Stephen Crane produced a considerable amount of literary content – both prose and verse – in his brief lifetime. It is commonly acknowledged that Crane is often a writer used in college studies and assignments. I believe that most professors aim their intent at the “naturalist” approach that resulted – or was influenced – by Charles Darwin’s ‘On the Origin of Species’ when considering his writing. Many questions or essay assignments seem to demonstrate this assumption. But there are clues in his works that illustrate something entirely different. He may well have considered it, and as the correspondent he was, much first hand experience must have shaped his thinking.
In an effort to paint a contrary or more objective approach to his writing, his classic story ‘The Open Boat’ – considered by some as one of the finest short stories in the English language – shall be analyzed as the work of choice. The present author is not out to attack literary labels, but terms like “naturalist tradition”, “writer of realism”, etc. can be misleading. The purpose here is to look at Mr. Crane’s story as the timeless piece it is, outside any strict doctrine (such as naturalism – not through denial, but association – either in agreement or even discourse to the request that follows). To be more specific, an actual assignment posed students at a major university shall be employed: “Show how Crane attacks the benevolence of God in ‘The Open Boat'”.
Beyond the obvious mention of the story in the assignment, the Open Boat has qualities very special outside the area of mere composition. When these aspects are clarified, its selection as indicative of the truest Crane writing becomes all the more compelling. The Open Boat is based on a real life experience, and this is conveyed in the beginning of the story as a sort of subtitle that reads: ‘A Tale intended to be after the fact. Being the experience of four men from the sunk steamer “Commodore”‘. During this period of Crane’s life he spent much time working as a correspondent, and the story is narrated by the correspondent (Crane) who was one of the four men. Although Crane had previously written a purely non-fictional account (‘An Omnibus’) immediately following the harrowing experience, in a comparable sense ‘The Open Boat’ might well convey something of a more permanent and honest nature – at least when one considers themselves in a similar dilemma. Although to compare the reported version with the later story could unveil a great deal here, it would seem more expedient to stick to the “fictional” account, at least considering the initial purpose as outlined. In fact, I recommend reading both accounts, but as far as a first time reading goes, there is great risk of diminishing the strength and brilliance of the Open Boat if one were to read any reported account first. However, read them the other way ’round and the creative forces are sort of isolated – as though the author’s soul were laid bare. This is an incredible and rare opportunity, not just the two versions, but as fact reported in history in any version vs. its honest or technical rendering as a work of art. I think Stephen Crane envisioned a sort of conflict here, in terms of didacticism and the duality of the telling. It may well be for this reason and others that the reported story is mostly to do with the ship’s sinking, and the Open Boat sort of carries on from there – giving a more impressionistic telling of their efforts in the ten foot dinghy (life-boat) to get back to land.
As far as the matter of clarification as previously exemplified, there is additional prefatory information that should be mentioned before the tale itself is brought to analysis – some of which is written in the first or reported account. Please understand my motives regarding any brief reference as limited strictly to the task or initial premise as previously outlined – and I hope to use the utmost brevity here. Crane was hired as an able bodied seaman on the steamer “Commodore”. Although he is self-referential as a correspondent in the story, I believe it possible that the others thought of him as a common seaman. Crane’s dancing style of prose shows some unique clues in its characterization; mainly only one of the four in the dinghy is referred to by name, and this is the oiler (or “Billie”), the others are named in accordance with their duties or titles as relative to the ship. Besides the brilliant and unfortunate ending, it may be because Crane’s real purpose was to report as a correspondent onboard a ship (the Commodore) that was trying to deliver munitions to Cuba, and was involved in an illegal smuggling expedition known as “filibustering”, and Mr. Crane was sort of incognito on the ship. As a matter of speculation, I’m uncertain when the others became aware of his true identity or actual job title (being hired as a seaman). There is also a sort of importance in his comparative reference to the group – I believe his role or “rank” is implicitly relayed as the lowest – but his honesty in the story indicates little difference.
The story begins with the surrounding hopelessness and chaos of such a situation – of four men in a dinghy – that is constantly on the brink of capsizing (“swamping”), and the sea – the mighty drunken sea offers the occupants little hope. If god is but its surveyor and controls the currents of the seven seas, there seems at best indifference – a flat indifference. Eventually, there is time to think beyond the immediate precariousness of the situation, and the correspondent (Crane) as narrator describes his impression of the hurt captain. Here I wish to emphasize the assignment: “Show how Crane attacks the benevolence of God in ‘The Open Boat'”. I think most will agree that malevolence – if not an uncaring indifference of God – is presumed here. There isn’t a question as to whether the author attacked the benevolence, but how was this done. Here is an assumption of Naturalism, where someone born or thrown into a desperate circumstance must rely solely upon themselves to survive, and in a dinghy smaller than many a “bathtub” as Crane says, the forces are man against nature (the natural forces of God) – or so it would seem.
Now I shall answer the question (assignment) as if it were offered in a classroom where there is a time limit to such an answer: First, at a tremendous risk I have to disqualify the question (perhaps validity is the intent, but doubtful). If there isn’t an “attack” on benevolence, then we can still stick to the initial idea – although marginally – through a denial of the assignment’s premise without ignoring the subject matter; and here the theme is relative to benevolence and the natural forces of nature, but as a matter of support rather than an attack. The captain is referred to by various descriptions, but never by name. There is something remarkable in the correspondent’s rendering of the story, and in this he becomes self-analytical – a reproach that seems anything but blameful of the forces of nature. The first indication is subtle and perhaps coincidental: after the cook and Crane exchange words that seem to show their disagreement regarding the difference between a house of refuge, and life-saving station, the cook mentions how lucky they are to have an “onshore wind”, and this is promptly acknowledged by all (except the captain) as they “wouldn’t have a show” otherwise. This is the first natural force that is regarded in their favor, and is essential to the story. So the wind is in the direction of the land, and is mentioned in the story.
As the story unfolds much irony becomes evident, and I think it best not to confuse irony with ill-intent or malevolence as naturally present. Everything seems to be absolutely precarious, and I feel this is easy to assume as something inherently hostile; but really, is this a lack of benevolence, or is it indifference – a flat indifference, or not? They do make it to their first intended destination, but the person or persons on the shore that notice them and acknowledge this, either don’t care or believe(s) they’re simply out boating. It is then that they are forced to take the dinghy out to sea again, because the surf is too treacherous for a landing attempt without help. Through the night they fight to keep the dinghy (really too small for its purpose) from capsizing.
Crane describes his impression(s) of the natural forces of the sea as “indifferent”, but as you might agree there is something more than this. His wonderful reference to the poem “A Soldier of the Legion Lay Dying in Algiers”, and a new profound understanding show the wisdom gained (as he later says “in this new ignorance of the grave-edge”) being consequent to a distinction between right and wrong that is “absurdly clear” to him, then. Here, again we see the reproach as previously alluded to. The final circumstances of this story need clarification.
As becomes apparent: the oiler (Billy Higgins) works the hardest, and is the “wily oarsman”, and Crane makes sure to tell us near the beginning that “the oiler had worked a ‘double-watch’ in the engine-room of the ship before the foundering”, and it is clearly he who is expending most of the energy before they deliberately abandon the dinghy to swim to shore. And it is he, with certain sacrificial wisdom evident throughout, who meets the “sinister hospitality of the grave”. This is really mentioned after the correspondent writes: “the welcome from the land…” The men took to the sea despite its inhospitable nature, and it is men who sank the ship, and it is men – albeit different men – who must find the land. And men, not the sea failed them the first time they found it. At one point, in reference to men, and his cynicism regarding them, the author elaborates that the boat and comrades, are part “of the best experience of his life”.
As Crane swims: he “remained in the grip of this strange new enemy-a current. The shore, with its white slope of sand and its green bluff, topped with little silent cottages, was spread like a picture before him. He thought: ‘I am going to drown? Can it be possible Can it be possible? Can it be possible?’ Perhaps an individual must consider his own death to be the final phenomenon of nature. But later a wave perhaps whirled him out of this small, deadly current, for he found suddenly that he could again make progress toward the shore. Later still, he was aware that the captain, clinging with one hand to the keel of the dinghy, had his face turned away from the shore and toward him, and was calling his name. ‘Come to the boat! Come to the boat!'”
“In his struggle to reach the captain and the boat, he reflected that when one gets properly wearied, drowning must really be a comfortable arrangement, a cessation of hostilities accompanied by a large degree of relief, and he was glad of it, for the main thing in his mind for some months had been horror of the temporary agony. He did not wish to be hurt.” But here he writes: “a large wave caught him and flung him with ease and supreme speed completely over the boat and far beyond it. It struck him even then as an event in gymnastics, and a true miracle of the sea.” This is written near the end – after he had endured so much, and was obviously near drowned – and quite rightly illustrates the presence and belief of the forces of benevolence as naturally present So after all the hardship against it, the sea acted – if only briefly – as a saving force and was a true miracle..
It must have been incredibly difficult for Stephen Crane to render such first-hand experience, but he never forgot that the uncertain tides of the sea did not invite him – he took to the ocean, despite its unfriendly nature. So great is my respect for Mr. Crane, that a story I have worked on for over 3 years already bears his name, for it is dedicated to him. Open was his gaze into the stars, but he never lost sight of the ground below his feet and the depths of the tumultuous currents – or the plight of those who faced their hardships.
Interestingly, Crane worked out this poem (‘To the Maiden’) about 9 or 10 months BEFORE the sinking of the “Commodore” and the eventual ‘The Open Boat’. Here, you have the lure of the sea, and the horrible experience that follows. Even with his prediction (“The grim hatred of nature”) an insight prepared him, and he relayed his version of “the sailor wrecked” with pure unlabeled honesty.
To the maiden,
The sea was blue meadow,
Alive with little froth-people
Singing.
To the sailor wrecked,
The sea was dead grey walls
Superlative in vacancy
Upon which nevertheless at fateful time
Was written
The grim hatred of nature.
