the mirror of the sea-第14部分

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She　must　have　looked　ghostly　enough；　that　broken…down　steamer；



rolling　in　that　snowstorm　…　a　dark　apparition　in　a　world　of　white



snowflakes　to　the　staring　eyes　of　that　whaler's　crew。　　Evidently



they　didn't　believe　in　ghosts；　for　on　arrival　into　port　her　captain



unromantically　reported　having　sighted　a　disabled　steamer　in



latitude　somewhere　about　50　degrees　S。　and　a　longitude　still　more



uncertain。　　Other　steamers　came　out　to　look　for　her；　and　ultimately



towed　her　away　from　the　cold　edge　of　the　world　into　a　harbour　with



docks　and　workshops；　where；　with　many　blows　of　hammers；　her



pulsating　heart　of　steel　was　set　going　again　to　go　forth　presently



in　the　renewed　pride　of　its　strength；　fed　on　fire　and　water；



breathing　black　smoke　into　the　air；　pulsating；　throbbing；



shouldering　its　arrogant　way　against　the　great　rollers　in　blind



disdain　of　winds　and　sea。







The　track　she　had　made　when　drifting　while　her　heart　stood　still



within　her　iron　ribs　looked　like　a　tangled　thread　on　the　white



paper　of　the　chart。　　It　was　shown　to　me　by　a　friend；　her　second



officer。　　In　that　surprising　tangle　there　were　words　in　minute



letters　…　〃gales；〃　〃thick　fog；〃　〃ice〃　…　written　by　him　here　and



there　as　memoranda　of　the　weather。　　She　had　interminably　turned



upon　her　tracks；　she　had　crossed　and　recrossed　her　haphazard　path



till　it　resembled　nothing　so　much　as　a　puzzling　maze　of　pencilled



lines　without　a　meaning。　　But　in　that　maze　there　lurked　all　the



romance　of　the　〃overdue〃　and　a　menacing　hint　of　〃missing。〃







〃We　had　three　weeks　of　it；〃　said　my　friend；　〃just　think　of　that！〃







〃How　did　you　feel　about　it？〃　I　asked。







He　waved　his　hand　as　much　as　to　say：　　It's　all　in　the　day's　work。



But　then；　abruptly；　as　if　making　up　his　mind：







〃I'll　tell　you。　　Towards　the　last　I　used　to　shut　myself　up　in　my



berth　and　cry。〃







〃Cry？〃







〃Shed　tears；〃　he　explained　briefly；　and　rolled　up　the　chart。







I　can　answer　for　it；　he　was　a　good　man　…　as　good　as　ever　stepped



upon　a　ship's　deck　…　but　he　could　not　bear　the　feeling　of　a　dead



ship　under　his　feet：　　the　sickly；　disheartening　feeling　which　the



men　of　some　〃overdue〃　ships　that　come　into　harbour　at　last　under　a



jury…rig　must　have　felt；　combated；　and　overcome　in　the　faithful



discharge　of　their　duty。















XX。















It　is　difficult　for　a　seaman　to　believe　that　his　stranded　ship　does



not　feel　as　unhappy　at　the　unnatural　predicament　of　having　no　water



under　her　keel　as　he　is　himself　at　feeling　her　stranded。







Stranding　is；　indeed；　the　reverse　of　sinking。　　The　sea　does　not



close　upon　the　water…logged　hull　with　a　sunny　ripple；　or　maybe　with



the　angry　rush　of　a　curling　wave；　erasing　her　name　from　the　roll　of



living　ships。　　No。　　It　is　as　if　an　invisible　hand　had　been



stealthily　uplifted　from　the　bottom　to　catch　hold　of　her　keel　as　it



glides　through　the　water。







More　than　any　other　event　does　stranding　bring　to　the　sailor　a



sense　of　utter　and　dismal　failure。　　There　are　strandings　and



strandings；　but　I　am　safe　to　say　that　90　per　cent。　of　them　are



occasions　in　which　a　sailor；　without　dishonour；　may　well　wish



himself　dead；　and　I　have　no　doubt　that　of　those　who　had　the



experience　of　their　ship　taking　the　ground；　90　per　cent。　did



actually　for　five　seconds　or　so　wish　themselves　dead。







〃Taking　the　ground〃　is　the　professional　expression　for　a　ship　that



is　stranded　in　gentle　circumstances。　　But　the　feeling　is　more　as　if



the　ground　had　taken　hold　of　her。　　It　is　for　those　on　her　deck　a



surprising　sensation。　　It　is　as　if　your　feet　had　been　caught　in　an



imponderable　snare；　you　feel　the　balance　of　your　body　threatened；



and　the　steady　poise　of　your　mind　is　destroyed　at　once。　　This



sensation　lasts　only　a　second；　for　even　while　you　stagger　something



seems　to　turn　over　in　your　head；　bringing　uppermost　the　mental



exclamation；　full　of　astonishment　and　dismay；　〃By　Jove！　she's　on



the　ground！〃







And　that　is　very　terrible。　　After　all；　the　only　mission　of　a



seaman's　calling　is　to　keep　ships'　keels　off　the　ground。　　Thus　the



moment　of　her　stranding　takes　away　from　him　every　excuse　for　his



continued　existence。　　To　keep　ships　afloat　is　his　business；　it　is



his　trust；　it　is　the　effective　formula　of　the　bottom　of　all　these



vague　impulses；　dreams；　and　illusions　that　go　to　the　making　up　of　a



boy's　vocation。　　The　grip　of　the　land　upon　the　keel　of　your　ship；



even　if　nothing　worse　comes　of　it　than　the　wear　and　tear　of　tackle



and　the　loss　of　time；　remains　in　a　seaman's　memory　an　indelibly



fixed　taste　of　disaster。







〃Stranded〃　within　the　meaning　of　this　paper　stands　for　a　more　or



less　excusable　mistake。　　A　ship　may　be　〃driven　ashore〃　by　stress　of



weather。　　It　is　a　catastrophe；　a　defeat。　　To　be　〃run　ashore〃　has



the　littleness；　poignancy；　and　bitterness　of　human　error。















XXI。















That　is　why　your　〃strandings〃　are　for　the　most　part　so　unexpected。



In　fact；　they　are　all　unexpected；　except　those　heralded　by　some



short　glimpse　of　the　danger；　full　of　agitation　and　excitement；　like



an　awakening　from　a　dream　of　incredible　folly。







The　land　suddenly　at　night　looms　up　right　over　your　bows；　or



perhaps　the　cry　of　〃Broken　water　ahead！〃　is　raised；　and　some　long



mistake；　some　complicated　edifice　of　self…delusion；　over…



confidence；　and　wrong　reasoning　is　brought　down　in　a　fatal　shock；



and　the　heart…searing　experience　of　your　ship's　keel　scraping　and



scrunching　over；　say；　a　coral　reef。　　It　is　a　sound；　for　its　size；



far　more　terrific　to　your　soul　than　that　of　a　world　coming



violently　to　an　end。　　But　out　of　that　chaos　your　belief　in　your　own



prudence　and　sagacity　reasserts　itself。　　You　ask　yourself；　Where　on



earth　did　I　get　to？　　How　on　earth　did　I　get　there？　with　a



conviction　that　it　could　not　be　your　own　act；　that　there　has　been



at　work　some　mysterious　conspiracy　of　accident；　that　the　charts　are



all　wrong；　and　if　the　charts　are　not　wrong；　that　land　and　sea　have



changed　their　places；　that　your　misfortune　shall　for　ever　remain



inexplicable；　since　you　have　lived　always　with　the　sense　of　your



trust；　the　last　thing　on　closing　your　eyes；　the　first　on　opening



them；　as　if　your　mind　had　kept　firm　hold　of　your　responsibility



during　the　hours　of　sleep。







You　contemplate　mentally　your　mischance；　till　little　by　little　your



mood　changes；　cold　doubt　steals　into　the　very　marrow　of　your　bones；



you　see　the　inexplicable　fact　in　another　light。　　That　is　the　time



when　you　ask　yourself；　How　on　earth　could　I　have　been　fool　enough



to　get　there？　　And　you　are　ready　to　renounce　all　belief　in　your



good　sense；　in　your　knowledge；　in　your　fidelity；　in　what　you



thought　till　then　was　the　best　in　you；　giving　you　the　daily　bread



of　life　and　the　moral　support　of　other　men's　confidence。







The　ship　is　lost　or　not　lost。　　Once　stranded；　you　have　to　do　your



best　by　her。　　She　may　be　saved　by　your　efforts；　by　your　resource



and　fortitude　bearing　up　against　the　heavy　weight　of　guilt　and



failure。　　And　there　are　justifiable　strandings　in　fogs；　on



uncharted　seas；　on　dangerous　shores；　through　treacherous　tides。



But；　saved　or　not　saved；　there　remains　with　her　commander　a



distinct　sense　of　loss；　a　flavour　in　the　mouth　of　the　real；　abiding



danger　that　lurks　in　all　the　forms　of　human　existence。　　It　is　an



acquisition；　too；　that　feeling。　　A　man　may　be　the　better　for　it；



but　he　will　not　be　the　same。　　Damocles　has　seen　the　sword　suspended



by　a　hair　over　his　head；　and　though　a　good　man　need　not　be　made



less　valuable　by　such　a　knowledge；　the　feast　shall　not　henceforth



have　the　same　flavour。







Years　ago　I　was　concerned　as　chief　mate　in　a　case　of　stranding



which　was　not　fatal　to　the　ship。　　We　went　to　work　for　ten　hours　on



end；　laying　out　anchors　in　readiness　to　heave　off　at　high　water。



While　I　was　still　busy　about　the　decks　forward　I　heard　the　steward



at　my　elbow　saying：　　〃The　captain　asks　whether　you　mean　to　come　in；



sir；　and　have　something　to　eat　to…day。〃







I　went　into　the　cuddy。　　My　captain　sat　at　the　head　of　the　table



like　a　statue。　　There　was　a　strange　motionlessness　of　everything　in



that　pretty　little　cabin。　　The　swing…table　which　for　seventy　odd



days　had　been　always　on　the　move；　if　ever　so　little；　hung　quite



still　above　the　soup…tureen。　　Nothing　could　have　altered　the　rich



colour　of　my　commander's　complexion；　laid　on　generously　by　wind　and



sea；　but　between　the　two　tufts　of　fair　hair　above　his　ears；　his



skull；　generally　suffused　with　the　hue　of　blood；　shone　dead　white；



like　a　dome　of　ivory。　　And　he　looked　strangely　untidy。　　I　perceived



he　had　not　shaved　himself　that　day；　and　yet　the　wildest　motion　of



the　ship　in　the　most　stormy　latitudes　we　had　passed