Neither before nor since have I felt a ship roll so abruptly, so violently, so heavily.Once she began, you felt that she would never stop, and this hopeless sensation, characterizing the motion of ships whose centre of gravity is brought down too low in loading, made everyone on board weary of keeping on his feet.Iremember once over-hearing one of the hands say: "By Heavens, Jack! I feel as if I didn't mind how soon I let myself go, and let the blamed hooker knock my brains out if she likes." The captain used to remark frequently: "Ah, yes; I dare say one-third weight above beams would have been quite enough for most ships.But then, you see, there's no two of them alike on the seas, and she's an uncommonly ticklish jade to load."Down south, running before the gales of high latitudes, she made our life a burden to us.There were days when nothing would keep even on the swing-tables, when there was no position where you could fix yourself so as not to feel a constant strain upon all the muscles of your body.She rolled and rolled with an awful dislodging jerk and that dizzily fast sweep of her masts on every swing.It was a wonder that the men sent aloft were not flung off the yards, the yards not flung off the masts, the masts not flung overboard.The captain in his armchair, holding on grimly at the head of the table, with the soup-tureen rolling on one side of the cabin and the steward sprawling on the other, would observe, looking at me: "That's your one-third above the beams.The only thing that surprises me is that the sticks have stuck to her all this time."Ultimately some of the minor spars did go - nothing important:
spanker-booms and such-like - because at times the frightful impetus of her rolling would part a fourfold tackle of new three-inch Manilla line as if it were weaker than pack-thread.
It was only poetic justice that the chief mate who had made a mistake - perhaps a half-excusable one - about the distribution of his ship's cargo should pay the penalty.A piece of one of the minor spars that did carry away flew against the chief mate's back, and sent him sliding on his face for quite a considerable distance along the main deck.Thereupon followed various and unpleasant consequences of a physical order - "queer symptoms," as the captain, who treated them, used to say; inexplicable periods of powerlessness, sudden accesses of mysterious pain; and the patient agreed fully with the regretful mutters of his very attentive captain wishing that it had been a straightforward broken leg.
Even the Dutch doctor who took the case up in Samarang offered no scientific explanation.All he said was: "Ah, friend, you are young yet; it may be very serious for your whole life.You must leave your ship; you must quite silent be for three months - quite silent."Of course, he meant the chief mate to keep quiet - to lay up, as a matter of fact.His manner was impressive enough, if his English was childishly imperfect when compared with the fluency of Mr.
Hudig, the figure at the other end of that passage, and memorable enough in its way.In a great airy ward of a Far Eastern hospital, lying on my back, I had plenty of leisure to remember the dreadful cold and snow of Amsterdam, while looking at the fronds of the palm-trees tossing and rustling at the height of the window.Icould remember the elated feeling and the soul-gripping cold of those tramway journeys taken into town to put what in diplomatic language is called pressure upon the good Hudig, with his warm fire, his armchair, his big cigar, and the never-failing suggestion in his good-natured voice: "I suppose in the end it is you they will appoint captain before the ship sails?" It may have been his extreme good-nature, the serious, unsmiling good-nature of a fat, swarthy man with coal-black moustache and steady eyes; but he might have been a bit of a diplomatist, too.His enticing suggestions Iused to repel modestly by the assurance that it was extremely unlikely, as I had not enough experience."You know very well how to go about business matters," he used to say, with a sort of affected moodiness clouding his serene round face.I wonder whether he ever laughed to himself after I had left the office.Idare say he never did, because I understand that diplomatists, in and out of the career, take themselves and their tricks with an exemplary seriousness.
But he had nearly persuaded me that I was fit in every way to be trusted with a command.There came three months of mental worry, hard rolling, remorse, and physical pain to drive home the lesson of insufficient experience.
Yes, your ship wants to be humoured with knowledge.You must treat with an understanding consideration the mysteries of her feminine nature, and then she will stand by you faithfully in the unceasing struggle with forces wherein defeat is no shame.It is a serious relation, that in which a man stands to his ship.She has her rights as though she could breathe and speak; and, indeed, there are ships that, for the right man, will do anything but speak, as the saying goes.
A ship is not a slave.You must make her easy in a seaway, you must never forget that you owe her the fullest share of your thought, of your skill, of your self-love.If you remember that obligation, naturally and without effort, as if it were an instinctive feeling of your inner life, she will sail, stay, run for you as long as she is able, or, like a sea-bird going to rest upon the angry waves, she will lay out the heaviest gale that ever made you doubt living long enough to see another sunrise.
