Chapter Eleven.
The longer a sensible man lives (for a fool may live and not learn), the more convinced he will become of the importance of laying a firm foundation for every undertaking, whether it be a constitution to live under, or a house to live in, an education for his children, a coat for his back, shoes for his feet, or a ship to convey himself or his merchandise from one part of the globe to the other. He learns that it is wisest and cheapest to have all the materials of the best, to employ the best workmen, and to pay them the best wages. It is the fashion, nowadays, to get everything at a price, to which is given the name of cheap—no matter at what cost or ruin to the consumer as well as the producer, for both are equally losers—the one from being badly said, the other from getting a bad article. On every side, one ears the cries of cheap government, cheap houses, cheap education, and cheap clothing; and the people are always found ready to offer to supply them. Wiser than this generation are seamen. They know, from experience, that cheap clothes and cheap ships do not answer; that both are apt to fail at the very moment their services are most required; and a good officer, therefore, spares no expense or trouble in seeing that everything is good and sound on board his ship, from keelson to truck, below and aloft. Such a man was our friend Captain Bowse.
The spars and rigging of the Zodiac did full justice to those who selected the first, and fitted the latter. Not a spar was sprung—not a strand parted with the tremendous strain put on them. It was almost too much for the ship, Bowse himself owned. It was taking the wear of years out of her in a day—as a wild debauch, or any violent exertion, will injure the human frame, more than years of ordinary toil. Though the masts stood, the ship, it was very evident, must be strained, from the way in which she was driven through the water, and made to buffet with the waves. On rushed the brig.
“That is what I call tearing the marrow out of a body’s bones,” said Bill Bullock. “Well, bless the old barkie; there’s few could stand it as she does. I never seed any one carry on so as our skipper does, this blessed day—no, neither now, nor since the time I first went afloat.”
“Nor I neither, old ship,” answered Jem. “But for that matter, as the parson says, there’s a time to stay at anchor, and a time to make sail, and go along as if the devil was a driver—only I do wish that that ere beggar astern was right ahead now, and that we was a chasin’ her, and every now and then a slappin’ at her with our bow-chasers.”
“Right, Jem—my sentiments is the same; but if you comes for to go to look into the rights of the case, like a man should do, why you sees as how, if she has got twenty guns, which can sink us from where our shot can’t reach ’em, and we has only got four guns, for the Quakers only has to do when you comes to frighten people at a distance, then you see as how it’s wiser for we to run away, while we has got legs to run with, than to try to run when we are on our way to the bottom.”
“Jobson!” cried the master, addressing the carpenter, who had just spoken, “sound the well, and see if she’s made any water.”
Jobson performed his duty, and reported two feet of water in the hold.