San Antonio light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1911-1993, 1923-09-08

place, it seemed, that the hand Of
man had touched but lightly if at all
The impression grew the farther
north he went. Ever there was less
sign of habitation upon the shore
The craft passed through narrow
channels between mountains that
wooded islands, it passed forgotten
Indian villages where the totem
poles stood naked and weather.
stained before the forsal1en homes
of the chiefs. The glasses brought
out wonderful scene Just beyond
the reach of their unaided sight
glacier and snow-slide, lofty peaks
and waterfalls. The mystic. brood
ing spirit of the North was already
over them.
They had touched at Ketchikan,
the port of entry to Alaska, and
thence headed almost straight west,
across the gulf of Alaska and to-
ward the far-stretching end of the
Alaskan Pc4insula. During these
days they were far out of sight of
land, surrounded only by an i'm
measurable ocean that rolled endless
ly for none to see or hear.
They were already far beyond the
limits of ordinary tourist travel. The
big boats piled as far as Anchorage
at the head of Cook Inlet--to the
north and east of them now-but be-
yond that point the traffic was large.
ly that of occasional coastal traders.
most of them auxiliary schooners of
varying responsibility. They seemed
70 hox,a ha al,
selves, never to see the tip of sail
on the horizon, or a fisherman's craft
scudding into port. And the solitude
crept into the spirits of the passen-
gers of the Charon.
1t became vaguely difficult to Keep
up holiday atmosphere. it was in.
creasingly hard to be gay, to fight
down certain inner voices that
had hitherto been stified. Some way,
life didn't seem quite the same, quite
the gay dream it had hitherto been.
And yet this Unreasonable vista of
desolate watcrs-icy cold for all the
sunlight that kissed the approaching
lips of the waves-was some way
like dream, too. The brain kept
clear enough, but it was all some
hAab NOHiuSiiS W an lHileT Drulu,
secret self that they had scarcely
been aware of before. 1t was hard
to say which was the more real-the
gay life they had left, the laughter
Of which was still an echo in their
rars. or these far-stretching wastes
Of wintry waters.
They couldn't help but be thought
nj. Realities went home to them that
hey had no desire to admit. A fer
'ent belief in their own sophistication
lad been their dominant point of view.
, establishment and realism that
vas the tone of their generation, deny
ng all they could not see or hear.
io!ding themselves superciliously aloof
rom that gracious wonder and Sim
olicity that still blesses little children;
tut here was something tn was in
'crutably beyond them. They couldn't
,ast it off with a phrase of cheap
dang: demeaning it in order to hold
irm to their own philosophy of Self.
Here was something that shook their
I'D attitude of self-love and self-suffi- |
,iency to its foundations. They |
bought they knew life. these three !;
hey thought they were bigger than
ife. that they had mastered it and
ound it out and stripped all delusions
rom it, but now their unutterable |
'onceit, the pillar of their lives. was
threatening to fall. This sunlit sea
vas too big for them: too big and too
mighty and too old.
The trouble with Ned's generation
vas that it was a goddess generation;
he same evil that RACED Babylon to
he dust. Ned and his kind had come
o be sufficient unto themselves. They |
lad lost the wonder and fear of life. |
md that meant nothing less than the
oss of their wonder and fear of the |
,reat author of life. To these, life had
,een game that they thought they
had mastered. They had laughed to
corn the philosophers that hundred
of noblcr men had built
Up with wondering reverence. Made
arrogant by luxury and ease, they
lnew of nothing too big for them. no
mystery that their contemptuous gaze
,ould not penetrate, no wonder that