212 MYSTIC ISLES 



timacy one had here with the worlds that spin in the 

 measureless ether. 



Two lofty-sparred ships but newly from the Cali- 

 fornia coast swung at moorings within a dozen feet of 

 the grass that borders the coral banks, and on their 

 decks, under the hght of lamps, American sailors lifted 

 a shanty of the rolling Mississippi. I remembered 

 when I had first heard it. I was a boy, and had stolen 

 away on a bark, the Julia Rollins, bound for Rio, and 

 as we hauled in the Hne let go by the tow-boat, a seaman 

 raised the bowline song. To me, with "Two Years Be- 

 fore the Mast" and Clark Russell's galley yarns churn- 

 ing in my mind, it was sweeter far than ever siren voiced 

 to lure her victims to their death, and rough and tarry 

 as was the shanty-man, Caruso had never seemed to me 

 such a glorious figure. 



This fascination of the sea and of its border had never 

 left me, though I had passed years on ships and nearly 

 all my life within sound of the s-urf . It is as strong as 

 ever, holding me tlirall in the sight of its waters and 

 its freights, and unhappy when denied them. Best of 

 all literature I love the stories of old ocean, and glad 

 am I 



That such as have no pleasure 



For to praise the Lord by measure, 



They may enter into galleons and serve him on the sea. 



In Tahiti the sea was very near and meant much. 

 One felt toward it as must the mountaineer who lives 

 in the shadow of the Matterhorn ; it was always part of 

 one's thoughts, for all men and things came and went 

 by it, and the great world lay beyond it. 



