Chapter 10

by Herman Melville

　　IN THE CABIN.Stools, settees, sofas, divans, ottomans; occupying them are clusters ofmen, old and young, wise and simple; in their hands are cards spottedwith diamonds, spades, clubs, hearts; the favorite games are whist,cribbage, and brag. Lounging in arm-chairs or sauntering among themarble-topped tables, amused with the scene, are the comparatively few,who, instead of having hands in the games, for the most part keep theirhands in their pockets. These may be the philosophes. But here andthere, with a curious expression, one is reading a small sort ofhandbill of anonymous poetry, rather wordily entitled:-- "ODE ON THE INTIMATIONS OF DISTRUST IN MAN, UNWILLINGLY INFERRED FROM REPEATED REPULSES, IN DISINTERESTED ENDEAVORS TO PROCURE HIS CONFIDENCE." On the floor are many copies, looking as if fluttered down from aballoon. The way they came there was this: A somewhat elderly person, inthe quaker dress, had quietly passed through the cabin, and, much inthe manner of those railway book-peddlers who precede their proffers ofsale by a distribution of puffs, direct or indirect, of the volumes tofollow, had, without speaking, handed about the odes, which, for themost part, after a cursory glance, had been disrespectfully tossedaside, as no doubt, the moonstruck production of some wanderingrhapsodist.In due time, book under arm, in trips the ruddy man with thetraveling-cap, who, lightly moving to and fro, looks animatedly abouthim, with a yearning sort of gratulatory affinity and longing,expressive of the very soul of sociality; as much as to say, "Oh, boys,would that I were personally acquainted with each mother's son of you,since what a sweet world, to make sweet acquaintance in, is ours, mybrothers; yea, and what dear, happy dogs are we all!"And just as if he had really warbled it forth, he makes fraternally upto one lounging stranger or another, exchanging with him some pleasantremark."Pray, what have you there?" he asked of one newly accosted, a little,dried-up man, who looked as if he never dined."A little ode, rather queer, too," was the reply, "of the same sort yousee strewn on the floor here.""I did not observe them. Let me see;" picking one up and looking itover. "Well now, this is pretty; plaintive, especially the opening:-- 'Alas for man, he hath small sense Of genial trust and confidence.' --If it be so, alas for him, indeed. Runs off very smoothly, sir.Beautiful pathos. But do you think the sentiment just?""As to that," said the little dried-up man, "I think it a kind of queerthing altogether, and yet I am almost ashamed to add, it really has setme to thinking; yes and to feeling. Just now, somehow, I feel as it weretrustful and genial. I don't know that ever I felt so much so before. Iam naturally numb in my sensibilities; but this ode, in its way, workson my numbness not unlike a sermon, which, by lamenting over my lyingdead in trespasses and sins, thereby stirs me up to be all alive inwell-doing.""Glad to hear it, and hope you will do well, as the doctors say. But whosnowed the odes about here?""I cannot say; I have not been here long.""Wasn't an angel, was it? Come, you say you feel genial, let us do asthe rest, and have cards.""Thank you, I never play cards.""A bottle of wine?""Thank you, I never drink wine.""Cigars?""Thank you, I never smoke cigars.""Tell stories?""To speak truly, I hardly think I know one worth telling.""Seems to me, then, this geniality you say you feel waked in you, is aswater-power in a land without mills. Come, you had better take a genialhand at the cards. To begin, we will play for as small a sum as youplease; just enough to make it interesting.""Indeed, you must excuse me. Somehow I distrust cards.""What, distrust cards? Genial cards? Then for once I join with our sadPhilomel here:-- 'Alas for man, he hath small sense Of genial trust and confidence.' Good-bye!"Sauntering and chatting here and there, again, he with the book atlength seems fatigued, looks round for a seat, and spying apartly-vacant settee drawn up against the side, drops down there; soon,like his chance neighbor, who happens to be the good merchant, becomingnot a little interested in the scene more immediately before him; aparty at whist; two cream-faced, giddy, unpolished youths, the one in ared cravat, the other in a green, opposed to two bland, grave, handsome,self-possessed men of middle age, decorously dressed in a sort ofprofessional black, and apparently doctors of some eminence in the civillaw.By-and-by, after a preliminary scanning of the new comer next him thegood merchant, sideways leaning over, whispers behind a crumpled copy ofthe Ode which he holds: "Sir, I don't like the looks of those two, doyou?""Hardly," was the whispered reply; "those colored cravats are not in thebest taste, at least not to mine; but my taste is no rule for all.""You mistake; I mean the other two, and I don't refer to dress, butcountenance. I confess I am not familiar with such gentry any furtherthan reading about them in the papers--but those two are--are sharpers,aint they?""Far be from us the captious and fault-finding spirit, my dear sir.""Indeed, sir, I would not find fault; I am little given that way: butcertainly, to say the least, these two youths can hardly be adepts,while the opposed couple may be even more.""You would not hint that the colored cravats would be so bungling as tolose, and the dark cravats so dextrous as to cheat?--Sour imaginations,my dear sir. Dismiss them. To little purpose have you read the Ode youhave there. Years and experience, I trust, have not sophisticated you. Afresh and liberal construction would teach us to regard those fourplayers--indeed, this whole cabin-full of players--as playing at gamesin which every player plays fair, and not a player but shall win.""Now, you hardly mean that; because games in which all may win, suchgames remain as yet in this world uninvented, I think.""Come, come," luxuriously laying himself back, and casting a free glanceupon the players, "fares all paid; digestion sound; care, toil, penury,grief, unknown; lounging on this sofa, with waistband relaxed, why notbe cheerfully resigned to one's fate, nor peevishly pick holes in theblessed fate of the world?"Upon this, the good merchant, after staring long and hard, and thenrubbing his forehead, fell into meditation, at first uneasy, but at lastcomposed, and in the end, once more addressed his companion: "Well, Isee it's good to out with one's private thoughts now and then. Somehow,I don't know why, a certain misty suspiciousness seems inseparable frommost of one's private notions about some men and some things; but onceout with these misty notions, and their mere contact with other men'ssoon dissipates, or, at least, modifies them.""You think I have done you good, then? may be, I have. But don'tthank me, don't thank me. If by words, casually delivered in thesocial hour, I do any good to right or left, it is but involuntaryinfluence--locust-tree sweetening the herbage under it; no merit atall; mere wholesome accident, of a wholesome nature.--Don't you see?"Another stare from the good merchant, and both were silent again.Finding his book, hitherto resting on his lap, rather irksome there, theowner now places it edgewise on the settee, between himself andneighbor; in so doing, chancing to expose the lettering on theback--"Black Rapids Coal Company"--which the good merchant,scrupulously honorable, had much ado to avoid reading, so directly wouldit have fallen under his eye, had he not conscientiously averted it. Ona sudden, as if just reminded of something, the stranger starts up, andmoves away, in his haste leaving his book; which the merchant observing,without delay takes it up, and, hurrying after, civilly returns it; inwhich act he could not avoid catching sight by an involuntary glance ofpart of the lettering."Thank you, thank you, my good sir," said the other, receiving thevolume, and was resuming his retreat, when the merchant spoke: "Excuseme, but are you not in some way connected with the--the Coal Company Ihave heard of?""There is more than one Coal Company that may be heard of, my good sir,"smiled the other, pausing with an expression of painful impatience,disinterestedly mastered."But you are connected with one in particular.--The 'Black Rapids,' areyou not?""How did you find that out?""Well, sir, I have heard rather tempting information of your Company.""Who is your informant, pray," somewhat coldly."A--a person by the name of Ringman.""Don't know him. But, doubtless, there are plenty who know our Company,whom our Company does not know; in the same way that one may know anindividual, yet be unknown to him.--Known this Ringman long? Old friend,I suppose.--But pardon, I must leave you.""Stay, sir, that--that stock.""Stock?""Yes, it's a little irregular, perhaps, but----""Dear me, you don't think of doing any business with me, do you? In myofficial capacity I have not been authenticated to you. Thistransfer-book, now," holding it up so as to bring the lettering insight, "how do you know that it may not be a bogus one? And I, beingpersonally a stranger to you, how can you have confidence in me?""Because," knowingly smiled the good merchant, "if you were other than Ihave confidence that you are, hardly would you challenge distrust thatway.""But you have not examined my book.""What need to, if already I believe that it is what it is lettered tobe?""But you had better. It might suggest doubts.""Doubts, may be, it might suggest, but not knowledge; for how, byexamining the book, should I think I knew any more than I now think Ido; since, if it be the true book, I think it so already; and since ifit be otherwise, then I have never seen the true one, and don't knowwhat that ought to look like.""Your logic I will not criticize, but your confidence I admire, andearnestly, too, jocose as was the method I took to draw it out. Enough,we will go to yonder table, and if there be any business which, eitherin my private or official capacity, I can help you do, pray commandme."