Mardi, and a voyage thither, Vol. 1 (of 2)Melville, Herman
PhilosophyPhilosophy
Mardi, and a voyage thither, Vol. 1 (of 2)
Melville, Herman
Adventure stories; Polynesia -- Description and travel -- Fiction
In the forecastle reigned similar confusion. But there was a snug
little lair, cleared away in one corner, and furnished with a grass mat
and bolster, like those used among the Islanders of these seas. This
little lair looked to us as if some leopard had crouched there. And as
it turned out, we were not far from right. Forming one side of this
retreat, was a sailor’s chest, stoutly secured by a lock, and monstrous
heavy withal. Regardless of Jarl’s entreaties, I managed to burst the
lid; thereby revealing a motley assemblage of millinery, and outlandish
knick-knacks of all sorts; together with sundry rude Calico
contrivances, which though of unaccountable cut, nevertheless possessed
a certain petticoatish air, and latitude of skirt, betokening them the
habiliments of some feminine creature; most probably of the human
species.
In this strong box, also, was a canvas bag, jingling with rusty old
bell-buttons, gangrened copper bolts, and sheathing nails; damp,
greenish Carolus dollars (true coin all), besides divers iron screws,
and battered, chisels, and belaying-pins. Sounded on the chest lid, the
dollars rang clear as convent bells. These were put aside by Jarl the
sight of substantial dollars doing away, for the nonce, with his
superstitious Misgivings. True to his kingship, he loved true coin;
though abroad on the sea, and no land but dollarless dominions ground,
all this silver was worthless as charcoal or diamonds. Nearly one and
the same thing, say the chemists; but tell that to the marines, say the
illiterate Jews and the jewelers. Go, buy a house, or a ship, if you
can, with your charcoal! Yea, all the woods in Canada charred down to
cinders would not be worth the one famed Brazilian diamond, though no
bigger than the egg of a carrier pigeon. Ah! but these chemists are
liars, and Sir Humphrey Davy a cheat. Many’s the poor devil they’ve
deluded into the charcoal business, who otherwise might have made his
fortune with a mattock.
Groping again into the chest, we brought to light a queer little hair
trunk, very bald and rickety. At every corner was a mighty clamp, the
weight of which had no doubt debilitated the box. It was jealously
secured with a padlock, almost as big as itself; so that it was almost
a question, which was meant to be security to the other. Prying at it
hard, we at length effected an entrance; but saw no golden moidores, no
ruddy doubloons; nothing under heaven but three pewter mugs, such as
are used in a ship’s cabin, several brass screws, and brass plates,
which must have belonged to a quadrant; together with a famous lot of
glass beads, and brass rings; while, pasted on the inside of the cover,
was a little colored print, representing the harlots, the shameless
hussies, having a fine time with the Prodigal Son.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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