Far out at sea now lay a silver strand; the lines of the waves were all curves and heavily laden with shadows—­they were, indeed, waves.  Far above me the cliffs that I had left were mist-hidden, and in the midst shone a strange light from the last glow of sunset in the unseen west.

Night.  At a word the sea became lineless and shapeless.  The sunset sky was green-blue, and black strips of cloud lay athwart it.  Looking up to the crags above me, I missed the church:  it was in heaven or in the clouds.  A great wind blew, and ceased, and came no more—­the one gust that I felt of a whole day’s storm on the coast.  Night chose to be calm, and though all the waves called in chorus upon the rocks, there was a silence and a peace within the evening that is beyond all words.

I walked with the night.  I walked to find an inn, and yet cared not that the way was far and that men dwelt not in these parts.  For something had entered into me from Nature, and I had lived an extra life after the day was done.  It was not one person alone that, pack on back, walked that dark and quiet Crimean road.  And the new spirit that was with me whispered promises and lingered over secrets half-revealed.  I came to know that I should really enter into it, and be one with it, that I should be part of a description of night and part of night itself.

At one of the many turnings of the road I came upon five dreamy waggons, and Tartar waggoners walked by the horses, for their loads were heavy.  I made friends with the third waggoner, and he asked me to carry his whip and take his place whilst he talked with one of his mates.  For eight miles I walked by the side of the plodding horses, and encouraged them or whipped them, coaxed or scolded them, as they slowly dragged their lumberous merchandise along the dark and heavy roads.

I almost fell asleep, but at an inn half-way I drank tea with the waggoners “cheek by jowl and knee by knee,” and they saw me as one of themselves.

Once more on the road—­we went nearly all the way to Aloopka.  The Tartars sang songs, the beasts of burden toiled; on one side the cliffs overwhelmed us, and on the other lay the dark sea on which the stars were peeping.  The still night held us all.

IX

THE MEANING OF THE SEA

I

It is good to live ever in the sight of the sea.  I have been tramping two months along seashores, and living a daily life in the presence of the Infinite.  From Novorossisk to Batoum, eight hundred and fifty versts, I have explored all that coast of the Black Sea that lies at the feet of the Caucasus—­to left of me the snow-peaked mountains shoulder to shoulder under heaven, to right the resplendent, magnificent sea.