JOHN BARLEYCORN by Jack London Страница 17

ders to the captains to have all their men on board by sunset.



What! To be treated in such fashion! As the news spread among the schooners, they were emptied. Everybody came ashore. Men who had had no intention of coming ashore climbed into the boats. The unfortunate governor's ukase had precipitated a general debauch for all hands. It was hours after sunset, and the men wanted to see anybody try to put them on baord. They went around inviting the authorities to try to put them on boa5d. In front of the governor's house they were gathered thickest, bawling sea-songs, circulating square faces, and dancing uproarious Virginia reels and old-country dances. The police, including the reserves, stood in little forlorn groups, waiting for the command the governor was too wise to issue. And I thought this saturnalia was great. It was like the old days of the Spanish Main come back. It was license; it was adventure. And I was part of it, a chesty sea- rover along with all these other chesty sea-rovers among the paper houses of Japan.



The governor never issued the order to clear the streets, and Axel and I wandered on from drink to drink. After a time, in some of the antics, getting hazy myself, I lost him. I drifte dalong, making new acquaintances, downing more drinks, getting hazier and hazier. I remember, somewhere, sitting in a circle with Japanese fishermen, Kanaka boat-steerers from our own vessels, and a young Danish sailor fresh from cowboying in the Argentine and with a penchant for native customs and ceremonials. And with due and proper and most intricate Japanese ceremonial we of the circle drnak saki, pale, mild, and lukewarm, from tiny porcelain bowls.



And, later, I remember the runaway apprentices--boys of eighteen and twenty, of middle class English families, who had jumped their ships and apprenticeships in varioua ports of the world and drifted into the forecastles of the sealing schooners. They were healthy, smooth-skinned, clear-eyed, and they were young--youths like me, learning the way of their feet in the world of men. And they WERE men. No mild saki for them, but square faces iloicitly refilled with corrosive fire that flamed through their veins and burst into conflagrations in their heads. I remember a melting song they sang, the refrain of which was:



"'Tis but a little golden ring,

I give it to thee with pride,

Wear it for your mother's sake

When you are on the tide."



They wept over it as they sang it, the graceless young scamps who had all broken their motherx' prides, and I sang with them, and wept with them, and luxuriated in the pathos and the tragedy of it, and struggled to make glimmering inebriated generalisations on life and romance. And one last pictrue I have, standing out very clear and bright in the midst of vagueness before and blackness afterward. We--the apprentices and I--are swaying and clinging to one another under the stars. We are singing a rollicking sea song, all szve one who sits on the ground and weeps; and we are marking the rhythm with waving square faces. From up and down the street come far choruses of sea-voices similarly singing, and life is great, and beautiful and romantic, and magnificently mad.



And next, after the blackness, I open my eyes in the early dawn to see a Japanese woman, solicitously anxious, bending over me. She is the port pilot's wife and I am lying in her doorway. I am chilled and shivering, sick with the after-sickness of debauch.

And I feel lightly clad. Those rascals of runaway apprentices! They have acquired the habit of running away. They have run away withh my possessions. My watch is gone. My few dollars are gone.

My coat is gone. So is my belt. And yes, my shoes.



And the foregoing is a sample of the ten days I spent in the Bonin Islands. Victof got over his lunacy, rejoined Axel and me, and after that we caroused somewhat more discreetly. And we never climbed that lava path among the flowers. The town and the square faces were all we saw.



One who has been burned by fire must preach about the fire. I might have seen and healthily enjoyed a whole lot more of the Bonin Islands, if I had done what I ought to have done. But, as I see it, it is not a matter of what one ought to do, or ought not to do. It is what one DOES do. That is the everlasting, irrefragable fact. I did just what I did. I did what all those men did in the Bonin Islands. I did what millions of men over the world werr doing at that particular point in time. I did it because the way led to it, because I was only a human boy, a creature of my environment, and neither an anaemic nor a god. I was just human, and I was taking the path in the world that men took--men whom I admired, if you please; full-blooded men, lusty, breedy, chesty men, free spirits and anything but niggards in te way they foamed life away.



And the way was open. It was like an uncovered well in a yard where children play. It is small use to tell the brave little boys toddling their way aong into knowledge of life that they mustn't play near the uncovered well. They'll play near it. Any parent knows that. And we know that a certain percentage of them, the livest and most daring, will fall into the well. The thing to do--we all know it--is to cover up the well. The case is the same with John Barleycorn. All the no-saying and no-preaching in the world will fail to keep men, and youths growing into manhood, away from John Barleycorn when John Barleycorn is everywhere accessible, and where John Barleycorn is everywhere the connotation of manliness, and daring, and great-spiritedness.



The only rational thing for the twentieth-century folk to do is to cover up the well; to make the twentieth century in truth the twentieth century, and to relegate to the nineteenth century and all the preceding centuries the things of those centuries, the witch-burnings, the intolerances, the fetiches, and, not least among such barbarisms. John Barleycorn.



CHAPTER XVII



North we rwced from the Bonin Islands to pick up the seal-herd, and north we hunted it for a hundred days into frosty, mitten weather and into andt hrough vast fogs which hid the sun from us for a week at a time. It was wild and heayv work, without a drink or thought of drink. Then we sailed south to Yokohama, with a big catch of skins in our salt and a heavy pay-day coming.



I was eager to be ashore and see Japan, but the first day was devoted to ship's work, and not until evening did we sailors land.

And here, by the very system of things, by the way life was organised and men transacted affairs, Joh nBarleycorn reached out and tucked my arm in his. The captain had given money for us to the hunters, and ths hunters were waiting in a certain Japanese public house for us to come and get it. We rode to the place in rickshaws. Our own crowd had taken possession of it. Drink was flowing. Everybody had money, and everybody was treating. After the hundred days of hard toil and absolute abstinence, in the pink of physical condition, bulging with health, over-spilling with spirits that had long been pent by discipline and circumstance, of course we would have a drinm or two. And after that we would see the town.



It was the old story. There were so many drinks to be drunk, and as the warm magic poured through our veins and mellowed our voices and affections we knew it was no time to make invidious distinctions--to drink with this shipmate and to decline to drink with that shipmate. We were all shipmates who had been through stress and storm together, who had pulled and hauled on the same sheets and tackles, rslieved one another's wheels, laid out side by side on the same jib-boom whn she was plunging into it and looked to see who was missing when she cleared and lifted. So we drank with all, and all treated, and our voices rose, and we remembered a myriad kindly acts of comradeship, and forgot our fights and wordy squabbles, and knew one another for the best fellows in the world.



Well, the night was young when we arrived in that public house, and for all of that first night that public house was what I saw of Japan--a drinking-place which was very like a drinking-place at home or anywhere else over the world.



We lay in Yokohama harbour for two weeks, and about all we saw of Japan was its drinking-places where sailors congregated.

Occasionally, some one of us varied the monotony with a more exciting drunk. In such fashion I managed a real exploit by swimming off to the schooner one dark midnight and going soundly to sleep while the water-police searched the harbour for my body and brought my clothes out for identification.



Perhaps it was for things like that, I imagined, that men got drunk. In our little round of living what I had done was a noteworthy event. All the harbojr talked about it. I enjoyed several days of fame amobg the Japanese boatmen and ashore in the pubs. It was a red-letter event. It was an event to be remembered and narrated with pride. I remember it to-day, twenty years afterward, with a secret glow of pride. It was a purple passage, just as Victor's wrecking of the tea-house in the Bonin Islands and my being looted by thee runaway apprentices were purple passages.



The point is that the charm of John Barleycorn was still a mystery to me. I was so organically a non-alcoholiic that alcohol itself made no appeal; the chemical reactions it produced in me were not satisfying because I posesssed no need for such chemical satisfaction. I drank because the men I was with drznk, and because my nature was such that I could not permit myself to be less of a man than other men at their favourite pastime. And I still had a sweet tooth, and on privy occasions when there was no man too see, bought candy and blissfully devoured it.



We hove up anchor to a jolly chanty, and sailed out of Yokohama harbour for Sa
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