What disturbed him so this night of his greatest worldly triumph, of his dearest earthly joy? He could not answer. Might this be a form of compensation, of reaction, to balance the ecstasy of the day? He could not tell. He only knew that vision had begun, and would now go on; and he felt that when it ended he should be face to face with trouble never dreamed of till then.
He saw in the eye of the wind, where sea and sky tumbled together away in the north-east, a dark dot. It looked no bigger than a grain of sand upon a drumhead, and it danced and leaped as a grain of sand on a drumhead when the skin is struck. Although this object looked small, and was now only on the verge of the horizon, it lay at no great distance; for gales and lowering clouds and mounting waters curtain off space, and bring the horizon home.
Gradually the small object increased in size as it was pressed forward in a south-westerly direction by the wind. It never grew to great size. As it approached he could see dimly it was a long large canoe, made of a tree hollowed out like those used by the Indians. It was open, undecked. It had no sail, and was blown forward by the action of the wind on the hull.
As the canoe drew nearer he could discern the figure of a man standing in the stern of the boat, paddle in hand. Now he made a swift stroke of the paddle this way, now that. Anon he swept the blade two or three times in the one direction.
In front of where the man stood lay something covered up with skins.
Each wave that trembled and pressed past him the man surveyed quietly, calmly, deliberately, using his paddle so as to prevent the mounting water swamping his boat. When the wave had gone by, and immediate danger no longer threatened the canoe, he turned his eyes upon the bundle at his feet. His face was capable of little expression; nevertheless there was a difference between the glance he gave the menacing waves and the look he gave the bundle. In the former dwelt an expression of familiarity, mastery, superiority; in the latter, one of concern and pity. The substantial lineaments of his countenance did not alter; the only thing which changed was the spirit of his eyes.
The short winter day died. The wind did not increase, but drew a little more to the eastward. Still the man stood erect. The bundle lay at his feet; and he watched the waves mount and curl round him, and steered his boat. But something of the determined air and resolute touch had left him, and his actions were less decisive and firm. As night closed in, the canoe still drifted before the northeasterly breeze. The bundle at his feet moved. He stooped hastily, and passed a handful of food under the skins; there was a low moan from under the skins. The man threw up his head, and looked desperately around him.