Then, raising his head, he attacked grumpily the steward, a lanky,
anxious youth with a long, pale face and two big front teeth.

"What makes this soup so bitter? I am surprised the mate can
swallow the beastly stuff. I'm sure the cook's ladled some salt
water into it by mistake."

The charge was so outrageous that the steward for all answer only
dropped his eyelids bashfully.

There was nothing the matter with the soup. I had a second
helping. My heart was warm with hours of hard work at the head of
a willing crew. I was elated with having handled heavy anchors,
cables, boats without the slightest hitch; pleased with having laid
out scientifically bower, stream, and kedge exactly where I
believed they would do most good. On that occasion the bitter
taste of a stranding was not for my mouth. That experience came
later, and it was only then that I understood the loneliness of the
man in charge.

It's the captain who puts the ship ashore; it's we who get her off.



XXII.



It seems to me that no man born and truthful to himself could
declare that he ever saw the sea looking young as the earth looks