The Growth and Development of America 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.

There was another world, too—the world of Salem. Every time Nat went on an errand he realized how Salem was growing. The men of Salem were proud of their town. Their “city,” they called it now. Here it was—only 1790—not even ten years since we’d won our independence—and Salem had doubled in size! Eight thousand people now! The people bragged of the growth of Salem, and of the daring of her sailors. Elias Hasket Derby’s ships were going farther and farther from their home port. As Nat shouldered his way through the crowded wharves he heard talk of Russia and France and Spain, of Bombay and Calcutta.

“Do you suppose Father has them already?”

[…] “Of course! […].” Then he apologized quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bark at you.”

“I know. I’m just like a chair you stumble over in the dark,” Elizabeth said. “It isn’t the chair’s fault, but you kick it anyhow.”

Nat blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Your brain. It’s too fast. So you stumble on other people’s dumbness. And—you want to kick something.”

Nat felt his face get hot. “But I shouldn’t.”

Elizabeth agreed. “No, you shouldn’t, because even if people are dumb, they aren’t chairs, are they? They do have feelings.”

“Lizza was right,” Nat said, “You do have eyes in the back of your heart. Come on over here and I'll show you how your father uses parallel rulers.” He smiled. “And you may ask all the questions you want to, and I promise not to bark.”

Dr. Bentley shook his head. “No, Nat. We can’t have freedom—unless we have freedom.”

Nat stiffened. “Does that mean the right to tell lies?”

Dr. Bentley smiled. “It means the right to have our own opinions. Human problems aren’t like mathematics, Nat. Every problem doesn’t have just one answer; sometimes you get several answers—and you don’t know which is the right one.”

Nat felt his face get hot. “But people don’t have the right to talk against the president, do they? That’s going too far!”

“Years ago,” De. Bentley said, “before we won our independence, the Essex Almanac published something about freedom of the press. It was true then; it’s just as true now [and …] went something like this: […] If we argue against any branch of liberty, just because sometimes people abuse that liberty, then we argue against liberty itself. In a free country, the press must be free.”

“When you’re off soundings, you’re on your own. I’ve given you suggestions for trading when you reach Bourbon. But when you get there, you may find my suggestions aren’t worth the paper they’re written on. You’ll use your own judgment. There are only two things I expressly forbid. You’ll never break a law in any port you enter. And you’ll never—never enter into slave trade.” He leaned forward, gripping the arms of his chair. “I’d rather lose any ship I own than to have it become a slaver! There is no excuse I’d accept. Even if a slaver attacked you, overpowered you, and forced you to carry a cargo of slaves—even that would be no excuse! You’d go down fighting—but you wouldn’t turn a Derby ship into a slaver!”

Before Nat realized what he was doing, he clapped his hands […].

Why, [Nat] wondered, had he ever wanted to come to sea? Why did any man choose this life?

It was all right maybe for a man who became a captain—but what about men like Keeler and Jensen—who spent their lives before the fo’c’sle? Why would they live like this for salt beef, hardtack, and twelve dollars a month?

The sixth night, just before midnight, Nat went on deck for his watch. The storm had ended; the sky was glittered with stars.

Nat was silent for a moment. “Maybe, sir, it’s because I want to pay a debt I owe to the men who helped me; men like Sam Smith and Dr. Bentley and Dr. Prince and Nathan Read. Maybe that’s why. Or maybe it’s just because of the men. We have good men before the mast, Captain Prince. Every man of them could be a first mate—if he knew navigation.”

Captain Prince muttered something under his breath. “An odd business!” he said. “But I’ve never had less trouble with a crew. Carry on, Mr. Bowditch!”

[…] Someone tapped on the door, and Monsieur Bonnefoy entered, smiling. “I have a confession to make […]. I was eavesdropping through the skylight […]. Monsieur Bowditch—he has the magnificent spirit! It is worthy of the French Revolution! Liberty! Equality! Fraternity!”

“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.

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.

“He speaks for a lot of men, Polly. I’m not saying that there are many as mean-spirited as he is—thank heaven. But there are hundreds—thousands—who don’t believe in ‘book sailing.’ You know, seafaring is a lot like medicine. On the one hand—superstition and old wives’ tales; on the other hand—the scientist, trying to solve puzzles and find the answers. And all through the ages men have believed the superstitions and doubted the scientist. Natural, I suppose. You believe what you grow up believing. It’s hard to change.”

“You can’t remember, Polly, when we first started inoculating for smallpox.” He shook his head. “Wonder to me I wasn’t lynched. Inoculation was risky—but not as bad as the epidemics of the smallpox. Then vaccination came along. It was safer, but people raised almost as much fuss.”

[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!”