402 A Sportswoman in India 



was setting over home. Straight into the west the 

 Shannon cut her way, the sharp bows dividing the 

 quiet water and throwing back on either side two 

 great, curling waves flecked with foam ; behind her a 

 widening track of bubbles and broken water stretched 

 across the calm waste to the very horizon. 



Orange and scarlet, crimson and golden, the sun dips 

 into the sea ; Europe has never seen such a sky, such 

 pure, unearthly colour. We steam steadily ahead into 

 a world of water and air, into masses of quiet violet, 

 into reaches of stainless gold. The masts stand up 

 against an opal sheen, the long bowsprit is set upon 

 the spot where the red ball dropped, the bowsprit 

 swings slightly as we hurry on into the kingdom of 

 the sunset. 



After Port Said a great change ! The look of " the 

 East " is gone for evermore ; grey banks of cloud lie 

 on the horizon ; there is a general bleakness to be felt ; 

 thenceforward, as each old, familiar landmark in the 

 Mediterranean turned up, colder grew the conditions 

 under which we sighted them, for it was the last week 

 in a chilly February. It blew a gale ; for the rest 

 of the voyage the " fiddles " were oftener than not 

 on the tables. 



No longer 



Through the endless summer evenings 

 On the lineless, level floors, 



but 



Through the yelling Channel tempest 

 When the siren hoots and roars, 



