Twixt Land and Sea - Page 2

trading to India, China, and
Australia: a great company the last years of which coincided with my
first years on the wider seas. The fact itself happened on board a very
distinguished member of it, _Cutty Sark_ by name and belonging to Mr.
Willis, a notable ship-owner in his day, one of the kind (they are all
underground now) who used personally to see his ships start on their
voyages to those distant shores where they showed worthily the honoured
house-flag of their owner. I am glad I was not too late to get at
least one glimpse of Mr. Willis on a very wet and gloomy morning
watching from the pier head of the New South Dock one of his clippers
starting on a China voyage--an imposing figure of a man under the
invariable white hat so well known in the Port of London, waiting till
the head of his ship had swung down-stream before giving her a dignified
wave of a big gloved hand. For all I know it may have been the _Cutty
Sark_ herself though certainly not on that fatal voyage. I do not know
the date of the occurrence on which the scheme of The Secret Sharer is
founded; it came to light and even got into newspapers about the middle
eighties, though I had heard of it before, as it were privately, among
the officers of the great wool fleet in which my first years in deep
water were served. It came to light under circumstances dramatic enough,
I think, but which have nothing to do with my story. In the more
specially maritime part of my writings this bit of presentation may take
its place as one of my two Calm-pieces. For, if there is to be any
classification by subjects, I have done two Storm-pieces in "The Nigger
of the _Narcissus_" and in "Typhoon"; and two Calm-pieces: this one and
"The Shadow-Line," a book which belongs to a later period.

Notwithstanding their autobiographical form the above two stories are
not the record of personal experience. Their quality, such as it is,
depends on something larger if less precise: on the character, vision
and sentiment of the first twenty independent years of my life. And the
same may be said of the Freya of the Seven Isles. I was considerably
abused for writing that story on the ground of its cruelty, both in
public prints and private letters. I remember one from a man in America
who was quite furiously angry. He told me with curses and imprecations
that I had no right to write such an abominable thing which, he said,
had gratuitously and intolerably harrowed his feelings. It was a very
interesting letter to read. Impressive too. I carried it for some days
in my pocket. Had I the right? The sincerity of the anger impressed me.
Had I the right? Had I really sinned as he said or was it only that
man's madness? Yet there was a method in his fury.... I