TO UNCLE SAM 



with her than landsmen can Imagine, more 

 dependent on her slightest mood than those who 

 go down to her in ships. 



It was about those conditions, in the broadest 

 sense of the word, that I wanted to write a book; 

 not about certain men, women, and children this 

 time, but about the sea and the beach and your 

 rocks; the tides and eddies, both of water and of 

 humanity, that set alongshore; what you and the 

 likes of you have to contend with and what you 

 glory in. I wanted, in a word, to describe not 

 certain longshoremen, but the longshore itself. 



Here's my attempt. You'll see the difference. 

 In A Poor Man's House the sea was a background 

 for people; here people are in the background; 

 are a part, so to speak, of the scenery. What I 

 have tried to describe, we both love, and both 

 curse at times. Writing and fishing — fishing for 

 words and fishing for fish — have much in common. 

 Hence, perhaps, our fellow-feeling. 



And accept the dedication of the book, Uncle 

 Sam. It is indebted to you; not so much for 

 what you have actually told me with your mouth, 

 as for what your manner of life has taught me, 

 and what you have put me in the way of learning 

 for myself; the beauty and poetry of the long- 



