The man dodged and ducked,and Victor broke all the knuckles of both his fists against the huge links of the anchor chain.By the time we dragged him out of that,his madness had shifted to the belief that he was a great swimmer,and the next moment he was overboard and demonstrating his ability by floundering like a sick porpoise and swallowing much salt water.
We rescued him,and by the time we got him below,undressed,and into his bunk,we were wrecks ourselves.But Axel and I wanted to see more of shore,and away we went,leaving Victor snoring.It was curious,the judgment passed on Victor by his shipmates,drinkers themselves.They shook their heads disapprovingly and muttered:"A man like that oughtn't to drink."Now Victor was the smartest sailor and best-tempered shipmate in the forecastle.He was an all-round splendid type of seaman;his mates recognised his worth,and respected him and liked him.Yet John Barleycorn metamorphosed him into a violent lunatic.And that was the very point these drinkers made.They knew that drink--and drink with a sailor is always excessive--made them mad,but only mildly mad.
Violent madness was objectionable because it spoiled the fun of others and often culminated in tragedy.From their standpoint,mild madness was all right.But from the standpoint of the whole human race,is not all madness objectionable?And is there a greater maker of madness of all sorts than John Barleycorn?
But to return.Ashore,snugly ensconced in a Japanese house of entertainment,Axel and I compared bruises,and over a comfortable drink talked of the afternoon's happenings.We liked the quietness of that drink and took another.A shipmate dropped in,several shipmates dropped in,and we had more quiet drinks.
Finally,just as we had engaged a Japanese orchestra,and as the first strains of the samisens and taikos were rising,through the paper-walls came a wild howl from the street.We recognised it.
Still howling,disdaining doorways,with blood-shot eyes and wildly waving muscular arms,Victor burst upon us through the fragile walls.The old amuck rage was on him,and he wanted blood,anybody's blood.The orchestra fled;so did we.We went through doorways,and we went through paper-walls--anything to get away.
And after the place was half wrecked,and we had agreed to pay the damage,leaving Victor partly subdued and showing symptoms of lapsing into a comatose state,Axel and I wandered away in quest of a quieter drinking-place.The main street was a madness.
Hundreds of sailors rollicked up and down.Because the chief of police with his small force was helpless,the governor of the colony had issued orders to the captains to have all their men on board by sunset.
What!To be treated in such fashion!As the news spread among the schooners,they were emptied.Everybody came ashore.Men who had had no intention of coming ashore climbed into the boats.The unfortunate governor's ukase had precipitated a general debauch for all hands.It was hours after sunset,and the men wanted to see anybody try to put them on board.They went around inviting the authorities to try to put them on board.In front of the governor's house they were gathered thickest,bawling sea-songs,circulating square faces,and dancing uproarious Virginia reels and old-country dances.The police,including the reserves,stood in little forlorn groups,waiting for the command the governor was too wise to issue.And I thought this saturnalia was great.It was like the old days of the Spanish Main come back.It was license;it was adventure.And I was part of it,a chesty sea-rover along with all these other chesty sea-rovers among the paper houses of Japan.
