CHAPTER XXV.
A fishing party on the Thames—Watch Hill—Night adventures.
Norwich, Conn., August.
A few mornings ago, just as the sun had risen above the eastern hills, which look down upon the Thames at Norwich, the prettiest sail-boat of the place left her moorings, and with a pleasant northerly breeze started for the Sound. Her passengers consisted of six gentlemen, all equipped in their sporting jackets, and furnished with fishing tackle, and their place of destination was Watch Hill, which is a point of land in Rhode Island, extending into the Atlantic, a few miles from Stonington. We were on a fishing frolic, as a matter of course, and a happier company, I ween, were never yet afloat, for the sport of a morning breeze. What with the story, the jest, the iced lemonade and exquisite cigar, the minutes glided by as swiftly and unobserved as the tiny waves around us. Now we met a solitary fisherman, towing for bass, and as we hailed him with a friendly shout, and passed by, he began to talk in an under tone, and his voice did not die away until we had turned a point. What would I not give for an accurate record of that old man’s life! Anon, we witnessed the soothing picture of a well-conducted farm, with its green-girt cottage, spacious barns, neat and flowing fields, and its horses and oxen, cows, sheep, hogs, and poultry. Now we saw some noble men, such as Vernet delighted to paint, hauling the seine, and, as the “fruit of all their toil” were thrown upon the sand, their flipping forms reflected back the sunlight, reminding us of—anything the reader may be pleased to imagine. Now, we were overtaken and tossed about by a steamer bound to New Haven; and then we sailed in company with a boat, a sloop, and schooner; meeting others, beating up, from Boston, New York, and Philadelphia. And the termination of this pleasing panorama was composed of Gale’s Ferry, the commanding town, fort, and monument of Groton, together with the city of New London, among whose anchored shipping floated the saucy Revenue Cutter, and at whose docks were chained a goodly number of storm-beaten whalers.
Having taken in “our stores,” and obtained from the fish-market a basket of bait, we again hoisted sail, “bound first to Commit Rock,” and “binding” ourselves to capture all of the watery enemy which might tempt the power or the dexterity of our arms.
When about three miles from New London, all eyes were attracted by a beautiful craft on our lee, laden with a party of ladies and gentlemen. “They’re going towards a reef!” exclaimed our captain; and no sooner had the words escaped his lips, than the stranger struck, and stove a hole through her bottom. We were just in time to save the party from a watery grave; and when we had landed them in safety on the beach, we were well repaid for our trouble by the consciousness of having done a good act, and by the thankful words and benignant smiles of the ladies fair. A dozen minutes more and we were within oar’s length of the fishing rock. “All ashore, that’s coming!” shouted our mate as he stood on the rock, when we all leaped out, and plenty of line being given her, the boat swung to, and “like a cradled thing at rest,” floated upon the waves. Then commenced the sport. The breeze was refreshing, and the breath of the salt sea-foam buoyed up our spirits to a higher pitch, and gave new vigor to our sinews. The youngest of the party was the first who threw his hook, which was snapped in the twinkling of an eye. Another trial, and a four-pound blackfish lay extended upon the rock. Another, and another, and another, until fourscore, even-numbered, came following after. Tired of the sport, two of the party entered the boat, and hoisted sail for a little cruize. Half an hour had elapsed, when the steady breeze changed into a frightful gale, capsizing within hailing distance a fishing boat with two old men in it. Hanging on, as they were, to the keel of the boat, (which, having no ballast, could not sink,) their situation was extremely dangerous, as there was not a vessel within two miles. The poor men beckoned to us to help them; but as our boat was gone, we could not do so, which of course we much regretted. For one long, long hour did they thus hang, “midway betwixt life and death,” exposed to the danger of being washed away by the remorseless surge, or swallowed up, as we were afterwards told, by a couple of sharks, which were kept away only by the hand of Providence. This incident tended to cool our ardor for fishing, and as we were satisfied with that day’s luck, we put up our gear, during which time the boat arrived, and we embarked for the Hill. We made one short turn, however, towards the boat which had picked up the fishermen, as we were anxious to tell them why we did not come to their relief. We then tacked about, and the last words we heard from our companions were: “Thank you—thank you—God bless you all,” and until we had passed a league beyond Fisher’s Island, our little vessel “carried a most beautiful bone between her teeth.”
At sunset we moored our little boat on the eastern shore of Paucatuck Bay. On ascending to the Watch Hill hotel, we found it to be a large, well-furnished house, and our host to be a fat and jolly Falstaff-ish sort of man, just suited to his station. At seven o’clock we sat down to a first-rate blackfish supper, then smoked a cigar, and while my companions resorted to the ten-pin alley, I buttoned up my pea-jacket, and sallied forth on an “exploring expedition.” As I stood on the highest point of the peninsula, facing the south, I found that the lighthouse stood directly before me, on the extreme point, that a smooth beach faded away on either side, the left hand one being washed by the Atlantic, and that on the right by the waters of Fisher Island Bay, and that the dreary hills in my rear were dotted by an occasional dwelling. The breeze had died away, and the bright, full moon was in the cloudless sky. Many sails were in the offing, passing by and being passed by the Providence and Stonington steamboats bound to New York. The scenery around me, and the loveliness of the sky, with its galaxy of stars, caused me to forget myself, and I wandered far away upon the shore—alone, in the awful presence of the great Atlantic Ocean. No sounds fell upon my ear, save the muffled roar of the ground swell, and the faint whispers of the tiny waves as they melted upon the sand. I traced my name, and beside it that of another, a being beauteous, for whose cabinet of curiosities I gathered many a round, smooth pebble, and many a delicate sea-shell. I wandered on, now gazing with wonder and admiration into the cerulean vault of Heaven, or into the still deeper blue of the mighty sea; and now singing with a loud voice one of the sacred songs of the sweet singer of Israel. Now, a thousand images of surpassing loveliness darted across my vision, as I thought of God—of an eternal life in heaven—and of love, divine and human; and then there came a weight upon my spirit, as I remembered the powers of darkness, the destiny of the condemned, and the miseries engendered by our evil passions. One moment I deemed myself immortal, released forever from the contaminating influence of sin, and then I thought of the valley of death, and trembled. In that communion with the mysteries of the universe, strongly blended as they were, I felt that I could wander on without fatigue, until the whole earth should be trodden by my pilgrim feet. But the chilly air and the fading night warned me to retrace my steps, and in an hour I had reached my home.
When the sun rose from his ocean-bed on the following morning, surrounded by a magnificent array of clouds, I was up, and busily engaged preparing for a day’s fishing,—first, and before breakfast, for bluefish, then for blackfish, and lastly for bass. While my companions were asleep, I went out with an old fisherman, and by breakfast time had captured thirty bluefish, weighing about two pounds a piece. The manner of catching these is to tow for them with a long line, the bait being a piece of ivory attached to a strong hook. They are a very active and powerful fish, and when hooked, make a great fuss, skipping and leaping out of the water.
At nine o’clock our party were at anchor on a reef about one mile off, and for the space of about two hours we hauled in the blackfish as fast as possible, many of them weighing eight to ten pounds apiece. For them, you must have a small straight hook, and for bait, lobsters or crabs. A broiled blackfish, when rightly cooked, is considered one of the best of salt-water delicacies.