Essays; Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894 -- Travel
To such of the officers as knew about me—the doctor, the purser, and the
stewards—I appeared in the light of a broad joke. The fact that I spent
the better part of my day in writing had gone abroad over the ship and
tickled them all prodigiously. Whenever they met me they referred to my
absurd occupation with familiarity and breadth of humorous intention.
Their manner was well calculated to remind me of my fallen fortunes. You
may be sincerely amused by the amateur literary efforts of a gentleman,
but you scarce publish the feeling to his face. ‘Well!’ they would say:
‘still writing?’ And the smile would widen into a laugh. The purser
came one day into the cabin, and, touched to the heart by my misguided
industry, offered me some other kind of writing, ‘for which,’ he added
pointedly, ‘you will be paid.’ This was nothing else than to copy out
the list of passengers.
Another trick of mine which told against my reputation was my choice of
roosting-place in an active draught upon the cabin floor. I was openly
jeered and flouted for this eccentricity; and a considerable knot would
sometimes gather at the door to see my last dispositions for the night.
This was embarrassing, but I learned to support the trial with
equanimity.
Indeed I may say that, upon the whole, my new position sat lightly and
naturally upon my spirits. I accepted the consequences with readiness,
and found them far from difficult to bear. The steerage conquered me; I
conformed more and more to the type of the place, not only in manner but
at heart, growing hostile to the officers and cabin passengers who looked
down upon me, and day by day greedier for small delicacies. Such was the
result, as I fancy, of a diet of bread and butter, soup and porridge. We
think we have no sweet tooth as long as we are full to the brim of
molasses; but a man must have sojourned in the workhouse before he boasts
himself indifferent to dainties. Every evening, for instance, I was more
and more preoccupied about our doubtful fare at tea. If it was delicate
my heart was much lightened; if it was but broken fish I was
proportionally downcast. The offer of a little jelly from a
fellow-passenger more provident than myself caused a marked elevation in
my spirits. And I would have gone to the ship’s end and back again for
an oyster or a chipped fruit.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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