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Page 12
STEEPLE-JACK'S SECRET.
You want me to tell you how it comes to pass that I am able to glide
up a steeple like a spider, get astride upon the cross, and pull off
my cap to the crowd below, like a gentleman on horseback saluting his
acquaintances.[2] You want me to explain on what principle, as you
call it, I do this. Well: principle, I suppose, means the rule or law
by which a man does what he ought to do; and if so, it is a very good
word to use. I will oblige you by explaining my principle, for I am as
affable as any man that creeps to his dying day upon the surface of
the earth; and I will tell you how it chanced that I found it out: at
least I will try, for I am no scholar; and if you wish to understand
me, you must have your ears open, and catch a meaning when you can.
And this will do you good, whether you make anything out or not. I
know fellows that go to the lectures, and come back as empty as they
went. But what of that? They think they understand, and thought breeds
thought; and when a man's mind is fairly astir, it is odds but
something good turns up.
You must know, then, I began the world as a sailor; and I marvel to
this day how I ever became anything else. Sailors are the stupidest
set in creation. They are mere animals, except in the gift of speech;
good, honest, docile animals, perhaps, but dull and narrow. They go
round the small circle of their duties like a blind horse in a mill.
Their faculties are rocked by the waves and lulled by the winds; and
when they come ashore, they can see and understand nothing for the
swimming of their heads. Drink makes them feel as if at sea again; and
when the tankard is out, they return on board, and exchange one state
of stupefaction for another. Well, I _was_ a sailor, and the dullest
of the tribe. No wonder, for I was at it when a young boy. I was never
startled by the sights or sounds of the sea. The moaning of the wind,
the rush of the waves, the silence of the calm, were parts of my own
existence; and in the wildest storm, my mind never took a wider tack
than just to think what the poor devils on shore would do now.
I was a handy lad, however. I could go aloft with any man on board,
and never troubled the shrouds in coming down when a rope was within
springing distance. But this was instinct or habit: thought was not
concerned in it--I had not found the principle. One day, it blew what
sailors call great guns; our bulwarks were stove in pieces, and the
sea swept the deck, crashing and roaring like a whole herd of tigers.
There was something to do at the mast-head; and when the order came
through the speaking-trumpet, seeing the men hesitate, I jumped upon
the shrouds without thinking twice. But at that moment the ship gave a
lurch, and, holding on like grim death, I was buried deep in the
waves. Although still clutching the ropes, I had at first an idea that
they had parted, and that we were on our way to the bottom together.
This could not have lasted above a minute or so; but it seemed to me
like a year. I heard every voice that had ever sounded in my ear since
childhood; I saw every apparition that had ever glided before my
fancy: the Sea-Serpent twisted his folds round my neck, and the keel
of the Flying Dutchman grated along my back. When the vessel rose at
last, and I rose with her, the waters gurgling in my throat and
hissing in my ears, I did not attempt to spring up the shrouds. I
looked round in horror for the objects of my excited thoughts; and as
I saw another enormous wave advancing till it overhung me, instead of
getting out of its reach, which I could easily have done, I kept
staring at it as it broke into what seemed innumerable goblin faces
and yelling voices over my head. I was down again. My leading thought
now was that I would strike out and swim for my life. But when I had
just made up my mind to this--which the sailors would have called
being washed away--I rose once more to the surface--and struck _up_
like a good one! I was at the cross-trees in a breath, and once in
safety there, I looked back both with shame and indignation.
When my job was finished, I went higher up in a sort of dogged humour.
I went higher, and higher, and higher than I ever ventured before,
till I felt the mast bending and quivering in the gale like the point
of a fishing-rod; and then I looked down upon the sea. And what, think
you, I found there? Why, the goblin faces were small white specks of
foam that I could hardly see; and their yelling voices were a smooth,
round, swelling tone, that rolled like music through the rigging. The
mountain-waves were like a flock of sheep in a meadow, running and
gamboling, and lying down and rising up; and in the expanse beyond the
neighbourhood of the ship, they were all lying down together, or
wandering like shadows over a smooth surface. I felt grand then, I
assure you. I looked down, and around, and above, till thoughts that
were not the instincts of an animal, came dancing up in my mind, like
bubbles upon the face of the sea. And as I returned slowly to the
deck, these thoughts grew and multiplied, and began to arrange
themselves into a form which I am not scholar enough to describe. But
through this new medium, I saw things as they are, not as habit and
prejudice make them. I did not fear the waves, and I did not despise
them. I humoured the sea as I got down towards the bulwarks, which
were still buried every now and then; and so I reached my quarters in
safety.
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