Not but that I was afloat in a safe craft, for the Martinez was a new ferry-steamer, making her fourth or fifth trip on the run between Sausalito and San Francisco. The danger lay in the heavy fog which blanketed the bay, and of which, as a landsman, I had little apprehension4. In fact, I remember the placid5 exaltation with which I took up my position on the forward upper deck, directly beneath the pilot-house, and allowed the mystery of the fog to lay hold of my imagination. A fresh breeze was blowing, and for a time I was alone in the moist obscurity; yet not alone, for I was dimly conscious of the presence of the pilot, and of what I took to be the captain, in the glass house above my head.
I remember thinking how comfortable it was, this division of labor6 which made it unnecessary for me to study fogs, winds, tides, and navigation in order to visit my friend who lived across an arm of the sea. It was good that men should be specialists, I mused7. The peculiar8 knowledge of the pilot and captain sufficed for many thousands of people who knew no more of the sea and navigation than I knew. On the other hand, instead of having to devote my energy to the learning of a multitude of things, I concentrated it upon a few particular things, such as, for instance, the analysis of Poe's place in American literature, an essay of mine, by the way, in the current 'Atlantic.' Coming aboard, as I passed through the cabin, I had noticed with greedy eyes a stout9 gentleman reading the 'Atlantic,' which was open at my very essay. And there it was again, the division of labor, the special knowledge of the pilot and captain which permitted the stout gentleman to read my special knowledge on Poe while they carried him safely from Sausalito to San Francisco.
A red-faced man, slamming the cabin door behind him and stumping10 out on the deck, interrupted my reflections, though I made a mental note of the topic for use in a projected essay which I had thought of calling 'The Necessity for Freedom: A Plea for the Artist.' The red-faced man shot a glance up at the pilot-house, gazed around at the fog, stumped11 across the deck and back (he evidently had artificial legs), and stood still by my side, legs wide apart and with an expression of keen enjoyment12 on his face. I was not wrong when I decided13 that his days had been spent on the sea.
'It's nasty weather like this here that turns heads gray before their time,' he said, with a nod toward the pilot-house.
'I had not thought there was any particular strain,' I answered. 'It seems as simple as a-b-c. They know the direction by compass, the distance, and the speed. I should not call it anything more than mathematical certainty.'
'Strain!' he snorted. 'Simple as a-b-c! Mathematical certainty!' He seemed to brace14 himself up and lean backward against the air as he stared at me. 'How about this here tide that's rushin' out through the Golden Gate?' he demanded, or bellowed15, rather. 'How fast is she ebbin'? What's the drift, eh? Listen to that, will you! A bell-buoy, and we're atop of it! See 'em alterin' the course!'
From out of the fog came the mournful tolling16 of a bell, and I could see the pilot turning the wheel with great rapidity. The bell, which had seemed straight ahead, was now sounding from the side. Our own whistle was blowing hoarsely17, and from time to time the sound of other whistles came to us from out of the fog.
'That's a ferryboat of some sort,' the newcomer said, indicating a whistle off to the right. 'And there! D'ye hear that? Blown by mouth. Some scow schooner19, most likely. Better watch out, Mr. Schooner-man. Ah, I thought so.'
The unseen ferryboat was blowing blast after blast, and the mouth-blown horn was tooting in terror-stricken fashion.
'And now they're payin' their respects to each other and tryin' to get clear,' the red-faced man went on, as the hurried whistling ceased.
His face was shining, his eyes flashing with excitement, as he translated into articulate language the speech of the horns and sirens. 'That's a steam-siren a-goin' it over there to the left. And you hear that fellow with a frog in his throat- a steam-schooner, as near as I can judge, crawlin' in from the Heads against the tide.'
A shrill20 little whistle, piping as if gone mad, came from directly ahead and from very near at hand. Gongs sounded on the Martinez. Our paddlewheels stopped, their pulsing beat died away, and then they started again. The shrill little whistle, like the chirping21 of a cricket amid the cries of great beasts, shot through the fog from more to the side and swiftly grew faint and fainter. I looked to my companion for enlightenment.
'One of them daredevil launches,' he said. 'I almost wish we'd sunk him, the little rip! They're the cause of more trouble. And what good are they? Any jackass gets aboard one and thinks he can run it, blowin' his whistle to beat the band and tellin' the rest of the world to look out for him because he's comin' and can't look out for himself. Because he's comin'! And you've got to look out, too. Right of way! Common decency22! They don't know the meanin' of it!'
I felt quite amused at his unwarranted choler, and while he stumped moodily23 up and down I fell to dwelling24 upon the romance of the fog. And romantic it certainly was- the fog, like the gray shadow of infinite mystery, brooding over the whirling speck25 of earth; and men, mere26 motes27 of light and sparkle, cursed with an insane relish28 for work, riding their steeds of wood and steel through the heart of the mystery, groping their way blindly through the unseen, and clamoring and clanging in confident speech the while their hearts are heavy with incertitude29 and fear.
The voice of my companion brought me back to myself with a laugh. I, too, had been groping and floundering, the while I thought I rode clear-eyed through the mystery.
'Hello! Somebody comin' our way,' he was saying. 'And d'ye hear that? He's comin' fast. Walkin' right along. Guess he don't hear us yet. Wind's in wrong direction.'
The fresh breeze was blowing right down upon us, and I could hear the whistle plainly, off to one side and a little ahead.
'Ferryboat?' I asked.
He nodded, then added: 'Or he wouldn't be keepin' up such a clip.' He gave a short chuckle30. 'They're gettin' anxious up there.'
I glanced up. The captain had thrust his head and shoulders out of the pilot-house and was staring intently into the fog, as though by sheer force of will he could penetrate31 it. His face was anxious, as was the face of my companion, who had stumped over to the rail and was gazing with a like intentness in the direction of the invisible danger.
Then everything happened, and with inconceivable rapidity. The fog seemed to break away as though split by a wedge, and the bow of a steamboat emerged, trailing fog-wreaths on each side like seaweed on the snout of Leviathan. I could see the pilot-house and a white-bearded man leaning partly out of it, on his elbows. He was clad in a blue uniform, and I remember noting how trim and quiet he was. His quietness, under the circumstances, was terrible. He accepted Destiny, marched hand in hand with it, and coolly measured the stroke. As he leaned there, he ran a calm and speculative32 eye over us, as though to determine the precise point of the collision, and took no notice whatever when our pilot, white with rage, shouted, 'Now you've done it!'
'Grab hold of something and hang on!' the red-faced man said to me. All his bluster33 had gone, and he seemed to have caught the contagion34 of preternatural calm. 'And listen to the women scream,' he said grimly, almost bitterly, I thought, as though he had been through the experience before.
The vessels35 came together before I could follow his advice. We must have been struck squarely amidships, for I saw nothing, the strange steamboat having passed beyond my line of vision. The Martinez heeled over sharply, and there was a crashing and rending37 of timber. I was thrown flat on the wet deck, and before I could scramble38 to my feet I heard the screams of the women. This it was, I am certain,- the most indescribable of bloodcurdling sounds,- that threw me into a panic. I remembered the life-preservers stored in the cabin, but was met at the door and swept backward by a wild rush of men and women. What happened in the next few minutes I do not recollect39, though I have a clear remembrance of pulling down life-preservers from the overhead racks while the red-faced man fastened them about the bodies of an hysterical40 group of women. This memory is as distinct and sharp as that of any picture I have seen. It is a picture, and I can see it now- the jagged edges of the hole in the side of the cabin, through which the gray fog swirled41 and eddied42; the empty upholstered seats, littered with all the evidences of sudden flight, such as packages, hand-satchels, umbrellas, and wraps; the stout gentleman who had been reading my essay, incased in cork43 and canvas, the magazine still in his hand, and asking me with monotonous44 insistence45 if I thought there was any danger; the red-faced man stumping gallantly46 around on his artificial legs and buckling47 life-preservers on all comers; and, finally, the screaming bedlam48 of women.
This it was, the screaming of the women, that most tried my nerves. It must have tried, too, the nerves of the red-faced man, for I have another picture which will never fade from my mind. The stout gentleman is stuffing the magazine into his overcoat pocket and looking on curiously49. A tangled50 mass of women, with drawn51, white faces and open mouths, is shrieking52 like a chorus of lost souls; and the red-faced man, his face now purplish with wrath53, and with arms extended overhead, as in the act of hurling54 thunderbolts, is shouting, 'Shut up! Oh, shut up!'
I remember the scene impelled55 me to sudden laughter, and in the next instant I realized that I was becoming hysterical myself; for these were women, of my own kind, like my mother and sisters, with the fear of death upon them and unwilling56 to die. And I remember that the sounds they made reminded me of the squealing57 of pigs under the knife of the butcher, and I was struck with horror at the vividness of the analogy. These women, capable of the most sublime58 emotions, of the tenderest sympathies, were open-mouthed and screaming. They wanted to live; they were helpless, like rats in a trap, and they screamed.
The horror of it drove me out on deck. I was feeling sick and squeamish, and sat down on a bench. In a hazy59 way I saw and heard men rushing and shouting as they strove to lower the boats. It was just as I had read descriptions of such scenes in books. The tackles jammed. Nothing worked. One boat lowered away with the plugs out, filled with women and children and then with water, and capsized. Another boat had been lowered by one end and still hung in the tackle by the other end where it had been abandoned. Nothing was to be seen of the strange steamboat which had caused the disaster, though I heard men saying that she would undoubtedly60 send boats to our assistance.
I descended61 to the lower deck. The Martinez was sinking fast, for the water was very near. Numbers of the passengers were leaping overboard. Others, in the water, were clamoring to be taken aboard again. No one heeded63 them. A cry arose that we were sinking. I was seized by the consequent panic, and went over the side in a surge of bodies. How I went over I do not know, though I did know, and instantly, why those in the water were so desirous of getting back on the steamer. The water was cold- so cold that it was painful. The pang64, as I plunged65 into it, was as quick and sharp as that of fire. It bit to the marrow66. It was like the grip of death. I gasped67 with the anguish68 and shock of it, filling my lungs before the life-preserver popped me to the surface. The taste of the salt was strong in my mouth, and I was strangling with the acrid69 stuff in my throat and lungs.
But it was the cold that was most distressing70. I felt that I could survive but a few minutes. People were struggling and floundering in the water about me. I could hear them crying out to one another. And I heard, also, the sound of oars18. Evidently the strange steamboat had lowered its boats. As the time went by I marveled that I was still alive. I had no sensation whatever in my lower limbs, while a chilling numbness71 was wrapping about my heart and creeping into it. Small waves, with spiteful foaming72 crests73, continually broke over me and into my mouth, sending me off into more strangling paroxysms.
The noises grew indistinct, though I heard a final and despairing chorus of screams in the distance and knew that the Martinez had gone down. Later,- how much later I have no knowledge,- I came to myself with a start of fear. I was alone, I could hear no calls or cries- only the sound of the waves, made weirdly74 hollow and reverberant75 by the fog. A panic in a crowd, which partakes of a sort of community of interest, is not so terrible as a panic when one is by oneself; and such a panic I now suffered. Whither was I drifting? The red-faced man had said that the tide was ebbing76 through the Golden Gate. Was I, then, being carried out to sea? And the life-preserver in which I floated? was it not liable to go to pieces at any moment? I had heard of such things being made of paper and hollow rushes, which quickly became saturated77 and lost all buoyancy. I could not swim a stroke, and I was alone, floating, apparently78, in the midst of a gray primordial79 vastness. I confess that a madness seized me, that I shrieked80 aloud as the women had shrieked, and beat the water with my numb62 hands.
How long this lasted I have no conception, for a blankness intervened, of which I remember no more than one remembers of troubled and painful sleep. When I aroused, it was as after centuries of time, and I saw, almost above me and emerging from the fog, the bow of a vessel36 and three triangular81 sails, each shrewdly lapping the other and filled with wind. Where the bow cut the water there was a great foaming and gurgling, and I seemed directly in its path. I tried to cry out, but was too exhausted82. The bow plunged down, just missing me and sending a swash of water clear over my head. Then the long black side of the vessel began slipping past, so near that I could have touched it with my hands. I tried to reach it, in a mad resolve to claw into the wood with my nails; but my arms were heavy and lifeless. Again I strove to call out, but made no sound.
The stern of the vessel shot by, dropping, as it did so, into a hollow between the waves; and I caught a glimpse of a man standing83 at a wheel, and of another man who seemed to be doing little else than smoke a cigar. I saw the smoke issuing from his lips as he slowly turned his head and glanced out over the water in my direction. It was a careless, unpremeditated glance, one of those haphazard84 things men do when they have no immediate85 call to do anything in particular, but act because they are alive and must do something.
But life and death were in that glance. I could see the vessel being swallowed up in the fog; I saw the back of the man at the wheel, and the head of the other man turning, slowly turning, as his gaze struck the water and casually86 lifted along it toward me. His face wore an absent expression, as of deep thought, and I became afraid that if his eyes did light upon me he would nevertheless not see me. But his eyes did light upon me, and looked squarely into mine; and he did see me, for he sprang to the wheel, thrusting the other man aside, and whirled it round and round, hand over hand, at the same time shouting orders of some sort. The vessel seemed to go off at a tangent to its former course and to leap almost instantly from view into the fog.
I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness, and tried with all the power of my will to fight above the suffocating87 blankness and darkness that was rising around me. A little later I heard the stroke of oars, growing nearer and nearer, and the calls of a man. When he was very near I heard him crying, in vexed88 fashion: 'Why in- don't you sing out?'
This meant me, I thought, and then the blankness and darkness rose over me.
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1
facetiously
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| adv.爱开玩笑地；滑稽地，爱开玩笑地 | |
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2
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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3
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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8
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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10
stumping
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| 僵直地行走，跺步行走( stump的现在分词 )； 把（某人）难住； 使为难； （选举前）在某一地区作政治性巡回演说 | |
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11
stumped
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| 僵直地行走，跺步行走( stump的过去式和过去分词 )； 把（某人）难住； 使为难； （选举前）在某一地区作政治性巡回演说 | |
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12
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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13
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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14
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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15
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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16
tolling
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| [财]来料加工 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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18
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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19
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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21
chirping
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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22
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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23
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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24
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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motes
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| n.尘埃( mote的名词复数 )；斑点 | |
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28
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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29
incertitude
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| n.疑惑，不确定 | |
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30
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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31
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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33
bluster
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| v.猛刮；怒冲冲的说；n.吓唬，怒号；狂风声 | |
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34
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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35
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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37
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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38
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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39
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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40
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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41
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
eddied
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| 起漩涡，旋转( eddy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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44
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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45
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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46
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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47
buckling
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| 扣住 | |
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48
bedlam
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| n.混乱，骚乱；疯人院 | |
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49
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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50
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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51
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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52
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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53
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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54
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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55
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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57
squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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58
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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59
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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60
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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61
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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62
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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63
heeded
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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65
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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reverberant
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| a.起回声的 | |
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ebbing
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的现在分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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primordial
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| adj.原始的；最初的 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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