And as I lost sight of them stun towers in the distance, they seemed to say, “Float on, poor voyagers; float along with your pitiful little crumbs of knowledge and wisdom carried so proudly. How soon the shadows will drift apart to take you into ’em and then close up and hold you there forever. And out of the shinin’ west new faces will come growin’ plainer and plainer as the boat draws near; they will shine out full and clear in front of me and then glide away into the mist—I shall lose sight of ’em jest as I do of you to-day. Comin’! comin’! goin’! goin’! They will look at me and wonder jest as you do to-day, and I will say to ’em jest as I do to you, ‘Hail and farewell!’ ”
Oh what emotions I did have! And I hadn’t more’n got to this pint in my meditatin’, when I hearn a voice on the off side on me (Josiah wuz on the nigh side).
The voice said, “Oh how I wish I could be 33 put back there jest a minute and see what them tall towers see when they wuz built!”
I felt that here wuz a congenial soul and I felt friendly to him as one would hail a familiar sail when they wuz floatin’ on foreign waters. The voice went on:
“Oh how I wish I could be a fly, and fly back there for a hour.”
Instinctively I looked round. The speaker weighed three hundred pounds if he did an ounce, and the idee of his bein’ turned into a fly seemed to bring down my soarin’ emotions more than considerable. Truly, we ort to be careful how we handle metafors. If he’d said he wanted to be changed into a elephant or a camel, or even a horse, it wouldn’t have seemed so curious, but a fly!!! Dear me!
Clayton is a good-lookin’ drowsy sort of a place, and kinder mixed up lookin’ from the aft forecastle, where I stood; but at last the little foot bridge that connected us with the shore wuz took up, the old boat gin a loud yell to skair the children and young folks back from the water’s edge, and the boat riders from fallin’ off the boat, and we sot out agin and floated along.
And now pretty soon the islands grew closter 34 and closter together, and we wouldn’t no more than go by one lovely one, than another more perfect lookin’ hove in sight, and then another and another, each one seemin’ly more beautiful than the last.
Some times we would go clost up to the shore, by islands whose green forests swep’ clear down to the water’s edge, makin’ the water look green and cool and shady, and the water would narrow itself down between two houses seemin’ly jest to be accomodatin’, and run along between ’em like a little rivulet with water lilies and buttercups dippin’ down into it on each side and boys wadin’ acrost. Jest think on’t, that big noble-sized river, dwindlin’ itself down jest to obleege somebody.
And sometimes big houses would loom up jest above the water’s edge, their daintily shaded winders lookin’ down into the green waves and reflected there, anon a stately mansion would set back a little with towers and pinnacles risin’ above the green trees, and cool shady walks windin’ by summer houses and bright posy beds, and gayly dressed folks walkin’ along the beautiful paths, and mebby a pretty girl settin’ in a boat, and a hull fleet of boats filled with gay pleasure seekers would glide along like gayly 35 plumed sea birds, and fur in the distance and on every side white sails would sail on like bigger birds of white plumage, all set out for the Isle of Happiness.
I pinted out the metafor to Josiah.
“Isle of Happiness?” he sez, sort o’ dreamy like. “That’s right. Serenus sez its everywhere, all over the place.”
“What place?” sez I, suspicion darkenin’ my foretop.
“Why, Coney Island,” sez he, “that’s the only Isle of Happiness I ever hearn tell on.”
I gin him a look. “Would you compare Coney Island with the beautiful Isle of Happiness that the poets sing on?” I sez, severe like.
“Where is it?” sez he.
“Why,” sez I, “It ain’t ennywheres. Its a metafor of the brain.”
“Is it ketchin’?” sez he. “Seems to me I’ve hearn tell of that disease before!” And then before I could gin him an indignant response, he stuck his fingers in his ears and sot there grinnin’ like a jimpanzee all the time I wuz speakin’ out my mind. But to resoom.
Anon a bridge would rise up its fairy arch and connect two islands together, each one holdin’ a mansion that looked like a palace, 36 and the bright awnin’s of the winders, the pillars and pinnacles, and gay colors, reflected in the water makin’ fairy palaces below as well as above, and made the hull seen as we journeyed on one of enchantment, that would made the grand Vizier of Bagdad turn green with envy. And every palace, mansion, and cottage had its pretty boat-house, with the water layin’ there smooth and invitin’ waitin’ for the boats to be lanched on its bosom, actin’ for all the world like a first class family stream, warranted to carry safe and not kick and act in the harness. And then mebby the very next minute it would swell itself out agin, and be twenty or thirty milds acrost, rushin’, hurryin’, and dashin’ itself along, hastenin’ to the sea.
Actin’ as if it had sunthin’ dretful pressin’ and important to tell it, and mebby it had. Who knows the language of the liquid waves as they whisper to each other on sunny beaches and at the meetin’ of placid waters, makin’ love to each other like as not—one tellin’ the other of the sweet cow-slip and ferny medders it had to leave at the loud call of its love, the River. The River murmuring back deep words of worship and gratitude at the feet of its newly arrived love. 37
And then mebby the comin’ rivulet complains, moanin’ kinder low and sorrowful, as it swashes up on sharp stuny beaches, for what it left behind. Meadows and orchards full of May’s rosy blossoms, low grassy shores fringed with flowers and fresh, shinin’ grasses. And white, dimpled baby feet mebby that waded out in its cool shallows. Pretty faces that bent over its sheltered pools, as in a lookin’ glass, wavin’ locks that scattered gold light down into the water, bright eyes that shone like stars above it. I shouldn’t wonder a mite if it missed ’em and tried to say so in its gentle, pensive swish, swash, swish.
And then mebby the River resented it and kinder roared at it; mebby that is what it is sayin’ in its louder and more voylent tones, upbraidin’ it for lookin’ back to its more single and lonesome career, when it now has Him! Him! Rush! Roar! Crush! Roar! Roar!
We can’t tell what the river is talkin’ about, in its calm gentle moods or its voylent ones. Who knows what the loud angry scream and screech of the deep waves say as the tempest and storm presses down on ’em and the Deep answers back in a voice of thunder, with its great heart beatin’ and heavin’ up and throbbin’ 38 in its mad pain and frenzy? Who knows what it is roarin’ out, as it meets opposin’ forces, wave and rock, and dashes aginst ’em—fightin’ and dashin’ and tryin’ to vanquish ’em like as not? Who can translate the voice of the waters? I can’t, nor Josiah, nor nobody.
CHAPTER THREE
We seek Quiet and Happiness in their beautiful hants and mingle with the pleasure seekers of Alexandria Bay.
41
CHAPTER THREE
WE SEEK QUIET AND HAPPINESS IN THEIR BEAUTIFUL HANTS AND MINGLE WITH
THE PLEASURE SEEKERS OF ALEXANDRIA BAY.
Sometimes we would sail through the green water, so clost to the shore we could almost pick off some of the cedar and pine boughs as we went past, and we could look off into