SARGASSON MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.
I was awakened at sunrise by the sailor who had attended me before.
He brought me a tin cup filled with a thick, brown decoction,
intended to serve the purpose of coffee, and two biscuits from the
store of supplies we had brought in the launch.
The drink was not palatable, but I soon discovered that it had a very
exhilarating effect upon my system, and I afterward learned that it
was made from the leaves and twigs of a small parasitic plant that
grew upon the water and upon branches of the floating trees. It
probably came from Brazil originally, but it was very prolific, and
spread over a wide area of the Sargasson sod.
The Sargassons were scrupulously honest. Everything that I had
contributed to the outfit of the launch, even to the smallest
biscuit, was reserved for me. It was very fortunate that such was the
case; otherwise, I do not think I would have survived the first few
days, before I became accustomed to the peculiar food of this people.
As soon as I had drunk the coffee, or tea, my companion in the launch
called to pay his respects. He opened the door of my prison cell with
his own hands, and invited me to step out into the fresh air.
As I stood beside him I could scarcely control the rage I felt toward
the fellow. I saw how slender and insignificant he was compared
with me, and I could have strangled him in his tracks. He doubtless
divined the thought in my mind, and took an early opportunity to
apprise me that the punishment for murder among the Sargassons was
drowning in a horrible form. Half a dozen strong men would seize the
murderer and crowd him head foremost into a barrel of water, holding
him there, despite his struggles, until he slowly suffocated.
After a few turns up and down the deck, we were waited upon by the
attendant sailor, and I was informed that I was to have an audience
with the Kantoon, or commander, of the vessel. He made his habitation
in the captain’s cabin; but I was instructed that he “would be
visible” upon the upper deck, astern, over his cabin, and that I
might approach him there.
My companion cautioned me especially against any exhibition of
temper. He declared that anger was utterly unrecognized among the
Sargassons, and if I exhibited any ferocity, it would probably be
mistaken for madness, and I would forthwith be drowned without
ceremony or hope of intervention on anybody’s part.
So cautioned, I climbed the ladder and passed behind a screen of
flowering plants. These grew luxuriantly in a row of boxes that
resembled gun cases. The earth in which they grew had been brought
from the hold, where it had been placed for ballast in some far-away
port.
In the centre of the deck, standing in a barrel of water, was the
Kantoon. His grizzly gray beard was carefully trimmed, and his
leather cap rested upon his head in a jaunty fashion. In his hand he
held a large telescope, with which, when I approached him, he was
scanning the distant horizon. I divined instantly that he was looking
in the direction of the Caribas; for, with the naked eye, I was able
to detect the presence of smoke in the western sky.
I experienced a genuine emotion of hope. If my officers and crew only
had sense enough to get up steam, go to sea and abandon me, I would
be glad. There would remain some hope of rescue, and I would not
suffer the humiliation of having my ship fall into the hands of a
class of pirates more heartless than any I had ever read about.
At this instant the Kantoon turned, and, seeing me, said, with a
grimace that was filled with chimpanzinity:
“Morning, Senor Captaine. Es usted very good, aujourd’hui? Sitzen sie
down.”
“I thank you, captain, but I prefer to stand,” was my snappish reply.
“No me burla!” the Kantoon exclaimed, in an ill-tempered voice,
despite the statement of my instructor to the contrary. “Quando, I
say, ‘Sitzen sie;’ you squat!”
“But, captain”----
“Io sono the Kantoon de cette ship.”
“But, Kantoon, I see no chair upon which to be seated.”
“Quel difference? Sit upon the deck.”
I seated myself as gracefully as possible upon the damp planks,
curling my feet under me, a la Turc, and for more than an hour the
Kantoon and I conversed upon general subjects relating to the sea.
He adhered to his horribly incongruous polyglot language. So far as
I could make out, he actually spoke no one language with even a show
of correctness, but his vocabulary of phrases and words from the
Continental languages and English was enormous. There was hardly any
thought that he could not express clearly in that way. A keen ear and
ready mind were required to follow him.
Above, I have indicated in a few brief sentences his mode of speech.
The Kantoon never hesitated a moment for a word. He selected them
with reference to the context. Gender, conjugation and declension
were things utterly unknown to his system of grammar. I soon
discovered that he knew more Portuguese and Spanish than any of the
other languages, and accounted for that on the ground that he had
been associated with Spanish sailors more than any others.
After a little time, I grew to a better understanding of the polyglot
language. I recollected that I had attended a performance of the
great Salvini in New York, in which I had heard “Hamlet” rendered in
very much the same fashion as the Kantoon spoke to me. The members
of the cast associated with the distinguished Italian tragedian knew
only the English tongue, while Salvini spoke in Italian. It seemed a
trifle incongruous to me, in far-away New York, to hear Hamlet give
the “Instructions to the Players” in sonorous Italian--a language
they did not understand. No experience is wasted in this world, and
the recollection of that season of Anglo-Italian tragedy prepared me
for conversation on the Happy Shark.
The Kantoon then proceeded to explain to me at great length the
organization of the ship. Early in the interview he was kind enough
to announce to me that when I had become tractable enough and
thoroughly reconciled to being grafted upon the Sargasson family
tree, he would give me a station on board ship and an attendant to
wait upon me.
This was encouraging, but I could not drive from my mind the fate
of my crew and the terrible calamity that overshadowed my ship.
Therefore, I fear I did not listen as attentively as I should have
done to the ethical history of the Sargassons, shuddering meanwhile
at the thought that I would have plenty of time in which to make this
study for myself.
I did, however, pay sufficient attention to glean the following brief
outline of the Kantoon’s narrative:
The Sargasson people date back more than three hundred years, the
Kantoon explained. He believed that they had their origin in the loss
of the Spanish Armada, when many of the great galleons, escaping the
destruction that England intended for all, put to sea in a disabled
condition, intending to go to the Spanish possessions in America,
refit, and return laden with stores. They were caught in the Central
Atlantic whirlpool and never could make their escape. The navigation
of the sea at that time was very poorly understood, and many ships
that left port with chivalrous ambitions landed in the Seaweed Sea,
never to escape.
The Sargassons became a hardy race, growing in numbers by the
accessions of new ships; but they did not assume the features of
a social community until, early in the present century, a slave
ship containing several hundred Africans--who had mutinied under
the leadership of a former chief and, without any knowledge of the
mariner’s compass, had sailed almost into the heart of the Sargasson
continent, bringing remnants of their families with them--swelled the
population. The negro women who came in that ship intermarried with
the Portuguese and Spaniards, developing in time a race quite similar
to the lower types of the Mexican and Central American peoples.
Wars had followed among them for the possession of the Sacred Light
and for the establishment of certain holy days. While they had no
religion, as we understand it, they believed in a divine creator,
called the Grand Kantoon, who ruled the sea and the sky. But,
naturally, all tradition of the existence of dry land had vanished,
and as one after another ships sank from decay or the overloading
of barnacles, the Sargassons captured others in the possession of
the different races, heartlessly destroying every vestige of the
preceding community.
The life of a ship was found to be about fifty years.
These bloody encounters were crowded with horrors of the most
indescribable character. The natural fear of death originally had
inspired the most desperate attack and most stubborn defense. As
no one knew at what hour a neighboring craft might show signs of
dissolution, it behooved the commander of each vessel to be always on
guard, ever alert to repel surprise. Mutiny was of rare occurrence.
United by the tie of mutual hopelessness, every member of each
ship’s company knew his only safety lay in union and fidelity to its
other members.
During the last fifty years, the Kantoon explained, a pathetic and
charming philosophy had prevailed among the people of the floating
continent. It was regarded as a matter of social ethics that the fate
of each ship’s company was identified with the life of its own craft;
that the intrusion of strangers from other vessels was neither sought
nor permitted; that there should be no sort of intercourse between
the people of the various ships, except on the few sacred days in
each year.
When the Kantoon of a ship was informed that his vessel was gradually
filling with water, and that all efforts to stop the leak or save
the hulk were fruitless, it became his grave duty to call together
the community over which he presided, and, while they sang the death
chant, to go to the realms of a future life with resignation.
This religious idea solved a great many problems in ethics that had
previously given trouble among the Sargassons. It was especially
sad to the young generation; but the children accepted their fate
with the same stolid indifference as the grown people. Of course, it
often happened that a young girl or a sturdy lad, whose vitality was
great, rebelled at the Draconian law; but, as escape was impossible,
they rarely evinced any outward signs of their rebellious spirits.
If they did, they were seized by subordinates of the ship, on the
order of the Kantoon, and with a few yards of seagrass rope were
firmly lashed to some part of the ship, or to the heaviest article
that could be found on board. They then suffered the humiliation of
having exposed their weakness. In case the vessel did not sink as
soon as was expected, the fettered prisoners were permitted to die of
starvation. There was no hope of pardon. If, by any chance, the leak
were repaired, they were tossed into the sea, bound hand and foot,
and became a prey to the sharks.
In a general way, the Kantoon, who had already taken a serious
interest in my future, explained the origin and forms of the sacred
ceremonies of his people. These will be dwelt upon in their place in
the narrative.
Finally, motioning me to rise, the Kantoon clambered out of his
official barrel of water and strode away to his cabin, without the
formality of saying good-bye. I returned to prison of my own accord,
and, the door being open, I pulled it shut.
I wished to be alone with my remorse.
I can say truthfully that, after this long conversation with the
Kantoon, I felt more unhappy, more dissatisfied with my fate than
before. I was so irrational and ill tempered that I berated all
so-called explorers of the sea, like Cook, Magellan, Sir John
Franklin, Sir Francis Drake and others, who only skimmed around the
edges of the Atlantic and never penetrated this wilderness of water
and grass, where they might have discovered something that would have
been of interest and value to the world--that, too, after Columbus
had discovered, located and named it for them!
When I thought of all the millions of treasure and the precious lives
that had been wasted in the attempted and futile explorations of the
Arctic regions, I felt that money and human life had been wantonly
thrown away.
In this wretched state of mind I remained all the rest of the day. I
have forgotten whether I was fed or not.
As darkness fell again upon the heaving meadows, I incidentally
overheard a conversation just outside my door between two members
of the ship’s company that threw me into an agony of mind. One of
the men spoke Spanish and the other French, but I readily understood
them. The purport of their conversation was that the Caribas was to
be taken by surprise that night and its officers and crew captured
and destroyed.
No possibility existed of giving warning to my faithful fellows.
The thought did suggest itself that I could possibly escape from
my prison, secure one of the boats and reach the Caribas before the
invaders. In my journeys around the ship, however, I had not seen
any signs of small craft. To avoid any possibility of escape, my
companion, Gray, had sent the Secor launch he owned to another part
of the community--I knew not where.
In vain did I attempt to release myself from my prison cell, but I
found that, in closing the door, the bolt had fallen on the outside,
securely locking me in. Loud calls for my former companion, the cause
of all my misery, and for the Kantoon himself, received no attention.
My presence on the ship was ignored, and the silence throughout the
entire vessel was ominous.
How I prayed for moonlight! I hoped that the approach of the pirates
might be detected by at least one watchful man in my ship’s company;
but the sky overhead was full of clouds, and soon became as black as
ink.
A heavy mist began to fall, and every condition seemed excellent for
a night attack on the ill-fated Caribas.