An original fiction passage set in the nineteenth century.

All afternoon the harbour had seemed to belong to the gulls and the sunlight. Their cries travelled over the roofs, and the boats rocked gently against the quay. I leaned on the rail, pleased by the bright disorder of it all. Beyond the entrance, the sea lay smooth and empty.

Then the harbour bell sounded once. The men along the quay turned towards the open water, and their talk dwindled. My father’s boat was late. I began counting the spaces between the waves, though each one looked much like the last. A dark shape appeared beyond the breakwater and vanished. I tightened my hands around the rail. The bell sounded again. This time the shape held its place and grew larger, its sail lifting above the grey water. I heard someone call my father’s name. The harbour was still noisy, but I could no longer mistake its noise for carelessness; every face was turned towards the boat.