i68 OLD PLYMOUTH TRAILS 



blue of a clear day, the wind fills your sail and you 

 are sweeping eastward with wind and tide round 

 the Sheep Island bar. 



The Argo, bound eastward for the golden 

 fleece, bearing Jason, Hercules, Theseus and the 

 other Greek heroes, carried no higher hopes and 

 no greater joy in the dangers arid mysteries of the 

 sea than does many a keen-bowed sloop or broad- 

 beamed cat bound "outside" on a fishing trip. 

 It is neither the goal nor the gain that counts. 

 It is the spirit of the quest. The golden fleece 

 looms eastward over all such prows. In the tide 

 rip of Hull Gut, where current meets current at 

 certain turns of the tide in such fashion that "the 

 merry men" dance gleefully, is a dash of adven- 

 ture, and if you come through with a cockpit half 

 full of water and your clam bait afloat so much 

 the merrier. Thus you are baptized into the 

 sect of the deep sea rovers and the leap of the 

 mysterious green dancers into your boat is the 

 coming of Neptune himself. Henceforth his 

 trident is at your mast head, a broom wherewith 

 to sweep the seas as Van Tromp did. The con- 

 querors are abroad. 



You may bother about the skerries that skirt 

 Boston Light if you will. There are cunners 



