the jacket (the star-rover)-第57章

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Pah！　　I　was　once　a　hangman；　or　an　executioner；　rather。　　Well　I

remember　it！　　I　used　the　sword；　not　the　rope。　　The　sword　is　the

braver　way；　although　all　ways　are　equally　inefficacious。　　Forsooth；

as　if　spirit　could　be　thrust　through　with　steel　or　throttled　by　a

rope！







CHAPTER　XIX







Next　to　Oppenheimer　and　Morrell；　who　rotted　with　me　through　the

years　of　darkness；　I　was　considered　the　most　dangerous　prisoner　in

San　Quentin。　　On　the　other　hand　I　was　considered　the　toughest

tougher　even　than　Oppenheimer　and　Morrell。　　Of　course　by　toughness　I

mean　enduringness。　　Terrible　as　were　the　attempts　to　break　them　in

body　and　in　spirit；　more　terrible　were　the　attempts　to　break　me。

And　I　endured。　　Dynamite　or　curtains　had　been　Warden　Atherton's

ultimatum。　　And　in　the　end　it　was　neither。　　I　could　not　produce　the

dynamite；　and　Warden　Atherton　could　not　induce　the　curtains。



It　was　not　because　my　body　was　enduring；　but　because　my　spirit　was

enduring。　　And　it　was　because；　in　earlier　existences；　my　spirit　had

been　wrought　to　steel…hardness　by　steel…hard　experiences。　　There　was

one　experience　that　for　long　was　a　sort　of　nightmare　to　me。　　It　had

neither　beginning　nor　end。　　Always　I　found　myself　on　a　rocky；　surge…

battered　islet　so　low　that　in　storms　the　salt　spray　swept　over　its

highest　point。　　It　rained　much。　　I　lived　in　a　lair　and　suffered

greatly；　for　I　was　without　fire　and　lived　on　uncooked　meat。



Always　I　suffered。　　It　was　the　middle　of　some　experience　to　which　I

could　get　no　clue。　　And　since；　when　I　went　into　the　little　death　I

had　no　power　of　directing　my　journeys；　I　often　found　myself　reliving

this　particularly　detestable　experience。　　My　only　happy　moments　were

when　the　sun　shone；　at　which　times　I　basked　on　the　rocks　and　thawed

out　the　almost　perpetual　chill　I　suffered。



My　one　diversion　was　an　oar　and　a　jackknife。　　Upon　this　oar　I　spent

much　time；　carving　minute　letters　and　cutting　a　notch　for　each　week

that　passed。　　There　were　many　notches。　　I　sharpened　the　knife　on　a

flat　piece　of　rock；　and　no　barber　was　ever　more　careful　of　his

favourite　razor　than　was　I　of　that　knife。　　Nor　did　ever　a　miser

prize　his　treasure　as　did　I　prize　the　knife。　　It　was　as　precious　as

my　life。　　In　truth；　it　was　my　life。



By　many　repetitions；　I　managed　to　bring　back　out　of　the　jacket　the

legend　that　was　carved　on　the　oar。　　At　first　I　could　bring　but

little。　　Later；　it　grew　easier；　a　matter　of　piecing　portions

together。　　And　at　last　I　had　the　thing　complete。　　Here　it　is：



This　is　to　acquaint　the　person　into　whose　hands　this　Oar　may　fall；

that　Daniel　Foss；　a　native　of　Elkton；　in　Maryland；　one　of　the　United

States　of　America；　and　who　sailed　from　the　port　of　Philadelphia；　in

1809；　on　board　the　brig　Negociator；　bound　to　the　Friendly　Islands；

was　cast　upon　this　desolate　island　the　February　following；　where　he

erected　a　hut　and　lived　a　number　of　years；　subsisting　on　sealshe

being　the　last　who　survived　of　the　crew　of　said　brig；　which　ran　foul

of　an　island　of　ice；　and　foundered　on　the　25th　Nov。　1809。



There　it　was；　quite　clear。　　By　this　means　I　learned　a　lot　about

myself。　　One　vexed　point；　however；　I　never　did　succeed　in　clearing

up。　　Was　this　island　situated　in　the　far　South　Pacific　or　the　far

South　Atlantic？　　I　do　not　know　enough　of　sailing…ship　tracks　to　be

certain　whether　the　brig　Negociator　would　sail　for　the　Friendly

Islands　via　Cape　Horn　or　via　the　Cape　of　Good　Hope。　　To　confess　my

own　ignorance；　not　until　after　I　was　transferred　to　Folsom　did　I

learn　in　which　ocean　were　the　Friendly　Islands。　　The　Japanese

murderer；　whom　I　have　mentioned　before；　had　been　a　sailmaker　on

board　the　Arthur　Sewall　ships；　and　he　told　me　that　the　probable

sailing　course　would　be　by　way　of　the　Cape　of　Good　Hope。　　If　this

were　so；　then　the　dates　of　sailing　from　Philadelphia　and　of　being

wrecked　would　easily　determine　which　ocean。　　Unfortunately；　the

sailing　date　is　merely　1809。　　The　wreck　might　as　likely　have

occurred　in　one　ocean　as　the　other。



Only　once　did　I；　in　my　trances；　get　a　hint　of　the　period　preceding

the　time　spent　on　the　island。　　This　begins　at　the　moment　of　the

brig's　collision　with　the　iceberg；　and　I　shall　narrate　it；　if　for　no

other　reason；　at　least　to　give　an　account　of　my　curiously　cool　and

deliberate　conduct。　　This　conduct　at　this　time；　as　you　shall　see；

was　what　enabled　me　in　the　end　to　survive　alone　of　all　the　ship's

company。



I　was　awakened；　in　my　bunk　in　the　forecastle；　by　a　terrific　crash。

In　fact；　as　was　true　of　the　other　six　sleeping　men　of　the　watch

below；　awaking　and　leaping　from　bunk　to　floor　were　simultaneous。　　We

knew　what　had　happened。　　The　others　waited　for　nothing；　rushing　only

partly　clad　upon　deck。　　But　I　knew　what　to　expect；　and　I　did　wait。

I　knew　that　if　we　escaped　at　all；　it　would　be　by　the　longboat。　　No

man　could　swim　in　so　freezing　a　sea。　　And　no　man；　thinly　clad；　could

live　long　in　the　open　boat。　　Also；　I　knew　just　about　how　long　it

would　take　to　launch　the　boat。



So；　by　the　light　of　the　wildly　swinging　slush…lamp；　to　the　tumult　on

deck　and　to　cries　of　〃She's　sinking！〃　I　proceeded　to　ransack　my　sea…

chest　for　suitable　garments。　　Also；　since　they　would　never　use　them

again；　I　ransacked　the　sea　chests　of　my　shipmates。　　Working　quickly

but　collectedly；　I　took　nothing　but　the　warmest　and　stoutest　of

clothes。　　I　put　on　the　four　best　woollen　shirts　the　forecastle

boasted；　three　pairs　of　pants；　and　three　pairs　of　thick　woollen

socks。　　So　large　were　my　feet　thus　incased　that　I　could　not　put　on

my　own　good　boots。　　Instead；　I　thrust　on　Nicholas　Wilton's　new

boots；　which　were　larger　and　even　stouter　than　mine。　　Also；　I　put　on

Jeremy　Nalor's　pea　jacket　over　my　own；　and；　outside　of　both；　put　on

Seth　Richard's　thick　canvas　coat　which　I　remembered　he　had　fresh…

oiled　only　a　short　while　previous。



Two　pairs　of　heavy　mittens；　John　Robert's　muffler　which　his　mother

had　knitted　for　him；　and　Joseph　Dawes'　beaver　cap　atop　my　own；　both

bearing　ear…and　neck…flaps；　completed　my　outfitting。　　The　shouts

that　the　brig　was　sinking　redoubled；　but　I　took　a　minute　longer　to

fill　my　pockets　with　all　the　plug　tobacco　I　could　lay　hands　on。

Then　I　climbed　out　on　deck；　and　not　a　moment　too　soon。



The　moon；　bursting　through　a　crack　of　cloud；　showed　a　bleak　and

savage　picture。　　Everywhere　was　wrecked　gear；　and　everywhere　was

ice。　　The　sails；　ropes；　and　spars　of　the　mainmast；　which　was　still

standing；　were　fringed　with　icicles；　and　there　came　over　me　a

feeling　almost　of　relief　in　that　never　again　should　I　have　to　pull

and　haul　on　the　stiff　tackles　and　hammer　ice　so　that　the　frozen

ropes　could　run　through　the　frozen　shivs。　　The　wind；　blowing　half　a

gale；　cut　with　the　sharpness　that　is　a　sign　of　the　proximity　of

icebergs；　and　the　big　seas　were　bitter　cold　to　look　upon　in　the

moonlight。



The　longboat　was　lowering　away　to　larboard；　and　I　saw　men；

struggling　on　the　ice…sheeted　deck　with　barrels　of　provisions；

abandon　the　food　in　their　haste　to　get　away。　　In　vain　Captain

Nicholl　strove　with　them。　　A　sea；　breaching　across　from　windward；

settled　the　matter　and　sent　them　leaping　over　the　rail　in　heaps。　　I

gained　the　captain's　shoulder；　and；　holding　on　to　him；　I　shouted　in

his　ear　that　if　he　would　board　the　boat　and　prevent　the　men　from

casting　off；　I　would　attend　to　the　provisioning。



Little　time　was　given　me；　however。　　Scarcely　had　I　managed；　helped

by　the　second　mate；　Aaron　Northrup；　to　lower　away　half…a…dozen

barrels　and　kegs；　when　all　cried　from　the　boat　that　they　were

casting　off。　　Good　reason　they　had。　　Down　upon　us　from　windward　was

drifting　a　towering　ice…mountain；　while　to　leeward；　close　aboard；

was　another　ice…mountain　upon　which　we　were　driving。



Quicker　in　his　leap　was　Aaron　Northrup。　　I　delayed　a　moment；　even　as

the　boat　was　shoving　away；　in　order　to　select　a　spot　amidships　where

the　men　were　thickest；　so　that　their　bodies　might　break　my　fall。　　I

was　not　mind