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Read Ebook: 天工開物 by Song Yingxing
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Ebook has 28 lines and 2922 words, and 1 pages
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The Sight That met His Eyes was a Terrible One. " " 65
He brought His Glass to bear Upon the Object. " " 113
"This is Jack Crane," said Captain Dawson. " " 145
He was just fairly stowed away When Haines came. " " 193
The Crew hauled away on the Rope. " " 241
"Are You John Crane, Captain of the Late Privateer Marguerite?" " " 289
CAPTAIN JOHN CRANE.
WHO AND WHAT I AM.--MY EARLY LIFE.--LEAVING HOME, AND WHY I LEFT IT.
I am a modest, bashful sort of man, though I say it myself, and have been a sailor for a goodly number of years. Perhaps on board a ship I am not so bashful, and especially when in command of her. I don't feel altogether at home on shore, although I've given up the sea, and propose to spend the rest of my life on land. I was born on the 25th of November, 1783, the day of the evacuation of the city of New York by the British, at the end of the Revolutionary War.
It is proper to say that my arrival into the United States on that day attracted much less attention throughout the country than did the departure of our enemies, but there's nothing surprising in that. I suppose you might have found, a few years ago, a good many people throughout these United States who were born on the same day as George Washington; but they haven't attracted any attention, while he has filled the eyes of the world. At any rate, he filled the stomachs of the British with all the fighting they wanted when they came here to subjugate the colonies.
My name is John Crane, or, rather, Captain Crane, at your service. I am, or rather was, a sea-captain, and for a pretty fair time too. People keep on calling me "Captain," although I've given up sea life and settled down on shore. But that's the way of things generally; which, after all, isn't so bad. If a man has done something and won a handle to his name, I think it is fair to let him keep it, and so I never correct folks when they call me Captain Crane. But when I sign a paper of any sort, no matter whether it's a letter to anybody or a legal document, I always write "John Crane," and nothing more. I never stick Captain on in front of it, as some do that I know.
Since I settled down on land I've told a good many of my experiences to neighbors and friends, and they've urged me to write a book. I've hesitated a good while about it,--there's where my bashfulness comes in,--but, after all, I don't see why I shouldn't do as others have done. There's many a book on sea life by men who have never been on blue water a tenth part as much as I've been there.
I can't spell very well, that was always a weak point with me; but I'll leave it to the printer to correct my spelling, and also my grammar, if I slip up in it. I never had a chance for much schooling; I had a little of the three R's, Reading, 'Riting, and 'Rithmetic, but precious little it was.
I was born among the hills of New Hampshire, in the township of Pembroke, about fifty miles from Portsmouth, a seaport of that State, and sixty or seventy miles from Boston.
As my birth occurred on what we may consider the last day of the War for Independence, I can't be supposed to remember anything about it of my own knowledge, but my earliest recollections are very much concerned with it. It was the great topic of conversation among the people in the region where I lived. My father, and nearly every other man in the neighborhood, had fought in the Continental Army, and they were very fond of "fighting their battles o'er again" in front of their firesides. My father was a soldier from the beginning of the war until 1777, when he was badly wounded and came home. It was late in 1778 when he recovered, but he wasn't able to go back to the army again. So he married, and you'll know about his family farther on.
My early life was one of hardship. My parents had a small farm which we cultivated,--father and mother, and three brothers of us,--with our own hands. In fact, we could not well do otherwise, as we were too poor to hire any help. When he was twenty-one years old, James, my eldest brother, left home, went to a neighboring town, where he hired out with a farmer, and in less than a year was married to the farmer's daughter. Luckily for him, his wife's father had a good-sized farm, and she was an only child. So it happened that the newly married pair settled down on the farm to take care of the old folks; and in due time, when they were gathered to their fathers, my brother and his wife fell into possession of the farm and the property connected with it.
My second brother followed the example of the first, except that he did not marry a farm along with his girl. I was seventeen years old at the time he became engaged. Months, yes, I may say years, before this event, I had thought and dreamed about going to sea. Neither of my brothers cared for it, but I believe I was a born sailor if there ever was one. I longed to look upon the ocean and sail upon it, and felt that I would gladly pass the whole of my life on the waters. I read all that I could find about it; but I'm sorry to say that books were scarce in our neighborhood, and opportunities for reading were very small. I was greatly impressed by various passages in the Bible referring to the sea, especially the one in the Psalms which reads,--
"They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; these see the works of the Lord and His wonders in the deep."
So, when the family was talking about my second brother's future prospects, I suggested that it was time for me to be doing something, and if father and mother consented, I would go to sea. There was some objection at first; but finally it was agreed and settled upon that my second brother should bring his bride to the house, and the twain would live there and care for the old folks, just as my elder brother and his wife were caring for her parents, while I would go to sea.
Then the question arose, "Should I go from Portsmouth or from Boston?" It was finally decided that as Boston was the larger place, and had a greater amount of shipping than Portsmouth, I had better go to Boston, and sail from there.
It was along in winter when this decision was reached. My departure was deferred until spring, not that there was very much for me to do at home in that season of the year, but because the traveling would be very bad when the roads were covered with snow and the weather cold.
As the time approached for me to leave home I began to feel reluctant at going away. One day I was talking with David Taylor, one of my friends and schoolmates, at least he was my schoolmate for eight or ten weeks every year, and about my own age.
When I told him I was going to sea he jumped at the idea, and said he would like to go too; like myself, he had thought and dreamed about the ocean, and nothing would suit him better than sailing over it. He said he would speak to his father that very evening, and try and get his consent. The Taylor family was situated very much like mine, and I thought it quite likely that David would have no difficulty in obtaining the paternal permission.
The next morning, when we met at school, David shook his head, and said,--
"I'm afraid I can't go with you, John. I spoke to father last night, and what do you think he said?"
"From the way you talk, David," said I, "I suppose he wouldn't listen to your going to sea."
"Yes, that's it exactly. He said I had better stay at home, and if there wasn't room for me on the farm I could hire out among the neighbors. 'There's Major M'Clary,' said he, 'who has a big farm, and hires half a dozen hands most of the time, and a dozen of them in haying-time. You can
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