however minute, that you may be prompted to make. Send it under
cover of an envelope. The bearer may be trusted.
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35
“I did not indulge in the pleasure of visiting your honourable
self this morning, as I find my body not to be enjoying the normal
exercise of its functions.
“As regards the skins from the mountain, you shall be waited on by
a small boy at seven o’clock at night with ten skins from which
you may select those which most satisfy your aspirations.
“In the hope that you will look upon this in the same light as
myself, I beg to be allowed to remain,
“Your most faithful servant,
” CAPTAIN ERNESTO BECUCCI.”
Well, thought I, this Captain Ernesto Becucci has shown himself to
be such an undependable person, that, while I don’t mind rewarding
him for his composition, I fear me if I do I never shall lay eyes
on those leopard skins. So to Eliceo I gave this letter for the
Captain:
“MY DEAR CAPTAIN BECUCCI:
“Have the boy bring the skins at seven o’clock this evening, when
I shall be glad to look at them. This evening when the boy brings
the skins, I shall be pleased to give him, in an envelope, for
you, a tangible return for your musical composition.
“Please put the price on each skin, and also let me know for what
sum all the skins will sell together.
“Sincerely yours,
“JACK LONDON.”
Now, thought I, I have him. No skins, no tangible return; and
evidently he is set on receiving that tangible return.
At seven o’clock Eliceo was back, but without leopard skins. He
handed me this letter:
“SENOR LONDON:
“I wish to instil in you the belief that I lost to-day, at half
past three in the afternoon, the key to my cubicle. While
distributing rations to the soldiers I dropped it. I see in this
loss the act of God.
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36
“I received a letter from your honourable self, delivered by the
one who bears you this poor response of mine. To-morrow I will
burst open the door to permit me to keep my word with you. I feel
myself eternally shamed not to be able to dominate the evils that
afflict colonial mankind. Please send me the trifle that you
offered me. Send me this proof of your appreciation by the
bearer, who is to be trusted. Also give to him a small sum of
money for himself, and earn the undying gratitude of
Your most faithful servant,
“CAPTAIN ERNESTO BECUCCI.”
Also, inclosed in the foregoing letter was the following original
poem, e propos neither of leopard skins nor tangible returns, so
far as I can make out:
EFFUSION
Thou canst not weep;
Nor ask I for a year
To rid me of my woes
Or make my life more dear.
The mystic chains that bound
Thy all-fond heart to mine,
Alas! asundered are
For now and for all time.
In vain you strove to hide,
From vulgar gaze of man,
The burning glance of love
That none but Love can scan.
Go on thy starlit way
And leave me to my fate;
Our souls must needs unite –
But, God! ’twill be too late.
To all and sundry of which I replied:
“MY DEAR CAPTAIN BECUCCI:
“I regret exceedingly to hear that by act of God, at half past
three this afternoon, you lost the key to your cubicle. Please
have the boy bring the skins at seven o’clock to-morrow morning,
at which time, when he brings the skins, I shall be glad to make
you that tangible return for your “Tranquil Hour Waltz.”
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37
“Sincerely yours,
“JACK LONDON.”
At seven o’clock came no skins, but the following:
“SIR:
“After offering you my most sincere respects, I beg to continue by
telling you that no one, up to the time of writing, has treated me
with such lack of attention. It was a present to GENTLEMEN who
were to retain the piece of music, and who have all, without
exception, made me a present of five dollars. It is beyond my
humble capacity to believe that you, after having offered to send
me money in an envelope, should fail to do so.
“Send me, I pray of you, the money to remunerate the small boy for
his repeated visits to you. Please be discreet and send it in an
envelope by the bearer.
“Last night I came to the hotel with the boy. You were dining. I
waited more than an hour for you and then went to the theatre.
Give the boy some small amount, and send me a like offering of
larger proportions.
“Awaiting incessantly a slight attention on your part,
“CAPTAIN ERNESTO BECUCCI.”
And here, like one of George Moore’s realistic studies, ends this
intercourse with Captain Ernesto Becucci. Nothing happened.
Nothing ever came to anything. He got no tangible return, and I
got no leopard skins. The tangible return he might have got, I
presented to Eliceo, who promptly invested it in a pair of
trousers and a ticket to the bull-fight.
(NOTE TO EDITOR.–This is a faithful narration of what actually
happened in Quito, Ecuador.)
THAT DEAD MEN RISE UP NEVER
The month in which my seventeenth birthday arrived I signed on
before the mast on the Sophie Sutherland, a three-topmast schooner
bound on a seven-months’ seal-hunting cruise to the coast of
Japan. We sailed from San Francisco, and immediately I found
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38
confronting me a problem of no inconsiderable proportions. There
were twelve men of us in the forecastle, ten of whom were
hardened, tarry-thumbed sailors. Not alone was I a youth and on
my first voyage, but I had for shipmates men who had come through
the hard school of the merchant service of Europe. As boys, they
had had to perform their ship’s duty, and, in addition, by
immemorial sea custom, they had had to be the slaves of the
ordinary and able-bodied seamen. When they became ordinary seamen
they were still the slaves of the able-bodied. Thus, in the
forecastle, with the watch below, an able seaman, lying in his
bunk, will order an ordinary seaman to fetch him his shoes or
bring him a drink of water. Now the ordinary seaman may be lying
in HIS bunk. He is just as tired as the able seaman. Yet he must
get out of his bunk and fetch and carry. If he refuses, he will
be beaten. If, perchance, he is so strong that he can whip the
able seaman, then all the able seamen, or as many as may be
necessary, pitch upon the luckless devil and administer the
beating.
My problem now becomes apparent. These hard-bit Scandinavian
sailors had come through a hard school. As boys they had served
their mates, and as able seamen they looked to be served by other
boys. I was a boy–withal with a man’s body. I had never been to
sea before–withal I was a good sailor and knew my business. It
was either a case of holding my own with them or of going under.
I had signed on as an equal, and an equal I must maintain myself,
or else endure seven months of hell at their hands. And it was
this very equality they resented. By what right was I an equal?
I had not earned that high privilege. I had not endured the
miseries they had endured as maltreated boys or bullied
ordinaries. Worse than that, I was a land-lubber making his first
voyage. And yet, by the injustice of fate, on the ship’s articles
I was their equal.
My method was deliberate, and simple, and drastic. In the first
place, I resolved to do my work, no matter how hard or dangerous
it might be, so well that no man would be called upon to do it for
me. Further, I put ginger in my muscles. I never malingered when
pulling on a rope, for I knew the eagle eyes of my forecastle
mates were squinting for just such evidences of my inferiority. I
made it a point to be among the first of the watch going on deck,
among the last going below, never leaving a sheet or tackle for
some one else to coil over a pin. I was always eager for the run
aloft for the shifting of topsail sheets and tacks, or for the
setting or taking in of topsails; and in these matters I did more
than my share.
Furthermore, I was on a hair-trigger of resentment myself. I knew
better than to accept any abuse or the slightest patronizing. At
the first hint of such, I went off– I exploded. I might be
beaten in the subsequent fight, but I left the impression that I
was a wild-cat and that I would just as willingly fight again. My
intention was to demonstrate that I would tolerate no imposition.