OF the next two days’ sail little remains in my mind, and nothing
whatever in my note-book. The river streamed on steadily through
pleasant river-side landscapes. Washerwomen in blue dresses, fishers in
blue blouses, diversified the green banks; and the relation of the two
colours was like that of the flower and the leaf in the forget-me-not. A
symphony in forget-me-not; I think Théophile Gautier might thus have
characterised that two days’ panorama. The sky was blue and cloudless;
and the sliding surface of the river held up, in smooth places, a mirror
to the heaven and the shores. The washerwomen hailed us laughingly; and
the noise of trees and water made an accompaniment to our dozing
thoughts, as we fleeted down the stream.
The great volume, the indefatigable purpose of the river, held the mind
in chain. It seemed now so sure of its end, so strong and easy in its
gait, like a grown man full of determination. The surf was roaring for
it on the sands of Havre.
For my own part, slipping along this moving thoroughfare in my
fiddle-case of a canoe, I also was beginning to grow aweary for my ocean.
To the civilised man, there must come, sooner or later, a desire for
civilisation. I was weary of dipping the paddle; I was weary of living
on the skirts of life; I wished to be in the thick of it once more; I
wished to get to work; I wished to meet people who understood my own
speech, and could meet with me on equal terms, as a man, and no longer as
a curiosity.
And so a letter at Pontoise decided us, and we drew up our keels for the
last time out of that river of Oise that had faithfully piloted them,
through rain and sunshine, for so long. For so many miles had this fleet
and footless beast of burthen charioted our fortunes, that we turned our
back upon it with a sense of separation. We had made a long détour out
of the world, but now we were back in the familiar places, where life
itself makes all the running, and we are carried to meet adventure
without a stroke of the paddle. Now we were to return, like the voyager
in the play, and see what rearrangements fortune had perfected the while
in our surroundings; what surprises stood ready made for us at home; and
whither and how far the world had voyaged in our absence. You may paddle
all day long; but it is when you come back at nightfall, and look in at
the familiar room, that you find Love or Death awaiting you beside the
stove; and the most beautiful adventures are not those we go to seek.