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The Mirror of the Sea-Part3_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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clink of the pawls, make a stirringaccompaniment to a plaintive



up-anchor song with a roaring chorus; and this burst of noisy

activity from a whole ship's crew seems like a voiceful awakening



of the ship herself, till then, in the picturesquephrase of Dutch

seamen, "lying asleep upon her iron."



For a ship with her sails furled on her squared yards, and

reflected from truck to water-line in the smooth gleaming sheet of



a landlocked harbour, seems, indeed, to a seaman's eye the most

perfect picture of slumbering repose. The getting of your anchor



was a noisy operation on board a merchant ship of yesterday - an

inspiring, joyous noise, as if, with the emblem of hope, the ship's



company expected to drag up out of the depths, each man all his

personal hopes into the reach of a securing hand - the hope of



home, the hope of rest, of liberty, of dissipation, of hard

pleasure, following the hard endurance of many days between sky and



water. And this noisiness, this exultation at the moment of the

ship's departure, make a tremendouscontrast to the silent moments



of her arrival in a foreign roadstead - the silent moments when,

stripped of her sails, she forges ahead to her chosen berth, the



loose canvas fluttering softly in the gear above the heads of the

men standing still upon her decks, the master gazing intently



forward from the break of the poop. Gradually she loses her way,

hardly moving, with the three figures on her forecastle waiting



attentively about the cat-head for the last order of, perhaps, full

ninety days at sea: "Let go!"



This is the final word of a ship's ended journey, the closing word

of her toil and of her achievement. In a life whose worth is told



out in passages from port to port, the splash of the anchor's fall

and the thunderous rumbling of the chain are like the closing of a



distinct period, of which she seems conscious with a slight deep

shudder of all her frame. By so much is she nearer to her



appointed death, for neither years nor voyages can go on for ever.

It is to her like the striking of a clock, and in the pause which



follows she seems to take count of the passing time.

This is the last important order; the others are mere routine



directions. Once more the master is heard: "Give her forty-five

fathom to the water's edge," and then he, too, is done for a time.



For days he leaves all the harbour work to his chief mate, the

keeper of the ship's anchor and of the ship's routine. For days



his voice will not be heard raised about the decks, with that curt,

austere accent of the man in charge, till, again, when the hatches



are on, and in a silent and expectant ship, he shall speak up from

aft in commanding tones: "Man the windlass!"



VII.

The other year, looking through a newspaper of sound principles,



but whose staff WILL persist in "casting" anchors and going to sea

"on" a ship (ough!), I came across an article upon the season's



yachting. And, behold! it was a good article. To a man who had

but little to do with pleasure sailing (though all sailing is a



pleasure), and certainly nothing whatever with racing in open

waters, the writer's strictures upon the handicapping of yachts



were just intelligible and no more. And I do not pretend to any

interest in the enumeration of the great races of that year. As to



the 52-foot linear raters, praised so much by the writer, I am

warmed up by his approval of their performances; but, as far as any



clear conception goes, the descriptive phrase, so precise to the

comprehension of a yachtsman, evokes no definite image in my mind.



The writer praises that class of pleasure vessels, and I am willing

to endorse his words, as any man who loves every craft afloat would



be ready to do. I am disposed to admire and respect the 52-foot

linear raters on the word of a man who regrets in such a



sympathetic and understanding spirit the threatened decay of

yachting seamanship.



Of course, yacht racing is an organized pastime, a function of

social idleness ministering to the vanity of certain wealthy






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