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    There Is Sorrow on the Sea
    There Is Sorrow on the Sea
    There Is Sorrow on the Sea
    Ebook44 pages31 minutes

    There Is Sorrow on the Sea

    By Gilbert Parker

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 15, 2013
    There Is Sorrow on the Sea
    Author

    Gilbert Parker

    Gilbert Parker (1862–1932), also credited as Sir Horatio Gilbert George Parker, 1st Baronet, was a Canadian novelist and British politician. His initial career was in education, working in various schools as a teacher and lecturer. He then traveled abroad to Australia where he became an editor at the Sydney Morning Herald. He expanded his writing to include long-form works such as romance fiction. Some of his most notable titles include Pierre and his People (1892), The Seats of the Mighty and The Battle of the Strong.

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      Book preview

      There Is Sorrow on the Sea - Gilbert Parker

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of There is Sorrow On The Sea, by Gilbert Parker

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: There is Sorrow On The Sea

      Author: Gilbert Parker

      Release Date: October 18, 2006 [EBook #6255]

      Last Updated: November 5, 2012

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THERE IS SORROW ON THE SEA ***

      Produced by David Widger

      THERE IS SORROW ON THE SEA

      By Gilbert Parker

      Contents

      I

                     "YORK FACTORY, HUDSON'S BAY,

                        "23rd September, 1747.

      "MY DEAR COUSIN FANNY,—It was a year last April Fool's Day, I left you on the sands there at Mablethorpe, no more than a stone's throw from the Book-in-Hand Inn, swearing that you should never see me or hear from me again. You remember how we saw the coast-guards flash their lights here and there, as they searched the sands for me? how one came bundling down the bank, calling, 'Who goes there?' You remember that when I said, 'A friend,' he stumbled, and his light fell to the sands and went out, and in the darkness you and I stole away: you to your home, with a whispering, 'God-bless-you, Cousin Dick,' over your shoulder, and I with a bit of a laugh that, maybe, cut to the heart, and that split in a sob in my own throat—though you didn't hear that.

      "'Twas a bad night's work that, Cousin Fanny, and maybe I wish it undone, and maybe I don't; but a devil gets into the heart of a man when he has to fly from the lass he loves, while the friends of his youth go hunting him with muskets, and he has to steal out of the backdoor of his own country and shelter himself, like a cold sparrow, up in the eaves of the world.

      "Ay, lass, that's how I left the fens of Lincolnshire a year last April Fool's Day. There wasn't a dyke from, Lincoln town to Mablethorpe that I hadn't crossed with a running jump; and there wasn't a break in the shore, or a sink-hole in the sand, or a clump of rushes, or a samphire bed, from Skegness to Theddlethorpe, that I didn't know like every line of your face. And when I was a slip of a lad-ay, and later too—how you and I used to snuggle into little nooks of the sand-hills, maybe just beneath the coast-guard's hut, and watch the tide come swilling in-water-daisies you used to call the breaking surf, Cousin Fanny.

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