +BILLY. [With expression of shrewdness.] If I had let you know, +you wouldn't have let me come. + +[BILLY looks around stage cautiously, then tries to kiss her.] + +LORETTA. [Refusing to be kissed. ] Won't you sit down? + +BILLY. [Coaxingly.] Go on, just one. [LORETTA shakes head and +holds him off.] Why not? We're engaged. + +LORETTA. [With decision. ] We're not. You know we're not. You +know I broke it off the day before I came away. And . . . and . . +. you'd better sit down. + +[BILLY sits down on edge of chair. LORETTA seats herself by +table. Billy, without rising, jerks his chair forward till they +are facing each other, his knees touching hers. He yearns toward +her. She moves back her chair slightly.] + +BILLY. [With supreme confidence.] That's what I came to see you +for--to get engaged over again. + +[BILLY hudges chair forward and tries to take her hand.] + +[LORETTA hudges her chair back.] + +BILLY. [Drawing out large silver watch and looking at it.] Now +look here, Loretta, I haven't any time to lose. I've got to leave +for that train in ten minutes. And I want you to set the day. + +LORETTA. But we're not engaged, Billy. So there can't be any +setting of the day. + +BILLY. [With confidence.] But we're going to be. [Suddenly +breaking out.] Oh, Loretta, if you only knew how I've suffered. +That first night I didn't sleep a wink. I haven't slept much ever +since. [Hudges chair forward.] I walk the floor all night. +[Solemnly.] Loretta, I don't eat enough to keep a canary bird +alive. Loretta . . . [Hudges chair forward.] + +LORETTA. [Hudging her chair back maternally.] Billy, what you +need is a tonic. Have you seen Doctor Haskins? + +BILLY. [Looking at watch and evincing signs of haste.] Loretta, +when a girl kisses a man, it means she is going to marry him. + +LORETTA. I know it, Billy. But . . . [She glances toward letters +on table.] Captain Kitt doesn't want me to marry you. He says . +. . [She takes letter and begins to open it.] + +BILLY. Never mind what Captain Kitt says. He wants you to stay +and be company for your sister. He doesn't want you to marry me +because he knows she wants to keep you. + +LORETTA. Daisy doesn't want to keep me. She wants nothing but my +own happiness. She says--[She takes second letter from table and +begins to open it.] + +BILLY. Never mind what Daisy says - + +LORETTA. [Taking third letter from table and beginning to open +it.] And Martha says - + +BILLY. [Angrily.] Darn Martha and the whole boiling of them! + +LORETTA. [Reprovingly.] Oh, Billy! + +BILLY. [Defensively.] Darn isn't swearing, and you know it +isn't. + +[There is an awkward pause. Billy has lost the thread of the +conversation and has vacant expression.] + +BILLY. [Suddenly recollecting.] Never mind Captain Kitt, and +Daisy, and Martha, and what they want. The question is, what do +you want? + +LORETTA. [Appealingly.] Oh, Billy, I'm so unhappy. + +BILLY. [Ignoring the appeal and pressing home the point.] The +thing is, do you want to marry me? [He looks at his watch.] Just +answer that. + +LORETTA. Aren't you afraid you'll miss that train? + +BILLY. Darn the train! + +LORETTA. [Reprovingly.] Oh, Billy! + +BILLY. [Most irascibly.] Darn isn't swearing. [Plaintively.] +That's the way you always put me off. I didn't come all the way +here for a train. I came for you. Now just answer me one thing. +Do you want to marry me? + +LORETTA. [Firmly.] No, I don't want to marry you. + +BILLY. [With assurance.] But you've got to, just the same. + +LORETTA. [With defiance.] Got to? + +BILLY. [With unshaken assurance.] That's what I said--got to. +And I'll see that you do. + +LORETTA. [Blazing with anger.] I am no longer a child. You +can't bully me, Billy Marsh! + +BILLY. [Coolly.] I'm not trying to bully you. I'm trying to +save your reputation. + +LORETTA. [Faintly.] Reputation? + +BILLY. [Nodding.] Yes, reputation. [He pauses for a moment, +then speaks very solemnly.] Loretta, when a woman kisses a man, +she's got to marry him. + +LORETTA. [Appalled, faintly.] Got to? + +BILLY. [Dogmatically.] It is the custom. + +LORETTA. [Brokenly.] And when . . . a . . . a woman kisses a man +and doesn't . . . marry him . . . ? + +BILLY. Then there is a scandal. That's where all the scandals +you see in the papers come from. + +[BILLY looks at watch.] + +[LORETTA in silent despair.] + +LORETTA. [In abasement.] You are a good man, Billy. [Billy +shows that he believes it.] And I am a very wicked woman. + +BILLY. No, you're not, Loretta. You just didn't know. + +LORETTA. [With a gleam of hope.] But you kissed me first. + +BILLY. It doesn't matter. You let me kiss you. + +LORETTA. [Hope dying down.] But not at first. + +BILLY. But you did afterward and that's what counts. You let me +you in the grape-arbour. You let me - + +LORETTA. [With anguish] Don't! Don't! + +BILLY. [Relentlessly.]--kiss you when you were playing the piano. +You let me kiss you that day of the picnic. And I can't remember +all the times you let me kiss you good night. + +LORETTA. [Beginning to weep.] Not more than five. + +BILLY. [With conviction.] Eight at least. + +LORETTA. [Reproachfully, still weeping.] You told me it was all +right. + +BILLY. [Emphatically.] So it was all right--until you said you +wouldn't marry me after all. Then it was a scandal--only no one +knows it yet. If you marry me no one ever will know it. [Looks +at watch.] I've got to go. [Stands up.] Where's my hat? + +LORETTA. [Sobbing.] This is awful. + +BILLY. [Approvingly.] You bet it's awful. And there's only one +way out. [Looks anxiously about for hat.] What do you say? + +LORETTA. [Brokenly.] I must think. I'll write to you. +[Faintly.] The train? Your hat's in the hall. + +BILLY. [Looks at watch, hastily tries to kiss her, succeeds only +in shaking hand, starts across stage toward left.] All right. +You write to me. Write to-morrow. [Stops for a moment in door- +way and speaks very solemnly.] Remember, Loretta, there must be +no scandal. + +[Billy goes out.] + +[LORETTA sits in chair quietly weeping. Slowly dries eyes, rises +from chair, and stands, undecided as to what she will do next.] + +[NED enters from right, peeping. Discovers that LORETTA is alone, +and comes quietly across stage to her. When NED comes up to her +she begins weeping again and tries to turn her head away. NED +catches both her hands in his and compels her to look at him. She +weeps harder.] + +NED. [Putting one arm protectingly around her shoulder and +drawing her toward him.] There, there, little one, don't cry. + +LORETTA. [Turning her face to his shoulder like a tired child, +sobbing.] Oh, Ned, if you only knew how wicked I am. + +NED. [Smiling indulgently.] What is the matter, little one? Has +your dearly beloved sister failed to write to you? [LORETTA +shakes head.] Has Hemingway been bullying you? [LORETTA shakes +head.] Then it must have been that caller of yours? [Long pause, +during which LORETTA's weeping grows more violent.] Tell me +what's the matter, and we'll see what I can do. [He lightly +kisses her hair--so lightly that she does not know.] + +LORETTA. [Sobbing.] I can't. You will despise me. Oh, Ned, I +am so ashamed. + +NED. [Laughing incredulously.] Let us forget all about it. I +want to tell you something that may make me very happy. My +fondest hope is that it will make you happy, too. Loretta, I love +you - + +LORETTA. [Uttering a sharp cry of delight, then moaning.] Too +late! + +NED. [Surprised.] Too late? + +LORETTA. [Still moaning.] Oh, why did I? [NED somewhat +stiffens.] I was so young. I did not know the world then. + +NED. What is it all about anyway? + +LORETTA. Oh, I . . . he . . . Billy . . . I am a wicked woman, +Ned. I know you will never speak to me again. + +NED. This . . . er . . . this Billy--what has he been doing? + +LORETTA. I . . . he . . . I didn't know. I was so young. I +could not help it. Oh, I shall go mad, I shall go mad! + +[NED's encircling arm goes limp. He gently disengages her and +deposits her in big chair.] + +[LORETTA buries her face and sobs afresh.] + +NED. [Twisting moustache fiercely, regarding her dubiously, +hesitating a moment, then drawing up chair and sitting down.] I . +. . I do not understand. + +LORETTA. [Wailing.] I am so unhappy! + +NED. [Inquisitorially.] Why unhappy? + +LORETTA. Because . . . he . . . he wants to marry me. + +NED. [His face brightening instantly, leaning forward and laying +a hand soothingly on hers.] That should not make any girl +unhappy. Because you don't love him is no reason--[Abruptly +breaking off.] Of course you don't love him? [LORETTA shakes her +head and shoulders vigorously.] What? + +LORETTA. [Explosively.] No, I don't love Billy! I don't want to +love Billy! + +NED. [With confidence.] Because you don't love him is no reason +that you should be unhappy just because he has proposed to you. + +LORETTA. [Sobbing.] That's the trouble. I wish I did love him. +Oh, I wish I were dead. + +NED. [Growing complacent.] Now my dear child, you are worrying +yourself over trifles. [His second hand joins the first in +holding her hands.] Women do it every day. Because you have +changed your mind, or did not know you mind, because you have--to +use an unnecessarily harsh word--jilted a man - + +LORETTA. [Interrupting, raising her head and looking at him.] +Jilted? Oh Ned, if that were a all! + +NED. [Hollow voice.] All! + +[NED's hands slowly retreat from hers. He opens his mouth as +though to speak further, then changes his mind and remains +silent.] + +LORETTA. [Protestingly.] But I don't want to marry him! + +NED. Then I shouldn't. + +LORETTA. But I ought to marry him. + +NED. OUGHT to marry him? [LORETTA nods.] That is a strong word. + +LORETTA. [Nodding.] I know it is. [Her lips are trembling, but +she strives for control and manages to speak more calmly.] I am a +wicked woman. A terrible wicked woman. No one knows how wicked I +am . . . except Billy. + +NED. [Starting, looking at her queerly.] He . . . Billy knows? +[LORETTA nods. He debates with himself a moment.] Tell me about +it. You must tell me all of it. + +LORETTA. [Faintly, as though about to weep again.] All of it? + +NED. [Firmly.] Yes, all of it. + +LORETTA. [Haltingly.] And . . . will . . . you . . . ever . . . +forgive . . . me? + +NED. [Drawing a long, breath, desperately.] Yes, I'll forgive +you. Go ahead. + +LORETTA. There was no one to tell me. We were with each other so +much. I did not know anything of the world . . . then. [Pauses.] + +NED. [Impatiently.] Go on. + +LORETTA. If I had only known. [Pauses.] + +NED. [Biting his lip and clenching his hands.] Yes, yes. Go on. + +LORETTA. We were together almost every evening. + +NED. [Savagely.] Billy? + +LORETTA. Yes, of course, Billy. We were with each other so much +. . . If I had only known . . . There was no one to tell me . . . +I was so young . . . [Breaks down crying.] + +NED. [Leaping to his feet, explosively.] The scoundrel! + +LORETTA. [Lifting her head.] Billy is not a scoundrel . . . He . +. . he . . . is a good man. + +NED. [Sarcastically.] I suppose you'll be telling me next that +it was all your fault. [LORETTA nods.] What! + +LORETTA. [Steadily.] It was all my fault. I should never have +let him. I was to blame. + +NED. [Paces up and down for a minute, stops in front of her, and +speaks with resignation.] All right. I don't blame you in the +least, Loretta. And you have been very honest. It is . . . er . +. . commendable. But Billy is right, and you are wrong. You must +get married. + +LORETTA. [In dim, far-away voice.] To Billy? + +NED. Yes, to Billy. I'll see to it. Where does he live? I'll +make him. If he won't I'll . . . I'll shoot him! + +LORETTA. [Crying out with alarm.] Oh, Ned, you won't do that? + +NED. [Sternly.] I shall. + +LORETTA. But I don't want to marry Billy. + +NED. [Sternly.] You must. And Billy must. Do you understand? +It is the only thing. + +LORETTA. That's what Billy said. + +NED. [Triumphantly.] You see, I am right. + +LORETTA. And if . . . if I don't marry him . . . there will be . +. . scandal? + +NED. [Calmly.] Yes, there will be scandal. + +LORETTA. That's what Billy said. Oh, I am so unhappy! + +[LORETTA breaks down into violent weeping.] + +[NED paces grimly up and down, now and again fiercely twisting his +moustache.] + +LORETTA. [Face buried, sobbing and crying all the time.] + +I don't want to leave Daisy! I don't want to leave Daisy! What +shall I do? What shall I do? How was I to know? He didn't tell +me. Nobody else ever kissed me. [NED stops curiously to listen. +As he listens his face brightens.] I never dreamed a kiss could +be so terrible . . . until . . . until he told me. He only told +me this morning. + +NED. [Abruptly.] Is that what you are crying about? + +LORETTA. [Reluctantly.] N-no. + +NED. [In hopeless voice, the brightness gone out of his face, +about to begin pacing again.] Then what are you crying about? + +LORETTA. Because you said I had to marry Billy. I don't want to +marry Billy. I don't want to leave Daisy. I don't know what I +want. I wish I were dead. + +NED. [Nerving himself for another effort.] Now look here, +Loretta, be sensible. What is this about kisses? You haven't +told me everything after all. + +LORETTA. I . . . I don't want to tell you everything. + +NED. [Imperatively.] You must. + +LORETTA. [Surrendering.] Well, then . . . must I? + +NED. You must. + +LORETTA. [Floundering.] He . . . I . . . we . . . I let him, +and he kissed me. + +NED. [Desperately, controlling himself.] Go on. + +LORETTA. He says eight, but I can't think of more than five +times. + +NED. Yes, go on. + +LORETTA. That's all. + +NED. [With vast incredulity.] All? + +LORETTA. [Puzzled.] All? + +NED. [Awkwardly.] I mean . . . er . . . nothing worse? + +LORETTA. [Puzzled.] Worse? As though there could be. Billy +said - + +NED. [Interrupting.] When? + +LORETTA. This afternoon. Just now. Billy said that my . . . our +. . . our . . . our kisses were terrible if we didn't get married. + +NED. What else did he say? + +LORETTA. He said that when a woman permitted a man to kiss her +she always married him. That it was awful if she didn't. It was +the custom, he said; and I say it is a bad, wicked custom, and it +has broken my heart. I shall never be happy again. I know I am +terrible, but I can't help it. I must have been born wicked. + +NED. [Absent-mindedly bringing out a cigarette and striking a +match.] Do you mind if I smoke? [Coming to himself again, and +flinging away match and cigarette.] I beg your pardon. I don't +want to smoke. I didn't mean that at all. What I mean is . . . +[He bends over LORETTA, catches her hands in his, then sits on arm +of chair, softly puts one arm around her, and is about to kiss +her.] + +LORETTA. [With horror, repulsing him.] No! No! + +NED. [Surprised.] What's the matter? + +LORETTA. [Agitatedly.] Would you make me a wickeder woman than I +am? + +NED. A kiss? + +LORETTA. There will be another scandal. That would make two +scandals. + +NED. To kiss the woman I love . . . a scandal? + +LORETTA. Billy loves me, and he said so. + +NED. Billy is a joker . . . or else he is as innocent as you. + +LORETTA. But you said so yourself. + +NED. [Taken aback.] I? + +LORETTA. Yes, you said it yourself, with your own lips, not ten +minutes ago. I shall never believe you again. + +NED. [Masterfully putting arm around her and drawing her toward +him.] And I am a joker, too, and a very wicked man. +Nevertheless, you must trust me. There will be nothing wrong. + +LORETTA. [Preparing to yield.] And no . . . scandal? + +NED. Scandal fiddlesticks. Loretta, I want you to be my wife. +[He waits anxiously.] + +[JACK HEMINGWAY, in fishing costume, appears in doorway to right +and looks on.] + +NED. You might say something. + +LORETTA. I will . . . if . . . + +[ALICE HEMINGWAY appears in doorway to left and looks on.] + +NED. [In suspense.] Yes, go on. + +LORETTA. If I don't have to marry Billy. + +NED. [Almost shouting.] You can't marry both of us! + +LORETTA. [Sadly, repulsing him with her hands.] Then, Ned, I +cannot marry you. + +NED. [Dumbfounded.] W-what? + +LORETTA. [Sadly.] Because I can't marry both of you. + +NED. Bosh and nonsense! + +LORETTA. I'd like to marry you, but . . . + +NED. There is nothing to prevent you. + +LORETTA. [With sad conviction.] Oh, yes, there is. You said +yourself that I had to marry Billy. You said you would s-s-shoot +him if he didn't. + +NED. [Drawing her toward him.] Nevertheless . . . + +LORETTA. [Slightly holding him off.] And it isn't the custom . . +. what . . . Billy said? + +NED. No, it isn't the custom. Now, Loretta, will you marry me? + +LORETTA. [Pouting demurely.] Don't be angry with me, Ned. [He +gathers her into his arms and kisses her. She partially frees +herself, gasping.] I wish it were the custom, because now I'd +have to marry you, Ned, wouldn't I? + +[NED and LORETTA kiss a second time and profoundly.] + +[JACK HEMINGWAY chuckles.] + +[NED and LORETTA, startled, but still in each other's arms, look +around. NED looks sillily at ALICE HEMINGWAY. LORETTA looks at +JACK HEMINGWAY.] + +LORETTA. I don't care. + +CURTAIN + + + +THE BIRTH MARK +SKETCH BY JACK LONDON written for Robert and Julia Fitzsimmons + + + +SCENE--One of the club rooms of the West Bay Athletic Club. Near +centre front is a large table covered with newspapers and +magazines. At left a punching-bag apparatus. At right, against +wall, a desk, on which rests a desk-telephone. Door at rear +toward left. On walls are framed pictures of pugilists, +conspicuous among which is one of Robert Fitzsimmons. Appropriate +furnishings, etc., such as foils, clubs, dumb-bells and trophies. + +[Enter MAUD SYLVESTER.] + +[She is dressed as a man, in evening clothes, preferably a Tuxedo. +In her hand is a card, and under her arm a paper-wrapped parcel. +She peeps about curiously and advances to table. She is timorous +and excited, elated and at the same time frightened. Her eyes are +dancing with excitement.] + +MAUD. [Pausing by table.] Not a soul saw me. I wonder where +everybody is. And that big brother of mine said I could not get +in. [She reads back of card.] "Here is my card, Maudie. If you +can use it, go ahead. But you will never get inside the door. I +consider my bet as good as won." [Looking up, triumphantly.] You +do, do you? Oh, if you could see your little sister now. Here +she is, inside. [Pauses, and looks about.] So this is the West +Bay Athletic Club. No women allowed. Well, here I am, if I don't +look like one. [Stretches out one leg and then the other, and +looks at them. Leaving card and parcel on table, she struts +around like a man, looks at pictures of pugilists on walls, +reading aloud their names and making appropriate remarks. But she +stops before the portrait of Fitzsimmons and reads aloud.] +"Robert Fitzsimmons, the greatest warrior of them all." [Clasps +hands, and looking up at portrait murmurs.] Oh, you dear! + +[Continues strutting around, imitating what she considers are a +man's stride and swagger, returns to table and proceeds to unwrap +parcel.] Well, I'll go out like a girl, if I did come in like a +man. [Drops wrapping paper on table and holds up a woman's long +automobile cloak and a motor bonnet. Is suddenly startled by +sound of approaching footsteps and glances in a frightened way +toward door.] Mercy! Here comes somebody now! [Glances about +her in alarm, drops cloak and bonnet on floor close to table, +seizes a handful of newspapers, and runs to large leather chair to +right of table, where she seats herself hurriedly. One paper she +holds up before her, hiding her face as she pretends to read. +Unfortunately the paper is upside down. The other papers lie on +her lap.] + +[Enter ROBERT FITZSIMMONS.] + +[He looks about, advances to table, takes out cigarette case and +is about to select one, when he notices motor cloak and bonnet on +floor. He lays cigarette case on table and picks them up. They +strike him as profoundly curious things to be in a club room. He +looks at MAUD, then sees card on table. He picks it up and reach +it to himself, then looks at her with comprehension. Hidden by +her newspaper, she sees nothing. He looks at card again and reads +and speaks in an aside.] + +FITZSIMMONS. "Maudie. John H. Sylvester." That must be Jack +Sylvester's sister Maud. [FITZSIMMONS shows by his expression +that he is going to play a joke. Tossing cloak and bonnet under +the table he places card in his vest pocket, selects a chair, sits +down, and looks at MAUD. He notes paper is upside down, is hugely +tickled, and laughs silently.] Hello! [Newspaper is agitated by +slight tremor. He speaks more loudly.] Hello! [Newspaper shakes +badly. He speaks very loudly.] Hello! + +MAUD. [Peeping at him over top of paper and speaking +hesitatingly.] H-h-hello! + +FITZSIMMONS. [Gruffly.] You are a queer one, reading a paper +upside down. + +MAUD. [Lowering newspaper and trying to appear at ease.] It's +quite a trick, isn't it? I often practise it. I'm real clever at +it, you know. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Grunts, then adds.] Seems to me I have seen you +before. + +MAUD. [Glancing quickly from his face to portrait and back +again.] Yes, and I know you--You are Robert Fitzsimmons. + +FITZSIMMONS. I thought I knew you. + +MAUD. Yes, it was out in San Francisco. My people still live +there. I'm just--ahem--doing New York. + +FITZSIMMONS. But I don't quite remember the name. + +MAUD. Jones--Harry Jones. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Hugely delighted, leaping from chair and striding +over to her.] Sure. [Slaps her resoundingly on shoulder.] + +[She is nearly crushed by the weight of the blow, and at the same +time shocked. She scrambles to her feet.] + +FITZSIMMONS. Glad to see you, Harry. [He wrings her hand, so +that it hurts.] Glad to see you again, Harry. [He continues +wringing her hand and pumping her arm.] + +MAUD. [Struggling to withdraw her hand and finally succeeding. +Her voice is rather faint.] Ye-es, er . . . Bob . . . er . . . +glad to see you again. [She looks ruefully at her bruised fingers +and sinks into chair. Then, recollecting her part, she crosses +her legs in a mannish way.] + +FITZSIMMONS. [Crossing to desk at right, against which he leans, +facing her.] You were a wild young rascal in those San Francisco +days. [Chuckling.] Lord, Lord, how it all comes back to me. + +MAUD. [Boastfully.] I was wild--some. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Grinning.] I should say! Remember that night I +put you to bed? + +MAUD. [Forgetting herself, indignantly.] Sir! + +FITZSIMMONS. You were . . . er . . . drunk. + +MAUD. I never was! + +FITZSIMMONS. Surely you haven't forgotten that night! You began +with dropping champagne bottles out of the club windows on the +heads of the people on the sidewalk, and you wound up by +assaulting a cabman. And let me tell you I saved you from a good +licking right there, and squared it with the police. Don't you +remember? + +MAUD. [Nodding hesitatingly.] Yes, it is beginning to come back +to me. I was a bit tight that night. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Exultantly.] A bit tight! Why, before I could get +you to bed you insisted on telling me the story of your life. + +MAUD. Did I? I don't remember that. + +FITZSIMMONS. I should say not. You were past remembering +anything by that time. You had your arms around my neck - + +MAUD. [Interrupting.] Oh! + +FITZSIMMONS. And you kept repeating over and over, "Bob, dear +Bob." + +MAUD. [Springing to her feet.] Oh! I never did! [Recollecting +herself.] Perhaps I must have. I was a trifle wild in those +days, I admit. But I'm wise now. I've sowed my wild oats and +steadied down. + +FITZSIMMONS. I'm glad to hear that, Harry. You were tearing off +a pretty fast pace in those days. [Pause, in which MAUD nods.] +Still punch the bag? + +MAUD. [In quick alarm, glancing at punching bag.] No, I've got +out of the hang of it. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Reproachfully.] You haven't forgotten that right- +and-left, arm, elbow and shoulder movement I taught you? + +MAUD. [With hesitation.] N-o-o. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Moving toward bag to left.] Then, come on. + +MAUD. [Rising reluctantly and following.] I'd rather see you +punch the bag. I'd just love to. + +FITZSIMMONS. I will, afterward. You go to it first. + +MAUD. [Eyeing the bag in alarm.] No; you. I'm out of practice. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Looking at her sharply.] How many drinks have you +had to-night? + +MAUD. Not a one. I don't drink--that is--er--only occasionally. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Indicating bag.] Then go to it. + +MAUD. No; I tell you I am out of practice. I've forgotten it +all. You see, I made a discovery. + +[Pauses.] + +FITZSIMMONS. Yes? + +MAUD. I--I--you remember what a light voice I always had--almost +soprano? + +[FITZSIMMONS nods.] + +MAUD. Well, I discovered it was a perfect falsetto. + +[FITZSIMMONS nods.] + +MAUD. I've been practising it ever since. Experts, in another +room, would swear it was a woman's voice. So would you, if you +turned your back and I sang. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Who has been laughing incredulously, now becomes +suspicious.] Look here, kid, I think you are an impostor. You +are not Harry Jones at all. + +MAUD. I am, too. + +FITZSIMMONS. I don't believe it. He was heavier than you. + +MAUD. I had the fever last summer and lost a lot of weight. + +FITZSIMMONS. You are the Harry Jones that got sousesd and had to +be put to bed? + +MAUD. Y-e-s. + +FITZSIMMONS. There is one thing I remember very distinctly. +Harry Jones had a birth mark on his knee. [He looks at her legs +searchingly.] + +MAUD. [Embarrassed, then resolving to carry it out.] Yes, right +here. [She advances right leg and touches it.] + +FITZSIMMONS. [Triumphantly.] Wrong. It was the other knee. + +MAUD. I ought to know. + +FITZSIMMONS. You haven't any birth mark at all. + +MAUD. I have, too. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Suddenly springing to her and attempting to seize +her leg.] Then we'll prove it. Let me see. + +MAUD. [In a panic backs away from him and resists his attempts, +until grinning in an aside to the audience, he gives over. She, +in an aside to audience.] Fancy his wanting to see my birth mark. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Bullying.] Then take a go at the bag. [She shakes +her head.] You're not Harry Jones. + +MAUD. [Approaching punching bag.] I am, too. + +FITZSIMMONS. Then hit it. + +MAUD. [Resolving to attempt it, hits bag several nice blows, and +then is struck on the nose by it.] Oh! + +[Recovering herself and rubbing her nose.] I told you I was out +of practice. You punch the bag, Bob. + +FITZSIMMONS. I will, if you will show me what you can do with +that wonderful soprano voice of yours. + +MAUD. I don't dare. Everybody would think there was a woman in +the club. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Shaking his head.] No, they won't. They've all +gone to the fight. There's not a soul in the building. + +MAUD. [Alarmed, in a weak voice.] Not--a--soul--in--the +building? + +FITZSIMMONS. Not a soul. Only you and I. + +MAUD. [Starting hurriedly toward door.] Then I must go. + +FITZSIMMONS. What's your hurry? Sing. + +MAUD. [Turning back with new resolve.] Let me see you punch the +bag,--er--Bob. + +FITZSIMMONS. You sing first. + +MAUD. No; you punch first. + +FITZSIMMONS. I don't believe you are Harry - + +MAUD. [Hastily.] All right, I'll sing. You sit down over there +and turn your back. + +[FITZSIMMONS obeys.] + +[MAUD walks over to the table toward right. She is about to sing, +when she notices FITZSIMMONS' cigarette case, picks it up, and in +an aside reads his name on it and speaks.] + +MAUD. "Robert Fitzsimmons." That will prove to my brother that I +have been here. + +FITZSIMMONS. Hurry up. + +[MAUD hastily puts cigarette case in her pocket and begins to +sing.] + +SONG + +[During the song FITZSIMMONS turns his head slowly and looks at +her with growing admiration.] + +MAUD. How did you like it? + +FITZSIMMONS. [Gruffly.] Rotten. Anybody could tell it was a +boy's voice - + +MAUD. Oh! + +FITZSIMMONS. It is rough and coarse and it cracked on every high +note. + +MAUD. Oh! Oh! + +[Recollecting herself and shrugging her shoulders.] Oh, very +well. Now let's see if you can do any better with the bag. + +[FITZSIMMONS takes off coat and gives exhibition.] + +[MAUD looks on in an ecstasy of admiration.] + +MAUD. [As he finishes.] Beautiful! Beautiful! + +[FITZSIMMONS puts on coat and goes over and sits down near table.] +Nothing like the bag to limber one up. I feel like a fighting +cock. Harry, let's go out on a toot, you and I. + +MAUD. Wh-a-a-t? + +FITZSIMMONS. A toot. You know--one of those rip-snorting nights +you used to make. + +MAUD. [Emphatically, as she picks up newspapers from leather +chair, sits down, and places them on her lap.] I'll do nothing of +the sort. I've--I've reformed. + +FITZSIMMONS. You used to joy-ride like the very devil. + +MAUD. I know it. + +FITZSIMMONS. And you always had a pretty girl or two along. + +MAUD. [Boastfully, in mannish, fashion.] Oh, I still have my +fling. Do you know any--well,--er,--nice girls? + +FITZSIMMONS. Sure. + +MAUD. Put me wise. + +FITZSIMMONS. Sure. You know Jack Sylvester? + +MAUD. [Forgetting herself.] He's my brother - + +FITZSIMMONS. [Exploding.] What! + +MAUD. --In-law's first cousin. + +FITZSIMMONS. Oh! + +MAUD. So you see I don't know him very well. I only met him +once--at the club. We had a drink together. + +FITZSIMMONS. Then you don't know his sister? + +MAUD. [Starting.] His sister? I--I didn't know he had a sister. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Enthusiastically.] She's a peach. A queen. A +little bit of all right. A--a loo-loo. + +MAUD. [Flattered.] She is, is she? + +FITZSIMMONS. She's a scream. You ought to get acquainted with +her. + +MAUD. [Slyly.] You know her, then? + +FITZSIMMONS. You bet. + +MAUD. [Aside.] Oh, ho! [To FITZSIMMONS.] Know her very well? + +FITZSIMMONS. I've taken her out more times than I can remember. +You'll like her, I'm sure. + +MAUD. Thanks. Tell me some more about her. + +FITZSIMMONS. She dresses a bit loud. But you won't mind that. +And whatever you do, don't take her to eat. + +MAUD. [Hiding her chagrin.] Why not? + +FITZSIMMONS. I never saw such an appetite - + +MAUD. Oh! + +FITZSIMMONS. It's fair sickening. She must have a tape-worm. +And she thinks she can sing. + +MAUD. Yes? + +FITZSIMMONS. Rotten. You can do better yourself, and that's not +saying much. She's a nice girl, really she is, but she is the +black sheep of the family. Funny, isn't it? + +MAUD. [Weak voice.] Yes, funny. + +FITZSIMMONS. Her brother Jack is all right. But he can't do +anything with her. She's a--a - + +MAUD. [Grimly.] Yes. Go on. + +FITZSIMMONS. A holy terror. She ought to be in a reform school. + +MAUD. [Springing to her feet and slamming newspapers in his +face.] Oh! Oh! Oh! You liar! She isn't anything of the sort! + +FITZSIMMONS. [Recovering from the onslaught and making believe he +is angry, advancing threateningly on her.] Now I'm going to put a +head on you. You young hoodlum. + +MAUD. [All alarm and contrition, backing away from him.] Don't! +Please don't! I'm sorry! I apologise. I--I beg your pardon, +Bob. Only I don't like to hear girls talked about that way, even- +-even if it is true. And you ought to know. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Subsiding and resuming seat.] You've changed a +lot, I must say. + +MAUD. [Sitting down in leather chair.] I told you I'd reformed. +Let us talk about something else. Why is it girls like prize- +fighters? I should think--ahem--I mean it seems to me that girls +would think prize-fighters horrid. + +FITZSIMMONS. They are men. + +MAUD. But there is so much crookedness in the game. One hears +about it all the time. + +FITZSIMMONS. There are crooked men in every business and +profession. The best fighters are not crooked. + +MAUD. I--er--I thought they all faked fights when there was +enough in it. + +FITZSIMMONS. Not the best ones. + +MAUD. Did you--er --ever fake a fight? + +FITZSIMMONS. [Looking at her sharply, then speaking solemnly.] +Yes. Once. + +MAUD. [Shocked, speaking sadly.] And I always heard of you and +thought of you as the one clean champion who never faked. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Gently and seriously.] Let me tell you about it. +It was down in Australia. I had just begun to fight my way up. +It was with old Bill Hobart out at Rushcutters Bay. I threw the +fight to him. + +MAUD. [Repelled, disgusted.] Oh! I could not have believed it +of you. + +FITZSIMMONS. Let me tell you about it. Bill was an old fighter. +Not an old man, you know, but he'd been in the fighting game a +long time. He was about thirty-eight and a gamer man never +entered the ring. But he was in hard luck. Younger fighters were +coming up, and he was being crowded out. At that time it wasn't +often he got a fight and the purses were small. Besides it was a +drought year in Australia. You don't know what that means. It +means that the rangers are starved. It means that the sheep are +starved and die by the millions. It means that there is no money +and no work, and that the men and women and kiddies starve. + +Bill Hobart had a missus and three kids and at the time of his +fight with me they were all starving. They did not have enough to +eat. Do you understand? They did not have enough to eat. And +Bill did not have enough to eat. He trained on an empty stomach, +which is no way to train you'll admit. During that drought year +there was little enough money in the ring, but he had failed to +get any fights. He had worked at long-shoring, ditch-digging, +coal-shovelling--anything, to keep the life in the missus and the +kiddies. The trouble was the jobs didn't hold out. And there he +was, matched to fight with me, behind in his rent, a tough old +chopping-block, but weak from lack of food. If he did not win the +fight, the landlord was going to put them into the street. + +MAUD. But why would you want to fight with him in such weak +condition? + +FITZSIMMONS. I did not know. I did not learn till at the +ringside just before the fight. It was in the dressing rooms, +waiting our turn to go on. Bill came out of his room, ready for +the ring. "Bill," I said--in fun, you know. "Bill, I've got to +do you to-night." He said nothing, but he looked at me with the +saddest and most pitiful face I have ever seen. He went back into +his dressing room and sat down. + +"Poor Bill!" one of my seconds said. "He's been fair starving +these last weeks. And I've got it straight, the landlord chucks +him out if he loses to-night." + +Then the call came and we went into the ring. Bill was desperate. +He fought like a tiger, a madman. He was fair crazy. He was +fighting for more than I was fighting for. I was a rising +fighter, and I was fighting for the money and the recognition. +But Bill was fighting for life--for the life of his loved ones. + + Well, condition told. The strength went out of him, and I was +fresh as a daisy. "What's the matter, Bill?" I said to him in a +clinch. "You're weak." "I ain't had a bit to eat this day," he +answered. That was all. + +By the seventh round he was about all in, hanging on and panting +and sobbing for breath in the clinches, and I knew I could put him +out any time. I drew back my right for the short-arm jab that +would do the business. He knew it was coming, and he was +powerless to prevent it. + +"For the love of God, Bob," he said; and--[Pause.] + +MAUD. Yes? Yes? + +FITZSIMMONS. I held back the blow. We were in a clinch. + +"For the love of God, Bob," he said again, "the misses and the +kiddies!" + +And right there I saw and knew it all. I saw the hungry children +asleep, and the missus sitting up and waiting for Bill to come +home, waiting to know whether they were to have food to eat or be +thrown out in the street. + +"Bill," I said, in the next clinch, so low only he could hear. +"Bill, remember the La Blanche swing. Give it to me, hard." + +We broke away, and he was tottering and groggy. He staggered away +and started to whirl the swing. I saw it coming. I made believe +I didn't and started after him in a rush. Biff! It caught me on +the jaw, and I went down. I was young and strong. I could eat +punishment. I could have got up the first second. But I lay +there and let them count me out. And making believe I was still +dazed, I let them carry me to my corner and work to bring me to. +[Pause.] + +Well, I faked that fight. + +MAUD. [Springing to him and shaking his hand.] Thank God! Oh! +You are a man! A--a--a hero! + +FITZSIMMONS. [Dryly, feeling in his pocket.] Let's have a smoke. +[He fails to find cigarette case.] + +MAUD. I can't tell you how glad I am you told me that. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Gruffly.] Forget it. [He looks on table, and +fails to find cigarette case. Looks at her suspiciously, then +crosses to desk at right and reaches for telephone.] + +MAUD. [Curiously.] What are you going to do? + +FITZSIMMONS. Call the police. + +MAUD. What for? + +FITZSIMMONS. For you. + +MAUD. For me? + +FITZSIMMONS. You are not Harry Jones. And not only are you an +impostor, but you are a thief. + +MAUD. [Indignantly.] How dare you? + +FITZSIMMONS. You have stolen my cigarette case. + +MAUD. [Remembering and taken aback, pulls out cigarette case.] +Here it is. + +FITZSIMMONS. Too late. It won't save you. This club must be +kept respectable. Thieves cannot be tolerated. + +MAUD. [Growing alarm.] But you won't have me arrested? + +FITZSIMMONS. I certainly will. + +MAUD. [Pleadingly.] Please! Please! + +FITZSIMMONS. [Obdurately.] I see no reason why I should not. + +MAUD. [Hurriedly, in a panic.] I'll give you a reason--a--a good +one. I--I--am not Harry Jones. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Grimly.] A good reason in itself to call in the +police. + +MAUD. That isn't the reason. I'm--a--Oh! I'm so ashamed. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Sternly.] I should say you ought to be. [Reaches +for telephone receiver.] + +MAUD. [In rush of desperation.] Stop! I'm a--I'm a--a girl. +There! [Sinks down in chair, burying her face in her hands.] + +[FITZSIMMONS, hanging up receiver, grunts.] + +[MAUD removes hands and looks at him indignantly. As she speaks +her indignation grows.] + +MAUD. I only wanted your cigarette case to prove to my brother +that I had been here. I--I'm Maud Sylvester, and you never took +me out once. And I'm not a black sheep. And I don't dress +loudly, and I haven't a--a tapeworm. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Grinning and pulling out card from vest pocket.] +I knew you were Miss Sylvester all the time. + +MAUD. Oh! You brute! I'll never speak to you again. + +FITZSIMMONS. [Gently.] You'll let me see you safely out of here. + +MAUD. [Relenting.] Ye-e-s. [She rises, crosses to table, and is +about to stoop for motor cloak and bonnet, but he forestall her, +holds cloak and helps her into it.] Thank you. [She takes off +wig, fluffs her own hair becomingly, and puts on bonnet, looking +every inch a pretty young girl, ready for an automobile ride.] + +FITZSIMMONS. [Who, all the time, watching her transformation, has +been growing bashful, now handing her the cigarette case.] Here's +the cigarette case. You may k-k-keep it. + +MAUD. [Looking at him, hesitates, then takes it.] I thank you-- +er--Bob. I shall treasure it all my life. [He is very +embarrassed.] Why, I do believe you're bashful. What is the +matter? + +FITZSIMMONS. [Stammering.] Why--I--you-- You are a girl--and--a- +-a--deuced pretty one. + +MAUD. [Taking his arm, ready to start for door.] But you knew it +all along. + +FITZSIMMONS. But it's somehow different now when you've got your +girl's clothes on. + +MAUD. But you weren't a bit bashful--or nice, when--you--you-- +[Blurting it out.] Were so anxious about birth marks. + +[They start to make exit.] + +CURTAIN + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Human Drift, by Jack London + diff --git a/old/hmndr10.zip b/old/hmndr10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e047ba9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/hmndr10.zip |