Gerard and I were fond of going forward to the forecastle, where, in fine weather, in an evening, he always took his seat with his pipe in his mouth.
“By the same rule it was wrong to introduce the compass or the steam-engine; former generations had done very well without them; yet how should we, on a dark night, have managed to steer across the ocean as we do, or how could people manage to get about the world as rapidly as they find necessary for their business or pleasure?”
Gerard thought that this remark would be a poser for the boatswain; but old Fleming was not so easily defeated.
“As to the matter of the compass, do you see, that’s what I call an exception to the general rule,” he answered, with a serious look. “But as for the railways and steam-engines, and all those sort of things afloat or ashore, to my mind the world would be altogether much better without them. It’s necessary for sailors to go about, that’s granted; but the rest of the world would be very much better staying at home and minding their own business. What I preach I practise; and when I leaves home I says to my missus, says I, ‘Now mind, Molly, don’t you be going gadding about till I comes back to look after you;’ and she’d no more think of going outside the street-door, except when she goes to church or a-marketing, than she’d try to fly, and that would be no easy matter for her, seeing that she weighs thirteen stone at least.”
Such is a specimen of old Fleming’s style of conversation. Gerard and I used to be much amused while listening to him, though we did not fail to make the most of his remarks while repeating them to the mates. James Pincott the carpenter, on the contrary, was a great reformer. No invention was too new to suit his taste. Whenever he heard of any discovery, he could not be contented till he saw it introduced. We often tried to get the two together, and very soon managed to throw an apple of discord between them. Pincott occupied much of his thoughts about a flying-machine, which no failure had taught him to believe could not be made to work.
“I’ll tell you what, mate, there’s just this difference between you and me in this matter,” I heard Fleming remark; “you says a flying-machine can be made; so do I. You may make fifty flying-machines, or a hundred, or five hundred for that matter, all different, and with all sorts of wheels, and cogs, and what not, which nobody can understand; but when they are made, what I have to ask you, mate, is, will they fly? It’s there you and I differ.”
Having thus delivered himself, Fleming drew himself up with a triumphant look at his adversary. Now, Pincott was a very quiet man with all his eccentricities, so he merely answered—
“It will be enough for me if one can be made to fly. That’s all I argue for.”
“It never has been done yet, and, to my mind, never will,” answered Fleming, sturdily; “though I have heard of a man who made his son put on a pair of wings which he had fabricated, and shoved him off the top of a high wall, and when the lad, as was to be expected, reached the ground, he broke his leg.”
This was a story told of Pincott, who, however, on all occasions stoutly denied that he was the culprit. Another story against Pincott was, that when first iron vessels were introduced, he declared that it was impossible they could swim. “No, no,” it was said he said, “birds can fly, so I don’t see why men shouldn’t; but iron always has sunk, and, to my mind, it always will sink.” Fleming, who told the story, used to wind up with the remark, “But then you see, mate, there’s no rule without an exception.” As these disputes never led to any disagreeable consequences, they served to beguile away many a weary hour at sea. But I have said enough to describe the character of our inferior officers. They were both thoroughly good seamen and steady men.