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rambling idle excursion-第4章

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。  seems to me Johnny Rogers wa'n't along that voyage; he was along one
voyage; I know that mighty well; but somehow it seems to me that he
signed the articles for this voyage; butbutwhether he come along or
not; or got left; or something happened〃

And so on and so on till the excitement all cooled down and nobody cared
whether the ship struck the iceberg or not。

In the course of his talk he rambled into a criticism upon New England
degrees of merit in ship building。  Said he; 〃You get a vessel built away
down Maine…way; Bath; for instance; what's the result?  First thing you
do; you want to heave her down for repairsthat's the result!  Well;
sir; she hain't been hove down a week till you can heave a dog through
her seams。  You send that vessel to sea; and what's the result?  She wets
her oakum the first trip!  Leave it to any man if 'tain't so。  Well; you
let our folks build you a vesseldown New Bedford…way。  What's the
result?  Well; sir; you might take that ship and heave her down; and keep
her hove down six months; and she'll never shed a tear!〃

Everybody; landsmen and all; recognized the descriptive neatness of that
figure; and applauded; which greatly pleased the old man。  A moment
later; the meek eyes of the pale young fellow heretofore mentioned came
up slowly; rested upon the old man's face a moment; and the meek mouth
began to open。

〃Shet your head!〃 shouted the old mariner。

It was a rather startling surprise to everybody; but it was effective in
the matter of its purpose。  So the conversation flowed on instead of
perishing。

There was some talk about the perils of the sea; and a landsman delivered
himself of the customary nonsense about the poor mariner wandering in far
oceans; tempest…tossed; pursued by dangers; every storm…blast and
thunderbolt in the home skies moving the friends by snug firesides to
compassion for that poor mariner; and prayers for his succor。  Captain
Bowling put up with this for a while; and then burst out with a new view
of the matter。

〃Come; belay there!  I have read this kind of rot all my life in poetry
and tales and such…like rubbage。  Pity for the poor mariner! sympathy for
the poor mariner!  All right enough; but not in the way the poetry puts
it。  Pity for the mariner's wife! all right again; but not in the way the
poetry puts it。  Look…a here! whose life's the safest in the whole world
The poor mariner's。  You look at the statistics; you'll see。  So don't
you fool away any sympathy on the poor mariner's dangers and privations
and sufferings。  Leave that to the poetry muffs。  Now you look at the
other side a minute。  Here is Captain Brace; forty years old; been at sea
thirty。  On his way now to take command of his ship and sail south from
Bermuda。  Next week he'll be under way; easy times; comfortable quarters;
passengers; sociable company; just enough to do to keep his mind healthy
and not tire him; king over his ship; boss of everything and everybody;
thirty years' safety to learn him that his profession ain't a dangerous
one。  Now you look back at his home。  His wife's a feeble woman; she's a
stranger in New York; shut up in blazing hot or freezing cold lodgings;
according to the season; don't know anybody hardly; no company but her
lonesomeness and her thoughts; husband gone six months at a time。  She
has borne eight children; five of them she has buried without her husband
ever setting eyes on them。  She watches them all the long nights till
they diedhe comfortable on the sea; she followed them to the grave she
heard the clods fall that broke her heart he comfortable on the sea; she
mourned at home; weeks and weeks; missing them every day and every hour
he cheerful at sea; knowing nothing about it。  Now look at it a minute
turn it over in your mind and size it: five children born; she among
strangers; and him not by to hearten her; buried; and him not by to
comfort her; think of that!  Sympathy for the poor mariner's perils is
rot; give it to his wife's hard lines; where it belongs!  Poetry makes
out that all the wife worries about is the dangers her husband's running。
She's got substantialer things to worry over; I tell you。  Poetry's
always pitying the poor mariner on account of his perils at sea; better a
blamed sight pity him for the nights he can't sleep for thinking of how
he had to leave his wife in her very birth pains; lonesome and
friendless; in the thick of disease and trouble and death。  If there's
one thing that can make me madder than another; it's this sappy; damned
maritime poetry!〃

Captain Brace was a patient; gentle; seldom speaking man; with a pathetic
something in his bronzed face that had been a mystery up to this time;
but stood interpreted now since we had heard his story。  He had voyaged
eighteen times to the Mediterranean; seven times to India; once to the
arctic pole in a discovery…ship; and 〃between times〃 had visited all the
remote seas and ocean corners of the globe。  But he said that twelve
years ago; on account of his family; he 〃settled down;〃 and ever since
then had ceased to roam。  And what do you suppose was this simple…
hearted; lifelong wanderer's idea of settling down and ceasing to roam?
Why; the making of two five…month voyages a year between Surinam and
Boston for sugar and molasses!

Among other talk to…day; it came out that whale…ships carry no doctor。
The captain adds the doctorship to his own duties。  He not only gives
medicines; but sets broken limbs after notions of his own; or saws them
off and sears the stump when amputation seems best。  The captain is
provided with a medicine…chest; with the medicines numbered instead of
named。  A book of directions goes with this。  It describes diseases and
symptoms; and says; 〃Give a teaspoonful of No。 9 once an hour;〃 or 〃Give
ten grains of No。 12 every half…hour;〃 etc。  One of our sea…captains came
across a skipper in the North Pacific who was in a state of great
surprise and perplexity。  Said he:

〃There's something rotten about this medicine…chest business。  One of my
men was sicknothing much the matter。  I looked in the book: it said
give him a teaspoonful of No。 15。  I went to the medicine…chest; and I
see I was out of No。 15。  I judged I'd got to get up a combination
somehow that would fill the bill; so I hove into the fellow half a
teaspoonful of No。 8 and half a teaspoonful of No。 7; and I'll be hanged
if it didn't kill him in fifteen minutes!  There's something about this
medicine…chest system that's too many for me!〃

There was a good deal of pleasant gossip about old Captain 〃Hurricane〃
Jones; of the Pacific Oceanpeace to his ashes!  Two or three of us
present had known him; I particularly well; for I had made four sea…
voyages with him。  He was a very remarkable man。  He was born in a ship;
he picked up what little education he had among his shipmates; he began
life in the forecastle; and climbed grade by grade to the captaincy。
More than fifty years of his sixty…five were spent at sea。  He had sailed
all oceans; seen all lands; and borrowed a tint from all climates。  When
a man has been fifty years at sea he necessarily knows nothing of men;
nothing of the world but its surface; nothing of the world's thought;
nothing of the world's learning but it's a B C; and that blurred and
distorted by the unfocused lenses of an untrained mind。  Such a man is
only a gray and bearded child。  That is what old Hurricane Jones was
simply an innocent; lovable old infant。  When his spirit was in repose he
was as sweet and gentle as a girl; when his wrath was up he was a
hurricane that made his nickname seem tamely descriptive。  He was
formidable in a fight; for he was of powerful build and dauntless
courage。  He was frescoed from head to heel with pictures and mottoes
tattooed in red and blue India ink。  I was with him one voyage when he
got his last vacant space tattooed; this vacant space was around his left
ankle。  During three days he stumped about the ship with his ankle bare
and swollen; and this legend gleaming red and angry out from a clouding
of India ink: 〃Virtue is its own R'd。〃  (There was a lack of room。) He
was deeply and sincerely pious; and swore like a fis

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