the mirror of the sea- 第3部分

and　technical　language　is　an　instrument　wrought　into　perfection　by



ages　of　experience；　a　flawless　thing　for　its　purpose。　　An　anchor　of



yesterday　（because　nowadays　there　are　contrivances　like　mushrooms



and　things　like　claws；　of　no　particular　expression　or　shape　…　just



hooks）　…　an　anchor　of　yesterday　is　in　its　way　a　most　efficient



instrument。　　To　its　perfection　its　size　bears　witness；　for　there　is



no　other　appliance　so　small　for　the　great　work　it　has　to　do。　　Look



at　the　anchors　hanging　from　the　cat…heads　of　a　big　ship！　　How　tiny



they　are　in　proportion　to　the　great　size　of　the　hull！　　Were　they



made　of　gold　they　would　look　like　trinkets；　like　ornamental　toys；



no　bigger　in　proportion　than　a　jewelled　drop　in　a　woman's　ear。　　And



yet　upon　them　will　depend；　more　than　once；　the　very　life　of　the



ship。







An　anchor　is　forged　and　fashioned　for　faithfulness；　give　it　ground



that　it　can　bite；　and　it　will　hold　till　the　cable　parts；　and　then；



whatever　may　afterwards　befall　its　ship；　that　anchor　is　〃lost。〃



The　honest；　rough　piece　of　iron；　so　simple　in　appearance；　has　more



parts　than　the　human　body　has　limbs：　　the　ring；　the　stock；　the



crown；　the　flukes；　the　palms；　the　shank。　　All　this；　according　to



the　journalist；　is　〃cast〃　when　a　ship　arriving　at　an　anchorage　is



brought　up。







This　insistence　in　using　the　odious　word　arises　from　the　fact　that



a　particularly　benighted　landsman　must　imagine　the　act　of　anchoring



as　a　process　of　throwing　something　overboard；　whereas　the　anchor



ready　for　its　work　is　already　overboard；　and　is　not　thrown　over；



but　simply　allowed　to　fall。　　It　hangs　from　the　ship's　side　at　the



end　of　a　heavy；　projecting　timber　called　the　cat…head；　in　the　bight



of　a　short；　thick　chain　whose　end　link　is　suddenly　released　by　a



blow　from　a　top…maul　or　the　pull　of　a　lever　when　the　order　is



given。　　And　the　order　is　not　〃Heave　over！〃　as　the　paragraphist



seems　to　imagine；　but　〃Let　go！〃







As　a　matter　of　fact；　nothing　is　ever　cast　in　that　sense　on　board



ship　but　the　lead；　of　which　a　cast　is　taken　to　search　the　depth　of



water　on　which　she　floats。　　A　lashed　boat；　a　spare　spar；　a　cask　or



what　not　secured　about　the　decks；　is　〃cast　adrift〃　when　it　is



untied。　　Also　the　ship　herself　is　〃cast　to　port　or　starboard〃　when



getting　under　way。　　She；　however；　never　〃casts〃　her　anchor。







To　speak　with　severe　technicality；　a　ship　or　a　fleet　is　〃brought



up〃　…　the　complementary　words　unpronounced　and　unwritten　being；　of



course；　〃to　an　anchor。〃　　Less　technically；　but　not　less　correctly；



the　word　〃anchored；〃　with　its　characteristic　appearance　and



resolute　sound；　ought　to　be　good　enough　for　the　newspapers　of　the



greatest　maritime　country　in　the　world。　　〃The　fleet　anchored　at



Spithead〃：　　can　anyone　want　a　better　sentence　for　brevity　and



seamanlike　ring？　　But　the　〃cast…anchor〃　trick；　with　its　affectation



of　being　a　sea…phrase　…　for　why　not　write　just　as　well　〃threw



anchor；〃　〃flung　anchor；〃　or　'shied　anchor〃？　…　is　intolerably　odious



to　a　sailor's　ear。　　I　remember　a　coasting　pilot　of　my　early



acquaintance　（he　used　to　read　the　papers　assiduously）　who；　to



define　the　utmost　degree　of　lubberliness　in　a　landsman；　used　to



say；　〃He's　one　of　them　poor；　miserable　'cast…anchor'　devils。〃















V。















From　first　to　last　the　seaman's　thoughts　are　very　much　concerned



with　his　anchors。　　It　is　not　so　much　that　the　anchor　is　a　symbol　of



hope　as　that　it　is　the　heaviest　object　that　he　has　to　handle　on



board　his　ship　at　sea　in　the　usual　routine　of　his　duties。　　The



beginning　and　the　end　of　every　passage　are　marked　distinctly　by



work　about　the　ship's　anchors。　　A　vessel　in　the　Channel　has　her



anchors　always　ready；　her　cables　shackled　on；　and　the　land　almost



always　in　sight。　　The　anchor　and　the　land　are　indissolubly



connected　in　a　sailor's　thoughts。　　But　directly　she　is　clear　of　the



narrow　seas；　heading　out　into　the　world　with　nothing　solid　to　speak



of　between　her　and　the　South　Pole；　the　anchors　are　got　in　and　the



cables　disappear　from　the　deck。　　But　the　anchors　do　not　disappear。



Technically　speaking；　they　are　〃secured　in…board〃；　and；　on　the



forecastle　head；　lashed　down　to　ring…bolts　with　ropes　and　chains；



under　the　straining　sheets　of　the　head…sails；　they　look　very　idle



and　as　if　asleep。　　Thus　bound；　but　carefully　looked　after；　inert



and　powerful；　those　emblems　of　hope　make　company　for　the　look…out



man　in　the　night　watches；　and　so　the　days　glide　by；　with　a　long



rest　for　those　characteristically　shaped　pieces　of　iron；　reposing



forward；　visible　from　almost　every　part　of　the　ship's　deck；　waiting



for　their　work　on　the　other　side　of　the　world　somewhere；　while　the



ship　carries　them　on　with　a　great　rush　and　splutter　of　foam



underneath；　and　the　sprays　of　the　open　sea　rust　their　heavy　limbs。







The　first　approach　to　the　land；　as　yet　invisible　to　the　crew's



eyes；　is　announced　by　the　brisk　order　of　the　chief　mate　to　the



boatswain：　　〃We　will　get　the　anchors　over　this　afternoon〃　or　〃first



thing　to…morrow　morning；〃　as　the　case　may　be。　　For　the　chief　mate



is　the　keeper　of　the　ship's　anchors　and　the　guardian　of　her　cable。



There　are　good　ships　and　bad　ships；　comfortable　ships　and　ships



where；　from　first　day　to　last　of　the　voyage；　there　is　no　rest　for　a



chief　mate's　body　and　soul。　　And　ships　are　what　men　make　them：



this　is　a　pronouncement　of　sailor　wisdom；　and；　no　doubt；　in　the



main　it　is　true。







However；　there　are　ships　where；　as　an　old　grizzled　mate　once　told



me；　〃nothing　ever　seems　to　go　right！〃　　And；　looking　from　the　poop



where　we　both　stood　（I　had　paid　him　a　neighbourly　call　in　dock）；　he



added：　　〃She's　one　of　them。〃　　He　glanced　up　at　my　face；　which



expressed　a　proper　professional　sympathy；　and　set　me　right　in　my



natural　surmise：　　〃Oh　no；　the　old　man's　right　enough。　　He　never



interferes。　　Anything　that's　done　in　a　seamanlike　way　is　good



enough　for　him。　　And　yet；　somehow；　nothing　ever　seems　to　go　right



in　this　ship。　　I　tell　you　what：　　she　is　naturally　unhandy。〃







The　〃old　man；〃　of　course；　was　his　captain；　who　just　then　came　on



deck　in　a　silk　hat　and　brown　overcoat；　and；　with　a　civil　nod　to　us；



went　ashore。　　He　was　certainly　not　more　than　thirty；　and　the



elderly　mate；　with　a　murmur　to　me　of　〃That's　my　old　man；〃　proceeded



to　give　instances　of　the　natural　unhandiness　of　the　ship　in　a　sort



of　deprecatory　tone；　as　if　to　say；　〃You　mustn't　think　I　bear　a



grudge　against　her　for　that。〃







The　instances　do　not　matter。　　The　point　is　that　there　are　ships



where　things　DO　go　wrong；　but　whatever　the　ship　…　good　or　bad；



lucky　or　unlucky　…　it　is　in　the　forepart　of　her　that　her　chief　mate



feels　most　at　home。　　It　is　emphatically　HIS　end　of　the　ship；



though；　of　course；　he　is　the　executive　supervisor　of　the　whole。



There　are　HIS　anchors；　HIS　headgear；　his　foremast；　his　station　for



manoeuvring　when　the　captain　is　in　charge。　　And　there；　too；　live



the　men；　the　ship's　hands；　whom　it　is　his　duty　to　keep　employed；



fair　weather　or　foul；　for　the　ship's　welfare。　　It　is　the　chief



mate；　the　only　figure　of　the　ship's　afterguard；　who　comes　bustling



forward　at　the　cry　of　〃All　hands　on　deck！〃　　He　is　the　satrap　of



that　province　in　the　autocratic　realm　of　the　ship；　and　more



personally　responsible　for　anything　that　may　happen　there。







There；　too；　on　the　approach　to　the　land；　assisted　by　the　boatswain



and　the　carpenter；　he　〃gets　the　anchors　over〃　with　the　men　of　his



own　watch；　whom　he　knows　better　than　the　others。　　There　he　sees　the



cable　ranged；　the　windlass　disconnected；　the　compressors　opened；



and　there；　after　giving　his　own　last　order；　〃Stand　clear　of　the



cable！〃　he　waits　attentive；　in　a　silent　ship　that　forges　slowly



ahead　towards　her　picked…out　berth；　for　the　sharp　shout　from　aft；



〃Let　go！〃　　Instantly　bending　over；　he　sees　the　trusty　iron　fall



with　a　heavy　plunge　under　his　eyes；　which　watch　and　note　whether　it



has　gone　clear。







For　the　anchor　〃to　go　clear〃　means　to　go　clear　of　its　own　chain。



Your　anchor　must　drop　from　the　bow　of　your　ship　with　no　turn　of



cable　on　any　of　its　limbs；　else　you　would　be　riding　to　a　foul



anchor。　　Unless　the　pull　of　the　cable　is　fair　on　the　ring；　no



anchor　can　be　trusted　even　on　the　best　of　holding　ground。　　In　time



of　stress　it　is　bound　to　drag；　for　implements　and　men　must　be



treated　fairly　to　give　you　the　〃virtue〃　which　is　in　them。　　The



anchor　is　an　emblem　of　hope；　but　a　foul　anchor　is　worse　than　the



most　fallacious　of　false　hopes　that　ever　lured　men　or　nations　into



a　sense　of　security。　　And　the　sense　of　security；　even　the　most



warranted；　is　a　bad　councillor。　　It　is　the　sense　which；　like　that



exaggerated　feeling　of　well…being　ominous　of　the　coming　on　of



madness；　precedes　the　swift　fall　of　disaster。　　A　seaman　labouring



under　an　undue　sense　of　security　becomes　at　once　worth　hardly　half



his　salt。　　Therefore；　of　all　my　chief　officers；　the　one　I　trusted



most　was　a　man　called　B…。　　He　had　a　red　moustache；　a　lean　face；



also　red；　and　an　uneasy　eye。　　He　was　worth　all　his　salt。







On　examining　now；　after　many　years；　the　residue　of　the　feeling



which　was　the　outcome　of　the　contact　of　our　personalities；　I



discover；　without　much　surprise；　a　certain　flavour　of　dislike。



Upon　the　whole；　I　think　he　was　one　of　the　most　uncomfortable



shipmates　possible　for　a　young　commander。　　If　it　is　permissible　to



criticise　the　absent；　I　should　say　he　had　a　little　too　much　of　the



sense　of　insecurity　which　is　so　invaluable　in　a　seaman。　　He　had　an



extremely　disturbing　air　of　being　everlastingly　ready　（even　when



seated　at　table　at　my　right　hand　before　a　plate　of　salt　beef）　to



grapple　with　some　impending　calamity。　　I　must　hasten　to　add　that　he



had　also　the　other　qu