THE OPEN BOAT
A TALE INTENDED TO BE AFTER THE FACT. BEING THE
EXPERIENCE OF FOUR MEN SUNK FROM THE STEAMER
By Stephen Crane
&&& NONE of them knew the color of the sky. Their
eyes glanced level, and
were fastened upon the waves that swept toward them. These waves
were of the
hue of slate, save for the tops, which were of foaming white,
and all of the
men knew the colors of the sea. The horizon narrowed and widened,
and dipped
and rose, and at all times its edge was jagged with waves that
seemed thrust
up in points like rocks.
&&&Many a man ought to have a bath-tub larger than
the boat which here rode
upon the sea. These waves were most wrongfully and barbarously
abrupt and
tall, and each froth-top was a problem in small boat navigation.
&&&The cook squatted in the bottom and looked with
both eyes at the six
inches of gunwale which separated him from the ocean. His sleeves
rolled over his fat forearms, and the two flaps of his unbuttoned
dangled as he bent to bail out the boat. Often he said: &Gawd!
That was a
narrow clip.& As he remarked it he invariably gazed eastward
over the broken
&&&The oiler, steering with one of the two oars
in the boat, sometimes
raised himself suddenly to keep clear of water that swirled in
stern. It was a thin little oar and it seemed often ready to snap.
&&&The correspondent, pulling at the other oar,
watched the waves and
wondered why he was there.
&&&The injured captain, lying in the bow, was at
this time buried in that
profound dejection and indifference which comes, temporarily at
even the bravest and most enduring when, willy nilly, the firm
fails, the
army loses, the ship goes down. The mind of the master of a vessel
deep in the timbers of her, though he command for a day or a decade,
this captain had on him the stern impression of a scene in the
grays of dawn
of seven turned faces, and later a stump of a top-mast with a
white ball on
it that slashed to and fro at the waves, went low and lower, and
Thereafter there was something strange in his voice. Although
steady, it was
deep with mourning, and of a quality beyond oration or tears.
&&&&Keep'er a little more south, Billie,&
&&&&'A little more south,' sir,& said
the oiler in the stern.
&&&A seat in this boat was not unlike a seat upon
a bucking broncho, and, by
the same token, a broncho is not much smaller. The craft pranced
and reared,
and plunged like an animal. As each wave came, and she rose for
seemed like a horse making at a fence outrageously high. The manner
scramble over these walls of water is a mystic thing, and, moreover,
top of them were ordinarily these problems in white water, the
foam racing
down from the summit of each wave, requiring a new leap, and a
leap from the
air. Then, after scornfully bumping a crest, she would slide,
and race, and
splash down a long incline and arrive bobbing and nodding in front
next menace.
&&&A singular disadvantage of the sea lies in the
fact that after
successfully surmounting one wave you discover that there is another
it just as important and just as nervously anxious to do something
in the way of swamping boats. In a ten-foot dingey one can get
an idea of
the resources of the sea in the line of waves that is not probable
average experience, which is never at sea in a dingey. As each
slaty wall of
water approached, it shut all else from the view of the men in
the boat, and
it was not difficult to imagine that this particular wavewas the
final outburst of the ocean, the last effort of the grim water.
There was a terrible grace in the move of the waves, and they
silence, save for the snarling of the crests.
&&&In the wan light, the faces of the men must
have been gray. Their eyes
must have glinted in strange ways as they gazed steadily astern.
Viewed from
a balcony, the whole thing would doubtlessly have been weirdly
picturesque.
But the men in the boat had no time to see it, and if they had
had leisure
there were other things to occupy their minds. The sun swung steadily
sky, and they knew it was broad day because the color of the sea
from slate to emerald-green, streaked with amber lights, and the
like tumbling snow. The process of the breaking day was unknown
They were aware only of this effect upon the color of the waves
that rolled
toward them.
&&&In disjointed sentences the cook and the correspondent
argued as to the
difference between a life-saving station and a house of refuge.
The cook had
said: &There's a house of refuge just north of the Mosquito
Inlet Light, and
as soon as they see us, they'll come off in their boat and pick
&&&&As soon as who see us?& said the
correspondent.
&&&&The crew,& said the cook.
&&&&Houses of refuge don't have crews,&
said the correspondent. &As I
understand them, they are only places where clothes and grub are
stored for
the benefit of shipwrecked people. They don't carry crews.&
&&&&Oh, yes, they do,& said the cook.
&&&&No, they don't,& said the correspondent.
&&&&Well, we're not there yet, anyhow,&
said the oiler, in the stern.
&&&&Well,& said the cook, &perhaps
it's not a house of refuge that I'm
thinking of as being near Mosquito Inlet Light. Perhaps it's a
life-saving
&&&&We're not there yet,& said the oiler,
in the stern.
&&&As the boat bounced from the top of each wave,
the wind tore through the
hair of the hatless men, and as the craft plopped her stern down
spray slashed past them. The crest of each of these waves was
a hill, from
the top of which the men surveyed, for a moment, a broad tumultuous
shining and wind-riven. It was probably splendid. It was probably
this play of the free sea, wild with lights of emerald and white
and amber.
&&&&Bully good thing it's an on-shore wind,&
said the cook. &If not, where
would we be? Wouldn't have a show.&
&&&&That's right,& said the correspondent.
&&&The busy oiler nodded his assent.
&&&Then the captain, in the bow, chuckled in a
way that expressed humor,
contempt, tragedy, all in one. &Do you think we've got much
of a show, now,
boys?& said he.
&&&Whereupon the three were silent, save for a
trifle of hemming and hawing.
To express any particular optimism at this time they felt to be
childish and
stupid, but they all doubtless possessed this sense of the situation
their mind. A young man thinks doggedly at such times. On the
other hand,
the ethics of their condition was decidedly against any open suggestion
hopelessness. So they were silent.
&&&&Oh, well,& said the captain, soothing
his children, &we'll get ashore
all right.&
&&&But there was that in his tone which made them
think, so the oiler quoth:
&Yes! If this wind holds!&
&&&The cook was bailing: &Yes! If we don't
catch hell in the surf.&
&&&Canton flannel gulls flew near and far. Sometimes
they sat down on the
sea, near patches of brown sea-weed that rolled over the waves
movement like carpets on line in a gale. The birds sat comfortably
groups, and they were envied by some in the dingey, for the wrath
of the sea
was no more to them than it was to a covey of prairie chickens
a thousand
miles inland. Often they came very close and stared at the men
with black
bead-like eyes. At these times they were uncanny and sinister
unblinking scrutiny, and the men hooted angrily at them, telling
them to be
gone. One came, and evidently decided to alight on the top of
the captain's
head. The bird flew parallel to the boat and did not circle, but
made short
sidelong jumps in the air in chicken-fashion. His black eyes were
fixed upon the captain's head. &Ugly brute,& said the
oiler to the bird.
&You look as if you were made with a jack-knife.& The
cook and the
correspondent swore darkly at the creature. The captain naturally
knock it away with the end of the heavy painter, but he did not
dare do it,
because anything resembling an emphatic gesture would have capsized
freighted boat, and so with his open hand, the captain gently
and carefully
waved the gull away. After it had been discouraged from the pursuit
captain breathed easier on account of his hair, and others breathed
because the bird struck their minds at this time as being somehow
and ominous.
&&&In the meantime the oiler and the correspondent
rowed. And also they
&&&They sat together in the same seat, and each
rowed an oar. Then the oiler
then the correspo then the
the correspondent. They rowed and they rowed. The very ticklish
part of the
business was when the time came for the reclining one in the stern
his turn at the oars. By the very last star of truth, it is easier
eggs from under a hen than it was to change seats in the dingey.
man in the stern slid his hand along the thwart and moved with
care, as if
he were of Sevres. Then the man in the rowing seat slid his hand
other thwart. It was all done with the most extraordinary care.
As the two
sidled past each other, the whole party kept watchful eyes on
the coming
wave, and the captain cried: &Look out now! Steady there!&
&&&The brown mats of sea-weed that appeared from
time to time were like
islands, bits of earth. They were travelling, apparently, neither
nor the other. They were, to all intents stationary. They informed
in the boat that it was making progress slowly toward the land.
&&&The captain, rearing cautiously in the bow,
after the dingey soared on a
great swell, said that he had seen the lighthouse at Mosquito
Presently the cook remarked that he had seen it. The correspondent
the oars, then, and for some reason he too wished to look at the
lighthouse,
but his back was toward the far shore and the waves were important,
some time he could not seize an opportunity to turn his head.
But at last
there came a wave more gentle than the others, and when at the
crest of it
he swiftly scoured the western horizon.
&&&&See it?& said the captain.
&&&&No,& said the correspondent, slowly,
&I didn't see anything.&
&&&&Look again,& said the captain. He
pointed. &It's exactly in that
direction.&
&&&At the top of another wave, the correspondent
did as he was bid, and this
time his eyes chanced on a small still thing on the edge of the
horizon. It was precisely like the point of a pin. It took an
anxious eye to
find a lighthouse so tiny.
&&&&Think we'll make it, captain?&
&&&&If this wind holds and the boat don't
swamp, we can't do much else,&
said the captain.
&&&The little boat, lifted by each towering sea,
and splashed viciously by
the crests, made progress that in the absence of sea-weed was
not apparent
to those in her. She seemed just a wee thing wallowing, miraculously,
top-up, at the mercy of five oceans. Occasionally, a great spread
like white flames, swarmed into her.
&&&&Bail her, cook,& said the captain,
&&&&All right, captain,& said the cheerful
&&& IT would be difficult to describe the subtle
brotherhood of men that was
here established on the seas. No one said that it was so. No one
it. But it dwelt in the boat, and each man felt it warm him. They
captain, an oiler, a cook, and a correspondent, and they were
friends in a more curiously iron-bound degree than may be common.
captain, lying against the water-jar in the bow, spoke always
in a low voice
and calmly, but he could never command a more ready and swiftly
crew than the motley three of the dingey. It was more than a mere
recognition of what was best for the common safety. There was
surely in it a
quality that was personal and heartfelt. And after this devotion
commander of the boat there was this comradeship that the correspondent,
instance, who had been taught to be cynical of men, knew even
at the time
was the best experience of his life. But no one said that it was
so. No one mentioned it.
&&&&I wish we had a sail,& remarked the
captain. &We might try my overcoat
on the end of an oar and give you two boys a chance to rest.&
So the cook
and the correspondent held the mast and spread wide the overcoat.
steered, and the little boat made good way with her new rig. Sometimes
oiler had to scull sharply to keep a sea from breaking into the
otherwise sailing was a success.
&&&Meanwhile the light-house had been growing slowly
larger. It had now
almost assumed color, and appeared like a little gray shadow on
the sky. The
man at the oars could not be prevented from turning his head rather
try for a glimpse of this little gray shadow.
&&&At last, from the top of each wave the men in
the tossing boat could see
land. Even as the light-house was an upright shadow on the sky,
seemed but a long black shadow on the sea. It certainly was thinner
paper. &We must be about opposite New Smyrna,& said
the cook, who had
coasted this shore often in schooners. &Captain, by the way,
I believe they
abandoned that life-saving station there about a year ago.&
&&&&Did they?& said the captain.
&&&The wind slowly died away. The cook and the
correspondent were not now
obliged to slave in order to hold high the oar. But the waves
their old impetuous swooping at the dingey, and the little craft,
under way, struggled woundily over them. The oiler or the correspondent
the oars again.
&&&Shipwrecks are apropos of nothing. If men could
only train for them and
have them occur when the men had reached pink condition, there
would be less
drowning at sea. Of the four in the dingey none had slept any
time worth
mentioning for two days and two nights previous to embarking in
the dingey,
and in the excitement of clambering about the deck of a foundering
had also forgotten to eat heartily.
&&&For these reasons, and for others, neither the
oiler nor the
correspondent was fond of rowing at this time. The correspondent
ingenuously how in the name of all that was sane could there be
people who
thought it amusing to row a boat. It
diabolical punishment, and even a genius of mental aberrations
could never
conclude that it was anything but a horror to the muscles and
against the back. He mentioned to the boat in general how the
amusement of
rowing struck him, and the weary-faced oiler smiled in full sympathy.
Previously to the foundering, by the way, the oiler had worked
double-watch
in the engine-room of the ship.
&&&&Take her easy, now, boys,& said the
captain. &Don't spend yourselves. If
we have to run a surf you'll need all your strength, because we'll
to swim for it. Take your time.&
&&&Slowly the land arose from the sea. From a black
line it became a line of
black and a line of white, trees, and sand. Finally, the captain
he could make out a house on the shore. &That's the house
of refuge, sure,&
said the cook. &They'll see us before long, and come out
after us.&
&&&The distant light-house reared high. &The
keeper ought to be able to make
us out now, if he's looking through a glass,& said the captain.
notify the life-saving people.&
&&&&None of those other boats could have got
ashore to give word of the
wreck,& said the oiler, in a low voice. &Else the life-boat
would be out
hunting us.&
&&&Slowly and beautifully the land loomed out of
the sea. The wind came
again. It had veered from the northeast to the southeast. Finally,
sound struck the ears of the men in the boat. It was the low thunder
surf on the shore. &We'll never be able to make the light-house
now,& said
the captain. &Swing her head a little more north, Billie,&
said the captain.
&&&&'A little more north,' sir,& said
the oiler.
&&&Whereupon the little boat turned her nose once
more down the wind, and
all but the oarsman watched the shore grow. Under the influence
expansion doubt and direful apprehension was leaving the minds
of the men.
The management of the boat was still most absorbing, but it could
prevent a quiet cheerfulness. In an hour, perhaps, they would
be ashore.
&&&Their back-bones had become thoroughly used
to balancing in the boat and they now rode this wild colt of a
like circus men. The correspondent thought that he had been drenched
skin, but happening to feel in the top pocket of his coat, he
found therein
eight cigars. Four of them were soaked with sea- four were
scatheless. After a search, somebody produced three dry matches,
thereupon the four waifs rode in their little boat, and with an
assurance of
an impending rescue shining in their eyes, puffed at the big cigars
judged well and ill of all men. Everybody took a drink of water.
&&&&COOK,& remarked the captain, &there
don't seem to be any signs of life
about your house of refuge.&
&&&&No,& replied the cook. &Funny
they don't see us!&
&&&A broad stretch of lowly coast lay before the
eyes of the men. It was of
low dunes topped with dark vegetation. The roar of the surf was
plain, and
sometimes they could see the white lip of a wave as it spun up
the beach. A
tiny house was blocked out black upon the sky. Southward, the
light-house lifted its little gray length.
&&&Tide, wind, and waves were swinging the dingey
northward. &Funny they
don't see us,& said the men.
&&&The surf's roar was here dulled, but its tone
was, nevertheless,
thunderous and mighty. As the boat swam over the great rollers,
the men sat
listening to this roar. &We'll swamp sure,& said everybody.
&&&It is fair to say here that there was not a
life-saving station within
twenty miles in either direction, but the men did not know this
fact and in
consequence they made dark and opprobrious remarks concerning
the eyesight
of the nation's life-savers. Four scowling men sat in the dingey
surpassed records in the invention of epithets.
&&&&Funny they don't see us.&
&&&The light-heartedness of a former time had completely
faded. To their
sharpened minds it was easy to conjure pictures of all kinds of
incompetency
and blindness and indeed, cowardice. There was the shore of the
land, and it was bitter and bitter to them that from it came no
&&&&Well,& said the captain, ultimately,
&I suppose we'll have to make a try
for ourselves. If we stay out here too long, we'll none of us
have strength
left to swim after the boat swamps.&
&&&And so the oiler, who was at the oars, turned
the boat straight for the
shore. There was a sudden tightening of muscles. There was some
&&&&If we don't all get ashore -- & said
the captain. &If we don't all get
ashore, I suppose you fellows know where to send news of my finish?&
&&&They then briefly exchanged some addresses and
admonitions. As for the
reflections of the men, there was a great deal of rage in them.
they might be formulated thus: &If I am going to be drowned
-- if I am going
to be drowned -- if I am going to be drowned, why, in the name
of the seven
mad gods who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far and
contemplate
sand and trees? Was I brought here merely to have my nose dragged
was about to nibble the sacred cheese of life? It is preposterous.
old ninny-woman, Fate, cannot do better than this, she should
be deprived of
the management of men's fortunes. She is an old hen who knows
intention. If she has decided to drown me, why did she not do
beginning and save me all this trouble. The whole affair is absurd.
But, no, she cannot mean to drown me. She dare not drown me. She
drown me. Not after all this work.& Afterward the man might
have had an
impulse to shake his fist at the clouds: &Just you drown
me, now, and then
hear what I call you!&
&&&The billows that came at this time were more
formidable. They seemed
always just about to break and roll over the little boat in a
turmoil of
foam. There was a preparatory and long growl in the speech of
them. No mind
unused to the sea would have concluded that the dingey could ascend
sheer heights in time. The shore was still afar. The oiler was
surfman. &Boys,& he said, swiftly, &she won't live
three minutes more and
we're too far out to swim. Shall I take her to sea again, captain?&
&&&&Yes! Go ahead!& said the captain.
&&&This oiler, by a series of quick miracles, and
fast and steady
oarsmanship, turned the boat in the middle of the surf and took
her safely to sea again.
&&&There was a considerable silence as the boat
bumped over the furrowed sea
to deeper water. Then somebody in gloom spoke. &Well, anyhow,
they must have
seen us from the shore by now.&
&&&The gulls went in slanting flight up the wind
toward the gray desolate
east. A squall, marked by dingy clouds, and clouds brick-red,
like smoke
from a burning building, appeared from the southeast.
&&&&What do you think of those life-saving
people? Ain't they peaches?&
&&&&Funny they haven't seen us.&
&&&&Maybe they think we're out here for sport!
Maybe they think we're
fishin'. Maybe they think we're damned fools.&
&&&It was a long afternoon. A changed tide tried
to force them southward,
but wind and wave said northward. Far ahead, where coast-line,
sea, and sky
formed their mighty angle, there were little dots which seemed
to indicate a
city on the shore.
&&&&St. Augustine?&
&&&The captain shook his head. &Too near Mosquito
&&&And the oiler rowed, and then the correspondent
rowed. Then the oiler
rowed. It was a weary business. The human back can become the
seat of more
aches and pains than are registered in books for the composite
anatomy of a
regiment. It is a limited area, but it can become the theatre
of innumerable
muscular conflicts, tangles, wrenches, knots, and other comforts.
&&&&Did you ever like to row, Billie?&
asked the correspondent.
&&&&No,& said the oiler. &Hang it.&
&&&When one exchanged the rowing-seat for a place
in the bottom of the boat,
he suffered a bodily depression that caused him to be careless
of everything
save an obligation to wiggle one finger. There was cold sea-water
to and fro in the boat, and he lay in it. His head, pillowed on
was within an inch of the swirl of a wave crest, and sometimes
particularly obstreperous sea came in-board and drenched him once
these matters did not annoy him. It is almost certain that if
the boat had
capsized he would have tumbled comfortably out upon the ocean
as if he felt
sure it was a great soft mattress.
&&&&Look! There's a man on the shore!&
&&&&Where?&
&&&&There! See 'im? See 'im?&
&&&&Yes, sure! He's walking along.&
&&&&Now he's stopped. Look! He's facing us!&
&&&&He's waving at us!&
&&&&So he is! By thunder!&
&&&&Ah, now, we're all right! Now we're all
right! There'll be a boat out
here for us in half an hour.&
&&&&He's going on. He's running. He's going
up to that house there.&
&&&The remote beach seemed lower than the sea,
and it required a searching
glance to discern the little black figure. The captain saw a floating
and they rowed to it. A bath-towel was by some weird chance in
and, tying this on the stick, the captain waved it. The oarsman
did not dare
turn his head, so he was obliged to ask questions.
&&&&What's he doing now?&
&&&&He's standing still again. He's looking,
I think. . . . There he goes
again. Toward the house. . . . Now he's stopped again.&
&&&&Is he waving at us?&
&&&&No, not now! he was, though.&
&&&&Look! There comes another man!&
&&&&He's running.&
&&&&Look at him go, would you.&
&&&&Why, he's on a bicycle. Now he's met the
other man. They're both waving
at us. Look!&
&&&&There comes something up the beach.&
&&&&What the devil is that thing?&
&&&&Why, it looks like a boat.&
&&&&Why, certainly it's a boat.&
&&&&No, it's on wheels.&
&&&&Yes, so it is. Well, that must be the
life-boat. They drag them along
shore on a wagon.&
&&&&That's the life-boat, sure.&
&&&&No, by -- -- , it's -- it's an omnibus.&
&&&&I tell you it's a life-boat.&
&&&&It is not! It's an omnibus. I can see
it plain. See? One of these big
hotel omnibuses.&
&&&&By thunder, you're right. It's an omnibus,
sure as fate. What do you
suppose they are doing with an omnibus? Maybe they are going around
collecting the life-crew, hey?&
&&&&That's it, likely. Look! There's a fellow
waving a little black flag.
He's standing on the steps of the omnibus.
There come those other two fellows. Now they're all talking together.
at the fellow with the flag. Maybe he ain't waving it.&
&&&&That ain't a flag, is it? That's his coat.
Why, certainly, that's his
&&&&So it is. It's his coat. He's taken it
off and is waving it around his
head. But would you look at him swing it.&
&&&&Oh, say, there isn't any life-saving station
there. That's just a winter
resort hotel omnibus that has brought over some of the boarders
&&&&What's that idiot with the coat mean?
What's he signaling, anyhow?&
&&&&It looks as if he were trying to tell
us to go north. There must be a
life-saving station up there.&
&&&&No! He thinks we're fishing. Just giving
us a merry hand. See? Ah,
there, Willie.&
&&&&Well, I wish I could make something out
of those signals. What do you
suppose he means?&
&&&&He don't mean anything. He's just playing.&
&&&&Well, if he'd just signal us to try the
surf again, or to go to sea and
wait, or go north, or go south, or go to hell -- there would be
some reason
in it. But look at him. He just stands there and keeps his coat
like a wheel. The ass!&
&&&&There come more people.&
&&&&Now there's quite a mob. Look! Isn't that
&&&&Where? Oh, I see where you mean. No, that's
&&&&That fellow is still waving his coat.&
&&&&He must think we like to see him do that.
Why don't he quit it. It don't
mean anything.&
&&&&I don't know. I think he is trying to
make us go north. It must be that
there's a life-saving station there somewhere.&
&&&&Say, he ain't tired yet. Look at 'im wave.&
&&&&Wonder how long he can keep that up. He's
been revolving his coat ever
since he caught sight of us. He's an idiot. Why aren't they getting
bring a boat out. A fishing boat -- one of those big yawls --
could come out
here all right. Why don't he do something?&
&&&&Oh, it's all right, now.&
&&&&They'll have a boat out here for us in
less than no time, now that
they've seen us.&
&&&A faint yellow tone came into the sky over the
low land. The shadows on
the sea slowly deepened. The wind bore coldness with it, and the
to shiver.
&&&&Holy smoke!& said one, allowing his
voice to express his impious mood,
&if we keep on monkeying out here! If we've got to flounder
out here all
&&&&Oh, we'll never have to stay here all
night! Don't you worry. They've
seen us now, and it won't be long before they'll come chasing
out after us.&
&&&The shore grew dusky. The man waving a coat
blended gradually into this
gloom, and it swallowed in the same manner the omnibus and the
people. The spray, when it dashed uproariously over the side,
voyagers shrink and swear like men who were being branded.
&&&&I'd like to catch the chump who waved
the coat. I feel like soaking him
one, just for luck.&
&&&&Why? What did he do?&
&&&&Oh, nothing, but then he seemed so damned
cheerful.&
&&&In the meantime the oiler rowed, and then the
correspondent rowed, and
then the oiler rowed. Gray-faced and bowed forward, they mechanically,
by turn, plied the leaden oars. The form of the light-house had
from the southern horizon, but finally a pale star appeared, just
from the sea. The streaked saffron in the west passed before the
all-merging
darkness, and the sea to the east was black. The land had vanished,
expressed only by the low and drear thunder of the surf.
&&&&If I am going to be drowned -- if I am
going to be drowned -- if I am
going to be drowned, why, in the name of the seven mad gods, who
sea, was I allowed to come thus far and contemplate sand and trees?
brought here merely to have my nose dragged away as I was about
the sacred cheese of life?&
&&&The patient captain, drooped over the water-jar,
was sometimes obliged to
speak to the oarsman.
&&&&Keep her head up! Keep her head up!&
&&&&'Keep her head up,' sir.& The voices
were weary and low.
&&&This was surely a quiet evening. All save the
oarsman lay heavily and
listlessly in the boat's bottom. As for him, his eyes
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
were just capable of noting the tall black waves that swept forward
most sinister silence, save for an occasional subdued growl of
&&&The cook's head was on a thwart, and he looked
without interest at the
water under his nose. He was deep in other scenes. Finally he
&Billie,& he murmured, dreamfully, &what kind of
pie do you like best?&
&&&&PIE,& said the oiler and the correspondent,
agitatedly. &Don't talk
about those things, blast you!&
&&&&Well,& said the cook, &I was
just thinking about ham sandwiches, and --
&&&A night on the sea in an open boat is a long
night. As darkness settled
finally, the shine of the light, lifting from the sea in the south,
to full gold. On the northern horizon a new light appeared, a
small bluish
gleam on the edge of the waters. These two lights were the furniture
world. Otherwise there was nothing but waves.
&&&Two men huddled in the stern, and distances
were so magnificent in the
dingey that the rower was enabled to keep his feet partly warmed
thrusting them under his companions. Their legs indeed extended
the rowing-seat until they touched the feet of the captain forward.
Sometimes, despite the efforts of the tired oarsman, a wave came
piling into
the boat, an icy wave of the night, and the chilling water soaked
them anew.
They would twist their bodies for a moment and groan, and sleep
sleep once more, while the water in the boat gurgled about them
as the craft
&&&The plan of the oiler and the correspondent
was for one to row until he
lost the ability, and then arouse the other from his sea-water
couch in the
bottom of the boat.
&&&The oiler plied the oars until his head drooped
forward, and the
overpowering sleep blinded him. And he rowed yet afterward. Then
he touched
a man in the bottom of the boat, and called his name. &Will
you spell me for
a little while?& he said, meekly.
&&&&Sure, Billie,& said the correspondent,
awakening and dragging himself to
a sitting position. They exchanged places carefully, and the oiler,
down to the sea-water at the cook's side, seemed to go to sleep
instantly.
&&&The particular violence of the sea had ceased.
The waves came without
snarling. The obligation of the man at the oars was to keep the
boat headed
so that the tilt of the rollers would not capsize her, and to
preserve her
from filling when the crests rushed past. The black waves were
silent and
hard to be seen in the darkness. Often one was almost upon the
boat before
the oarsman was aware.
&&&In a low voice the correspondent addressed the
captain. He was not sure
that the captain was awake, although this iron man seemed to be
awake. &Captain, shall I keep her making for that light north,
&&&The same steady voice answered him. &Yes.
Keep it about two points off
the port bow.&
&&&The cook had tied a life-belt around himself
in order to get even the
warmth which this clumsy cork contrivance could donate, and he
seemed almost
stove-like when a rower, whose teeth invariably chattered wildly
as soon as
he ceased his labor, dropped down to sleep.
&&&The correspondent, as he rowed, looked down
at the two men sleeping under
foot. The cook's arm was around the oiler's shoulders, and, with
fragmentary clothing and haggard faces, they were the babes of
the sea, a
grotesque rendering of the old babes in the wood.
&&&Later he must have grown stupid at his work,
for suddenly there was a
growling of water, and a crest came with a roar and a swash into
and it was a wonder that it did not set the cook afloat in his
life-belt.
The cook continued to sleep, but the oiler sat up, blinking his
shaking with the new cold.
&&&&Oh, I'm awful sorry, Billie,& said
the correspondent, contritely.
&&&&That's all right, old boy,& said
the oiler, and lay down again and was
&&&Presently it seemed that even the captain dozed,
and the correspondent
thought that he was the one man afloat on all the oceans. The
wind had a
voice as it came over the waves, and it was sadder than the end.
&&&There was a long, loud swishing astern of the
boat, and a gleaming trail
of phosphorescence, like blue flame, was furrowed on the black
waters. It might have been made by a monstrous knife.
&&&Then there came a stillness, while the correspondent
breathed with the
open mouth and looked at the sea.
&&&Suddenly there was another swish and another
long flash of bluish light,
and this time it was alongside the boat, and might almost have
been reached
with an oar. The correspondent saw an enormous fin speed like
through the water, hurling the crystalline spray and leaving the
glowing trail.
&&&The correspondent looked over his shoulder at
the captain. His face was
hidden, and he seemed to be asleep. He looked at the babes of
the sea. They
certainly were asleep. So, being bereft of sympathy, he leaned
a little way
to one side and swore softly into the sea.
&&&But the thing did not then leave the vicinity
of the boat. Ahead or
astern, on one side or the other, at intervals long or short,
fled the long
sparkling streak, and there was to be heard the whiroo of the
dark fin. The
speed and power of the thing was greatly to be admired. It cut
like a gigantic and keen projectile.
&&&The presence of this biding thing did not affect
the man with the same
horror that it would if he had been a picnicker. He simply looked
at the sea
dully and swore in an undertone.
&&&Nevertheless, it is true that he did not wish
to be alone with the thing.
He wished one of his companions to awaken by chance and keep him
with it. But the captain hung motionless over the water-jar and
and the cook in the bottom of the boat were plunged in slumber.
&&&&IF I am going to be drowned -- if I am
going to be drowned -- if I am
going to be drowned, why, in the name of the seven mad gods, who
sea, was I allowed to come thus far and contemplate sand and trees?&
&&&During this dismal night, it may be remarked
that a man would conclude
that it was really the intention of the seven mad gods to drown
him, despite
the abominable injustice of it. For it was certainly an abominable
to drown a man who had worked so hard, so hard. The man felt it
would be a
crime most unnatural. Other people had drowned at sea since galleys
with painted sails, but still --
&&&When it occurs to a man that nature does not
regard him as important, and
that she feels she would not maim the universe by disposing of
him, he at
first wishes to throw bricks at the temple, and he hates deeply
that there are no bricks and no temples. Any visible expression
would surely be pelleted with his jeers.
&&&Then, if there be no tangible thing to hoot
he feels, perhaps, the desire
to confront a personification and indulge in pleas, bowed to one
with hands supplicant, saying: &Yes, but I love myself.&
&&&A high cold star on a winter's night is the
word he feels that she says
to him. Thereafter he knows the pathos of his situation.
&&&The men in the dingey had not discussed these
matters, but each had, no
doubt, reflected upon them in silence and according to his mind.
seldom any expression upon their faces save the general one of
weariness. Speech was devoted to the business of the boat.
&&&To chime the notes of his emotion, a verse mysteriously
entered the
correspondent's head. He had even forgotten that he had forgotten
verse, but it suddenly was in his mind.
A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,
There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's
But a comrade stood beside him, and he took that comrade's
And he said: &I shall never see my own, my native land.&
&&&In his childhood, the correspondent had been
made acquainted with the
fact that a soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, but he
regarded the fact as important. Myriads of his school-fellows
had informed
him of the soldier's plight, but the dinning had naturally ended
him perfectly indifferent. He had never considered it his affair
soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, nor had it appeared
to him as a
matter for sorrow. It was less to him than breaking of a pencil's
&&&Now, however, it quaintly came to him as a human,
living thing. It was no
longer merely a picture of a few throes in the breast of a poet,
drinking tea and warming h it was an actuality
stern, mournful, and fine.
&&&The correspondent plainly saw the soldier. He
lay on the sand with his
feet out straight and still. While his pale left hand was upon
his chest in
an attempt to thwart the going of his life, the blood came between
fingers. In the far Algerian distance, a city of low square forms
against a sky that was faint with the last sunset hues. The correspondent,
plying the oars and dreaming of the slow and slower movements
of the lips of
the soldier, was moved by a profound and perfectly impersonal
comprehension.
He was sorry for the soldier of the Legion who lay dying in Algiers.
&&&The thing which had followed the boat and waited
had evidently grown
bored at the delay. There was no longer to be heard the slash
cut-water, and there was no longer the flame of the long trail.
The light in
the north still glimmered, but it was apparently no nearer to
Sometimes the boom of the surf rang in the correspondent's ears,
turned the craft seaward then and rowed harder. Southward, someone
evidently built a watch-fire on the beach. It was too low and
too far to be
seen, but it made a shimmering, roseate reflection upon the bluff
it, and this could be discerned from the boat. The wind came stronger,
sometimes a wave suddenly raged out like a mountain-cat and there
seen the sheen and sparkle of a broken crest.
&&&The captain, in the bow, moved on his water-jar
and sat erect. &Pretty
long night,& he observed to the correspondent. He looked
at the shore.
&Those life-saving people take their time.&
&&&&Did you see that shark playing around?&
&&&&Yes, I saw him. He was a big fellow, all
&&&&Wish I had known you were awake.&
&&&Later the correspondent spoke into the bottom
of the boat.
&&&&Billie!& There was a slow and gradual
disentanglement. &Billie, will you
spell me?&
&&&&Sure,& said the oiler.
&&&As soon as the correspondent touched the cold
comfortable sea-water in
the bottom of the boat, and had huddled close to the cook's life-belt
deep in sleep, despite the fact that his teeth played all the
popular airs.
This sleep was so good to him that it was but a moment before
he heard a
voice call his name in a tone that demonstrated the last stages
exhaustion. &Will you spell me?&
&&&&Sure, Billie.&
&&&The light in the north had mysteriously vanished,
but the correspondent
took his course from the wide-awake captain.
&&&Later in the night they took the boat farther
out to sea, and the captain
directed the cook to take one oar at the stern and keep the boat
facing the
seas. He was to call out if he should hear the thunder of the
surf. This
plan enabled the oiler and the correspondent to get respite together.
give those boys a chance to get into shape again,& said the
captain. They
curled down and, after a few preliminary chatterings and trembles,
once more the dead sleep. Neither knew they had bequeathed to
the cook the
company of another shark, or perhaps the same shark.
&&&As the boat caroused on the waves, spray occasionally
bumped over the
side and gave them a fresh soaking, but this had no power to break
repose. The ominous slash of the wind and the water affected them
would have affected mummies.
&&&&Boys,& said the cook, with the notes
of every reluctance in his voice,
&she's drifted in pretty close. I guess one of you had better
take her to
sea again.& The correspondent, aroused, heard the crash of
the toppled
&&&As he was rowing, the captain gave him some
whiskey and water, and this
steadied the chills out of him. &If I ever get ashore and
anybody shows me
even a photograph of an oar -- &
&&&At last there was a short conversation.
&&&&Billie. . . . Billie, will you spell me?&
&&&&Sure,& said the oiler.
&&&WHEN the correspondent again opened his eyes,
the sea and the sky were
each of the gray hue of the dawning. Later, carmine
and gold was painted upon the waters. The morning appeared finally,
splendor with a sky of pure blue, and the sunlight flamed on the
tips of the
&&&On the distant dunes were set many little black
cottages, and a tall
white wind-mill reared above them. No man, nor dog, nor bicycle
appeared on
the beach. The cottages might have formed a deserted village.
&&&The voyagers scanned the shore. A conference
was held in the boat.
&Well,& said the captain, &if no help is coming,
we might better try a run
through the surf right away. If we stay out here much longer we
will be too
weak to do anything for ourselves at all.& The others silently
acquiesced in
this reasoning. The boat was headed for the beach. The correspondent
wondered if none ever ascended the tall wind-tower, and if then
they never
looked seaward. This tower was a giant, standing with its back
to the plight
of the ants. It represented in a degree, to the correspondent,
the serenity
of nature amid the struggles of the individual -- nature in the
nature in the vision of men. She did not seem cruel to him, nor
beneficent,
nor treacherous, nor wise. But she was indifferent, flatly indifferent.
is, perhaps, plausible that a man in this situation, impressed
unconcern of the universe, should see the innumerable flaws of
his life and
have them taste wickedly in his mind and wish for another chance.
distinction between right and wrong seems absurdly clear to him,
this new ignorance of the grave-edge, and he understands that
if he were
given another opportunity he would mend his conduct and his words,
better and brighter during an introduction, or at a tea.
&&&&Now, boys,& said the captain, &she
is going to swamp sure. All we can do
is to work her in as far as possible, and then when she swamps,
pile out and
scramble for the beach. Keep cool now and don't jump until she
swamps sure.&
&&&The oiler took the oars. Over his shoulders
he scanned the surf.
&Captain,& he said, &I think I'd better bring her
about, and keep her
head-on to the seas and back her in.&
&&&&All right, Billie,& said the captain.
&Back her in.& The oiler swung the
boat then and, seated in the stern, the cook and the correspondent
obliged to look over their shoulders to contemplate the lonely
indifferent shore.
&&&The monstrous inshore rollers heaved the boat
high until the men were
again enabled to see the white sheets of water scudding up the
beach. &We won't get in very close,& said the captain.
Each time a man could
wrest his attention from the rollers, he turned his glance toward
the shore,
and in the expression of the eyes during this contemplation there
singular quality. The correspondent, observing the others, knew
were not afraid, but the full meaning of their glances was shrouded.
&&&As for himself, he was too tired to grapple
fundamentally with the fact.
He tried to coerce his mind into thinking of it, but the mind
was dominated
at this time by the muscles, and the muscles said they did not
merely occurred to him that if he should drown it would be a shame.
&&&There were no hurried words, no pallor, no plain
agitation. The men
simply looked at the shore. &Now, remember to get well clear
of the boat
when you jump,& said the captain.
&&&Seaward the crest of a roller suddenly fell
with a thunderous crash, and
the long white comber came roaring down upon the boat.
&&&&Steady now,& said the captain. The
men were silent. They turned their
eyes from the shore to the comber and waited. The boat slid up
the incline,
leaped at the furious top, bounced over it, and swung down the
long back of
the waves. Some water had been shipped and the cook bailed it
&&&But the next crest crashed also. The tumbling
boiling flood of white
water caught the boat and whirled it almost perpendicular. Water
swarmed in
from all sides. The correspondent had his hands on the gunwale
at this time,
and when the water entered at that place he swiftly withdrew his
fingers, as
if he objected to wetting them.
&&&The little boat, drunken with this weight of
water, reeled and snuggled
deeper into the sea.
&&&&Bail her out, cook! Bail her out,&
said the captain.
&&&&All right, captain,& said the cook.
&&&&Now, boys, the next one will do for
us, sure,& said the oiler. &Mind to jump clear of the
&&&The third wave moved forward, huge, furious,
implacable. It fairly
swallowed the dingey, and almost simultaneously the men tumbled
sea. A piece of life-belt had lain in the bottom of the boat,
and as the
correspondent went overboard he held this to his chest with his
left hand.
&&&The January water was icy, and he reflected
immediately that it was
colder than he had expected to find it off the coast of Florida.
appeared to his dazed mind as a fact important enough to be noted
time. The coldness
it was tragic. This fact
somehow mixed and confused with his opinion of his own situation
seemed almost a proper reason for tears. The water was cold.
&&&When he came to the surface he was conscious
of little but the noisy
water. Afterward he saw his companions in the sea. The oiler was
the race. He was swimming strongly and rapidly. Off to the correspondent's
left, the cook's great white and corked back bulged out of the
water, and in
the rear the captain was hanging with his one good hand to the
keel of the
overturned dingey.
&&&There is a certain immovable quality to a shore,
and the correspondent
wondered at it amid the confusion of the sea.
&&&It seemed also very attractive, but the correspondent
knew that it was a
long journey, and he paddled leisurely. The piece of life-preserver
under him, and sometimes he whirled down the incline of a wave
as if he were
on a hand-sled.
&&&But finally he arrived at a place in the sea
where travel was beset with
difficulty. He did not pause swimming to inquire what manner of
current had
caught him, but there his progress ceased. The shore was set before
a bit of scenery on a stage, and he looked at it and understood
eyes each detail of it.
&&&As the cook passed, much farther to the left,
the captain was calling to
him, &Turn over on your back, cook! Turn over on your back
and use the oar.&
&&&&All right, sir!& The cook turned
on his back, and, paddling with an oar,
went ahead as if he were a canoe.
&&&Presently the boat also passed to the left of
the correspondent with the
captain clinging with one hand to the keel. He would have appeared
man raising himself to look over a board fence, if it were not
extraordinary gymnastics of the boat. The correspondent marvelled
captain could still hold to it.
&&&They passed on, nearer to shore -- the oiler,
the cook, the captain --
and following them went the water-jar, bouncing gayly over the
&&&The correspondent remained in the grip of this
strange new enemy -- a
current. The shore, with its white slope of sand and its green
bluff, topped
with little silent cottages, was spread like a picture before
him. It was
very near to him then, but he was impressed as one who in a gallery
a scene from Brittany or Algiers.
&&&He thought: &I am going to drown? Can it
be possible? Can it be possible?
Can it be possible?& Perhaps an individual must consider
his own death to be
the final phenomenon of nature.
&&&But later a wave perhaps whirled him out of
this small deadly current,
for he found suddenly that he could again make progress toward
the shore.
Later still, he was aware that the captain, clinging with one
hand to the
keel of the dingey, had his face turned away from the shore and
toward him,
and was calling his name. &Come to the boat! Come to the
&&&In his struggle to reach the captain and the
boat, he reflected that when
one gets properly wearied, drowning must really be a comfortable
arrangement, a cessation of hostilities accompanied by a large
relief, and he was glad of it, for the main thing in his mind
moments had been horror of the temporary agony. He did not wish
to be hurt.
&&&Presently he saw a man running along the shore.
He was undressing with
most remarkable speed. Coat, trousers, shirt, everything flew
magically off
&&&&Come to the boat,& called the captain.
&&&&All right, captain.& As the correspondent
paddled, he saw the captain
let himself down to bottom and leave the boat. Then the correspondent
performed his one little marvel of the voyage. A large wave caught
flung him with ease and supreme speed completely over the boat
beyond it. It struck him even then as an event in gymnastics,
and a true
miracle of the sea. An overturned boat in the surf is not a plaything
swimming man.
&&&The correspondent arrived in water that reached
only to his waist, but
his condition did not enable him to stand for more than a moment.
knocked him into a heap, and the under-tow pulled at him.
&&&Then he saw the man who had been running and
undressing, and undressing
and running, come bounding into the water. He dragged ashore the
then waded toward the captain, but the captain waved him away,
and sent him
to the correspondent. He was naked, naked as a tree in winter,
but a halo
was about his head, and he shone like a saint. He gave a strong
pull, and a
long drag, and a bully heave at the correspondent's hand. The
correspondent,
schooled in the minor formulae, said: &Thanks, old man.&
But suddenly the
man cried: &What's that?& He pointed a swift finger.
The correspondent said:
&&&In the shallows, face downward, lay the oiler.
His forehead touched sand
that was periodically, between each wave, clear of the sea.
&&&The correspondent did not know all that transpired
afterward. When he
achieved safe ground he fell, striking the sand with each particular
his body. It was as if he had dropped from a roof, but the thud
was grateful
&&&It seems that instantly the beach was populated
with men with blankets,
clothes, and flasks, and women with coffee-pots and all the remedies
to their minds. The welcome of the land to the men from the sea
was warm and
generous, but a still and dripping shape was carried slowly up
the beach,
and the land's welcome for it could only be the different and
hospitality of the grave.
&&&When it came night, the white waves paced to
and fro in the moonlight,
and the wind brought the sound of the great sea's voice to the
men on shore,
and they felt that they could then be interpreters.}