2025-02-10
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When I was a little chap, I had a passion for maps.
I would look for hours at South America or Africa or Australia and lose myself in all the glories of exploration.
At that time there were many blank spaces on the earth, and when I saw one that looked particularly inviting on a map,
I would put my finger on it and say, when I grow up, I will go there.
There was one, the biggest, the most blank, so to speak, that I had a hankering after.
It had got filled since my boyhood with rivers and lakes and names.
It had ceased to be a blank space of delightful mystery, a white patch for a boy to dream gloriously over.
It had become a place of darkness.
But there was in it one river,
especially a mighty big river that you could see
on the map resembling an immense snake uncoiled with its head in the sea,
its body at rest curving afar over a vast country and its tail lost in the depths of the land.
Dash it all, I thought to myself,
they can't trade without using some kind of craft on that lot of fresh water steamboats.
Why shouldn't I try to take charge of one?
I went on along Fleet street but could not shake off the idea.
The snake had charmed me.