Across the Plains, with Other Memories and EssaysStevenson, Robert Louis
General
Across the Plains, with Other Memories and Essays
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Essays; Monterey (Calif.) -- Description and travel; West (U.S.) -- Description and travel
That two men should handle a stone so heavy, even swinging in the
scissors, may appear strange to the inexpert. These must bear in mind
the great density of the water of the sea, and the surprising results of
transplantation to that medium. To understand a little what these are,
and how a man’s weight, so far from being an encumbrance, is the very
ground of his agility, was the chief lesson of my submarine experience.
The knowledge came upon me by degrees. As I began to go forward with the
hand of my estranged companion, a world of tumbled stones was visible,
pillared with the weedy uprights of the staging: overhead, a flat roof of
green: a little in front, the sea-wall, like an unfinished rampart. And
presently in our upward progress, Bob motioned me to leap upon a stone; I
looked to see if he were possibly in earnest, and he only signed to me
the more imperiously. Now the block stood six feet high; it would have
been quite a leap to me unencumbered; with the breast and back weights,
and the twenty pounds upon each foot, and the staggering load of the
helmet, the thing was out of reason. I laughed aloud in my tomb; and to
prove to Bob how far he was astray, I gave a little impulse from my toes.
Up I soared like a bird, my companion soaring at my side. As high as to
the stone, and then higher, I pursued my impotent and empty flight. Even
when the strong arm of Bob had checked my shoulders, my heels continued
their ascent; so that I blew out sideways like an autumn leaf, and must
be hauled in, hand over hand, as sailors haul in the slack of a sail, and
propped upon my feet again like an intoxicated sparrow. Yet a little
higher on the foundation, and we began to be affected by the bottom of
the swell, running there like a strong breeze of wind. Or so I must
suppose; for, safe in my cushion of air, I was conscious of no impact;
only swayed idly like a weed, and was now borne helplessly abroad, and
now swiftly—and yet with dream-like gentleness—impelled against my guide.
So does a child’s balloon divagate upon the currents of the air, and
touch, and slide off again from every obstacle. So must have
ineffectually swung, so resented their inefficiency, those light crowds
that followed the Star of Hades, and uttered exiguous voices in the land
beyond Cocytus.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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