at odd times (generally about midnight) that I was totally inexperienced, greatly ignorant of business, and hopelessly unfit for any sort of command; and when the steward had to be taken to the hospital ill with choleraic symptoms I felt bereaved of the only decent person at the after end of the ship.  He was fully expected to recover, but in the meantime had to be replaced by some sort of servant.  And on the recommendation of a certain Schomberg, the proprietor of the smaller of the two hotels in the place, I engaged a Chinaman.  Schomberg, a brawny, hairy Alsatian, and an awful gossip, assured me that it was all right.  “First-class boy that.  Came in the suite of his Excellency Tseng the Commissioner—­you know.  His Excellency Tseng lodged with me here for three weeks.”

He mouthed the Chinese Excellency at me with great unction, though the specimen of the “suite” did not seem very promising.  At the time, however, I did not know what an untrustworthy humbug Schomberg was.  The “boy” might have been forty or a hundred and forty for all you could tell—­one of those Chinamen of the death’s-head type of face and completely inscrutable.  Before the end of the third day he had revealed himself as a confirmed opium-smoker, a gambler, a most audacious thief, and a first-class sprinter.  When he departed at the top of his speed with thirty-two golden sovereigns of my own hard-earned savings it was the last straw.  I had reserved that money in case my difficulties came to the worst.  Now it was gone I felt as poor and naked as a fakir.  I clung to my ship, for all the bother she caused me, but what I could not bear were the long lonely evenings in her cuddy, where the atmosphere, made smelly by a leaky lamp, was agitated by the snoring of the mate.  That fellow shut himself up in his stuffy cabin punctually at eight, and made gross and revolting noises like a water-logged trump.  It was odious not to be able to worry oneself in comfort on board one’s own ship.  Everything in this world, I reflected, even the command of a nice little barque, may be made a delusion and a snare for the unwary spirit of pride in man.

From such reflections I was glad to make any escape on board that Bremen Diana.  There apparently no whisper of the world’s iniquities had ever penetrated.  And yet she lived upon the wide sea:  and the sea tragic and comic, the sea with its horrors and its peculiar scandals, the sea peopled by men and ruled by iron necessity is indubitably a part of the world.  But that patriarchal old tub, like some saintly retreat, echoed nothing of it.  She was world proof.  Her venerable innocence apparently had put a restraint on the roaring lusts of the sea.  And yet I have known the sea too long to believe in its respect for decency.  An elemental force is ruthlessly frank.  It may, of course, have been Hermann’s skilful seamanship, but to me it looked as if the allied oceans had refrained from smashing these high bulwarks, unshipping the lumpy rudder, frightening the children, and generally opening this family’s eyes out of sheer reticence.  It looked like reticence.  The ruthless disclosure was in the end left for a man to make; a man strong and elemental enough and driven to unveil some secrets of the sea by the power of a simple and elemental desire.