A fleet of fore-and-afters at anchor has its own slender graciousness. The setting of their sails resembles more than anything else the unfolding of a bird’s wings; the facility of their evolutions is a pleasure to the eye. They are birds of the sea, whose swimming is like flying, and resembles more a natural function than the handling of man-invented appliances. The fore-and-aft rig in its simplicity3 and the beauty of its aspect under every angle of vision is, I believe, unapproachable. A schooner4, yawl, or cutter in charge of a capable man seems to handle herself as if endowed with the power of reasoning and the gift of swift execution. One laughs with sheer pleasure at a smart piece of manoeuvring, as at a manifestation5 of a living creature’s quick wit and graceful6 precision.
Of those three varieties of fore-and-aft rig, the cutter — the racing rig PAR2 EXCELLENCE— is of an appearance the most imposing7, from the fact that practically all her canvas is in one piece. The enormous mainsail of a cutter, as she draws slowly past a point of land or the end of a jetty under your admiring gaze, invests her with an air of lofty and silent majesty8. At anchor a schooner looks better; she has an aspect of greater efficiency and a better balance to the eye, with her two masts distributed over the hull9 with a swaggering rake aft. The yawl rig one comes in time to love. It is, I should think, the easiest of all to manage.
For racing, a cutter; for a long pleasure voyage, a schooner; for cruising in home waters, the yawl; and the handling of them all is indeed a fine art. It requires not only the knowledge of the general principles of sailing, but a particular acquaintance with the character of the craft. All vessels10 are handled in the same way as far as theory goes, just as you may deal with all men on broad and rigid12 principles. But if you want that success in life which comes from the affection and confidence of your fellows, then with no two men, however similar they may appear in their nature, will you deal in the same way. There may be a rule of conduct; there is no rule of human fellowship. To deal with men is as fine an art as it is to deal with ships. Both men and ships live in an unstable13 element, are subject to subtle and powerful influences, and want to have their merits understood rather than their faults found out.
It is not what your ship will NOT do that you want to know to get on terms of successful partnership14 with her; it is, rather, that you ought to have a precise knowledge of what she will do for you when called upon to put forth15 what is in her by a sympathetic touch. At first sight the difference does not seem great in either line of dealing16 with the difficult problem of limitations. But the difference is great. The difference lies in the spirit in which the problem is approached. After all, the art of handling ships is finer, perhaps, than the art of handling men.
And, like all fine arts, it must be based upon a broad, solid sincerity17, which, like a law of Nature, rules an infinity18 of different phenomena19. Your endeavour must be single-minded. You would talk differently to a coal-heaver and to a professor. But is this duplicity? I deny it. The truth consists in the genuineness of the feeling, in the genuine recognition of the two men, so similar and so different, as your two partners in the hazard of life. Obviously, a humbug20, thinking only of winning his little race, would stand a chance of profiting by his artifices21. Men, professors or coal-heavers, are easily deceived; they even have an extraordinary knack22 of lending themselves to deception23, a sort of curious and inexplicable24 propensity25 to allow themselves to be led by the nose with their eyes open. But a ship is a creature which we have brought into the world, as it were on purpose to keep us up to the mark. In her handling a ship will not put up with a mere26 pretender, as, for instance, the public will do with Mr. X, the popular statesman, Mr. Y, the popular scientist, or Mr. Z, the popular — what shall we say? — anything from a teacher of high morality to a bagman — who have won their little race. But I would like (though not accustomed to betting) to wager27 a large sum that not one of the few first-rate skippers of racing yachts has ever been a humbug. It would have been too difficult. The difficulty arises from the fact that one does not deal with ships in a mob, but with a ship as an individual. So we may have to do with men. But in each of us there lurks28 some particle of the mob spirit, of the mob temperament29. No matter how earnestly we strive against each other, we remain brothers on the lowest side of our intellect and in the instability of our feelings. With ships it is not so. Much as they are to us, they are nothing to each other. Those sensitive creatures have no ears for our blandishments. It takes something more than words to cajole them to do our will, to cover us with glory. Luckily, too, or else there would have been more shoddy reputations for first-rate seamanship. Ships have no ears, I repeat, though, indeed, I think I have known ships who really seemed to have had eyes, or else I cannot understand on what ground a certain 1,000-ton barque of my acquaintance on one particular occasion refused to answer her helm, thereby31 saving a frightful32 smash to two ships and to a very good man’s reputation. I knew her intimately for two years, and in no other instance either before or since have I known her to do that thing. The man she had served so well (guessing, perhaps, at the depths of his affection for her) I have known much longer, and in bare justice to him I must say that this confidence-shattering experience (though so fortunate) only augmented33 his trust in her. Yes, our ships have no ears, and thus they cannot be deceived. I would illustrate34 my idea of fidelity35 as between man and ship, between the master and his art, by a statement which, though it might appear shockingly sophisticated, is really very simple. I would say that a racing-yacht skipper who thought of nothing else but the glory of winning the race would never attain36 to any eminence37 of reputation. The genuine masters of their craft — I say this confidently from my experience of ships — have thought of nothing but of doing their very best by the vessel11 under their charge. To forget one’s self, to surrender all personal feeling in the service of that fine art, is the only way for a seaman30 to the faithful discharge of his trust.
Such is the service of a fine art and of ships that sail the sea. And therein I think I can lay my finger upon the difference between the seamen38 of yesterday, who are still with us, and the seamen of to-morrow, already entered upon the possession of their inheritance. History repeats itself, but the special call of an art which has passed away is never reproduced. It is as utterly39 gone out of the world as the song of a destroyed wild bird. Nothing will awaken40 the same response of pleasurable emotion or conscientious41 endeavour. And the sailing of any vessel afloat is an art whose fine form seems already receding42 from us on its way to the overshadowed Valley of Oblivion. The taking of a modern steamship43 about the world (though one would not minimize its responsibilities) has not the same quality of intimacy44 with nature, which, after all, is an indispensable condition to the building up of an art. It is less personal and a more exact calling; less arduous45, but also less gratifying in the lack of close communion between the artist and the medium of his art. It is, in short, less a matter of love. Its effects are measured exactly in time and space as no effect of an art can be. It is an occupation which a man not desperately46 subject to sea-sickness can be imagined to follow with content, without enthusiasm, with industry, without affection. Punctuality is its watchword. The incertitude47 which attends closely every artistic48 endeavour is absent from its regulated enterprise. It has no great moments of self-confidence, or moments not less great of doubt and heart-searching. It is an industry which, like other industries, has its romance, its honour and its rewards, its bitter anxieties and its hours of ease. But such sea-going has not the artistic quality of a single-handed struggle with something much greater than yourself; it is not the laborious49 absorbing practice of an art whose ultimate result remains50 on the knees of the gods. It is not an individual, temperamental achievement, but simply the skilled use of a captured force, merely another step forward upon the way of universal conquest.
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1
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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artifices
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| n.灵巧( artifice的名词复数 )；诡计；巧妙办法；虚伪行为 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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propensity
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| n.倾向；习性 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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31
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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41
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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42
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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43
steamship
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| n.汽船，轮船 | |
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44
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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45
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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46
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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47
incertitude
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| n.疑惑，不确定 | |
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48
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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49
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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50
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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