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.
