Зима тревоги нашей
Chapter 3
Istoopedoverhistracktoseewhetherhewasheadedhomeoraway.BythescuffofthefrosthewasgoingoutandImightmeethimanyplace.WeeWilliewouldn’tlockhimup.Whatwouldbethegood?
TherewasnoquestionwhereIwasgoing.IhadseenandfeltandsmelleditbeforeIgotoutofbed.TheOldHarborisprettyfargonenow.Afterthenewbreakwaterwentinandthemunicipalpier,sandandsiltcreptinandshallowedthatoncegreatanchorageshelteredbythejaggedteethofWhitsunReef.Andwhereoncewereshipwaysandropewalksandwarehousesandwholefamiliesofcooperstomakethewhale-oilcasks,anddockstoooverwhichthebowspritsofwhalerscouldprojecttotheirchainstaysandfigure-orfiddleheads.Three-masterstheywereusually,square-rigged;theaftermastcarriedsquaresailsaswellasboom-and-gaffspanker—deep-hulledshipsbuilttosuffertheyearsatseainanyweather.Theflyingjibboomwasaseparatesparandthedoubledolphin-strikerservedasspritsailgaffsaswell.
IhaveasteelengravingoftheOldHarborchockablockwithships,andsomefadedphotographsontin,butIdon’treallyneedthem.IknowtheharborandIknowtheships.Grandfatherrebuiltitformewithhisstickmadefromanarwhal’shornandhedrilledmeinthenomenclature,rappingoutthetermswithhisstickagainstatide-baredstumpofapileofwhatwasoncetheHawleydock,afierceoldmanwithawhitewhiskerfringe.IlovedhimsomuchIachedfromit.
