The Literary World Seventh Reader Part 33

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

JOHN MASEFIELD.

A GREYPORT LEGEND

They ran through the streets of the seaport town; They peered from the decks of the s.h.i.+ps that lay: The cold sea-fog that comes whitening down Was never as cold or white as they.

"Ho, Starbuck, and Pinckney, and Tenterden, Run for your shallops, gather your men, Scatter your boats on the lower bay!"

Good cause for fear! In the thick midday The hulk that lay by the rotting pier, Filled with the children in happy play, Parted its moorings and drifted clear; Drifted clear beyond reach or call,-- Thirteen children they were in all,-- All adrift in the lower bay!

Said a hard-faced skipper, "G.o.d help us all!

She will not float till the turning tide!"

Said his wife, "My darling will hear _my_ call, Whether in sea or heaven she abide!"

And she lifted a quavering voice and high, Wild and strange as a sea-bird's cry, Till they shuddered and wondered at her side.

The fog drove down on each laboring crew, Veiled each from each and the sky and sh.o.r.e; There was not a sound but the breath they drew, And the lap of water and creak of oar.

And they felt the breath of the downs fresh blown O'er leagues of clover and cold gray stone, But not from the lips that had gone before.

They came no more. But they tell the tale That, when fogs are thick on the harbor reef, The mackerel-fishers shorten sail; For the signal they know will bring relief, For the voices of children, still at play In a phantom-hulk that drifts alway Through channels whose waters never fail.

It is but a foolish s.h.i.+pman's tale, A theme for a poet's idle page; But still, when the mists of doubt prevail, And we lie becalmed by the sh.o.r.es of age, We hear from the misty troubled sh.o.r.e The voice of the children gone before, Drawing the soul to its anchorage!

BRET HARTE.

=HELPS TO STUDY=

Read the poem and tell the story found in it. Why was every one so "cold and white"? What was the great danger? What happened to prevent the sailors' getting to the hulk? What is the tale that is told? What is the thought the poet leaves with us in the last stanza?

A HUNT BENEATH THE OCEAN

This story is taken from _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_, the book that foreshadowed the modern submarine. Monsieur Aronnax, a scientist, with two companions, Ned Land and Conseil, was rescued at sea by a strange craft, the _Nautilus_, owned and commanded by one Captain Nemo, who hated mankind and never went ash.o.r.e on inhabited land. Monsieur Aronnax remained on the submarine for months in a kind of captivity and met with many wonderful adventures. It should be noted that modern inventions have already outstripped many of the author's imaginings.

On returning to my room with Ned and Conseil, I found upon my table a note addressed to me. I opened it impatiently. It was written in a bold clear hand, and ran as follows:

"November 16, 1867.

To Professor Aronnax, on board the _Nautilus_:

Captain Nemo invites Professor Aronnax to a hunting party, which will take place to-morrow morning in the forest of the island of Crespo. He hopes that nothing will prevent the professor from being present, and he will with pleasure see him joined by his companions."

"A hunt!" exclaimed Ned.

"And in the forests of the island of Crespo!" added Conseil.

"Oh, then the gentleman is going on [v]_terra firma_?" asked Ned Land.

"That seems to be clearly indicated," said I, reading the letter once more.

"Well, we must accept," said Ned. "Once more on dry land, we shall know what to do. Indeed, I shall not be sorry to eat a piece of fresh venison."

I contented myself with replying, "Let us see where the island of Crespo is."

I consulted the [v]planisphere and in 32 40' north lat.i.tude, and 157 50' west [v]longitude, I found a small island recognized in 1801 by Captain Crespo, and marked in the ancient Spanish maps as Rocca de la Platta, or Silver Rock.

I showed this little rock lost in the midst of the North Pacific to my companions.

"If Captain Nemo does sometimes go on dry ground," said I, "he at least chooses desert islands."

Ned Land shrugged his shoulders without speaking, and Conseil and he left me. After supper, which was served by the steward, mute and impa.s.sive, I went to bed, not without some anxiety.

The next morning, the 7th of November, I felt on awakening that the _Nautilus_ was perfectly still. I dressed quickly and entered the saloon. Captain Nemo was there, waiting for me. He rose, bowed, and asked me if it was convenient for me to accompany him. I simply replied that my companions and myself were ready to follow him.

We entered the room where breakfast was served.

"M. Aronnax," said the captain, "pray share my breakfast without ceremony; we will chat as we eat. Though I promised you a walk in the forest, I did not undertake to find hotels there; so breakfast as a man should who will most likely not have his dinner till very late."

I did honor to the repast. It was composed of several kinds of fish, and different sorts of seaweed. Our drink consisted of pure water, to which the captain added some drops of a fermented liquor extracted from a seaweed. Captain Nemo ate at first without saying a word. Then he began:

"Professor, when I proposed to you to hunt in my submarine forest of Crespo, you evidently thought me mad. Sir, you should never judge lightly of any man."

"But, captain, believe me--"

"Be kind enough to listen, and you will then see whether you have any cause to accuse me of folly and contradiction."

"I listen."

"You know as well as I do, professor, that man can live under water, providing he carries with him a sufficient supply of breathable air. In submarine works, the workman, clad in an [v]impervious dress, with his head in a metal helmet, receives air from above by means of forcing-pumps and [v]regulators."

"That is a diving apparatus," said I.

"Just so. But under these conditions the man is not at liberty; he is attached to the pump which sends him air through a rubber tube, and if we were obliged to be thus held to the _Nautilus_, we could not go far."

"And the means of getting free?" I asked.

"It is to use the Rouquayrol apparatus, invented by two of your own countrymen, which I have brought to perfection for my own use and which will allow you to risk yourself without any organ of the body suffering.

It consists of a reservoir of thick iron plates, in which I store the air under a pressure of fifty [v]atmospheres. This reservoir is fixed on the back by means of braces, like a soldier's knapsack. Its upper part forms a box in which the air is kept by means of a bellows, and therefore cannot escape unless at its [v]normal tension. In the Rouquayrol apparatus such as we use, two rubber pipes leave this box and join a sort of tent which holds the nose and mouth; one is to introduce fresh air, the other to let out foul, and the tongues close one or the other pipe according to the wants of the [v]respirator. But I, in encountering great pressures at the bottom of the sea, was obliged to shut my head like that of a diver in a ball of copper; and it is into this ball of copper that the two pipes, the inspirator and the expirator, open. Do you see?"

"Perfectly, Captain Nemo. But the air that you carry with you must soon be used; when it contains only fifteen per cent of oxygen it is no longer fit to breathe."

"Right! But I told you, M. Aronnax, that the pumps of the _Nautilus_ allow me to store the air under considerable pressure; and the reservoir of the apparatus can furnish breathable air for nine or ten hours."