ng
whistle, sinking to a musical trickle of air from the leech of the
bellying sail? All these sounds the spellbound listener seemed to hear,
and with them the hungry complaint of the gulls and the sea-mews, the
soft thunder of the breaking wave, the cry of the protesting shingle.
Back into speech again it passed, and with beating heart he was following
the adventures of a dozen seaports, the fights, the escapes, the rallies,
the comradeships, the gallant undertakings; or he searched islands for
treasure, fished in still lagoons and dozed day-long on warm white sand.
Of deep-sea fishings he heard tell, and mighty silver gatherings of the
mile-long net; of sudden perils, noise of breakers on a moonless night,
or the tall bows of the great liner taking shape overhead through the
fog; of the merry home-coming, the headland rounded, the harbour lights
opened out; the groups seen dimly on the quay, the cheery hail, the
splash of the hawser; the trudge up the steep little street towards the
comforting glow of red-curtained windows.

Lastly, in his waking dream it seemed to him that the Adventurer had
risen to his feet, but was still speaking, still holding him fast with
his sea-grey eyes.

"And now," he was softly saying, "I take to the road again, holding on
southwestwards for many a long and dusty day; till at last I reach the
little grey sea town I know so well, that clings along one steep side
of the harbour. There through dark doorways you look down flights of
stone steps, overhung by great pink tufts of valerian and ending in a
patch of sparkling blue water. The little boats that lie tethered to
the rings and stanchions of the old sea-wall are gaily painted as
those I clambered in and out of in my own childhood; the salmon leap
on the flood tide, schools of mackerel flash and play past quay-sides
and foreshores, and by the windows the great vessels glide, night and
day, up to their moorings or forth to the open sea. There, sooner or
later, the ships of all seafaring nations arrive; and there, at its
destined hour, the ship of my choice will let go its anchor. I shall
take my time, I shall tarry and bide, till at last the right one lies
waiting for me, warped out into mid-stream, loaded low, her bowsprit
pointing down harbour. I shall slip on board, by boat or along hawser;
and then one morning I shall wake to the song and tramp of the
sailors, the clink of the capstan, and the rattle of the anchor-chain
coming merrily