IX.



Every passage of a ship of yesterday, whose yards were braced round
eagerly the very moment the pilot, with his pockets full of
letters, had got over the side, was like a race--a race against
time, against an ideal standard of achievement outstripping the
expectations of common men. Like all true art, the general conduct
of a ship and her handling in particular cases had a technique
which could be discussed with delight and pleasure by men who found
in their work, not bread alone, but an outlet for the peculiarities
of their temperament. To get the best and truest effect from the
infinitely varying moods of sky and sea, not pictorially, but in
the spirit of their calling, was their vocation, one and all; and
they recognised this with as much sincerity, and drew as much
inspiration from this reality, as any man who ever put brush to
canvas. The diversity of temperaments was immense amongst those
masters of the fine art.

Some of them were like Royal Academicians of a certain kind. They
never startled you by a touch of originality, by a fresh audacity
of inspiration. They were safe, very safe. They went about
solemnly in the assurance of their consecrated and empty
reputation. Names are odious, but I remember one of them who might
have been their very president, the P.R.A. of the sea-craft. His
weather-beaten and handsome face, his portly presence, his shirt-
fronts and broad cuffs and gold links, his air of bluff
distinction, impressed the humble beholders (stevedores, tally
clerks, tide-waiters) as he walked ashore over the gangway of his