the mirror of the sea- 第14部分

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　got　out　of　a　little



barque　of　400　tons　somewhere　between　the　islands　of　St。　Paul　and



Amsterdam　and　Cape　Otway　on　the　Australian　coast。　　It　was　a　hard；



long　gale；　gray　clouds　and　green　sea；　heavy　weather　undoubtedly；



but　still　what　a　sailor　would　call　manageable。　　Under　two　lower



topsails　and　a　reefed　foresail　the　barque　seemed　to　race　with　a



long；　steady　sea　that　did　not　becalm　her　in　the　troughs。　　The



solemn　thundering　combers　caught　her　up　from　astern；　passed　her



with　a　fierce　boiling　up　of　foam　level　with　the　bulwarks；　swept　on



ahead　with　a　swish　and　a　roar：　　and　the　little　vessel；　dipping　her



jib…boom　into　the　tumbling　froth；　would　go　on　running　in　a　smooth；



glassy　hollow；　a　deep　valley　between　two　ridges　of　the　sea；　hiding



the　horizon　ahead　and　astern。　　There　was　such　fascination　in　her



pluck；　nimbleness；　the　continual　exhibition　of　unfailing



seaworthiness；　in　the　semblance　of　courage　and　endurance；　that　I



could　not　give　up　the　delight　of　watching　her　run　through　the　three



unforgettable　days　of　that　gale　which　my　mate　also　delighted　to



extol　as　〃a　famous　shove。〃







And　this　is　one　of　those　gales　whose　memory　in　after…years　returns；



welcome　in　dignified　austerity；　as　you　would　remember　with　pleasure



the　noble　features　of　a　stranger　with　whom　you　crossed　swords　once



in　knightly　encounter　and　are　never　to　see　again。　　In　this　way



gales　have　their　physiognomy。　　You　remember　them　by　your　own



feelings；　and　no　two　gales　stamp　themselves　in　the　same　way　upon



your　emotions。　　Some　cling　to　you　in　woebegone　misery；　others　come



back　fiercely　and　weirdly；　like　ghouls　bent　upon　sucking　your



strength　away；　others；　again；　have　a　catastrophic　splendour；　some



are　unvenerated　recollections；　as　of　spiteful　wild…cats　clawing　at



your　agonized　vitals；　others　are　severe；　like　a　visitation；　and　one



or　two　rise　up　draped　and　mysterious；　with　an　aspect　of　ominous



menace。　　In　each　of　them　there　is　a　characteristic　point　at　which



the　whole　feeling　seems　contained　in　one　single　moment。　　Thus　there



is　a　certain　four　o'clock　in　the　morning　in　the　confused　roar　of　a



black　and　white　world　when　coming　on　deck　to　take　charge　of　my



watch　I　received　the　instantaneous　impression　that　the　ship　could



not　live　for　another　hour　in　such　a　raging　sea。







I　wonder　what　became　of　the　men　who　silently　（you　couldn't　hear



yourself　speak）　must　have　shared　that　conviction　with　me。　　To　be



left　to　write　about　it　is　not；　perhaps；　the　most　enviable　fate；　but



the　point　is　that　this　impression　resumes　in　its　intensity　the



whole　recollection　of　days　and　days　of　desperately　dangerous



weather。　　We　were　then；　for　reasons　which　it　is　not　worth　while　to



specify；　in　the　close　neighbourhood　of　Kerguelen　Land；　and　now；



when　I　open　an　atlas　and　look　at　the　tiny　dots　on　the　map　of　the



Southern　Ocean；　I　see　as　if　engraved　upon　the　paper　the　enraged



physiognomy　of　that　gale。







Another；　strangely；　recalls　a　silent　man。　　And　yet　it　was　not　din



that　was　wanting；　in　fact；　it　was　terrific。　　That　one　was　a　gale



that　came　upon　the　ship　swiftly；　like　a　parnpero；　which　last　is　a



very　sudden　wind　indeed。　　Before　we　knew　very　well　what　was　coming



all　the　sails　we　had　set　had　burst；　the　furled　ones　were　blowing



loose；　ropes　flying；　sea　hissing　…　it　hissed　tremendously　…　wind



howling；　and　the　ship　lying　on　her　side；　so　that　half　of　the　crew



were　swimming　and　the　other　half　clawing　desperately　at　whatever



came　to　hand；　according　to　the　side　of　the　deck　each　man　had　been



caught　on　by　the　catastrophe；　either　to　leeward　or　to　windward。



The　shouting　I　need　not　mention　…　it　was　the　merest　drop　in　an



ocean　of　noise　…　and　yet　the　character　of　the　gale　seems　contained



in　the　recollection　of　one　small；　not　particularly　impressive；



sallow　man　without　a　cap　and　with　a　very　still　face。　　Captain　Jones



…　let　us　call