Hard Work, Perseverance, and Success Theme Analysis

Ben yawned, stretched, and led the way through the shop to where huge coils of rope were stashed. He leaned against a barrel. “Nat Bowditch, eh? I’ve heard of you. Master Watson’s brightest student you were.” He shook his head dolefully. “And now you’re becalmed. Just like I was at your age. Wouldn’t think to look at me I was bright as a dollar once, would you? But I was. Wanted to make something of myself. But I didn’t have a chance. Taken out of school, I was. Just like you. When I look at you, I can see myself as I was thirty—forty years agon. Becalmed I was. Just like you.”

Behind Nat a deep voice rumbled, “Avast there, Ben Meeker! Stow that gab about being becalmed! […] Only a weakling gives up when he’s becalmed. A strong man sails by ash breeze!”

Back in his own room, Nat stared at the Latin books. Could he do it? Well, he could try! One thing, he thought, if he ever got a chance to go to Harvard, he’d need to know Latin. Just now a chance to go to Harvard seemed farther away than ever. But, he told himself, you never could tell what might happen. If the chance came, he’d be ready.

By the next summer, he had learned enough Latin to begin to translate the Principia. It seemed to him that he lived in two worlds now. One was the world of the chandlery, where he kept books and sold marlinespikes, belaying pins, and hemp rope. The other was the world of the universe, where he translated Newton’s Principia—a word at a time, until he had read another sentence. Sometimes he spent a whole evening working on two or three sentences.

“I—I’m dumb. About book learning, I mean. Do you think you could teach me anything without—bawling me out?”

“Yes. But I couldn’t teach you much as long as you bawled yourself out.”

“Huh…sir?”

“I mean—suppose you made a little mistake—or didn’t understand something right away. If you wasted my time cursing and yelling ‘I can’t get that! What’s the use?’ then I couldn’t teach you.”

“But—but—” For a long time Lem was silent. Then he chuckled. “Mr. Bowditch, sir, heaven help you, but you’ve got yourself a job.”

They shook hands on it.

Now, when Nat taught the rest of the crew, Lem stood listening […]. At first it was slow work. In spite of everything, Lem’s anger would blaze at himself and he would storm and rage. […But finally] Lem settled down, and he learned so fast that he surprised even Nat.

From Salem, eh? Three cheers! You’re the first Salem ship ever to enter Manila Harbor. How was it around the Horn?”

Prince said, “We came by the Cape and Sunda Strait. The Cape’s not so bad—but I can’t recommend Sunda Strait. We’ve spent ten days getting through it—from the eight to the seventeenth of September.”

“You came from Sunda Strait since the seventeenth? In fifteen days?” Riddle asked. “Man alive, that’s navigation!”

Captain Prince shrugged. “Not when you’re sure of your longitude. Just a simple matter of mathematics. You…” He stopped, and glared at Nat.

Zack Selby sneered. “You’d think he was running a whole fleet of ships, single-handed, to hear her take on.”

Sour grapes, Nat thought. Zack’s still before the mast, and he’s ten years older than Lem. He said, “I’m glad for Lem, Amanda, but I didn’t do it for him. He did it for himself. He worked and studied harder than any man in the crew.”

“That’s just it, sir!” Amanda said. “Nobody else ever got him to stick his nose in a book!”

Zack sneered again. “Books! Salem men have come to a pretty pass when they have to sail by books! Time was they could double the Horn with nothing but log, lead, and lookout.”

“That’s right, Nat agreed. “They doubled the Horn. And sometimes they got home again. But what about all the ships that don’t come home? If ‘sailing by book’ makes men a little safer, what’s wrong with it?”

“Good for you, Charlie,” Nat said, “you have that French accent, all right. You won’t miss them if they come prowling around, will you?”

Charlie smiled, and bent his head to wipe his wrist over one cheek. In the moonlight, Nat could see the youngster’s tearstained face. Poor tad, he was homesick.

“Charlie, I wonder if you could do something for me?”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“I’m working on a problem in navigation. I’d like to explain it to you. If I can make you understand, I’ll know I’ve got it.”

“Aye, aye, sir! Anything to help!”

They walked the deck while Nat explained. Charlie was quick. He got the explanation much faster than grown men generally did.

“Thank you, Charlie. That’s helped.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bowditch, sir. You don’t know, but you’ve helped me, too!”

Now the meaning of the strange sailing time dawned on the crew. Nat looked at Mr. Cheevers and saw anger, amusement, and respect in his eyes. But the faces of the men before the mast were frightening to watch. Not two of the lot, Nat figured, had had the slightest intention of sailing on the Astrea. They had doubtless heard of the clever desertion of the other crew. They’d planned the same stunt, signed on for a square meal and a month’s pay. Now they faced months at sea—the terrors of the Cape—the grilling passage through the Sunda Strait—a layover in Batavia—where men died like flies.

Their baffled rage was naked on their faces.

Lem growled. “When did you last shoot the sun?”

“About three days ago.”

Lem gulped. “Three days? Seventy-two hours? And since then?”

“It’s simple mathematics, Lem. At such a speed, in so many hours, you log so many miles in a given direction. It’s—”

“Yeah,” Lem growled. “Seventy-two hours through the Roaring Forties. Seventy-two hours by dead reckoning, and then you enter Salem Harbor. Why, you…[…]” He slumped in a chair and stared at Nat.

Nat winked at Polly. “Have you any idea what’s the matter with him?”

Polly’s eyes danced. “He just doesn’t understand about you and mathematics, dear. Two plus two is four. It comes out right, doesn’t it?”

[Polly] looked at Nat with glowing eyes. “It’s really you! Captain Bowditch, F.A.A. and A.M., I’m very proud of you!” She blinked back sudden tears. “Oh, Nat, it’s been so long!”

Nat’s arm tightened around her. Somewhere out of the past a voice whispered, “A long time to sail by ash breeze.”

“Was it awfully hard?” Polly asked.

“Not too bad, Nat told her. “Rough weather sometimes. But I’ll say this for it—I was never becalmed!”