That I should give him a
chance, pointed out that "to go in the ordinary boat, be it schooner
or steamer, would be impracticable, for I would have to mix among
and live with the ordinary type of seamen, which as a rule is not a
clean sort of life."
Then there was the young fellow of twenty-six, who had "run through
the gamut of human emotions," and had "done everything from cooking
to attending Stanford University," and who, at the present writing,
was "A vaquero on a fifty-five-thousand-acre range." Quite in
contrast was the modesty of the one who said, "I am not aware of
possessing any particular qualities that would be likely to
recommend me to your consideration. But should you be impressed,
you might consider it worth a few minutes' time to answer.
Otherwise, there's always work at the trade. Not expecting, but
hoping, I remain, etc."
But I have held my head in both my hands ever since, trying to
figure out the intellectual kinship between myself and the one who
wrote: "Long before I knew of you, I had mixed political economy
and history and deducted therefrom many of your conclusions in
concrete."
Here, in its way, is one of the best, as it is the briefest, that I
received: "If any of the present company signed on for cruise
happens to get cold feet and you need one more who understands
boating, engines, etc., would like to hear from you, etc." Here is
another brief one: "Point blank, would like to have the job of
cabin-boy on your trip around the world, or any other job on board.
Am nineteen years old, weigh one hundred and forty pounds, and am an
American."
And here is a good one from a man a "little over five feet long":
"When I read about your manly plan of sailing around the world in a
small boat with Mrs. London, I was so much rejoiced that I felt I
was planning it myself, and I thought to write you about filling
either position of cook or cabin-boy myself, but for some reason I
did not do it, and I came to Denver from Oakland to join my friend's
business last month, but everything is worse and unfavourable. But
fortunately you have postponed your departure on account of the
great earthquake, so I finally decided to propose you to let me fill
either of the positions. I am not very strong, being a man of a
little over five feet long, although I am of sound health and
capability."
"I think I can add to your outfit an additional method of utilizing
the power of the wind," wrote a well-wisher, "which, while not
interfering with ordinary sails in light breezes, will enable you to
use the whole force of the wind in its mightiest blows, so that even
when its force is so great that you may have to take in every inch
of canvas used in the ordinary way, you may carry the fullest spread
with my method. With my attachment your craft could not be UPSET."
The foregoing letter was written in San Francisco under the date of
April 16, 1906. And two days later, on April 18, came the Great
Earthquake. And that's why I've got it in for that earthquake, for
it made a refugee out of the man who wrote the letter, and prevented
us from ever getting together.
Many of my brother socialists objected to my making the cruise, of
which the following is typical: "The Socialist Cause and the
millions of oppressed victims of Capitalism has a right and claim
upon your life and services. If, however, you persist, then, when
you swallow the last mouthful of salt chuck you can hold before
sinking, remember that we at least protested."
One wanderer over the world who "could, if opportunity afforded,
recount many unusual scenes and events," spent several pages
ardently trying to get to the point of his letter, and at last
achieved the following: "Still I am neglecting the point I set out
to write you about. So will say at once that it has been stated in
print that you and one or two others are going to take a cruize
around the world a little fifty- or sixty-foot boat. I therefore
cannot get myself to think that a man of your attainments and
experience would attempt such a proceeding, which is nothing less
than courting death in that way. And even if you were to escape for
some time, your whole Person, and those with you would be bruised
from the ceaseless motion of a craft of the above size, even if she
were padded, a thing not usual at sea." Thank you, kind friend,
thank you for that qualification, "a thing not usual at sea." Nor
is this friend ignorant of the sea. As he says of himself, "I am
not a land-lubber, and I have sailed every sea and ocean." And he
winds up his letter with: "Although not wishing to offend, it would
be madness to take any woman outside the bay even, in such a craft."
And yet, at the moment of writing this, Charmian is in her state-
room at the typewriter, Martin is cooking dinner, Tochigi is setting
the table, Roscoe and Bert are caulking the deck, and the Snark is
steering herself some five knots an hour in a rattling good sea - and
the Snark is not padded, either.
"Seeing a piece in the paper about your intended trip, would like to
know if you would like a good crew, as there is six of us boys all
good sailor men, with good discharges from the Navy and Merchant
Service, all true Americans, all between the ages of 20 and 22, and
at present are employed as riggers at the Union Iron Works, and
would like very much to sail with you." - It was letters like this
that made me regret the boat was not larger.
