d by broken fact. A thousand years are but as yesterday.
We shall make no more than a general gesture toward the wide spaces of
the past._

_The village of Clovelly climbs in a single street--a staircase,
really--from the shore to the top of the cliff, and is fagged and out
of breath half way. But on a still dizzier crag, storm-blown,
clinging by its toes, there stands the pirates' cabin. To this topmost
ledge fishwives sometimes scramble by day to seek a belated sail
against Lundy's Isle. But after twilight a night wind searches the
crannies of the rock and whines to the moon of its barren quest, and
then no villager, I think, chooses to walk in that direction. I have
visited Clovelly and have kicked a sodden donkey from the wharf to the
top of the street, past the shops of Devon cream and picture postal
cards, but have sought in vain the pirates' cabin. Since our far-off
adventure of tonight ten thousand tempests have snarled across these
giddy cliffs and we must convince our reason that these highest crags
where we pitch our plot have long since been toppled in a storm. Where
yonder wave lathers the shaggy headland, as if Neptune had turned
barber, we must fancy that the pinnacles of yesteryear lie buried in
the sea._

_We had hoped for a play upon the sea, with a tall mast rocking from
wing to wing and a tempest roaring at the rail. Alas! Our pirates grow
old and stiff. They have retired, as we say, from active practice and
live in idle luxury on shore. Yet we shall see that their villainy
still thrives._

_Our scene is their cabin on the cliff. It is a rough stone building
with peeling plaster and slates that by day are green with moss. But
it is night and the wind is whistling its rowdy companions from the
sea. Until the morning they will play at leap-frog from cliff to
cliff. Far below is the village of Clovelly, snug with fire and
candles._

_We enter the cabin without knocking--like neighbors through a
garden--and poke about a bit before our hosts appear. A door, forward
at the right, leads to the kitchen. Back stage, also, at the right, a
ladder rises to a sleeping loft. On the left wall are a chimney and
fireplace with a crane and pot for heating grog, and smoky timbers
above to mark the frequent thirst. On a great beam overhead are bags
of clinking loot and shining brasses from wrecked ships. Peppers hang
to dry before the fire, and a lighted ship's lantern swings from a
hook. At the rear of the cabin,