An engineer
by trade, Mackay believed in the unlimited perfectibility of all
machines except the human machine. The latter he gave up with
ridicule for a compound of carrion and perverse gases. He had an
appetite for disconnected facts which I can only compare to the
savage taste for beads. What is called information was indeed a
passion with the man, and he not only delighted to receive it, but
could pay you back in kind.
With all these capabilities, here was Mackay, already no longer
young, on his way to a new country, with no prospects, no money, and
but little hope. He was almost tedious in the cynical disclosures of
his despair. 'The ship may go down for me,' he would say, 'now or
to-morrow. I have nothing to lose and nothing to hope.' And again:
'I am sick of the whole damned performance.' He was, like the kind
little man, already quoted, another so-called victim of the bottle.
But Mackay was miles from publishing his weakness to the world; laid
the blame of his failure on corrupt masters and a corrupt State
policy; and after he had been one night overtaken and had played the
buffoon in his cups, sternly, though not without tact, suppressed all
reference to his escapade.
Pages:
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67