And, oh, there is one other excellence of the Snark, upon which Imust brag, namely, her bow.No sea could ever come over it.It laughs at the sea, that bow does; it challenges the sea; it snorts defiance at the sea.And withal it is a beautiful bow; the lines of it are dreamlike; I doubt if ever a boat was blessed with a more beautiful and at the same time a more capable bow.It was made to punch storms.To touch that bow is to rest one's hand on the cosmic nose of things.To look at it is to realize that expense cut no figure where it was concerned.And every time our sailing was delayed, or a new expense was tacked on, we thought of that wonderful bow and were content.
The Snark is a small boat.When I figured seven thousand dollars as her generous cost, I was both generous and correct.I have built barns and houses, and I know the peculiar trait such things have of running past their estimated cost.This knowledge was mine, was already mine, when I estimated the probable cost of the building of the Snark at seven thousand dollars.Well, she cost thirty thousand.Now don't ask me, please.It is the truth.I signed the cheques and I raised the money.Of course there is no explaining it, inconceivable and monstrous is what it is, as you will agree, Iknow, ere my tale is done.
Then there was the matter of delay.I dealt with forty-seven different kinds of union men and with one hundred and fifteen different firms.And not one union man and not one firm of all the union men and all the firms ever delivered anything at the time agreed upon, nor ever was on time for anything except pay-day and bill-collection.Men pledged me their immortal souls that they would deliver a certain thing on a certain date; as a rule, after such pledging, they rarely exceeded being three months late in delivery.And so it went, and Charmian and I consoled each other by saying what a splendid boat the Snark was, so staunch and strong;also, we would get into the small boat and row around the Snark, and gloat over her unbelievably wonderful bow.
"Think," I would say to Charmian, "of a gale off the China coast, and of the Snark hove to, that splendid bow of hers driving into the storm.Not a drop will come over that bow.She'll be as dry as a feather, and we'll be all below playing whist while the gale howls."And Charmian would press my hand enthusiastically and exclaim:
"It's worth every bit of it--the delay, and expense, and worry, and all the rest.Oh, what a truly wonderful boat!"Whenever I looked at the bow of the Snark or thought of her water-tight compartments, I was encouraged.Nobody else, however, was encouraged.My friends began to make bets against the various sailing dates of the Snark.Mr.Wiget, who was left behind in charge of our Sonoma ranch was the first to cash his bet.He collected on New Year's Day, 1907.After that the bets came fast and furious.My friends surrounded me like a gang of harpies, making bets against every sailing date I set.I was rash, and I was stubborn.I bet, and I bet, and I continued to bet; and I paid them all.Why, the women-kind of my friends grew so brave that those among them who never bet before began to bet with me.And I paid them, too.
"Never mind," said Charmian to me; "just think of that bow and of being hove to on the China Seas.""You see," I said to my friends, when I paid the latest bunch of wagers, "neither trouble nor cash is being spared in making the Snark the most seaworthy craft that ever sailed out through the Golden Gate--that is what causes all the delay."In the meantime editors and publishers with whom I had contracts pestered me with demands for explanations.But how could I explain to them, when I was unable to explain to myself, or when there was nobody, not even Roscoe, to explain to me? The newspapers began to laugh at me, and to publish rhymes anent the Snark's departure with refrains like, "Not yet, but soon." And Charmian cheered me up by reminding me of the bow, and I went to a banker and borrowed five thousand more.There was one recompense for the delay, however.Afriend of mine, who happens to be a critic, wrote a roast of me, of all I had done, and of all I ever was going to do; and he planned to have it published after I was out on the ocean.I was still on shore when it came out, and he has been busy explaining ever since.
And the time continued to go by.One thing was becoming apparent, namely, that it was impossible to finish the Snark in San Francisco.
She had been so long in the building that she was beginning to break down and wear out.In fact, she had reached the stage where she was breaking down faster than she could be repaired.She had become a joke.Nobody took her seriously; least of all the men who worked on her.I said we would sail just as she was and finish building her in Honolulu.Promptly she sprang a leak that had to be attended to before we could sail.I started her for the boat-ways.Before she got to them she was caught between two huge barges and received a vigorous crushing.We got her on the ways, and, part way along, the ways spread and dropped her through, stern-first, into the mud.
It was a pretty tangle, a job for wreckers, not boat-builders.
There are two high tides every twenty-four hours, and at every high tide, night and day, for a week, there were two steam tugs pulling and hauling on the Snark.There she was, stuck, fallen between the ways and standing on her stern.Next, and while still in that predicament, we started to use the gears and castings made in the local foundry whereby power was conveyed from the engine to the windlass.It was the first time we ever tried to use that windlass.
