THERE grew at times an excited feeling that he was a prophet, and that there were fabulously great things before us.

As I doctored some small ill one day in the forecastle, a great fellow named Francisco from Huelva would tell me his dream of the night before.

He had already told it, it seemed, to all who would listen, and now again he had considerable audience, crowding at the door.

He said that he dreamed he was in Cipango.

At first he thought it was heaven, but when he saw golden roofs he knew it must be Cipango, for in heaven where it never rained and there were no nights, we shouldn't need roofs.