All the birds cried from the west;
the salt, stinging wind flung itself upon me from the west.
Once a voice, faint and silvery, made itself heard. "Were
it not well to know those other, those mightier waters, and
find the strange lands, the new lands?" I answered myself,
"They are the old lands taken a new way." But still
the voice said, "The new lands!"
We made Marseilles and unladed, and were held there
a fortnight. I might have left the bark and found work and
maybe safety in France, or I might have taken another ship
for Italy. I did neither. I clung to this bark and my Cata-
lans. We took our lading and quitted Marseilles, and came
after a tranquil voyage to San Lucar. Again we unladed
and laded, and again voyaged to Marseilles. Spring became
summer; young summer, summer in prime. We left Marseilles
and voyaged once more San Lucar-ward. There
rushed up a fearful storm and we were wrecked off Almeria.
One lad drowned. The rest of us somehow made
shore. A boat took us to Algeciras, and thence we trudged
it to San Lucar.
My Catalans were not wholly depressed. Behind their
wrecked ship stood merchants who would furnish another
bark. The master would have had me wait at San Lucar
until he went forth again. But I was bound for the strand
by Palos and the gray, piling Atlantic.
August was the month and the day warm.
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