For four hours I was saluted
in all sorts of blundering, good-humoured ways by the men as they came
up. Little scraps of news are always intensely valued at sea, and it
pleased me to see how these rude, kind souls tried to interest me by
giving me scraps of information about the yacht which I had just left.
"She was a-bearing away after the Admiral, sir, when we passed her. It's
funny old weather for her, and I see old Jones a-bin and got the torps'l
off on her"--and so on. Several of the fellows shouted as they went,
"Gord bless you, sir. We wants you in the winter." No doubt some of them
would, at other times, have used a verb not quite allied to bless; but I
could see that they were making an attempt to show courtesy toward an
agency which they respect, and though I remained like a silent Lama,
receiving the salutes of our grimy, greasy friends, I understood their
thoughts, and, in a cynical way, I felt rather thankful to know that
there are some men at least on whom kindness is not thrown away. The
captain of the carrier said, "I never seen 'em so quiet as this for a
long time, but that was because they seed you. They cotton on to the
Mission--the most on 'em does."
This seems to me a very pretty and significant story. Any one who knows
the British Rough--especially the nautical Rough--knows that the luxury
of an oath is much to him, yet here a thorough crowd of wild and excited
fellows become decorous, and profuse of civilities, only because they
saw a silent and totally emotionless man smoking on the deck of a
steam-carrier.
Pages:
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196