In his rambles
of a previous summer he had seen a little island in the lake of Bienne, which struck his imagination and lived in his memory.
It was Jacko, who, in his nocturnal rambles
in the rigging, had been shaken off the yard on which he was perched, by a sudden lurch of the vessel as the tide began to move her about.
He had his object for these nocturnal rambles,
and he was bound to continue them, but this night he was bound to stay.