It was the first time we ever tried to use that windlass.
The castings had flaws; they shattered asunder, the gears ground
together, and the windlass was out of commission. Following upon
that, the seventy-horse-power engine went out of commission. This
engine came from New York; so did its bed-plate; there was a flaw in
the bed-plate; there were a lot of flaws in the bed-plate; and the
seventy-horse-power engine broke away from its shattered
foundations, reared up in the air, smashed all connections and
fastenings, and fell over on its side. And the Snark continued to
stick between the spread ways, and the two tugs continued to haul
vainly upon her.
"Never mind," said Charmian, "think of what a staunch, strong boat
she is."
"Yes," said I, "and of that beautiful bow."
So we took heart and went at it again. The ruined engine was lashed
down on its rotten foundation; the smashed castings and cogs of the
power transmission were taken down and stored away - all for the
purpose of taking them to Honolulu where repairs and new castings
could be made. Somewhere in the dim past the Snark had received on
the outside one coat of white paint. The intention of the colour
was still evident, however, when one got it in the right light. The
Snark had never received any paint on the inside. On the contrary,
she was coated inches thick with the grease and tobacco-juice of the
multitudinous mechanics who had toiled upon her. Never mind, we
said; the grease and filth could be planed off, and later, when we
fetched Honolulu, the Snark could be painted at the same time as she
was being rebuilt.
By main strength and sweat we dragged the Snark off from the wrecked
ways and laid her alongside the Oakland City Wharf. The drays
brought all the outfit from home, the books and blankets and
personal luggage. Along with this, everything else came on board in
a torrent of confusion - wood and coal, water and water-tanks,
vegetables, provisions, oil, the life-boat and the launch, all our
friends, all the friends of our friends and those who claimed to be
their friends, to say nothing of some of the friends of the friends
of the friends of our crew. Also there were reporters, and
photographers, and strangers, and cranks, and finally, and over all,
clouds of coal-dust from the wharf.
We were to sail Sunday at eleven, and Saturday afternoon had
arrived. The crowd on the wharf and the coal-dust were thicker than
ever. In one pocket I carried a cheque-book, a fountain-pen, a
dater, and a blotter; in another pocket I carried between one and
two thousand dollars in paper money and gold. I was ready for the
creditors, cash for the small ones and cheques for the large ones,
and was waiting only for Roscoe to arrive with the balances of the
accounts of the hundred and fifteen firms who had delayed me so many
months. And then -
And then the inconceivable and monstrous happened once more. Before
Roscoe could arrive there arrived another man. He was a United
States marshal. He tacked a notice on the Snark's brave mast so
that all on the wharf could read that the Snark had been libelled
for debt. The marshal left a little old man in charge of the Snark,
and himself went away. I had no longer any control of the Snark,
nor of her wonderful bow. The little old man was now her lord and
master, and I learned that I was paying him three dollars a day for
being lord and master. Also, I learned the name of the man who had
libelled the Snark. It was Sellers; the debt was two hundred and
thirty-two dollars; and the deed was no more than was to be expected
from the possessor of such a name. Sellers! Ye gods! Sellers!
But who under the sun was Sellers? I looked in my cheque-book and
saw that two weeks before I had made him out a cheque for five
hundred dollars. Other cheque-books showed me that during the many
months of the building of the Snark I had paid him several thousand
dollars. Then why in the name of common decency hadn't he tried to
collect his miserable little balance instead of libelling the Snark?
I thrust my hands into my pockets, and in one pocket encountered the
cheque-hook and the dater and the pen, and in the other pocket the
gold money and the paper money. There was the wherewithal to settle
his pitiful account a few score of times and over - why hadn't he
given me a chance? There was no explanation; it was merely the
inconceivable and monstrous.
To make the matter worse, the Snark had been libelled late Saturday
afternoon; and though I sent lawyers and agents all over Oakland and
San Francisco, neither United States judge, nor United States
marshal, nor Mr. Sellers, nor Mr. Sellers' attorney, nor anybody
could be found. They were all out of town for the weekend. And so
the Snark did not sail Sunday morning at eleven. The little old man
was still in charge, and he said no. And Charmian and I walked out
on an opposite wharf and took consolation in the Snark's wonderful
bow and thought of all the gales and typhoons it would proudly
punch.
"A bourgeois trick," I said to Charmian, speaking of Mr. Sellers and
his libel; "a petty trader's panic. But never mind; our troubles
will cease when once we are away from this and out on the wide
ocean."
And in the end we sailed away, on Tuesday morning, April 23, 1907.
We started rather lame, I confess.
