Max Pemberton,
The Sea Wolves — XXVII. IN THE VALLEY OF SILENCE
(1901)
“ When it seemed that he could endure the thunderous echoing in his ears no longer, when the crashing of the boat was most violent, when the water poured over him in a cascade, light flashed upon his eyes, a brown burned landscape spread out before him, he saw a thicket with a green bank of grass before it, a village lying in a hollow upon his right hand, a distant view of purple hills and white-misted sky. And at this he stood up again and grasped his pole, as the punt was swung gently through meadow-land. ”
