THE BELGIAN FARMER 369 



kept down. Like the poppies on the field of 

 Waterloo, which renew the blood-red strife each 

 year, the Belgian peasant-farmer springs new- 

 born from the soil, which is the only mother he 

 knows. 



After two weeks in Holland, two in Belgium 

 and two in London, we were ready to turn GUV 

 faces toward home. 



We took the train to Southampton, and a small 

 side-wheel steamer carried us outside Southamp- 

 ton waters, where we tossed about for thirty min- 

 utes before the Normania came to anchor. The 

 wind was blowing half a gale from the north, 

 and we were glad to get under the lee of the great 

 vessel to board her. 



The transfer was quickly made, and we were 

 off for New York. The wind gained strength as 

 the day grew old, but while we were in the So- 

 lent the bluff coast of Devon and Cornwall broke 

 its force sufficiently to permit us to be comfort- 

 able on the port side of the ship. 



As night came on, great clouds rolled up from 

 the northwest and the wind increased. Darkness, 

 as of Egypt, fell upon us before we passed the 

 Lizard, and the only things that showed above 

 the raging waters were the beacon lights, and 

 these looked dim and far away. Occasionally a 

 flash of lightning threw the waters into relief, 

 and then made the darkness more impenetrable. 

 As we steamed beyond the Lizard and the pro- 

 tecting Cornish coast, the full force of the gale, 



2B 



