The Days of a Man D897 



jor the 

 mail 



Like a swift-spun skein of silver springs intact 



The cataract, 

 From the riven lava buttress far into the Icy Sea; 



Joyfully 

 Does it join the tumbling billows, while its spray 



Drifts away 

 With the east wind to the leeward. Banished now is every fear, 



All is clear; 

 For we know the Cape called Cheerful, and it tells the haven 

 near. 



Like the fog-bound northern ocean is the weary course of life: 



Doubt and strife 

 Hide the way I fain would follow; can I know 



What to do? 

 Slowly down my path I wander, sore perplexed. 



Spirit-vexed, 

 By the cloud-rack of conventions o'er us all 



Like a pall. 

 Thus, with downcast eyes and somber, come I to the garden- 

 gate; 



Swift and straight, 

 Leaping from a bank of roses, like a fetterless cascade, 



Unafraid, 

 Rush the children forth to greet me, with a joyous shout of cheer; 

 Banished now is all convention, all vexation and contention, 



All is clear; 

 I have found the "Cape called Cheerful," and I know the haven 

 near. 



At Unalaska they transferred us to the Pheasant, 

 another small British warship, on which we returned 

 Sending to St. Paul. Arriving there and finding no letters 

 either from home or from the State Department, I 

 sent the Rush back to Sitka, a distance of some 1200 

 miles, for the mail. 



Captain Cyrus L. Hooper, a brave and loyal 

 officer, then commanded the Bering Sea Patrol com- 



C 596 1 



