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the mirror of the sea-第29章

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laid along the face of the town; but the sea…freedom stops short



there; surrendering the salt tide to the needs; the artifices; the



contrivances of toiling men。  Wharves; landing…places; dock…gates;



waterside stairs; follow each other continuously right up to London



Bridge; and the hum of men's work fills the river with a menacing;



muttering note as of a breathless; ever…driving gale。  The water…



way; so fair above and wide below; flows oppressed by bricks and



mortar and stone; by blackened timber and grimed glass and rusty



iron; covered with black barges; whipped up by paddles and screws;



overburdened with craft; overhung with chains; overshadowed by



walls making a steep gorge for its bed; filled with a haze of smoke



and dust。







This stretch of the Thames from London Bridge to the Albert Docks



is to other watersides of river ports what a virgin forest would be



to a garden。  It is a thing grown up; not made。  It recalls a



jungle by the confused; varied; and impenetrable aspect of the



buildings that line the shore; not according to a planned purpose;



but as if sprung up by accident from scattered seeds。  Like the



matted growth of bushes and creepers veiling the silent depths of



an unexplored wilderness; they hide the depths of London's



infinitely varied; vigorous; seething life。  In other river ports



it is not so。  They lie open to their stream; with quays like broad



clearings; with streets like avenues cut through thick timber for



the convenience of trade。  I am thinking now of river ports I have



seen … of Antwerp; for instance; of Nantes or Bordeaux; or even old



Rouen; where the night…watchmen of ships; elbows on rail; gaze at



shop…windows and brilliant cafes; and see the audience go in and



come out of the opera…house。  But London; the oldest and greatest



of river ports; does not possess as much as a hundred yards of open



quays upon its river front。  Dark and impenetrable at night; like



the face of a forest; is the London waterside。  It is the waterside



of watersides; where only one aspect of the world's life can be



seen; and only one kind of men toils on the edge of the stream。



The lightless walls seem to spring from the very mud upon which the



stranded barges lie; and the narrow lanes coming down to the



foreshore resemble the paths of smashed bushes and crumbled earth



where big game comes to drink on the banks of tropical streams。







Behind the growth of the London waterside the docks of London



spread out unsuspected; smooth; and placid; lost amongst the



buildings like dark lagoons hidden in a thick forest。  They lie



concealed in the intricate growth of houses with a few stalks of



mastheads here and there overtopping the roof of some four…story



warehouse。







It is a strange conjunction this of roofs and mastheads; of walls



and yard…arms。  I remember once having the incongruity of the



relation brought home to me in a practical way。  I was the chief



officer of a fine ship; just docked with a cargo of wool from



Sydney; after a ninety days' passage。  In fact; we had not been in



more than half an hour and I was still busy making her fast to the



stone posts of a very narrow quay in front of a lofty warehouse。



An old man with a gray whisker under the chin and brass buttons on



his pilot…cloth jacket; hurried up along the quay hailing my ship



by name。  He was one of those officials called berthing…masters …



not the one who had berthed us; but another; who; apparently; had



been busy securing a steamer at the other end of the dock。  I could



see from afar his hard blue eyes staring at us; as if fascinated;



with a queer sort of absorption。  I wondered what that worthy sea…



dog had found to criticise in my ship's rigging。  And I; too;



glanced aloft anxiously。  I could see nothing wrong there。  But



perhaps that superannuated fellow…craftsman was simply admiring the



ship's perfect order aloft; I thought; with some secret pride; for



the chief officer is responsible for his ship's appearance; and as



to her outward condition; he is the man open to praise or blame。



Meantime the old salt (〃ex…coasting skipper〃 was writ large all



over his person) had hobbled up alongside in his bumpy; shiny



boots; and; waving an arm; short and thick like the flipper of a



seal; terminated by a paw red as an uncooked beef…steak; addressed



the poop in a muffled; faint; roaring voice; as if a sample of



every North…Sea fog of his life had been permanently lodged in his



throat:  〃Haul 'em round; Mr。 Mate!〃 were his words。  〃If you don't



look sharp; you'll have your topgallant yards through the windows



of that 'ere warehouse presently!〃  This was the only cause of his



interest in the ship's beautiful spars。  I own that for a time I



was struck dumb by the bizarre associations of yard…arms and



window…panes。  To break windows is the last thing one would think



of in connection with a ship's topgallant yard; unless; indeed; one



were an experienced berthing…master in one of the London docks。



This old chap was doing his little share of the world's work with



proper efficiency。  His little blue eyes had made out the danger



many hundred yards off。  His rheumaticky feet; tired with balancing



that squat body for many years upon the decks of small coasters;



and made sore by miles of tramping upon the flagstones of the dock



side; had hurried up in time to avert a ridiculous catastrophe。  I



answered him pettishly; I fear; and as if I had known all about it



before。







〃All right; all right! can't do everything at once。〃







He remained near by; muttering to himself till the yards had been



hauled round at my order; and then raised again his foggy; thick



voice:







〃None too soon;〃 he observed; with a critical glance up at the



towering side of the warehouse。  〃That's a half…sovereign in your



pocket; Mr。 Mate。  You should always look first how you are for



them windows before you begin to breast in your ship to the quay。〃







It was good advice。  But one cannot think of everything or foresee



contacts of things apparently as remote as stars and hop…poles。















XXXII。















The view of ships lying moored in some of the older docks of London



has always suggested to my mind the image of a flock of swans kept



in the flooded backyard of grim tenement houses。  The flatness of



the walls surrounding the dark pool on which they float brings out



wonderfully the flowing grace of the lines on which a ship's hull



is built。  The lightness of these forms; devised to meet the winds



and the seas; makes; by contrast with the great piles of bricks;



the chains and cables of their moorings appear very necessary; as



if nothing less could prevent them from soaring upwards and over



the roofs。  The least puff of wind stealing round the corners of



the d
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