as empty as they
went. But what of that? They think they understand, and thought breeds
thought; and when a man's mind is fairly astir, it is odds but
something good turns up.

You must know, then, I began the world as a sailor; and I marvel to
this day how I ever became anything else. Sailors are the stupidest
set in creation. They are mere animals, except in the gift of speech;
good, honest, docile animals, perhaps, but dull and narrow. They go
round the small circle of their duties like a blind horse in a mill.
Their faculties are rocked by the waves and lulled by the winds; and
when they come ashore, they can see and understand nothing for the
swimming of their heads. Drink makes them feel as if at sea again; and
when the tankard is out, they return on board, and exchange one state
of stupefaction for another. Well, I _was_ a sailor, and the dullest
of the tribe. No wonder, for I was at it when a young boy. I was never
startled by the sights or sounds of the sea. The moaning of the wind,
the rush of the waves, the silence of the calm, were parts of my own
existence; and in the wildest storm, my mind never took a wider tack
than just to think what the poor devils on shore would do now.

I was a handy lad, however. I could go aloft with any man on board,
and never troubled the shrouds in coming down when a rope was within
springing distance. But this was instinct or habit: thought was not
concerned in it--I had not found the principle. One day, it blew what
sailors call great guns; our bulwarks were stove in pieces, and the
sea swept the deck, crashing and roaring like a whole herd of tigers.
There was something to do at the mast-head; and when the order came
through the speaking-trumpet, seeing the men hesitate, I jumped upon
the shrouds without thinking twice. But at that moment the ship gave a
lurch, and, holding on like grim death, I was buried deep in the
waves. Although still clutching the ropes, I had at first an idea that
they had parted, and that we were on our way to the bottom together.
This could not have lasted above a minute or so; but it seemed to me
like a year. I heard every voice that had ever sounded in my ear since
childhood; I saw every apparition that had ever glided before my
fancy: the Sea-Serpent twisted his folds round my neck, and the keel
of the Flying Dutchman grated along my back. When the vessel rose at
last, and I rose with her, the waters gurgling in my throat and
hissing in my ears