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