Below Me, As I Leaned On The
Sea-Wall, A Fisherman's Boat Crept Duskily Along The Rocks, A Splash
Of Oars Soft-Sounding In The Stillness.
I looked to the far
Calabrian hills, now scarce distinguishable from horizon cloud, and
wondered what chances might await me in the unknown scenes of my
further travel.
The long shore of the Ionian Sea suggested many a halting-place.
Best of all, I should have liked to swing a wallet on my shoulder
and make the whole journey on foot; but this for many reasons was
impossible. I could only mark points of the railway where some sort
of food or lodging might be hoped for, and the first of these
stoppages was Metaponto.
Official time-bills of the month marked a train for Metaponto at
4.56 A.M., and this I decided to take, as it seemed probable that I
might find a stay of some hours sufficient, and so be able to resume
my journey before night. I asked the waiter to call me at a quarter
to four. In the middle of the night (as it seemed to me) I was
aroused by a knocking, and the waiter's voice called to me that, if
I wished to leave early for Metaponto, I had better get up at once,
as the departure of the train had been changed to 4.15 - it was now
half-past three. There ensued an argument, sustained, on my side,
rather by the desire to stay in bed this cold morning than by any
faith in the reasonableness of the railway company.
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