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II.
- The Sinking Ship. “Very well, Mr. Spoker,”
said the Captain; “but that is no
reason for going about half-shaved. Exercise your mind a moment, Mr.
Spoker,
and you will see that to the philosophic eye there is nothing new in
our
position: the ship (if she is to go down at all) may be said to have
been going
down since she was launched.” “She is settling fast,”
said the first lieutenant, as he
returned from shaving. “Fast, Mr. Spoker?” asked
the Captain. “The expression is a
strange one, for time (if you will think of it) is only relative.” “Sir,” said the
lieutenant, “I think it is scarcely worth
while to embark in such a discussion when we shall all be in Davy
Jones’s
Locker in ten minutes.” “By parity of reasoning,”
returned the Captain gently, “it
would never be worth while to begin any inquiry of importance; the odds
are
always overwhelming that we must die before we shall have brought it to
an end.
You have not considered, Mr. Spoker, the situation of man,” said the
Captain,
smiling, and shaking his head. “I am much more engaged
in considering the position of the
ship,” said Mr. Spoker. “Spoken like a good
officer,” replied the Captain, laying
his hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder. On deck they found the
men had broken into the spirit-room,
and were fast getting drunk. “My men,” said the
Captain, “there is no sense in this. The
ship is going down, you will tell me, in ten minutes: well, and what
then? To
the philosophic eye, there is nothing new in our position. All our
lives long,
we may have been about to break a blood-vessel or to be struck by
lightning,
not merely in ten minutes, but in ten seconds; and that has not
prevented us
from eating dinner, no, nor from putting money in the Savings Bank. I
assure
you, with my hand on my heart, I fail to comprehend your attitude.” The men were already too
far gone to pay much heed. “This is a very painful
sight, Mr. Spoker,” said the
Captain. “And yet to the
philosophic eye, or whatever it is,” replied
the first lieutenant, “they may be said to have been getting drunk
since they
came aboard.” “I do not know if you
always follow my thought, Mr. Spoker,”
returned the Captain gently. “But let us proceed.” In the powder magazine
they found an old salt smoking his
pipe. “Good God,” cried the
Captain, “what are you about?” “Well, sir,” said the old
salt, apologetically, “they told
me as she were going down.” “And suppose she were?”
said the Captain. “To the
philosophic eye, there would be nothing new in our position. Life, my
old
shipmate, life, at any moment and in any view, is as dangerous as a
sinking
ship; and yet it is man’s handsome fashion to carry umbrellas, to wear
indiarubber over-shoes, to begin vast works, and to conduct himself in
every
way as if he might hope to be eternal. And for my own poor part I
should
despise the man who, even on board a sinking ship, should omit to take
a pill
or to wind up his watch. That, my friend, would not be the human
attitude.” “I beg pardon, sir,” said
Mr. Spoker. “But what is precisely
the difference between shaving in a sinking ship and smoking in a
powder magazine?” “Or doing anything at all
in any conceivable circumstances?”
cried the Captain. “Perfectly conclusive; give me a cigar!” Two minutes afterwards
the ship blew up with a glorious
detonation. |