the mirror of the sea-第25章

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inclination；　on　through　the　Downs；　to　the　most　remote　ends　of　the



world。　　In　the　widening　of　the　shores　sinking　low　in　the　gray；



smoky　distances　the　greatness　of　the　sea　receives　the　mercantile



fleet　of　good　ships　that　London　sends　out　upon　the　turn　of　every



tide。　　They　follow　each　other；　going　very　close　by　the　Essex　shore。



Such　as　the　beads　of　a　rosary　told　by　business…like　shipowners　for



the　greater　profit　of　the　world　they　slip　one　by　one　into　the　open：



while　in　the　offing　the　inward…bound　ships　come　up　singly　and　in



bunches　from　under　the　sea　horizon　closing　the　mouth　of　the　river



between　Orfordness　and　North　Foreland。　　They　all　converge　upon　the



Nore；　the　warm　speck　of　red　upon　the　tones　of　drab　and　gray；　with



the　distant　shores　running　together　towards　the　west；　low　and　flat；



like　the　sides　of　an　enormous　canal。　　The　sea…reach　of　the　Thames



is　straight；　and；　once　Sheerness　is　left　behind；　its　banks　seem



very　uninhabited；　except　for　the　cluster　of　houses　which　is



Southend；　or　here　and　there　a　lonely　wooden　jetty　where　petroleum



ships　discharge　their　dangerous　cargoes；　and　the　oil…storage　tanks；



low　and　round　with　slightly…domed　roofs；　peep　over　the　edge　of　the



fore…shore；　as　it　were　a　village　of　Central　African　huts　imitated



in　iron。　　Bordered　by　the　black　and　shining　mud…flats；　the　level



marsh　extends　for　miles。　　Away　in　the　far　background　the　land



rises；　closing　the　view　with　a　continuous　wooded　slope；　forming　in



the　distance　an　interminable　rampart　overgrown　with　bushes。







Then；　on　the　slight　turn　of　the　Lower　Hope　Reach；　clusters　of



factory　chimneys　come　distinctly　into　view；　tall　and　slender　above



the　squat　ranges　of　cement　works　in　Grays　and　Greenhithe。　　Smoking



quietly　at　the　top　against　the　great　blaze　of　a　magnificent　sunset；



they　give　an　industrial　character　to　the　scene；　speak　of　work；



manufactures；　and　trade；　as　palm…groves　on　the　coral　strands　of



distant　islands　speak　of　the　luxuriant　grace；　beauty　and　vigour　of



tropical　nature。　　The　houses　of　Gravesend　crowd　upon　the　shore　with



an　effect　of　confusion　as　if　they　had　tumbled　down　haphazard　from



the　top　of　the　hill　at　the　back。　　The　flatness　of　the　Kentish　shore



ends　there。　　A　fleet　of　steam…tugs　lies　at　anchor　in　front　of　the



various　piers。　　A　conspicuous　church　spire；　the　first　seen



distinctly　coming　from　the　sea；　has　a　thoughtful　grace；　the



serenity　of　a　fine　form　above　the　chaotic　disorder　of　men's　houses。



But　on　the　other　side；　on　the　flat　Essex　side；　a　shapeless　and



desolate　red　edifice；　a　vast　pile　of　bricks　with　many　windows　and　a



slate　roof　more　inaccessible　than　an　Alpine　slope；　towers　over　the



bend　in　monstrous　ugliness；　the　tallest；　heaviest　building　for



miles　around；　a　thing　like　an　hotel；　like　a　mansion　of　flats　（all



to　let）；　exiled　into　these　fields　out　of　a　street　in　West



Kensington。　　Just　round　the　corner；　as　it　were；　on　a　pier　defined



with　stone　blocks　and　wooden　piles；　a　white　mast；　slender　like　a



stalk　of　straw　and　crossed　by　a　yard　like　a　knitting…needle；　flying



the　signals　of　flag　and　balloon；　watches　over　a　set　of　heavy　dock…



gates。　　Mast…heads　and　funnel…tops　of　ships　peep　above　the　ranges



of　corrugated　iron　roofs。　　This　is　the　entrance　to　Tilbury　Dock；



the　most　recent　of　all　London　docks；　the　nearest　to　the　sea。







Between　the　crowded　houses　of　Gravesend　and　the　monstrous　red…brick



pile　on　the　Essex　shore　the　ship　is　surrendered　fairly　to　the　grasp



of　the　river。　　That　hint　of　loneliness；　that　soul　of　the　sea　which



had　accompanied　her　as　far　as　the　Lower　Hope　Reach；　abandons　her　at



the　turn　of　the　first　bend　above。　　The　salt；　acrid　flavour　is　gone



out　of　the　air；　together　with　a　sense　of　unlimited　space　opening



free　beyond　the　threshold　of　sandbanks　below　the　Nore。　　The　waters



of　the　sea　rush　on　past　Gravesend；　tumbling　the　big　mooring　buoys



laid　along　the　face　of　the　town；　but　the　sea…freedom　stops　short



there；　surrendering　the　salt　tide　to　the　needs；　the　artifices；　the



contrivances　of　toiling　men。　　Wharves；　landing…places；　dock…gates；



waterside　stairs；　follow　each　other　continuously　right　up　to　London



Bridge；　and　the　hum　of　men's　work　fills　the　river　with　a　menacing；



muttering　note　as　of　a　breathless；　ever…driving　gale。　　The　water…



way；　so　fair　above　and　wide　below；　flows　oppressed　by　bricks　and



mortar　and　stone；　by　blackened　timber　and　grimed　glass　and　rusty



iron；　covered　with　black　barges；　whipped　up　by　paddles　and　screws；



overburdened　with　craft；　overhung　with　chains；　overshadowed　by



walls　making　a　steep　gorge　for　its　bed；　filled　with　a　haze　of　smoke



and　dust。







This　stretch　of　the　Thames　from　London　Bridge　to　the　Albert　Docks



is　to　other　watersides　of　river　ports　what　a　virgin　forest　would　be



to　a　garden。　　It　is　a　thing　grown　up；　not　made。　　It　recalls　a



jungle　by　the　confused；　varied；　and　impenetrable　aspect　of　the



buildings　that　line　the　shore；　not　according　to　a　planned　purpose；



but　as　if　sprung　up　by　accident　from　scattered　seeds。　　Like　the



matted　growth　of　bushes　and　creepers　veiling　the　silent　depths　of



an　unexplored　wilderness；　they　hide　the　depths　of　London's



infinitely　varied；　vigorous；　seething　life。　　In　other　river　ports



it　is　not　so。　　They　lie　open　to　their　stream；　with　quays　like　broad



clearings；　with　streets　like　avenues　cut　through　thick　timber　for



the　convenience　of　trade。　　I　am　thinking　now　of　river　ports　I　have



seen　…　of　Antwerp；　for　instance；　of　Nantes　or　Bordeaux；　or　even　old



Rouen；　where　the　night…watchmen　of　ships；　elbows　on　rail；　gaze　at



shop…windows　and　brilliant　cafes；　and　see　the　audience　go　in　and



come　out　of　the　opera…house。　　But　London；　the　oldest　and　greatest



of　river　ports；　does　not　possess　as　much　as　a　hundred　yards　of　open



quays　upon　its　river　front。　　Dark　and　impenetrable　at　night；　like



the　face　of　a　forest；　is　the　London　waterside。　　It　is　the　waterside



of　watersides；　where　only　one　aspect　of　the　world's　life　can　be



seen；　and　only　one　kind　of　men　toils　on　the　edge　of　the　stream。



The　lightless　walls　seem　to　spring　from　the　very　mud　upon　which　the



stranded　barges　lie；　and　the　narrow　lanes　coming　down　to　the



foreshore　resemble　the　paths　of　smashed　bushes　and　crumbled　earth



where　big　game　comes　to　drink　on　the　banks　of　tropical　streams。







Behind　the　growth　of　the　London　waterside　the　docks　of　London



spread　out　unsuspected；　smooth；　and　placid；　lost　amongst　the



buildings　like　dark　lagoons　hidden　in　a　thick　forest。　　They　lie



concealed　in　the　intricate　growth　of　houses　with　a　few　stalks　of



mastheads　here　and　there　overtopping　the　roof　of　some　four…story



warehouse。







It　is　a　strange　conjunction　this　of　roofs　and　mastheads；　of　walls



and　yard…arms。　　I　remember　once　having　the　incongruity　of　the



relation　brought　home　to　me　in　a　practical　way。　　I　was　the　chief



officer　of　a　fine　ship；　just　docked　with　a　cargo　of　wool　from



Sydney；　after　a　ninety　days'　passage。　　In　fact；　we　had　not　been　in



more　than　half　an　hour　and　I　was　still　busy　making　her　fast　to　the



stone　posts　of　a　very　narrow　quay　in　front　of　a　lofty　warehouse。



An　old　man　with　a　gray　whisker　under　the　chin　and　brass　buttons　on



his　pilot…cloth　jacket；　hurried　up　along　the　quay　hailing　my　ship



by　name。　　He　was　one　of　those　officials　called　berthing…masters　…



not　the　one　who　had　berthed　us；　but　another；　who；　apparently；　had



been　busy　securing　a　steamer　at　the　other　end　of　the　dock。　　I　could



see　from　afar　his　hard　blue　eyes　staring　at　us；　as　if　fascinated；



with　a　queer　sort　of　absorption。　　I　wondered　what　that　worthy　sea…



dog　had　found　to　criticise　in　my　ship's　rigging。　　And　I；　too；



glanced　aloft　anxiously。　　I　could　see　nothing　wrong　there。　　But



perhaps　that　superannuated　fellow…craftsman　was　simply　admiring　the



ship's　perfect　order　aloft；　I　thought；　with　some　secret