the mirror of the sea-第17章

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young　in　spring。　　But　some　of　us；　regarding　the　ocean　with



understanding　and　affection；　have　seen　it　looking　old；　as　if　the



immemorial　ages　had　been　stirred　up　from　the　undisturbed　bottom　of



ooze。　　For　it　is　a　gale　of　wind　that　makes　the　sea　look　old。







From　a　distance　of　years；　looking　at　the　remembered　aspects　of　the



storms　lived　through；　it　is　that　impression　which　disengages　itself



clearly　from　the　great　body　of　impressions　left　by　many　years　of



intimate　contact。







If　you　would　know　the　age　of　the　earth；　look　upon　the　sea　in　a



storm。　　The　grayness　of　the　whole　immense　surface；　the　wind　furrows



upon　the　faces　of　the　waves；　the　great　masses　of　foam；　tossed　about



and　waving；　like　matted　white　locks；　give　to　the　sea　in　a　gale　an



appearance　of　hoary　age；　lustreless；　dull；　without　gleams；　as



though　it　had　been　created　before　light　itself。







Looking　back　after　much　love　and　much　trouble；　the　instinct　of



primitive　man；　who　seeks　to　personify　the　forces　of　Nature　for　his



affection　and　for　his　fear；　is　awakened　again　in　the　breast　of　one



civilized　beyond　that　stage　even　in　his　infancy。　　One　seems　to　have



known　gales　as　enemies；　and　even　as　enemies　one　embraces　them　in



that　affectionate　regret　which　clings　to　the　past。







Gales　have　their　personalities；　and；　after　all；　perhaps　it　is　not



strange；　for；　when　all　is　said　and　done；　they　are　adversaries　whose



wiles　you　must　defeat；　whose　violence　you　must　resist；　and　yet　with



whom　you　must　live　in　the　intimacies　of　nights　and　days。







Here　speaks　the　man　of　masts　and　sails；　to　whom　the　sea　is　not　a



navigable　element；　but　an　intimate　companion。　　The　length　of



passages；　the　growing　sense　of　solitude；　the　close　dependence　upon



the　very　forces　that；　friendly　to…day；　without　changing　their



nature；　by　the　mere　putting　forth　of　their　might；　become　dangerous



to…morrow；　make　for　that　sense　of　fellowship　which　modern　seamen；



good　men　as　they　are；　cannot　hope　to　know。　　And；　besides；　your



modern　ship　which　is　a　steamship　makes　her　passages　on　other



principles　than　yielding　to　the　weather　and　humouring　the　sea。　　She



receives　smashing　blows；　but　she　advances；　it　is　a　slogging　fight；



and　not　a　scientific　campaign。　　The　machinery；　the　steel；　the　fire；



the　steam；　have　stepped　in　between　the　man　and　the　sea。　　A　modern



fleet　of　ships　does　not　so　much　make　use　of　the　sea　as　exploit　a



highway。　　The　modern　ship　is　not　the　sport　of　the　waves。　　Let　us



say　that　each　of　her　voyages　is　a　triumphant　progress；　and　yet　it



is　a　question　whether　it　is　not　a　more　subtle　and　more　human



triumph　to　be　the　sport　of　the　waves　and　yet　survive；　achieving



your　end。







In　his　own　time　a　man　is　always　very　modern。　　Whether　the　seamen　of



three　hundred　years　hence　will　have　the　faculty　of　sympathy　it　is



impossible　to　say。　　An　incorrigible　mankind　hardens　its　heart　in



the　progress　of　its　own　perfectability。　　How　will　they　feel　on



seeing　the　illustrations　to　the　sea　novels　of　our　day；　or　of　our



yesterday？　　It　is　impossible　to　guess。　　But　the　seaman　of　the　last



generation；　brought　into　sympathy　with　the　caravels　of　ancient　time



by　his　sailing…ship；　their　lineal　descendant；　cannot　look　upon



those　lumbering　forms　navigating　the　naive　seas　of　ancient　woodcuts



without　a　feeling　of　surprise；　of　affectionate　derision；　envy；　and



admiration。　　For　those　things；　whose　unmanageableness；　even　when



represented　on　paper；　makes　one　gasp　with　a　sort　of　amused　horror；



were　manned　by　men　who　are　his　direct　professional　ancestors。







No；　the　seamen　of　three　hundred　years　hence　will　probably　be



neither　touched　nor　moved　to　derision；　affection；　or　admiration。



They　will　glance　at　the　photogravures　of　our　nearly　defunct



sailing…ships　with　a　cold；　inquisitive　and　indifferent　eye。　　Our



ships　of　yesterday　will　stand　to　their　ships　as　no　lineal



ancestors；　but　as　mere　predecessors　whose　course　will　have　been　run



and　the　race　extinct。　　Whatever　craft　he　handles　with　skill；　the



seaman　of　the　future　shall　be；　not　our　descendant；　but　only　our



successor。















XXIII。















And　so　much　depends　upon　the　craft　which；　made　by　man；　is　one　with



man；　that　the　sea　shall　wear　for　him　another　aspect。　　I　remember



once　seeing　the　commander　…　officially　the　master；　by　courtesy　the



captain　…　of　a　fine　iron　ship　of　the　old　wool　fleet　shaking　his



head　at　a　very　pretty　brigantine。　　She　was　bound　the　other　way。



She　was　a　taut；　trim；　neat　little　craft；　extremely　well　kept；　and



on　that　serene　evening　when　we　passed　her　close　she　looked　the



embodiment　of　coquettish　comfort　on　the　sea。　　It　was　somewhere　near



the　Cape　…　THE　Cape　being；　of　course；　the　Cape　of　Good　Hope；　the



Cape　of　Storms　of　its　Portuguese　discoverer。　　And　whether　it　is



that　the　word　〃storm〃　should　not　be　pronounced　upon　the　sea　where



the　storms　dwell　thickly；　or　because　men　are　shy　of　confessing



their　good　hopes；　it　has　become　the　nameless　cape　…　the　Cape　TOUT



COURT。　　The　other　great　cape　of　the　world；　strangely　enough；　is



seldom　if　ever　called　a　cape。　　We　say；　〃a　voyage　round　the　Horn〃；



〃we　rounded　the　Horn〃；　〃we　got　a　frightful　battering　off　the　Horn〃；



but　rarely　〃Cape　Horn；〃　and；　indeed；　with　some　reason；　for　Cape



Horn　is　as　much　an　island　as　a　cape。　　The　third　stormy　cape　of　the



world；　which　is　the　Leeuwin；　receives　generally　its　full　name；　as



if　to　console　its　second…rate　dignity。　　These　are　the　capes　that



look　upon　the　gales。







The　little　brigantine；　then；　had　doubled　the　Cape。　　Perhaps　she　was



coming　from　Port　Elizabeth；　from　East　London　…　who　knows？　　It　was



many　years　ago；　but　I　remember　well　the　captain　of　the　wool…clipper



nodding　at　her　with　the　words；　〃Fancy　having　to　go　about　the　sea　in



a　thing　like　that！〃







He　was　a　man　brought　up　in　big　deep…water　ships；　and　the　size　of



the　craft　under　his　feet　was　a　part　of　his　conception　of　the　sea。



His　own　ship　was　certainly　big　as　ships　went　then。　　He　may　have



thought　of　the　size　of　his　cabin；　or　…　unconsciously；　perhaps　…



have　conjured　up　a　vision　of　a　vessel　so　small　tossing　amongst　the



great　seas。　　I　didn't　inquire；　and　to　a　young　second　mate　the



captain　of　the　little　pretty　brigantine；　sitting　astride　a　camp



stool　with　his　chin　resting　on　his　hands　that　were　crossed　upon　the



rail；　might　have　appeared　a　minor　king　amongst　men。　　We　passed　her



within　earshot；　without　a　hail；　reading　each　other's　names　with　the



naked　eye。







Some　years　later；　the　second　mate；　the　recipient　of　that　almost



involuntary　mutter；　could　have　told　his　captain　that　a　man　brought



up　in　big　ships　may　yet　take　a　peculiar　delight　in　what　we　should



both　then　have　called　a　small　craft。　　Probably　the　captain　of　the



big　ship　would　not　have　understood　very　well。　　His　answer　would



have　been　a　gruff；　〃Give　me　size；〃　as　I　heard　another　man　reply　to



a　remark　praising　the　handiness　of　a　small　vessel。　　It　was　not　a



love　of　the　grandiose　or　the　prestige　attached　to　the　command　of



great　tonnage；　for　he　continued；　with　an　air　of　disgust　and



contempt；　〃Why；　you　get　flung　out　of　your　bunk　as　likely　as　not　in



any　sort　of　heavy　weather。〃







I　don't　know。　　I　remember　a　few　nights　in　my　lifetime；　and　in　a　big



ship；　too　（as　big　as　they　made　them　then）；　when　one　did　not　get



flung　out　of　one's　bed　simply　because　one　never　even　attempted　to



get　in；　one　had　been　made　too　weary；　too　hopeless；　to　try。　　The



expedient　of　turning　your　bedding　out　on　to　a　damp　floor　and　lying



on　it　there　was　no　earthly　good；　since　you　could　not　keep　your



place　or　get　a　second's　rest　in　that　or　any　other　position。　　But　of



the　delight　of　seeing　a　small　craft　run　bravely　amongst　the　great



seas　there　can　be　no　question　to　him　whose　soul　does　not　dwell



ashore。　　Thus　I　well　remember　a　three　days'　run　g