she had been caught at a dangerous anchorage, one winter’s night, by a terrible, suddenly-veering storm, and perished with every soul on board. No light without shade, it seems, even in a ship’s career. So ended, in gloom, that busy, bright, seeming-sentient existence.
But I never think of it as ended at all; in my private and particular cosmos, the world of my experience, safe for me still sails the Tikirau! Staunch, willing, and nimble, a friendly and a happy ship, there for ever she hastens upon her sparkling way, a winged and snow-white presence, bright as a sea-bird in the sunshine, or a flake of flying foam: still linking little green port with little green port along the flashing blue: still beautifying the seas, still gilding humdrum matters with romance: livening duty with beauty, buoyantly taking risks, bright, beneficent, and brave.
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