Henry C. Rowland

“ And so, with the flaming seas crumbling beneath the bows and the spill of wind from the close-hauled mainsail smiting soft, quick blows upon my bowed shoulders and the pale fire-flecked darkness all about, I felt her come, and looked up to see her rosy face smiling at me against the leeward murk. It was not as I had seen it last, a-writhe with the pain which pays the tithe of a new soul, but radiant and with red lips curving in a smile, and clear eyes looking joyously into mine. ”

“ And this, old friend, is why my life is the life of the gull and petrel, and the cut of my vessel’s canvas is known upon the Seven Seas. For every night when the sea is not too turbulent she comes to me and we hold long communions, while Yuba, at the wheel, glares away into the misty darkness and his old, old features writhe and twist and his pupils swell like those of a dog following Shapes which weave in the gloom beyond the crimson zone of the camp-fire. ”

“ I watered her violets—the same in whose tender faces her own was so often crushed. They were thriving, those hardy, tender blossoms. I watered her violets, and then, though I had seen her but the night before, I could not stay, but with wringing heart fled to my vessel and heaved up the anchor. And faithful old Yuba steered out across the sea and into the night. ”