the mirror of the sea-第15章

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and　trembling。　　It　is　like　the　message　of　reprieve　from　the



sentence　of　sorrow　suspended　over　many　a　home；　even　if　some　of　the



men　in　her　have　been　the　most　homeless　mortals　that　you　may　find



among　the　wanderers　of　the　sea。







The　reinsurer；　the　optimist　of　ill…luck　and　disaster；　slaps　his



pocket　with　satisfaction。　　The　underwriter；　who　had　been　trying　to



minimize　the　amount　of　impending　loss；　regrets　his　premature



pessimism。　　The　ship　has　been　stauncher；　the　skies　more　merciful；



the　seas　less　angry；　or　perhaps　the　men　on　board　of　a　finer　temper



than　he　has　been　willing　to　take　for　granted。







〃The　ship　So…and…so；　bound　to　such　a　port；　and　posted　as　'overdue；'



has　been　reported　yesterday　as　having　arrived　safely　at　her



destination。〃







Thus　run　the　official　words　of　the　reprieve　addressed　to　the　hearts



ashore　lying　under　a　heavy　sentence。　　And　they　come　swiftly　from



the　other　side　of　the　earth；　over　wires　and　cables；　for　your



electric　telegraph　is　a　great　alleviator　of　anxiety。　　Details；　of



course；　shall　follow。　　And　they　may　unfold　a　tale　of　narrow　escape；



of　steady　ill…luck；　of　high　winds　and　heavy　weather；　of　ice；　of



interminable　calms　or　endless　head…gales；　a　tale　of　difficulties



overcome；　of　adversity　defied　by　a　small　knot　of　men　upon　the　great



loneliness　of　the　sea；　a　tale　of　resource；　of　courage　…　of



helplessness；　perhaps。







Of　all　ships　disabled　at　sea；　a　steamer　who　has　lost　her　propeller



is　the　most　helpless。　　And　if　she　drifts　into　an　unpopulated　part



of　the　ocean　she　may　soon　become　overdue。　　The　menace　of　the



〃overdue〃　and　the　finality　of　〃missing〃　come　very　quickly　to



steamers　whose　life；　fed　on　coals　and　breathing　the　black　breath　of



smoke　into　the　air；　goes　on　in　disregard　of　wind　and　wave。　　Such　a



one；　a　big　steamship；　too；　whose　working　life　had　been　a　record　of



faithful　keeping　time　from　land　to　land；　in　disregard　of　wind　and



sea；　once　lost　her　propeller　down　south；　on　her　passage　out　to　New



Zealand。







It　was　the　wintry；　murky　time　of　cold　gales　and　heavy　seas。　　With



the　snapping　of　her　tail…shaft　her　life　seemed　suddenly　to　depart



from　her　big　body；　and　from　a　stubborn；　arrogant　existence　she



passed　all　at　once　into　the　passive　state　of　a　drifting　log。　　A



ship　sick　with　her　own　weakness　has　not　the　pathos　of　a　ship



vanquished　in　a　battle　with　the　elements；　wherein　consists　the



inner　drama　of　her　life。　　No　seaman　can　look　without　compassion



upon　a　disabled　ship；　but　to　look　at　a　sailing…vessel　with　her



lofty　spars　gone　is　to　look　upon　a　defeated　but　indomitable



warrior。　　There　is　defiance　in　the　remaining　stumps　of　her　masts；



raised　up　like　maimed　limbs　against　the　menacing　scowl　of　a　stormy



sky；　there　is　high　courage　in　the　upward　sweep　of　her　lines　towards



the　bow；　and　as　soon　as；　on　a　hastily…rigged　spar；　a　strip　of



canvas　is　shown　to　the　wind　to　keep　her　head　to　sea；　she　faces　the



waves　again　with　an　unsubdued　courage。















XIX。















The　efficiency　of　a　steamship　consists　not　so　much　in　her　courage



as　in　the　power　she　carries　within　herself。　　It　beats　and　throbs



like　a　pulsating　heart　within　her　iron　ribs；　and　when　it　stops；　the



steamer；　whose　life　is　not　so　much　a　contest　as　the　disdainful



ignoring　of　the　sea；　sickens　and　dies　upon　the　waves。　　The　sailing…



ship；　with　her　unthrobbing　body；　seemed　to　lead　mysteriously　a　sort



of　unearthly　existence；　bordering　upon　the　magic　of　the　invisible



forces；　sustained　by　the　inspiration　of　life…giving　and　death…



dealing　winds。







So　that　big　steamer；　dying　by　a　sudden　stroke；　drifted；　an　unwieldy



corpse；　away　from　the　track　of　other　ships。　　And　she　would　have



been　posted　really　as　〃overdue；〃　or　maybe　as　〃missing；〃　had　she　not



been　sighted　in　a　snowstorm；　vaguely；　like　a　strange　rolling



island；　by　a　whaler　going　north　from　her　Polar　cruising　ground。



There　was　plenty　of　food　on　board；　and　I　don't　know　whether　the



nerves　of　her　passengers　were　at　all　affected　by　anything　else　than



the　sense　of　interminable　boredom　or　the　vague　fear　of　that　unusual



situation。　　Does　a　passenger　ever　feel　the　life　of　the　ship　in



which　he　is　being　carried　like　a　sort　of　honoured　bale　of　highly



sensitive　goods？　　For　a　man　who　has　never　been　a　passenger　it　is



impossible　to　say。　　But　I　know　that　there　is　no　harder　trial　for　a



seaman　than　to　feel　a　dead　ship　under　his　feet。







There　is　no　mistaking　that　sensation；　so　dismal；　so　tormenting　and



so　subtle；　so　full　of　unhappiness　and　unrest。　　I　could　imagine　no



worse　eternal　punishment　for　evil　seamen　who　die　unrepentant　upon



the　earthly　sea　than　that　their　souls　should　be　condemned　to　man



the　ghosts　of　disabled　ships；　drifting　for　ever　across　a　ghostly



and　tempestuous　ocean。







She　must　have　looked　ghostly　enough；　that　broken…down　steamer；



rolling　in　that　snowstorm　…　a　dark　apparition　in　a　world　of　white



snowflakes　to　the　staring　eyes　of　that　whaler's　crew。　　Evidently



they　didn't　believe　in　ghosts；　for　on　arrival　into　port　her　captain



unromantically　reported　having　sighted　a　disabled　steamer　in



latitude　somewhere　about　50　degrees　S。　and　a　longitude　still　more



uncertain。　　Other　steamers　came　out　to　look　for　her；　and　ultimately



towed　her　away　from　the　cold　edge　of　the　world　into　a　harbour　with



docks　and　workshops；　where；　with　many　blows　of　hammers；　her



pulsating　heart　of　steel　was　set　going　again　to　go　forth　presently



in　the　renewed　pride　of　its　strength；　fed　on　fire　and　water；



breathing　black　smoke　into　the　air；　pulsating；　throbbing；



shouldering　its　arrogant　way　against　the　great　rollers　in　blind



disdain　of　winds　and　sea。







The　track　she　had　made　when　drifting　while　her　heart　stood　still



within　her　iron　ribs　looked　like　a　tangled　thread　on　the　white



paper　of　the　chart。　　It　was　shown　to　me　by　a　friend；　her　second



officer。　　In　that　surprising　tangle　there　were　words　in　minute



letters　…　〃gales；〃　〃thick　fog；〃　〃ice〃　…　written　by　him　here　and



there　as　memoranda　of　the　weather。　　She　had　interminably　turned



upon　her　tracks；　she　had　crossed　and　recrossed　her　haphazard　path



till　it　resembled　nothing　so　much　as　a　puzzling　maze　of　pencilled



lines　without　a　meaning。　　But　in　that　maze　there　lurked　all　the



romance　of　the　〃overdue〃　and　a　menacing　hint　of　〃missing。〃







〃We　had　three　weeks　of　it；〃　said　my　friend；　〃just　think　of　that！〃







〃How　did　you　feel　about　it？〃　I　asked。







He　waved　his　hand　as　much　as　to　say：　　It's　all　in　the　day's　work。



But　then；　abruptly；　as　if　making　up　his　mind：







〃I'll　tell　you。　　Towards　the　last　I　used　to　shut　myself　up　in　my



berth　and　cry。〃







〃Cry？〃







〃Shed　tears；〃　he　explained　briefly；　and　rolled　up　the　chart。







I　can　answer　for　it；　he　was　a　good　man　…　as　good　as　ever　stepped



upon　a　ship's　deck　…　but　he　could　not　bear　the　feeling　of　a　dead



ship　under　his　feet：　　the　sickly；　disheartening　feeling　which　the



men　of　some　〃overdue〃　ships　that　come　into　harbour　at　last　under　a



jury…rig　must　have　felt；　combated；　and　overcome　in　the　faithful



discharge　of　their　duty。















XX。















It　is　difficult　for　a　seaman　to　believe　that　his　stranded　ship　does



not　feel　as　unhappy　at　the　unnatural　predicament　of　having　no　water



under　her　keel　as　he　is　himself　at　feeling　her　stranded。







Stranding　is；　indeed；　the　reverse　of　sinking。　　The　sea　does　not



close　upon　the　water…logged　hull　with　a　sunny　ripple；　or　maybe　with



the　angry　rush　of　a　curling　wave；　erasing　her　name　from　the　roll　of



living　ships。　　No。　　It　is　as　if　an　invisible　hand　had　been



stealthily　uplifted　from　the　bottom　to　catch　hold　of　her　keel　as　it



glides　through　the　water。







More　than　any　other　event　does　stranding　bring　to　the　sailor　a



sense　of　utter　and　dismal　failure。　　T