Some Rambling Notes of an Idle Excursion. Mark Twain
out from main truck to keelson in the nobbiest clothes that ever saw a fo’castle. He had a chestful, too: cloaks, and broadcloth coats, and velvet vests; everything swell, you know; and didn’t the saltwater fix them out for him? I guess not! Well, going to sea, the mate told him to go aloft and help shake out the foreto’gallants’l. Up he shins to the foretop, with his spectacles on, and in a minute down he comes again, looking insulted. Says the mate, ‘What did you come down for?’ Says the chap, ‘P’r’aps you didn’t notice that there ain’t any ladders above there.’ You see we hadn’t any shrouds above the foretop. The men bursted out in a laugh such as I guess you never heard the like of. Next night, which was dark and rainy, the mate ordered this chap to go aloft about something, and I’m dummed if he didn’t start up with an umbrella and a lantern! But no matter; he made a mighty good sailor before the voyage was done, and we had to hunt up something else to laugh at. Years afterwards, when I had forgot all about him, I comes into Boston, mate of a ship, and was loafing around town with the second mate, and it so happened that we stepped into the Revere House, thinking maybe we would chance the salt-horse in that big diningroom for a flyer, as the boys say. Some fellows were talking just at our elbow, and one says, ’Yonder’s the new governor of Massachusetts – at that table over there with the ladies.’ We took a good look my mate and I, for we hadn’t either of us ever see a governor before. I looked and looked at that face and then all of a sudden it popped on me! But didn’t give any sign. Says I, ‘Mate, I’ve a notion to go over and shake hands with him.’ Says he ‘I think I see you doing it, Tom.’ Says I, ’Mate I’m a-going to do it.’ Says he, ’Oh, yes, I guess so. Maybe you don’t want to bet you will, Tom?’ Say I, ‘I don’t mind going a V on it, mate.’ Says he ’Put it up.’ ‘Up she goes,’ says I, planking the cash. This surprised him. But he covered it, and says pretty sarcastic, ’Hadn’t you better take your grub with the governor and the ladies, Tom?’ Says I ’Upon second thoughts, I will.’ Says he, ‘Well Tom, you aye a dum fool.’ Says I, ’Maybe I am maybe I ain’t; but the main question is, do you wan to risk two and a half that I won’t do it?’ ‘Make it a V,’ says he. ‘Done,’ says I. I started, him a giggling and slapping his hand on his thigh, he felt so good. I went over there and leaned my knuckle: on the table a minute and looked the governor in the face, and says I, ’Mr. Gardner, don’t you know me? He stared, and I stared, and he stared. Then all of a sudden he sings out, ’Tom Bowling, by the holy poker! Ladies, it’s old Tom Bowling, that you’ve heard me talk about – shipmate of mine in the Mary Ann.’ He rose up and shook hands with me ever so hearty – I sort of glanced around and took a realizing sense of my mate’s saucer eyes – and then says the governor, ’Plant yourself, Tom, plant yourself; you can’t cat your anchor again till you’ve had a feed with me and the ladies!’ I planted myself alongside the governor, and canted my eye around toward my mate. Well, sir, his dead-lights were bugged out like tompions; and his mouth stood that wide open that you could have laid a ham in it without him noticing it.”
There was great applause at the conclusion of the old captain’s story; then, after a moment’s silence, a grave, pale young man said:
“Had you ever met the governor before?”
The old captain looked steadily at this inquirer awhile, and then got up and walked aft without making any reply. One passenger after another stole a furtive glance at the inquirer; but failed to make him out, and so gave him up. It took some little work to get the talk-machinery to running smoothly again after this derangement; but at length a conversation sprang up about that important and jealously guarded instrument, a ship’s timekeeper, its exceeding delicate accuracy, and the wreck and destruction that have sometimes resulted from its varying a few seemingly trifling moments from the true time; then, in due course, my comrade, the Reverend, got off on a yarn, with a fair wind and everything drawing. It was a true story, too – about Captain Rounceville’s shipwreck – true in every detail. It was to this effect:
Captain Rounceville’s vessel was lost in mid-Atlantic, and likewise his wife and his two little children. Captain Rounceville and seven seamen escaped with life, but with little else. A small, rudely constructed raft was to be their home for eight days. They had neither provisions nor water. They had scarcely any clothing; no one had a coat but the captain. This coat was changing hands all the time, for the weather was very cold. Whenever a man became exhausted with the cold, they put the coat on him and laid him down between two shipmates until the garment and their bodies had warmed life into him again. Among the sailors was a Portuguese who knew no English. He seemed to have no thought of his own calamity, but was concerned only about the captain’s bitter loss of wife and children. By day he would look his dumb compassion in the captain’s face; and by night, in the darkness and the driving spray and rain, he would seek out the captain and try to comfort him with caressing pats on the shoulder. One day, when hunger and thirst were making their sure inroad; upon the men’s strength and spirits, a floating barrel was seen at a distance. It seemed a great find, for doubtless it contained food of some sort. A brave fellow swam to it, and after long and exhausting effort got it to the raft. It was eagerly opened. It was a barrel of magnesia! On the fifth day an onion was spied. A sailor swam off and got it. Although perishing with hunger, he brought it in its integrity and put it into the captain’s hand. The history of the sea teaches that among starving, shipwrecked men selfishness is rare, and a wonder-compelling magnanimity the rule. The onion was equally divided into eight parts, and eaten with deep thanksgivings. On the eighth day a distant ship was sighted. Attempts were made to hoist an oar, with Captain Rounceville’s coat on it for a signal. There were many failures, for the men were but skeletons now, and strengthless. At last success was achieved, but the signal brought no help. The ship faded out of sight and left despair behind her. By and by another ship appeared, and passed so near that the castaways, every eye eloquent with gratitude, made ready to welcome the boat that would be sent to save them. But this ship also drove on, and left these men staring their unutterable surprise and dismay into each other’s ashen faces. Late in the day, still another ship came up out of the distance, but the men noted with a pang that her course was one which would not bring her nearer. Their remnant of life was nearly spent; their lips and tongues were swollen, parched, cracked with eight days’ thirst; their bodies starved; and here was their last chance gliding relentlessly from them; they would not be alive when the next sun rose. For a day or two past the men had lost their voices, but now Captain Rounceville whispered, “Let us pray.” The Portuguese patted him on the shoulder in sign of deep approval. All knelt at the base of the oar that was waving the signal-coat aloft, and bowed their heads. The sea was tossing; the sun rested, a red, rayless disk, on the sea-line in the west. When the men presently raised their heads they would have roared a hallelujah if they had had a voice – the ship’s sails lay wrinkled and flapping against her masts – she was going about! Here was rescue at last, and in the very last instant of time that was left for it. No, not rescue yet – only the imminent prospect of it. The red disk sank under the sea, and darkness blotted out the ship. By and by came a pleasant sound-oars moving in a boat’s rowlocks. Nearer it came, and nearer-within thirty steps, but nothing visible. Then a deep voice: “Hol-lo!” The castaways could not answer; their swollen tongues refused voice. The boat skirted round and round the raft, started away – the agony of it! – returned, rested the oars, close at hand, listening, no doubt. The deep voice again: “Hol-lo! Where are ye, shipmates?” Captain Rounceville whispered to his men, saying: “Whisper your best, boys! now – all at once!” So they sent out an eightfold whisper in hoarse concert: “Here!”, There was life in it if it succeeded; death if it failed. After that supreme moment Captain Rounceville was conscious of nothing until he came to himself on board the saving ship. Said the Reverend, concluding:
“There was one little moment of time in which that raft could be visible from that ship, and only one. If that one little fleeting moment had passed unfruitful, those men’s doom was sealed. As close as that does God shave events foreordained from the beginning of the world. When the sun reached the water’s edge that day, the captain of that ship was sitting on deck reading his prayer-book. The book fell; he stooped to pick it up, and happened to glance at the sun. In that instant that far-off raft appeared for a second against the red disk, its needle-like oar and diminutive signal cut sharp and black against the bright surface, and in the next instant was thrust away into the dusk again. But that ship, that captain, and that pregnant instant