s. The poop is wet and gleaming, wet with the spray of
following seas, and as our ship rolls the swash of shipped seas hisses,
and her cleanness is as the cleanness of something newly varnished. Once
and again as she rolls (the wind now quartering) the scuppers spout
geyser-like and gurgle. As she ran like a beaten thing she wallowed a
little, dived, scooped up seas and shook them off. And yet the topsail
was not conquered.

And now and once again the squalls howled, and we held on, gaining
nothing, yet losing nothing. We were blind but obstinate; to have gained
something when everything might be lost beneath us gave us grip and
courage. Ah, and then, then the great chance came, and as the last great
fold of white canvas rose up like a breaking wave we shouted, flung
ourselves upon it, and as our bellies (lean by now) held the rest,
smothered it and beat its last life out. The thing had been alive; the
gods too had blown, and we had been all but dissipated, but now we were
conquerors, and the gaskets bound our dead prey to the yard. And the
morning was up, a wild and evil-minded waste it flowered in; the music
of the storm shrieked like the Valkyries scurrying through grey space.
But what cared we, since now she would carry or drag what sail remained,
creaseless, resonant, wide-arched and wonderful. The light leapt from
crest to crest, and a little pale yellow blossom of blown dawn peeped
out of the grey. Like a touch of fire it reanimated our washed and
reeling world; we laughed as we dropped down after our three hours'
battle with the demons of the air. It was morning; there was coffee and
tobacco; our souls were satisfied and satiated with rewarding toil; if
Fate was kind there would be neither making nor shortening of sail till
the next day. We touched the deck and ran for'ard laughing. We saluted
the cook, blinking at the door of his galley. "Good-morning, doctor!"
and it _was_ "good-morning!" for we were mostly young.

* * * * *

On the lofty sloping plains of Texas and Kansas the air is often keen at
night, even in the summer time. And what it is in winter let train hands
on the Texas Pacific declare. But in the warmer season, when northers
have ceased to blow, it has an intoxicating, thrilling quality only
comparable to the breath of the higher South African veldt. It is good
to be alive then, and the glory of the morning is an excellent and
moving glory since it wakes one to swi