English
Atlast,afterthreedaysofvariablewinds,wehavecaughtthenorth-easttrades.
Icameondeck,afteragoodnight’srestinspiteofmypoorknee,tofindtheGhostfoamingalong,wing-and-wing,andeverysaildrawingexceptthejibs,withafreshbreezeastern.Oh,thewonderofthegreattrade-wind!
Alldaywesailed,andallnight,andthenextday,andthenext,dayafterday,thewindalwaysasternandblowingsteadilyandstrong.Theschoonersailedherself.
Therewasnopullingandhaulingonsheetsandtackles,noshiftingoftopsails,noworkatallforthesailorstodoexcepttosteer.
Atnightwhenthesunwentdown,thesheetswereslackened;inthemorning,whentheyyieldedupthedampofthedewandrelaxed,theywerepulledtightagain—andthatwasall.
Tenknots,twelveknots,elevenknots,varyingfromtimetotime,isthespeedwearemaking.
Andeveroutofthenorth-eastthebravewindblows,drivingusonourcoursetwohundredandfiftymilesbetweenthedawns.
Itsaddensmeandgladdensme,thegaitwithwhichweareleavingSanFranciscobehindandwithwhichwearefoamingdownuponthetropics.Eachdaygrowsperceptiblywarmer.
Intheseconddog-watchthesailorscomeondeck,stripped,andheavebucketsofwaterupononeanotherfromoverside.
Flying-fisharebeginningtobeseen,andduringthenightthewatchabovescramblesoverthedeckinpursuitofthosethatfallaboard.
Inthemorning,ThomasMugridgebeingdulybribed,thegalleyispleasantlyareekwiththeodouroftheirfrying;whiledolphinmeatisservedforeandaftonsuchoccasionsasJohnsoncatchestheblazingbeautiesfromthebowspritend.
Johnsonseemstospendallhissparetimethereoraloftatthecrosstrees,watchingtheGhostcleavingthewaterunderpressofsail.
Thereispassion,adoration,inhiseyes,andhegoesaboutinasortoftrance,gazinginecstasyattheswellingsails,thefoamingwake,andtheheaveandtherunofherovertheliquidmountainsthataremovingwithusinstatelyprocession.
Thedaysandnightsare“allawonderandawilddelight,”andthoughIhavelittletimefrommydrearywork,IstealoddmomentstogazeandgazeattheunendinggloryofwhatIneverdreamedtheworldpossessed.
Above,theskyisstainlessblue—blueastheseaitself,whichundertheforefootisofthecolourandsheenofazuresatin.
Allaroundthehorizonarepale,fleecyclouds,neverchanging,nevermoving,likeasilversettingfortheflawlessturquoisesky.
Idonotforgetonenight,whenIshouldhavebeenasleep,oflyingontheforecastle-headandgazingdownatthespectralrippleoffoamthrustasidebytheGhost’sforefoot.
Itsoundedlikethegurglingofabrookovermossystonesinsomequietdell,andthecrooningsongofitluredmeawayandoutofmyselftillIwasnolongerHumpthecabin-boy,norVanWeyden,themanwhohaddreamedawaythirty-fiveyearsamongbooks.
Butavoicebehindme,theunmistakablevoiceofWolfLarsen,strongwiththeinvinciblecertitudeofthemanandmellowwithappreciationofthewordshewasquoting,arousedme.
“‘Otheblazingtropicnight,whenthewake’saweltoflight
Thatholdsthehotskytame,
Andthesteadyforefootsnoresthroughtheplanet-powderedfloors
Wherethescaredwhaleflukesinflame.
Herplatesarescarredbythesun,dearlass,
Andherropesaretautwiththedew,
Forwe’reboomingdownontheoldtrail,ourowntrail,theouttrail,
We’resaggingsouthontheLongTrail—thetrailthatisalwaysnew.’”
“Eh,Hump?How’sitstrikeyou?”heasked,aftertheduepausewhichwordsandsettingdemanded.
Ilookedintohisface.Itwasaglowwithlight,astheseaitself,andtheeyeswereflashinginthestarshine.
“Itstrikesmeasremarkable,tosaytheleast,thatyoushouldshowenthusiasm,”Iansweredcoldly.
“Why,man,it’sliving!it’slife!”hecried.
“Whichisacheapthingandwithoutvalue.”Iflunghiswordsathim.
Helaughed,anditwasthefirsttimeIhadheardhonestmirthinhisvoice.
“Ah,Icannotgetyoutounderstand,cannotdriveitintoyourhead,whatathingthislifeis.
Ofcourselifeisvalueless,excepttoitself.
AndIcantellyouthatmylifeisprettyvaluablejustnow—tomyself.
Itisbeyondprice,whichyouwillacknowledgeisaterrificoverrating,butwhichIcannothelp,foritisthelifethatisinmethatmakestherating.”
Heappearedwaitingforthewordswithwhichtoexpressthethoughtthatwasinhim,andfinallywenton.
“Doyouknow,Iamfilledwithastrangeuplift;Ifeelasifalltimewereechoingthroughme,asthoughallpowersweremine.
Iknowtruth,divinegoodfromevil,rightfromwrong.Myvisionisclearandfar.IcouldalmostbelieveinGod.
But,”andhisvoicechangedandthelightwentoutofhisface,—“whatisthisconditioninwhichIfindmyself?thisjoyofliving?thisexultationoflife?thisinspiration,Imaywellcallit?
Itiswhatcomeswhenthereisnothingwrongwithone’sdigestion,whenhisstomachisintrimandhisappetitehasanedge,andallgoeswell.
Itisthebribeforliving,thechampagneoftheblood,theeffervescenceoftheferment—thatmakessomementhinkholythoughts,andothermentoseeGodortocreatehimwhentheycannotseehim.
Thatisall,thedrunkennessoflife,thestirringandcrawlingoftheyeast,thebabblingofthelifethatisinsanewithconsciousnessthatitisalive.And—bah!
To-morrowIshallpayforitasthedrunkardpays.
AndIshallknowthatImustdie,atseamostlikely,ceasecrawlingofmyselftobealla-crawlwiththecorruptionofthesea;tobefedupon,tobecarrion,toyieldupallthestrengthandmovementofmymusclesthatitmaybecomestrengthandmovementinfinandscaleandthegutsoffishes.Bah!Andbah!again.Thechampagneisalreadyflat.
Thesparkleandbubblehasgoneoutanditisatastelessdrink.”
Heleftmeassuddenlyashehadcome,springingtothedeckwiththeweightandsoftnessofatiger.TheGhostploughedonherway.
Inotedthegurglingforefootwasverylikeasnore,andasIlistenedtoittheeffectofWolfLarsen’sswiftrushfromsublimeexultationtodespairslowlyleftme.
Thensomedeep-watersailor,fromthewaistoftheship,liftedarichtenorvoiceinthe“SongoftheTradeWind”:
“Oh,Iamthewindtheseamenlove—
Iamsteady,andstrong,andtrue;
Theyfollowmytrackbythecloudsabove,
O’erthefathomlesstropicblue.
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ThroughdaylightanddarkIfollowthebark
Ikeeplikeahoundonhertrail;
I’mstrongestatnoon,yetunderthemoon,
Istiffenthebuntofhersail.”
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