If you are chained to the oar a prisoner of war, like
Cervantes, you have the pain, but not the shame, and the friendly
compassion of mankind to reward you. Galley-slaves, indeed! What man
has not his oar to pull? There is that wonderful old stroke-oar in the
Queen's galley. How many years has he pulled? Day and night, in rough
water or smooth, with what invincible vigor and surprising gayety he
plies his arms. There is in the same Galere Capitaine, that well-known,
trim figure, the bow-oar; how he tugs, and with what a will! How both of
them have been abused in their time! Take the Lawyer's galley, and
that dauntless octogenarian in command; when has HE ever complained or
repined about his slavery? There is the Priest's galley--black and
lawn sails--do any mariners out of Thames work harder? When lawyer, and
statesman, and divine, and writer are snug in bed, there is a ring
at the poor Doctor's bell. Forth he must go, in rheumatism or snow; a
galley-slave bearing his galley-pots to quench the flames of fever, to
succor mothers and young children in their hour of peril, and, as gently
and soothingly as may be, to carry the hopeless patient over to the
silent shore. And have we not just read of the actions of the Queen's
galleys and their brave crews in the Chinese waters? Men not more worthy
of human renown and honor to-day in their victory, than last year in
their glorious hour of disaster.
Pages:
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145