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"
That
is
indeed
an
excellent
suggestion
,
"
said
the
Water
Rat
,
and
hurried
off
home
.
There
he
got
out
the
luncheon-basket
and
packed
a
simple
meal
,
in
which
,
remembering
the
stranger
's
origin
and
preferences
,
he
took
care
to
include
a
yard
of
long
French
bread
,
a
sausage
out
of
which
the
garlic
sang
,
some
cheese
which
lay
down
and
cried
,
and
a
long-necked
straw-covered
flask
wherein
lay
bottled
sunshine
shed
and
garnered
on
far
Southern
slopes
.
Thus
laden
,
he
returned
with
all
speed
,
and
blushed
for
pleasure
at
the
old
seaman
's
commendations
of
his
taste
and
judgment
,
as
together
they
unpacked
the
basket
and
laid
out
the
contents
on
the
grass
by
the
roadside
.
The
Sea
Rat
,
as
soon
as
his
hunger
was
somewhat
assuaged
,
continued
the
history
of
his
latest
voyage
,
conducting
his
simple
hearer
from
port
to
port
of
Spain
,
landing
him
at
Lisbon
,
Oporto
,
and
Bordeaux
,
introducing
him
to
the
pleasant
harbours
of
Cornwall
and
Devon
,
and
so
up
the
Channel
to
that
final
quayside
,
where
,
landing
after
winds
long
contrary
,
storm-driven
and
weather-beaten
,
he
had
caught
the
first
magical
hints
and
heraldings
of
another
Spring
,
and
,
fired
by
these
,
had
sped
on
a
long
tramp
inland
,
hungry
for
the
experiment
of
life
on
some
quiet
farmstead
,
very
far
from
the
weary
beating
of
any
sea
.
Spellbound
and
quivering
with
excitement
,
the
Water
Rat
followed
the
Adventurer
league
by
league
,
over
stormy
bays
,
through
crowded
roadsteads
,
across
harbour
bars
on
a
racing
tide
,
up
winding
rivers
that
hid
their
busy
little
towns
round
a
sudden
turn
;
and
left
him
with
a
regretful
sigh
planted
at
his
dull
inland
farm
,
about
which
he
desired
to
hear
nothing
.
By
this
time
their
meal
was
over
,
and
the
Seafarer
,
refreshed
and
strengthened
,
his
voice
more
vibrant
,
his
eye
lit
with
a
brightness
that
seemed
caught
from
some
far-away
sea-beacon
,
filled
his
glass
with
the
red
and
glowing
vintage
of
the
South
,
and
,
leaning
towards
the
Water
Rat
,
compelled
his
gaze
and
held
him
,
body
and
soul
,
while
he
talked
.
Those
eyes
were
of
the
changing
foam-streaked
grey-green
of
leaping
Northern
seas
;
in
the
glass
shone
a
hot
ruby
that
seemed
the
very
heart
of
the
South
,
beating
for
him
who
had
courage
to
respond
to
its
pulsation
.
The
twin
lights
,
the
shifting
grey
and
the
steadfast
red
,
mastered
the
Water
Rat
and
held
him
bound
,
fascinated
,
powerless
.
The
quiet
world
outside
their
rays
receded
far
away
and
ceased
to
be
.
And
the
talk
,
the
wonderful
talk
flowed
on
--
or
was
it
speech
entirely
,
or
did
it
pass
at
times
into
song
--
chanty
of
the
sailors
weighing
the
dripping
anchor
,
sonorous
hum
of
the
shrouds
in
a
tearing
North-Easter
,
ballad
of
the
fisherman
hauling
his
nets
at
sundown
against
an
apricot
sky
,
chords
of
guitar
and
mandoline
from
gondola
or
caique
?
Did
it
change
into
the
cry
of
the
wind
,
plaintive
at
first
,
angrily
shrill
as
it
freshened
,
rising
to
a
tearing
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
in
.
We
shall
break
out
the
jib
and
the
foresail
,
the
white
houses
on
the
harbour
side
will
glide
slowly
past
us
as
she
gathers
steering-way
,
and
the
voyage
will
have
begun
!
As
she
forges
towards
the
headland
she
will
clothe
herself
with
canvas
;
and
then
,
once
outside
,
the
sounding
slap
of
great
green
seas
as
she
heels
to
the
wind
,
pointing
South
!
"
And
you
,
you
will
come
too
,
young
brother
;
for
the
days
pass
,
and
never
return
,
and
the
South
still
waits
for
you
.
