" But for his part Sebastian
found something of poetry in all that, [95] as he conceived what
thoughts the old Hollander might have had at his fishing, with nets
themselves woven of seaweed, waiting carefully for his drink on the
heavy rains, and taking refuge, as the flood rose, on the sand-hills,
in a little hut constructed but airily on tall stakes, conformable to
the elevation of the highest tides, like a navigator, thought the
learned writer, when the sea was risen, like a ship-wrecked mariner
when it was retired. For the fancy of Sebastian he lived with great
breadths of calm light above and around him, influenced by, and, in a
sense, living upon them, and surely might well complain, though to
Pliny's so infinite surprise, on being made a Roman citizen.
And certainly Sebastian van Storck did not felicitate his people on
the luck which, in the words of another old writer, "hath disposed
them to so thriving a genius." Their restless ingenuity in making
and maintaining dry land where nature had willed the sea, was even
more like the industry of animals than had been that life of their
forefathers. Away with that tetchy, feverish, unworthy agitation!
with this and that, all too importunate, motive of interest! And
then, "My son!" said his father, "be stimulated to action!" he, too,
thinking of that heroic industry which had triumphed over nature
precisely where the contest had been most difficult.
[96] Yet, in truth, Sebastian was forcibly taken by the simplicity of
a great affection, as set forth in an incident of real life of which
he heard just then.
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