October 16, 2025 • 43 mins
09 - Wayfarers All. The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame.
This much-loved story follows a group of animal friends in the English countryside as they pursue adventure ... and as adventure pursues them! The chief characters - Mole, Rat, and Toad - generally lead upbeat and happy lives, but their tales are leavened with moments of terror, homesickness, awe, madcap antics, and derring-do.
Although classed as children's literature, The Wind in the Willows holds a gentle fascination for adults too.
This much-loved story follows a group of animal friends in the English countryside as they pursue adventure ... and as adventure pursues them! The chief characters - Mole, Rat, and Toad - generally lead upbeat and happy lives, but their tales are leavened with moments of terror, homesickness, awe, madcap antics, and derring-do.
Although classed as children's literature, The Wind in the Willows holds a gentle fascination for adults too.
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please
visit LibriVox dot org. This recording is by Mark Smith
of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Wind in the Willows by
Kenneth Graham, Chapter nine, Wayfarers All, the water rat was restless,
(00:28):
and he did not know exactly why. To all appearance,
the summer's pomp was still at fullest height, and although
in the tilled acre's green had given way to gold.
Though rowans were reddening, and the woods were dashed here
and there with a tawny fierceness. Yet life and warmth
and color were still present, in undiminished measure, clean of
(00:50):
any chilly premonitions of the passing year. But the constant
chorus of the orchards and hedges had shrunk to a
casual Even so from a few yet unwearied performers. The
robin was beginning to assert himself once more, and there
was a feeling in the air of change and departure.
(01:10):
The cuckoo, of course, had long been silent, but many
another feathered friend for months, a part of the familiar
landscape and its small society was missing too, and it
seemed that the ranks thin steadily day by day. Rat Ever,
an observer of all ringed movement saw that it was
(01:31):
taking daily a southing tendency, and even as he lay
him bed at night, he thought he could make out
passing in the darkness overhead, the beat and quiver of
impatient pinions obedient to the peremptory call. Nature's grand hotel
has its season like the others, as the guests one
(01:54):
by one pack pay and depart, and the seats at
the table d'hte drink pitifully at each succeeding meal, as
suites of rooms are closed, carpets taken up, and waiters
sent away. Those boarders who are staying on en pension
until the next year's full reopening cannot help being somewhat
(02:17):
affected by all those flittings and farewells, the eager discussion
of plans, roots and fresh quarters, this daily shrinkage in
the stream of comradeship, one gets unsettled, depressed, and inclined
to be querulous. Why this craving for change? Why not
stay on quietly here like us and be jolly. You
(02:40):
don't know this hotel out of season, and what fun
we have ourselves, we fellows who remain and see the
whole interesting year out. All very true, no doubt. The
others always reply, we quite envy you, and some other
year perhaps, but just now we have engagements. There's the
bus at the door. Our time is up. So they
(03:04):
depart with a smile and a nod, and we missed
them and feel resentful. The rat was a self sufficing
sort of animal, rooted to the land, and whoever went
he stayed still. He could not help noticing what was
in the air and feeling some of its influence in
his bones. It was difficult to settle down to anything
(03:27):
seriously with all this flitting going on. Leaving the water
side where Russia stood thick and tall, in a stream
that was becoming sluggish and low, he wandered countrywards, crossed
a field or two of pasturage, already looking dusty and parched,
and thrust into the great sea of wheat, yellow, wavy
(03:49):
and murmurous, full of quiet motion and small whisperings. Here
he loved often to wander through the forest of stiff,
strong stalks that carried their own golden sky away over
his head, a sky that was always dancing, shimmering, softly,
talking or swaying strongly to the passing wind, and recovering
(04:13):
itself with a toss and a merry laugh. Here too,
he had many small friends, a society complete in itself,
leading full and busy lives, but always with a spare
moment to gossip and exchange news with a visitor. Today, however,
though they were civil enough, the field mice and harvest
(04:36):
mice seemed preoccupied. Many were digging and tunneling busily. Others
gathered together in small groups, examined plans and drawings of
small flats stated to be desirable and compact and situated
conveniently near the stores. Some were hauling out dusty trunks
(04:56):
and dress baskets. Others were already elbowed, packing their belongings
well everywhere. Piles and bundles of wheat, oats, barley, beech,
masts and nuts lay about, ready for transport. Here's already,
they cried as soon as they saw him. Come and
bear a hand, rat, and don't stand about idle. What
(05:19):
sort of games are you up to? Said the water
rat severely. You know it isn't time to be thinking.
Speaker 2 (05:26):
Of winter quarters yet. By a long way.
Speaker 1 (05:30):
Oh yes, we know that, explained a field mouse rather shamefacedly.
But it's always as well to be in good time,
isn't it. We really must get all the furniture and
baggage and stores moved out of this before those horrid
machines begin clicking around the fields. And then, you know,
(05:51):
the best flats get picked up so quickly nowadays, and
if you're late, you have to put up with anything,
and they want such a lot of doing up too,
before they're fit to move into. Of course we're early,
we know that. But we're only just making a start.
Oh bother starts, said the rat. It's a splendid day.
(06:15):
Come for a row or stroll along the hedges, or
a picnic in the woods or something. Well, I think
not to day, thank you, replied the field mouse hurriedly,
Perhaps some other day, when we've more time. The rat,
with a snort of contempt, swung round to go, tripped
over a hat box and fell with undignified remarks. If
(06:41):
people would be more careful, said a field mouse, rather stiffly,
and look where they're going, people wouldn't hurt themselves and
forget themselves. Mind that, hold all, rat you'd better sit
down somewhere. In an hour or two, we may be
more free to attend to you. You won't be free,
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as you call it much this side of Christmas, I
can see that, retorted rat grumpily, as he picked his
way out of the field. He returned somewhat despondently to
his river again, his faithful, steady going old river, which
never packed up, flitted or went into winter quarters. In
(07:24):
the oceans which fringed the bank, spied a swallow sitting presently.
It was joined by another, and then by a third,
and the birds, fidgeting restly on their bow, talked together
earnestly and low. What already, said the rat, strolling off
to them. What's the hurry? I call it simply ridiculous.
(07:46):
Oh we're not off yet, if that's what you mean,
replied the first swallow. We're only making plans and arranging things,
talking it over. You know what route we're taking this year,
and where we'll stop and so on. Uh, that's half
the fun fun, said the rat. Now that's just what
I don't understand. If you've got to leave this pleasant
(08:10):
place and your friends who will miss you, and your
snug homes, that you've just settled into Why when the
hour strikes, I've no doubt you'll go bravely and face
all the trouble and discomfort and change and newness, and
make believe that you're not very unhappy, but to want
(08:31):
to talk about it, or even think about it till
you really need to. No, you don't understand naturally, said
the second swallow. First we feel it stirring within us,
a sweet unrest. Then back come the recollections, one by one,
Like homing pigeons. They flutter through our dreams. At night,
(08:54):
they fly with us in our wheelings and circlings. By day,
we hunger to inquire of each other, to compare notes
and assure ourselves that it all was really true. As
one by one, the scents and sounds and names I've
long forgotten places come gradually back and beckon to us.
Speaker 2 (09:16):
Couldn't you stop one for just this year.
Speaker 1 (09:20):
Suggested the water rat wistfully.
Speaker 3 (09:23):
We'll all do our best to make you feel at home.
You've no idea what good times we have here while
you are far away. I tried stopping on one year,
said the third swallow. I had grown so fond of
the place that when the time came, I hung back
and let the others go on without me. For a
(09:44):
few weeks it was all well enough. But afterwards, oh, the.
Speaker 1 (09:49):
Weary length of the nights, the shivering sunless days, the
air so clammying chill, and not an insect, and an
acre of it. No, it was no good. My courage
broke down, and one cold stormy night I took wing,
flying well inland on account of the strong easterly gales.
(10:13):
It was snowing hard as I beat through the passes
of the great mountains, and I had a stiff fight
to win through. But never shall I forget the blissful
feeling of the hot sun again on my back, as
I sped down to the lakes that lay so blue
in placid below me, and the taste of my first
(10:36):
fat insect. The past was like a bad dream. The
future was all happy holiday as I moved southwards week
by week, easily, lazily, lingering as long as I dared,
but always heading the call. No, I've had my warning.
(10:56):
Never again did I think of disobedience. Oh, yes, the
call of the South. Of the South, twittered the other
two dreamily, its songs, its hues, its radiant air, Oh
do you remember? And forgetting the rat, they slid into
passionate reminiscence, while he listened, fascinated, and his heart burned
(11:19):
within him and himself too, he knew that it was
vibrating at last, that chord hitherto dormant and unsuspected. The
mere chatter of those southern bound birds, their pale and
second hand reports, had yet power to awaken this wild
new sensation and thrill him through and through with it.
(11:44):
What would one moment of the real thing work in him?
One passionate touch of the real southern sun, one waft
of the authentic odor. With closed eyes, he dared to dream,
a moment in full abandonment. And when he looked again,
the river seemed steely and chill, the green fields gray
(12:09):
and lightless. Then his loyal heart seemed to cry out
on his weaker self for its treachery. Whyever, do you
come back then at all? He demanded of the swallows jealously,
What do you find to attract you in this poor,
drab little country? And do you think, said the first swallow,
(12:30):
that the other call is not for us? Two? In
its due season, the call of lush meadow grass wet orchards,
warm insect haunted ponds of browsing, cattle of hay making,
and all the farm buildings clustering round the house of
the perfect eaves. Do you suppose, asked the second one,
(12:53):
that you are the only living thing that craves? With
a hungry longing to hear the cuckoo's note again, In
due time, said the third, we shall be homesick once
more for quiet water lilies swaying on the surface of
an English stream. But to day all that seems pale
and thin and very far away. Just now our blood
(13:16):
dances to other music. They fell a twittering among themselves
once more, and this time their intoxicating babble was of
violet seas, tawny sands, and lizard haunted walls. Restlessly, the
rat wandered off once more, climbed the slope that rose
(13:36):
gently from the north bank of the river, and lay
looking out towards the great ring of downs that barred
his vision further southwards, his simple horizon, hitherto his mountains
of the moon, his limit, behind which lay nothing he
had cared to see or to know to day, to him,
(13:57):
gazing south with a new born need stirring in his heart.
The clear sky over their long, low outline seemed to
pulsate with promise. Today the unseen was everything, the unknown.
The only real fact of life on this side of
the hills was now the real blank. On the other
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lay the crowded and colored panorama that his inner eye
was seeing so clearly. What seas lay beyond, green leaping
and crested, What sun bathed coast along which the white
villas glittered against the olive woods, What quiet harbors thronged
with gallant shipping, bound for purple islands of wine and spice,
(14:45):
islands set low in languorous waters. He rose and descended
riverwards once more, then changed his mind and sought the
side of the dusty lane. There, lying half buried in
the thick, cool under hedge tangle that bordered it, he
could muse on the metaled road and all the wondrous
(15:06):
world that it led to, on all the wayfarers too
that might have trodden it, and the fortunes and adventures
they had gone to seek or found unseeking out there
beyond beyond. Footsteps fell on his ear, and the figure
of one that walked somewhat wearily came into view, and
(15:30):
he saw that it was a rat, and a very
dusty one. The wayfarer, as he reached him, saluted with
a gesture of courtesy that had something foreign about it,
hesitated a moment, then, with a pleasant smile, turned from
the track and sat down by his side in the
cool herbage. He seemed tired, and the rat let him
(15:54):
rest unquestioned, understanding something of what was in his thoughts,
knowing too the value all animals attach at times to mere,
silent companionship, when the weary muscles slacken and the mind
marks time. The wayfarer was lean and keen, featured and
(16:15):
somewhat bowed at the shoulders. His paws were thin and long,
his eyes much wrinkled at the corners, and he wore
small gold ear rings in his neatly set, well shaped ears.
His knitted jersey was of a faded blue, His breeches,
patched and stained, were based on a blue foundation, and
(16:39):
his small belongings that he carried were tied up in
a blue cotton handkerchief. When he had rested awhile, the
stranger sighed, snuffed the air and looked about him. That
was clover, that warm with on the breeze, he remarked,
And those are we hear cropping the grass behind us
(17:03):
and blowing softly Between mouthfuls. There is a sound of
distant reapers, and yonder rises, a blue line of cottage
smoke against the woodland. The river runs somewhere close by.
For I hear the call of a moor hen, and
I see by your build that you're a fresh water mariner.
(17:25):
Everything seems asleep and yet going on all the time.
It is a goodly life that you lead, friend, no doubt,
the best in the world, if only you are strong
enough to lead it. Yes, it's the life, the only
life to live, responded the water rat, dreamily and without
(17:46):
his usual whole hearted conviction. I did not say exactly that,
replied the stranger cautiously. But no doubt it's the best.
I've tried it, and I oh, and because I've just
tried it, six months of it, and know it's the best.
(18:07):
Here am I footsore and hungry, tramping away from it,
tramping southward, following the old call, back to the old life,
the life which is mine and which will not let
me go. Is this, then, yet another of them? Mused
(18:28):
the rat and where have you just come from? He asked.
He hardly dared to ask where he was bound, for
he seemed to know the answer only too well. Nice
little farm, replied the wayfarer, briefly. Up along in that direction,
he nodded northwards. Never mind about it. I had everything
(18:50):
I could want, everything I had any right to expect
of life, and more. And here I am glad to
be here all the same, though, glad to be here
so many miles further on the road, so many hours
nearer to my heart's desire. His shining eyes held fast
(19:12):
to the horizon, and he seemed to be listening for
some sound that was wanting from that inland acreage, vocal
as it was, with a cheerful music of pasturage and farmland.
You are not one of us, said the water rat,
nor yet a farmer, nor even I should judge of
(19:33):
this country, right, replied the stranger. I am a seafaring rat,
I am, And the port I originally hail from is Constantinople,
though I'm a sort of a foreigner there too. In
a manner of speaking, you will have heard of Constantinople, friend,
a fair city, and an ancient and glorious one. You
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may have heard too of Sigurd, King of Norway, and
how he sailed thither with sixty ships, and how he
and his men rode up through streets all canopied in
their honor with purple and gold, and how the Emperor
and Empress came down and banqueted with him on board
his ship. When Sigurd returned home, many of his northmen
(20:20):
remained behind and entered the Emperor's bodyguard. And my ancestor,
a Norwegian born, stayed behind two with a ship that
Sigurd gave the Emperor. Seafarers we have ever been, and
no wonder as for me. The city of my birth
is no more my home than any pleasant port between
(20:43):
there and the London River. I know them all, and
they know me. Set me down on any of their
cays or foreshores, and I am home again.
Speaker 2 (20:56):
I suppose you go great voyages.
Speaker 1 (21:00):
Said the water rat, with growing interest, months and months
out of sight of land, and provisions running short and
allowanced as to water and your mind communing with a
mighty ocean, and all that sort of thing, by no means,
said the sea rat, frankly, such a lifeish you describe
(21:21):
would not suit me at all. I'm in the coasting
trade and rarely out of sight of Latin. It's the
jolly times, I'm sure that appeal to me as much
as any seafaring. Oh those southern seaports, the smell of them,
the riding lights at night, the glamor. Well, perhaps you
(21:45):
have chosen the better way, said the water rat, But
rather doubtfully tell me something of your coasting then, if
you have a mind to, and what sort of harvest
an animal of spirit might hope to bring home from
it to warm his latter days with gallant memories by
the fireside. For my life, I confess to you, feels
(22:07):
to me to day somewhat narrow and circumscribed. My last
voyage began the sea rat that landed me eventually in
this country, bound with high hopes for my inland farm
will serve as a good example of any of them,
and indeed as an epitome of my highly colored life.
(22:31):
Family troubles as usual began it The domestic storm cone
was hoisted, and I shipp'd myself on board a small
trading vessel bound from Constantinople by classic seas whose every
wave throbs with a deathless memory to the Grecian islands
(22:52):
and the Levant. Those were golden days and balmy nights,
in and out of harbor, all the time, old friends everywhere,
sleeping in some cool temple or ruined cistern during the
heat of the day, feasting and song after sundown, under
(23:13):
great stars set in a velvet sky. Thence we turned
and coasted up the Adriatic its shores, swimming in an
atmosphere of amber rose and aquamarine. We lay in wide
landlocked harbors. We roamed through ancient and noble cities, until
(23:35):
at last, one morning, as the sun rose royally behind us,
we rode into Venice, down a path of gold. Oh,
Venice is a fine city. We're in. A rat can
wander at his ease and take his pleasure, or, when
weary of wandering, can sit at the edge of the
(23:57):
grand canal at night, feasting with his friends, when the
air is full of music and the sky full of stars,
and the lights flash and shimmer on the polished steel
prows of the swaying gondolas, packed so that you could
walk across the canal on them from side to side.
(24:18):
And then the food. Do you like shellfish? Well, we
won't linger over that. Now he was silent for a time,
and the water rat silent too, and enthralled, floated on
dream canals and heard a phantom song pealing a high
between vaporous, grave wavelapped walls. Southwards, we sailed again, at last,
(24:46):
continued the sea rat, coasting down the Italian shore till
finally we made Palermo, and there I quitted for a long,
happy spell on shore. I never stick too long to
one ship. One gets narrow minded and prejudiced. Besides, Cecily
(25:06):
is one of my happy hunting grounds. I know everybody there,
and their ways just suit me. I spent many jolly
weeks in the island, staying with friends up country. When
I grew restless again, I took advantage of a ship
that was trading to Sardinia and Corsica, and very glad
(25:27):
I was to feel the fresh breeze and the sea
spray in my face once more. But isn't it very
hot and stuffy? Countin in the hold? I think you
call it, asked the water rat. The seafarer looked at
him with a suspicion. Go a wink, I'm an old hand,
(25:48):
he remarked, with much simplicity. The captain's cabin's good enough
for me. It's a hard life by all accounts, murmured
the rat, sunk in deep thought. For the crew, it is,
replied the seafarer gravely, again, with the ghost of a
wink from Corsica. He went on. I made use of
(26:11):
a ship that was taking wine to the mainland. We
made Alassio in the evening, lay too, hauled up our
wine casks and hove them overboard, tied one to the
other by a long line. Then the crew took to
the boats and rowed shorewards, singing as they went, and
(26:31):
drawing after them the long, bobbing procession of casks like
a mile of porpoises on the sands. They had horses waiting,
which dragged the casks up the steep street of the
little town with a fine rush and clatter and scramble.
When the last cask was in, we went and refreshed
(26:51):
and rested, and sat lad into the night drinking with
our friends. And next morning I took to the great
Olive Woods for a spell and arrest. For now I
had done with islands for the time, and ports and
shipping were plentiful, so I led a lazy life among
the peasants, lying and watching them work, or stretched high
(27:14):
on the hill side with a blue Mediterranean far below me,
and so at length by easy stages, and partly on foot,
partly by sea to Marseilles, and the meeting of old shipmates,
and the visiting of great ocean bound vessels, and feasting
once more, talk of shell fish. Why sometimes I dream
(27:40):
of the shell fish of Marseilles and wake up crying.
That reminds me, said the polite water rat. You happened
to mention that you were hungry, and it ought to
have spoken earlier. Of course you will stop and take
your midday meal with me. My hall is close by.
(28:01):
It is some time past noon, and you are very
welcome to whatever there is now. I call that kind
and brotherly of you, said the sea rat. I was
indeed hungry when I sat down, and ever since I
inadvertently happened to mention shellfish, my pangs have been extreme.
(28:22):
But couldn't you fetch it along out here? I am
none too fond of going under hatches unless I'm obliged to.
And then while we eat, I could tell you more
concerning my voyages and the pleasant life I lead at
least it is very pleasant to me, and by your attention,
(28:42):
I judge it commends itself to you. Whereas if we
go indoors, it is one hundred to one that I
shall presently fall asleep. That is indeed an excellent suggestion,
said the water rat, and hurried off home. There he
got out the luncheon basket and packed a simple meal,
(29:03):
in which, remembering the stranger's origin in preferences, he took
care to include a yard of long French bread, a
sausage out of which the garlic sang, some cheese which
lay down and cried, and a long necked straw covered flask,
wherein lay bottled sunshine, shed and garnered on far southern slopes.
(29:24):
Thus laden, he returned with all speed and blushed for
pleasure at the old seamen's commendations of his taste and judgment.
As together they unpacked the basket and laid out the
contents on the grass by the roadside. The sea rat,
as soon as his hunger was somewhat assuaged, continued the
(29:45):
history of his latest voyage, conducting his simple hearer from
port to port of Spain, landing him at Lisbon a
Porto and Bordeaux, introducing him to the pleasant harbors of
Cornwall and Devon, and so up the channel to that
final quay side, where, landing after wind's long contrary, storm
(30:07):
driven and weather beaten, he had caught the first magical
hints and heraldings of another spring, and, fired by these,
had sped on a long tramp inland, hungry for the
experiment of life on some quiet farmstead, very far from
the weary beating of any sea. Spellbound and quivering with excitement,
(30:31):
the water rat followed the adventurer league by league, over
stormy bays, through crowded roadsteads, across harbor bars, on a
racing tide, up winding rivers that hid their busy little towns,
round a sudden turn, and left him with a regretful sigh,
planted at his dull inland farm, about which he desired
(30:53):
to hear nothing. By this time their meal was over,
and the seafarer refreshed and strengthened, his voice more vibrant,
his eye lit with a brightness that seemed caught from
some faraway sea. Beacon filled his glass with the red
and glowing vintage of the South, and leaning towards the
(31:15):
water rat compelled his gaze and held him body and
soul while he talked. Those eyes were of the changing
foam streaked gray green of leaping northern seas. In the
glass shone a hot ruby that seemed the very heart
of the South, beating for him who had courage to
(31:35):
respond to its pulsation. The twin lights, the shifting gray
and the steadfast red, mastered the water rat and held
him bound, fascinated, powerless. The quiet world outside their rays
receded far away and ceased to be. And the talk,
(31:56):
though wonderful, talk, flowed on. Or was its speech entirely
or did it pass at times into song, chanty of
the sailors weighing the dripping anchor sonorous hum of the shrouds,
and a tearing northeaster ballad of the fisherman hauling his
nets at sundown against an apricot sky, chords of guitar
(32:18):
and mandolin from gondola or kaik? Did it change into
the cry of the wind plaintive, at first angrily shrill
as it freshened, rising to a tearing whistle, sinking to
a musical trickle of air from the leech of the
bellying sail all these sounds, the spellbound listener seemed to hear,
(32:41):
and with them the hungry complaint of the gulls, and
the sea meuse, the soft thunder of the breaking wave,
the cry of the protesting shingle back into speech again,
it passed, and with beating heart he was following the
adventures of a dozen seaports, the fight, the escapes, the rallies,
(33:02):
the comrade ships, the gallant undertakings. Or he searched islands
for treasure, fished in still lagoons, and dozed day long
on warm white sand of deep sea fishings. He heard
tell and mighty silver gatherings of the mile long net
(33:23):
of sudden perils, noise of breakers on a moonless night,
or the tall boughs of the great liner taking shape
overhead through the fog of the merry home coming. The
headland rounded, the harbor, lights opened out, the groups seen
dimly on the quay, the cheery hail, the splash of
(33:45):
the hawser, the trudge up the steep little street towards
the comforting glow of red curtained windows. Lastly, in his
waking dream, it seemed to him that the adventurer had
risen to his feet but was still speaking, still holding
him fast with his sea gray eyes. And now he
(34:07):
was softly saying, I take to the road again, holding
on southwestwards for many a long and dusty day, till
at last I reached the little gray sea town I
know so well that clings along one steep side of
the harbor. There, through dark doorways you look down flights
(34:30):
of stone steps, overhung by great pink tufts of valerian,
and ending in a patch of sparkling blue water. The
old boats that lie tethered to the rings and stanchions
of the old sea wall are gaily painted, as those
I clambered in and out of in my own childhood.
(34:51):
The salmon leap on the flood tide, schools of mackerel
flash and play past quay sides and foreshores, And by
the window the great vessels glide night and day up
to the moorings, or forth to the open sea. There
Sooner or later the ships of all seafaring nations arrive,
(35:14):
and there, at its destined hour, the ship of my
choice will let go its anchor. I shall take my time.
I shall tarry and bide till at last the right
one lies waiting for me warped out into mid stream,
loaded low her bowsprit pointing down harbor, I shall slip
(35:37):
on board by boat or long hawser, And when one
morning I shall wake to the song and tramp of
the sailors, the clink of the capstan, and the rattle
of the anchorchain, coming merrily in, we shall break out
the jib and the foresail. The white houses on the
harbor side will glide slowly past us as she gathers
(36:00):
steering way, and the voyage will have begun. As she
forges towards the headland, she will clothe herself with canvas,
and then once outside, the sounding slap of great green
seas as she heels to the wind, pointing south. And
(36:22):
you you will come, too, young brother, for the days
pass and never return, and the south still waits for you.
Take the adventure. Heed the call. Now Ere, the irrevocable
moment passes, tis but a banging of the door behind you,
(36:42):
a blithesome step forward, and you are out of the
old life and into the new. Then, some day, some
day long, hence, jog home here if you will, when
the cup has been drained and the play has been played,
and sit down by your quiet river, with a store
(37:03):
of goodly memories for company, you can easily overtake me
on the road. For you are young, and I am aging,
and go softly. I will linger and look back, and
at last I will surely see you coming, eager and
light hearted, with all the South in your face. The
(37:26):
voice died away and ceased as an insect's tiny trumpet
dwindled swiftly into silence, and the water rat paralyzed and
staring saw at last but a distant speck on the
white surface of the road. Mechanically, he rose and proceeded
to repack the luncheon basket carefully and without haste. Mechanically,
(37:50):
he returned home, gathered together a few small necessaries and
special treasures he was fond of, and put them in
a satchel, acting with slow delivery, moving about the room
like a sleep walker, listening ever with parted lips, he
swung satchel over his shoulder, carefully selected a stout stick
(38:11):
for his wayfaring, and with no haste, but with no
hesitation at all, he stepped across the threshold just as
the mole appeared at the door. Why where are you
off to ready asked the mole in great surprise, grasping
him by the arm.
Speaker 2 (38:29):
Going south or the rest of.
Speaker 1 (38:32):
Them murmured the rat in a dreamy monotne, never looking
at him, seawards first, and then on shipboard, and so
to the shores that are calling me. He pressed resolutely forward,
still without haste, but with dogged fixity of purpose. But
(38:52):
the mole, now thoroughly alarmed, placed himself in front of him,
and looked into his eyes and saw that they were glazed,
and sat and turned a streaked and shifting gray, not
his friend's eyes, but the eyes of some other animal.
Grappling with him strongly, he dragged him inside, threw him down,
(39:12):
and held him. The rat struggled desperately for a few moments,
and then his strength seemed suddenly to leave him, and
he lay still and exhausted, with closed eyes, trembling. Presently,
the mole assisted him to rise and placed him in
a chair, where he sat collapsed and shrunken into himself,
(39:33):
his body shaken by a violent shivering, passing in time
into an hysterical fit of dry sobbing. Mole made the
door fast through the satchel into a drawer and locked
it and sat down quietly on the table by his friend,
waiting for the strange seizure to pass. Gradually, the rat
(39:55):
sank into a troubled doze, broke him by starts and
confused murmurings of other things strange and wild and foreign
to the unenlightened mole, And from that he passed into
a deep slumber. Very anxious in mind, the mole left
him for a time and busied himself with household matters.
(40:18):
And it was getting dark when he returned to the
parlor and found the rat where he had left him,
wide awake, indeed, but listless, silent and dejected. He took
one hasty glance at his eyes, found them, to his
great gratification, clear and dark and brown again as before,
and then sat down and tried to cheer him up
(40:40):
and help him to relate what had happened to him.
Poor Ratti did his best, by degrees to explain things.
But how could he put into cold words what had
mostly been suggestion? How recall for another's benefit the haunting
sea voices that had sung to him, How reproduce at
(41:01):
second hand the magic of the seafarer's hundred reminiscences, even
to himself. Now the spell was broken and the glamour gone,
he found it difficult to account for what had seemed
some hours ago the inevitable and only thing. It is
not surprising, then, that he failed to convey to the
(41:22):
Mole any clear idea of what he had been through
that day. To the Mole, this much was plain. The
fit or attack had passed away and had left him
sane again, though shaken and cast down by the reaction.
But he seemed to have lost all interest for the
time in things that went to make up his daily life,
(41:44):
as well as in all pleasant forecastings of the altered
days and doings that the changing season was surely bringing. Casually, then,
and with seeming indifference, the Mole turned his talk to
the harvest that was being gathered in, and the towering
wagons and their straining teams, the growing ricks, and the
(42:06):
large moon rising over bare acres dotted with sheaves. He
talked of the reddening apples around, of the browning nuts
of jams and preserves, and the distilling of cordials. Till
by easy stages such as these, he reached midwinter, its
hearty joys and its snug home life. And then he
(42:27):
became simply lyrical. By degrees. The rat began to sit
up and join in. His dull eye brightened, and he
lost some of his listening air. Presently, the tactful mole
slipped away and returned with a pencil and a few
half sheets of paper, which he placed on the table
at his friend's elbow. It's quite a long time should
(42:51):
you did any poetry, he remarked, You might have a
try at it this evening, instead of well brooding over
things so much, I've an idea that you'll feel a
lot better when you've got something jolted down, if it's
only just the rhymes. The rat pushed the paper away
from him wearily, but the discreet male took occasion to
(43:13):
leave the room, and when he peeped in again some
time later, the rat was absorbed and deaf to the world,
alternately scribbling and sucking the top of his pencil. It
is true that he sucked a good deal more than
he scribbled, but it was joy to the mall to
know that the cure had at last begun. The end
(43:35):
of chapter nine
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please
visit LibriVox dot org. This recording is by Mark Smith
of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Wind in the Willows by
Kenneth Graham, Chapter nine, Wayfarers All, the water rat was restless,
(00:28):
and he did not know exactly why. To all appearance,
the summer's pomp was still at fullest height, and although
in the tilled acre's green had given way to gold.
Though rowans were reddening, and the woods were dashed here
and there with a tawny fierceness. Yet life and warmth
and color were still present, in undiminished measure, clean of
(00:50):
any chilly premonitions of the passing year. But the constant
chorus of the orchards and hedges had shrunk to a
casual Even so from a few yet unwearied performers. The
robin was beginning to assert himself once more, and there
was a feeling in the air of change and departure.
(01:10):
The cuckoo, of course, had long been silent, but many
another feathered friend for months, a part of the familiar
landscape and its small society was missing too, and it
seemed that the ranks thin steadily day by day. Rat Ever,
an observer of all ringed movement saw that it was
(01:31):
taking daily a southing tendency, and even as he lay
him bed at night, he thought he could make out
passing in the darkness overhead, the beat and quiver of
impatient pinions obedient to the peremptory call. Nature's grand hotel
has its season like the others, as the guests one
(01:54):
by one pack pay and depart, and the seats at
the table d'hte drink pitifully at each succeeding meal, as
suites of rooms are closed, carpets taken up, and waiters
sent away. Those boarders who are staying on en pension
until the next year's full reopening cannot help being somewhat
(02:17):
affected by all those flittings and farewells, the eager discussion
of plans, roots and fresh quarters, this daily shrinkage in
the stream of comradeship, one gets unsettled, depressed, and inclined
to be querulous. Why this craving for change? Why not
stay on quietly here like us and be jolly. You
(02:40):
don't know this hotel out of season, and what fun
we have ourselves, we fellows who remain and see the
whole interesting year out. All very true, no doubt. The
others always reply, we quite envy you, and some other
year perhaps, but just now we have engagements. There's the
bus at the door. Our time is up. So they
(03:04):
depart with a smile and a nod, and we missed
them and feel resentful. The rat was a self sufficing
sort of animal, rooted to the land, and whoever went
he stayed still. He could not help noticing what was
in the air and feeling some of its influence in
his bones. It was difficult to settle down to anything
(03:27):
seriously with all this flitting going on. Leaving the water
side where Russia stood thick and tall, in a stream
that was becoming sluggish and low, he wandered countrywards, crossed
a field or two of pasturage, already looking dusty and parched,
and thrust into the great sea of wheat, yellow, wavy
(03:49):
and murmurous, full of quiet motion and small whisperings. Here
he loved often to wander through the forest of stiff,
strong stalks that carried their own golden sky away over
his head, a sky that was always dancing, shimmering, softly,
talking or swaying strongly to the passing wind, and recovering
(04:13):
itself with a toss and a merry laugh. Here too,
he had many small friends, a society complete in itself,
leading full and busy lives, but always with a spare
moment to gossip and exchange news with a visitor. Today, however,
though they were civil enough, the field mice and harvest
(04:36):
mice seemed preoccupied. Many were digging and tunneling busily. Others
gathered together in small groups, examined plans and drawings of
small flats stated to be desirable and compact and situated
conveniently near the stores. Some were hauling out dusty trunks
(04:56):
and dress baskets. Others were already elbowed, packing their belongings
well everywhere. Piles and bundles of wheat, oats, barley, beech,
masts and nuts lay about, ready for transport. Here's already,
they cried as soon as they saw him. Come and
bear a hand, rat, and don't stand about idle. What
(05:19):
sort of games are you up to? Said the water
rat severely. You know it isn't time to be thinking.
Speaker 2 (05:26):
Of winter quarters yet. By a long way.
Speaker 1 (05:30):
Oh yes, we know that, explained a field mouse rather shamefacedly.
But it's always as well to be in good time,
isn't it. We really must get all the furniture and
baggage and stores moved out of this before those horrid
machines begin clicking around the fields. And then, you know,
(05:51):
the best flats get picked up so quickly nowadays, and
if you're late, you have to put up with anything,
and they want such a lot of doing up too,
before they're fit to move into. Of course we're early,
we know that. But we're only just making a start.
Oh bother starts, said the rat. It's a splendid day.
(06:15):
Come for a row or stroll along the hedges, or
a picnic in the woods or something. Well, I think
not to day, thank you, replied the field mouse hurriedly,
Perhaps some other day, when we've more time. The rat,
with a snort of contempt, swung round to go, tripped
over a hat box and fell with undignified remarks. If
(06:41):
people would be more careful, said a field mouse, rather stiffly,
and look where they're going, people wouldn't hurt themselves and
forget themselves. Mind that, hold all, rat you'd better sit
down somewhere. In an hour or two, we may be
more free to attend to you. You won't be free,
(07:02):
as you call it much this side of Christmas, I
can see that, retorted rat grumpily, as he picked his
way out of the field. He returned somewhat despondently to
his river again, his faithful, steady going old river, which
never packed up, flitted or went into winter quarters. In
(07:24):
the oceans which fringed the bank, spied a swallow sitting presently.
It was joined by another, and then by a third,
and the birds, fidgeting restly on their bow, talked together
earnestly and low. What already, said the rat, strolling off
to them. What's the hurry? I call it simply ridiculous.
(07:46):
Oh we're not off yet, if that's what you mean,
replied the first swallow. We're only making plans and arranging things,
talking it over. You know what route we're taking this year,
and where we'll stop and so on. Uh, that's half
the fun fun, said the rat. Now that's just what
I don't understand. If you've got to leave this pleasant
(08:10):
place and your friends who will miss you, and your
snug homes, that you've just settled into Why when the
hour strikes, I've no doubt you'll go bravely and face
all the trouble and discomfort and change and newness, and
make believe that you're not very unhappy, but to want
(08:31):
to talk about it, or even think about it till
you really need to. No, you don't understand naturally, said
the second swallow. First we feel it stirring within us,
a sweet unrest. Then back come the recollections, one by one,
Like homing pigeons. They flutter through our dreams. At night,
(08:54):
they fly with us in our wheelings and circlings. By day,
we hunger to inquire of each other, to compare notes
and assure ourselves that it all was really true. As
one by one, the scents and sounds and names I've
long forgotten places come gradually back and beckon to us.
Speaker 2 (09:16):
Couldn't you stop one for just this year.
Speaker 1 (09:20):
Suggested the water rat wistfully.
Speaker 3 (09:23):
We'll all do our best to make you feel at home.
You've no idea what good times we have here while
you are far away. I tried stopping on one year,
said the third swallow. I had grown so fond of
the place that when the time came, I hung back
and let the others go on without me. For a
(09:44):
few weeks it was all well enough. But afterwards, oh, the.
Speaker 1 (09:49):
Weary length of the nights, the shivering sunless days, the
air so clammying chill, and not an insect, and an
acre of it. No, it was no good. My courage
broke down, and one cold stormy night I took wing,
flying well inland on account of the strong easterly gales.
(10:13):
It was snowing hard as I beat through the passes
of the great mountains, and I had a stiff fight
to win through. But never shall I forget the blissful
feeling of the hot sun again on my back, as
I sped down to the lakes that lay so blue
in placid below me, and the taste of my first
(10:36):
fat insect. The past was like a bad dream. The
future was all happy holiday as I moved southwards week
by week, easily, lazily, lingering as long as I dared,
but always heading the call. No, I've had my warning.
(10:56):
Never again did I think of disobedience. Oh, yes, the
call of the South. Of the South, twittered the other
two dreamily, its songs, its hues, its radiant air, Oh
do you remember? And forgetting the rat, they slid into
passionate reminiscence, while he listened, fascinated, and his heart burned
(11:19):
within him and himself too, he knew that it was
vibrating at last, that chord hitherto dormant and unsuspected. The
mere chatter of those southern bound birds, their pale and
second hand reports, had yet power to awaken this wild
new sensation and thrill him through and through with it.
(11:44):
What would one moment of the real thing work in him?
One passionate touch of the real southern sun, one waft
of the authentic odor. With closed eyes, he dared to dream,
a moment in full abandonment. And when he looked again,
the river seemed steely and chill, the green fields gray
(12:09):
and lightless. Then his loyal heart seemed to cry out
on his weaker self for its treachery. Whyever, do you
come back then at all? He demanded of the swallows jealously,
What do you find to attract you in this poor,
drab little country? And do you think, said the first swallow,
(12:30):
that the other call is not for us? Two? In
its due season, the call of lush meadow grass wet orchards,
warm insect haunted ponds of browsing, cattle of hay making,
and all the farm buildings clustering round the house of
the perfect eaves. Do you suppose, asked the second one,
(12:53):
that you are the only living thing that craves? With
a hungry longing to hear the cuckoo's note again, In
due time, said the third, we shall be homesick once
more for quiet water lilies swaying on the surface of
an English stream. But to day all that seems pale
and thin and very far away. Just now our blood
(13:16):
dances to other music. They fell a twittering among themselves
once more, and this time their intoxicating babble was of
violet seas, tawny sands, and lizard haunted walls. Restlessly, the
rat wandered off once more, climbed the slope that rose
(13:36):
gently from the north bank of the river, and lay
looking out towards the great ring of downs that barred
his vision further southwards, his simple horizon, hitherto his mountains
of the moon, his limit, behind which lay nothing he
had cared to see or to know to day, to him,
(13:57):
gazing south with a new born need stirring in his heart.
The clear sky over their long, low outline seemed to
pulsate with promise. Today the unseen was everything, the unknown.
The only real fact of life on this side of
the hills was now the real blank. On the other
(14:20):
lay the crowded and colored panorama that his inner eye
was seeing so clearly. What seas lay beyond, green leaping
and crested, What sun bathed coast along which the white
villas glittered against the olive woods, What quiet harbors thronged
with gallant shipping, bound for purple islands of wine and spice,
(14:45):
islands set low in languorous waters. He rose and descended
riverwards once more, then changed his mind and sought the
side of the dusty lane. There, lying half buried in
the thick, cool under hedge tangle that bordered it, he
could muse on the metaled road and all the wondrous
(15:06):
world that it led to, on all the wayfarers too
that might have trodden it, and the fortunes and adventures
they had gone to seek or found unseeking out there
beyond beyond. Footsteps fell on his ear, and the figure
of one that walked somewhat wearily came into view, and
(15:30):
he saw that it was a rat, and a very
dusty one. The wayfarer, as he reached him, saluted with
a gesture of courtesy that had something foreign about it,
hesitated a moment, then, with a pleasant smile, turned from
the track and sat down by his side in the
cool herbage. He seemed tired, and the rat let him
(15:54):
rest unquestioned, understanding something of what was in his thoughts,
knowing too the value all animals attach at times to mere,
silent companionship, when the weary muscles slacken and the mind
marks time. The wayfarer was lean and keen, featured and
(16:15):
somewhat bowed at the shoulders. His paws were thin and long,
his eyes much wrinkled at the corners, and he wore
small gold ear rings in his neatly set, well shaped ears.
His knitted jersey was of a faded blue, His breeches,
patched and stained, were based on a blue foundation, and
(16:39):
his small belongings that he carried were tied up in
a blue cotton handkerchief. When he had rested awhile, the
stranger sighed, snuffed the air and looked about him. That
was clover, that warm with on the breeze, he remarked,
And those are we hear cropping the grass behind us
(17:03):
and blowing softly Between mouthfuls. There is a sound of
distant reapers, and yonder rises, a blue line of cottage
smoke against the woodland. The river runs somewhere close by.
For I hear the call of a moor hen, and
I see by your build that you're a fresh water mariner.
(17:25):
Everything seems asleep and yet going on all the time.
It is a goodly life that you lead, friend, no doubt,
the best in the world, if only you are strong
enough to lead it. Yes, it's the life, the only
life to live, responded the water rat, dreamily and without
(17:46):
his usual whole hearted conviction. I did not say exactly that,
replied the stranger cautiously. But no doubt it's the best.
I've tried it, and I oh, and because I've just
tried it, six months of it, and know it's the best.
(18:07):
Here am I footsore and hungry, tramping away from it,
tramping southward, following the old call, back to the old life,
the life which is mine and which will not let
me go. Is this, then, yet another of them? Mused
(18:28):
the rat and where have you just come from? He asked.
He hardly dared to ask where he was bound, for
he seemed to know the answer only too well. Nice
little farm, replied the wayfarer, briefly. Up along in that direction,
he nodded northwards. Never mind about it. I had everything
(18:50):
I could want, everything I had any right to expect
of life, and more. And here I am glad to
be here all the same, though, glad to be here
so many miles further on the road, so many hours
nearer to my heart's desire. His shining eyes held fast
(19:12):
to the horizon, and he seemed to be listening for
some sound that was wanting from that inland acreage, vocal
as it was, with a cheerful music of pasturage and farmland.
You are not one of us, said the water rat,
nor yet a farmer, nor even I should judge of
(19:33):
this country, right, replied the stranger. I am a seafaring rat,
I am, And the port I originally hail from is Constantinople,
though I'm a sort of a foreigner there too. In
a manner of speaking, you will have heard of Constantinople, friend,
a fair city, and an ancient and glorious one. You
(19:56):
may have heard too of Sigurd, King of Norway, and
how he sailed thither with sixty ships, and how he
and his men rode up through streets all canopied in
their honor with purple and gold, and how the Emperor
and Empress came down and banqueted with him on board
his ship. When Sigurd returned home, many of his northmen
(20:20):
remained behind and entered the Emperor's bodyguard. And my ancestor,
a Norwegian born, stayed behind two with a ship that
Sigurd gave the Emperor. Seafarers we have ever been, and
no wonder as for me. The city of my birth
is no more my home than any pleasant port between
(20:43):
there and the London River. I know them all, and
they know me. Set me down on any of their
cays or foreshores, and I am home again.
Speaker 2 (20:56):
I suppose you go great voyages.
Speaker 1 (21:00):
Said the water rat, with growing interest, months and months
out of sight of land, and provisions running short and
allowanced as to water and your mind communing with a
mighty ocean, and all that sort of thing, by no means,
said the sea rat, frankly, such a lifeish you describe
(21:21):
would not suit me at all. I'm in the coasting
trade and rarely out of sight of Latin. It's the
jolly times, I'm sure that appeal to me as much
as any seafaring. Oh those southern seaports, the smell of them,
the riding lights at night, the glamor. Well, perhaps you
(21:45):
have chosen the better way, said the water rat, But
rather doubtfully tell me something of your coasting then, if
you have a mind to, and what sort of harvest
an animal of spirit might hope to bring home from
it to warm his latter days with gallant memories by
the fireside. For my life, I confess to you, feels
(22:07):
to me to day somewhat narrow and circumscribed. My last
voyage began the sea rat that landed me eventually in
this country, bound with high hopes for my inland farm
will serve as a good example of any of them,
and indeed as an epitome of my highly colored life.
(22:31):
Family troubles as usual began it The domestic storm cone
was hoisted, and I shipp'd myself on board a small
trading vessel bound from Constantinople by classic seas whose every
wave throbs with a deathless memory to the Grecian islands
(22:52):
and the Levant. Those were golden days and balmy nights,
in and out of harbor, all the time, old friends everywhere,
sleeping in some cool temple or ruined cistern during the
heat of the day, feasting and song after sundown, under
(23:13):
great stars set in a velvet sky. Thence we turned
and coasted up the Adriatic its shores, swimming in an
atmosphere of amber rose and aquamarine. We lay in wide
landlocked harbors. We roamed through ancient and noble cities, until
(23:35):
at last, one morning, as the sun rose royally behind us,
we rode into Venice, down a path of gold. Oh,
Venice is a fine city. We're in. A rat can
wander at his ease and take his pleasure, or, when
weary of wandering, can sit at the edge of the
(23:57):
grand canal at night, feasting with his friends, when the
air is full of music and the sky full of stars,
and the lights flash and shimmer on the polished steel
prows of the swaying gondolas, packed so that you could
walk across the canal on them from side to side.
(24:18):
And then the food. Do you like shellfish? Well, we
won't linger over that. Now he was silent for a time,
and the water rat silent too, and enthralled, floated on
dream canals and heard a phantom song pealing a high
between vaporous, grave wavelapped walls. Southwards, we sailed again, at last,
(24:46):
continued the sea rat, coasting down the Italian shore till
finally we made Palermo, and there I quitted for a long,
happy spell on shore. I never stick too long to
one ship. One gets narrow minded and prejudiced. Besides, Cecily
(25:06):
is one of my happy hunting grounds. I know everybody there,
and their ways just suit me. I spent many jolly
weeks in the island, staying with friends up country. When
I grew restless again, I took advantage of a ship
that was trading to Sardinia and Corsica, and very glad
(25:27):
I was to feel the fresh breeze and the sea
spray in my face once more. But isn't it very
hot and stuffy? Countin in the hold? I think you
call it, asked the water rat. The seafarer looked at
him with a suspicion. Go a wink, I'm an old hand,
(25:48):
he remarked, with much simplicity. The captain's cabin's good enough
for me. It's a hard life by all accounts, murmured
the rat, sunk in deep thought. For the crew, it is,
replied the seafarer gravely, again, with the ghost of a
wink from Corsica. He went on. I made use of
(26:11):
a ship that was taking wine to the mainland. We
made Alassio in the evening, lay too, hauled up our
wine casks and hove them overboard, tied one to the
other by a long line. Then the crew took to
the boats and rowed shorewards, singing as they went, and
(26:31):
drawing after them the long, bobbing procession of casks like
a mile of porpoises on the sands. They had horses waiting,
which dragged the casks up the steep street of the
little town with a fine rush and clatter and scramble.
When the last cask was in, we went and refreshed
(26:51):
and rested, and sat lad into the night drinking with
our friends. And next morning I took to the great
Olive Woods for a spell and arrest. For now I
had done with islands for the time, and ports and
shipping were plentiful, so I led a lazy life among
the peasants, lying and watching them work, or stretched high
(27:14):
on the hill side with a blue Mediterranean far below me,
and so at length by easy stages, and partly on foot,
partly by sea to Marseilles, and the meeting of old shipmates,
and the visiting of great ocean bound vessels, and feasting
once more, talk of shell fish. Why sometimes I dream
(27:40):
of the shell fish of Marseilles and wake up crying.
That reminds me, said the polite water rat. You happened
to mention that you were hungry, and it ought to
have spoken earlier. Of course you will stop and take
your midday meal with me. My hall is close by.
(28:01):
It is some time past noon, and you are very
welcome to whatever there is now. I call that kind
and brotherly of you, said the sea rat. I was
indeed hungry when I sat down, and ever since I
inadvertently happened to mention shellfish, my pangs have been extreme.
(28:22):
But couldn't you fetch it along out here? I am
none too fond of going under hatches unless I'm obliged to.
And then while we eat, I could tell you more
concerning my voyages and the pleasant life I lead at
least it is very pleasant to me, and by your attention,
(28:42):
I judge it commends itself to you. Whereas if we
go indoors, it is one hundred to one that I
shall presently fall asleep. That is indeed an excellent suggestion,
said the water rat, and hurried off home. There he
got out the luncheon basket and packed a simple meal,
(29:03):
in which, remembering the stranger's origin in preferences, he took
care to include a yard of long French bread, a
sausage out of which the garlic sang, some cheese which
lay down and cried, and a long necked straw covered flask,
wherein lay bottled sunshine, shed and garnered on far southern slopes.
(29:24):
Thus laden, he returned with all speed and blushed for
pleasure at the old seamen's commendations of his taste and judgment.
As together they unpacked the basket and laid out the
contents on the grass by the roadside. The sea rat,
as soon as his hunger was somewhat assuaged, continued the
(29:45):
history of his latest voyage, conducting his simple hearer from
port to port of Spain, landing him at Lisbon a
Porto and Bordeaux, introducing him to the pleasant harbors of
Cornwall and Devon, and so up the channel to that
final quay side, where, landing after wind's long contrary, storm
(30:07):
driven and weather beaten, he had caught the first magical
hints and heraldings of another spring, and, fired by these,
had sped on a long tramp inland, hungry for the
experiment of life on some quiet farmstead, very far from
the weary beating of any sea. Spellbound and quivering with excitement,
(30:31):
the water rat followed the adventurer league by league, over
stormy bays, through crowded roadsteads, across harbor bars, on a
racing tide, up winding rivers that hid their busy little towns,
round a sudden turn, and left him with a regretful sigh,
planted at his dull inland farm, about which he desired
(30:53):
to hear nothing. By this time their meal was over,
and the seafarer refreshed and strengthened, his voice more vibrant,
his eye lit with a brightness that seemed caught from
some faraway sea. Beacon filled his glass with the red
and glowing vintage of the South, and leaning towards the
(31:15):
water rat compelled his gaze and held him body and
soul while he talked. Those eyes were of the changing
foam streaked gray green of leaping northern seas. In the
glass shone a hot ruby that seemed the very heart
of the South, beating for him who had courage to
(31:35):
respond to its pulsation. The twin lights, the shifting gray
and the steadfast red, mastered the water rat and held
him bound, fascinated, powerless. The quiet world outside their rays
receded far away and ceased to be. And the talk,
(31:56):
though wonderful, talk, flowed on. Or was its speech entirely
or did it pass at times into song, chanty of
the sailors weighing the dripping anchor sonorous hum of the shrouds,
and a tearing northeaster ballad of the fisherman hauling his
nets at sundown against an apricot sky, chords of guitar
(32:18):
and mandolin from gondola or kaik? Did it change into
the cry of the wind plaintive, at first angrily shrill
as it freshened, rising to a tearing whistle, sinking to
a musical trickle of air from the leech of the
bellying sail all these sounds, the spellbound listener seemed to hear,
(32:41):
and with them the hungry complaint of the gulls, and
the sea meuse, the soft thunder of the breaking wave,
the cry of the protesting shingle back into speech again,
it passed, and with beating heart he was following the
adventures of a dozen seaports, the fight, the escapes, the rallies,
(33:02):
the comrade ships, the gallant undertakings. Or he searched islands
for treasure, fished in still lagoons, and dozed day long
on warm white sand of deep sea fishings. He heard
tell and mighty silver gatherings of the mile long net
(33:23):
of sudden perils, noise of breakers on a moonless night,
or the tall boughs of the great liner taking shape
overhead through the fog of the merry home coming. The
headland rounded, the harbor, lights opened out, the groups seen
dimly on the quay, the cheery hail, the splash of
(33:45):
the hawser, the trudge up the steep little street towards
the comforting glow of red curtained windows. Lastly, in his
waking dream, it seemed to him that the adventurer had
risen to his feet but was still speaking, still holding
him fast with his sea gray eyes. And now he
(34:07):
was softly saying, I take to the road again, holding
on southwestwards for many a long and dusty day, till
at last I reached the little gray sea town I
know so well that clings along one steep side of
the harbor. There, through dark doorways you look down flights
(34:30):
of stone steps, overhung by great pink tufts of valerian,
and ending in a patch of sparkling blue water. The
old boats that lie tethered to the rings and stanchions
of the old sea wall are gaily painted, as those
I clambered in and out of in my own childhood.
(34:51):
The salmon leap on the flood tide, schools of mackerel
flash and play past quay sides and foreshores, And by
the window the great vessels glide night and day up
to the moorings, or forth to the open sea. There
Sooner or later the ships of all seafaring nations arrive,
(35:14):
and there, at its destined hour, the ship of my
choice will let go its anchor. I shall take my time.
I shall tarry and bide till at last the right
one lies waiting for me warped out into mid stream,
loaded low her bowsprit pointing down harbor, I shall slip
(35:37):
on board by boat or long hawser, And when one
morning I shall wake to the song and tramp of
the sailors, the clink of the capstan, and the rattle
of the anchorchain, coming merrily in, we shall break out
the jib and the foresail. The white houses on the
harbor side will glide slowly past us as she gathers
(36:00):
steering way, and the voyage will have begun. As she
forges towards the headland, she will clothe herself with canvas,
and then once outside, the sounding slap of great green
seas as she heels to the wind, pointing south. And
(36:22):
you you will come, too, young brother, for the days
pass and never return, and the south still waits for you.
Take the adventure. Heed the call. Now Ere, the irrevocable
moment passes, tis but a banging of the door behind you,
(36:42):
a blithesome step forward, and you are out of the
old life and into the new. Then, some day, some
day long, hence, jog home here if you will, when
the cup has been drained and the play has been played,
and sit down by your quiet river, with a store
(37:03):
of goodly memories for company, you can easily overtake me
on the road. For you are young, and I am aging,
and go softly. I will linger and look back, and
at last I will surely see you coming, eager and
light hearted, with all the South in your face. The
(37:26):
voice died away and ceased as an insect's tiny trumpet
dwindled swiftly into silence, and the water rat paralyzed and
staring saw at last but a distant speck on the
white surface of the road. Mechanically, he rose and proceeded
to repack the luncheon basket carefully and without haste. Mechanically,
(37:50):
he returned home, gathered together a few small necessaries and
special treasures he was fond of, and put them in
a satchel, acting with slow delivery, moving about the room
like a sleep walker, listening ever with parted lips, he
swung satchel over his shoulder, carefully selected a stout stick
(38:11):
for his wayfaring, and with no haste, but with no
hesitation at all, he stepped across the threshold just as
the mole appeared at the door. Why where are you
off to ready asked the mole in great surprise, grasping
him by the arm.
Speaker 2 (38:29):
Going south or the rest of.
Speaker 1 (38:32):
Them murmured the rat in a dreamy monotne, never looking
at him, seawards first, and then on shipboard, and so
to the shores that are calling me. He pressed resolutely forward,
still without haste, but with dogged fixity of purpose. But
(38:52):
the mole, now thoroughly alarmed, placed himself in front of him,
and looked into his eyes and saw that they were glazed,
and sat and turned a streaked and shifting gray, not
his friend's eyes, but the eyes of some other animal.
Grappling with him strongly, he dragged him inside, threw him down,
(39:12):
and held him. The rat struggled desperately for a few moments,
and then his strength seemed suddenly to leave him, and
he lay still and exhausted, with closed eyes, trembling. Presently,
the mole assisted him to rise and placed him in
a chair, where he sat collapsed and shrunken into himself,
(39:33):
his body shaken by a violent shivering, passing in time
into an hysterical fit of dry sobbing. Mole made the
door fast through the satchel into a drawer and locked
it and sat down quietly on the table by his friend,
waiting for the strange seizure to pass. Gradually, the rat
(39:55):
sank into a troubled doze, broke him by starts and
confused murmurings of other things strange and wild and foreign
to the unenlightened mole, And from that he passed into
a deep slumber. Very anxious in mind, the mole left
him for a time and busied himself with household matters.
(40:18):
And it was getting dark when he returned to the
parlor and found the rat where he had left him,
wide awake, indeed, but listless, silent and dejected. He took
one hasty glance at his eyes, found them, to his
great gratification, clear and dark and brown again as before,
and then sat down and tried to cheer him up
(40:40):
and help him to relate what had happened to him.
Poor Ratti did his best, by degrees to explain things.
But how could he put into cold words what had
mostly been suggestion? How recall for another's benefit the haunting
sea voices that had sung to him, How reproduce at
(41:01):
second hand the magic of the seafarer's hundred reminiscences, even
to himself. Now the spell was broken and the glamour gone,
he found it difficult to account for what had seemed
some hours ago the inevitable and only thing. It is
not surprising, then, that he failed to convey to the
(41:22):
Mole any clear idea of what he had been through
that day. To the Mole, this much was plain. The
fit or attack had passed away and had left him
sane again, though shaken and cast down by the reaction.
But he seemed to have lost all interest for the
time in things that went to make up his daily life,
(41:44):
as well as in all pleasant forecastings of the altered
days and doings that the changing season was surely bringing. Casually, then,
and with seeming indifference, the Mole turned his talk to
the harvest that was being gathered in, and the towering
wagons and their straining teams, the growing ricks, and the
(42:06):
large moon rising over bare acres dotted with sheaves. He
talked of the reddening apples around, of the browning nuts
of jams and preserves, and the distilling of cordials. Till
by easy stages such as these, he reached midwinter, its
hearty joys and its snug home life. And then he
(42:27):
became simply lyrical. By degrees. The rat began to sit
up and join in. His dull eye brightened, and he
lost some of his listening air. Presently, the tactful mole
slipped away and returned with a pencil and a few
half sheets of paper, which he placed on the table
at his friend's elbow. It's quite a long time should
(42:51):
you did any poetry, he remarked, You might have a
try at it this evening, instead of well brooding over
things so much, I've an idea that you'll feel a
lot better when you've got something jolted down, if it's
only just the rhymes. The rat pushed the paper away
from him wearily, but the discreet male took occasion to
(43:13):
leave the room, and when he peeped in again some
time later, the rat was absorbed and deaf to the world,
alternately scribbling and sucking the top of his pencil. It
is true that he sucked a good deal more than
he scribbled, but it was joy to the mall to
know that the cure had at last begun. The end
(43:35):
of chapter nine
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