But I must stop quoting poetry, for as “a thing of beauty is a joy forever,” I should be forever writing about the sea. Heavens! what a terrible song is the ocean singing, with his long white hair streaming in the wind! The waving, splashing, wailing, dashing, howling, rushing, and moaning of the waves is a glorious lullaby, and a fit prelude to a dream of the sea.
At an early hour on the following day, we embarked for home, but a sorry time did we have of it, for the winds were very lazy. We were ten hours going the distance of twenty-two miles. It was now sunset, and we were becalmed off Gale’s Ferry. Ashore we went, resolved to await the coming of the Sag Harbor steamboat, which usually arrived about nine o’clock, and by which we were, finally, taken in tow. Snugly seated in our boat, and going at the rate of eighteen miles, we were congratulating ourselves upon an early arrival home, and had already begun to divide our fish. But, alas, at this moment the painter broke; the steamer, unconscious of our fate, still sped onward, while we sheered off towards the shore, almost disgusted with human life in general—for our boat was large, and we had but one oar. But what matter? We were a jolly set, and the way we gave three cheers, as a prelude to the song of “Begone Dull Care,” must have been startling to the thousand sleeping echoes of hill, forest, river and glen.
Having crept along at snails’ pace about one mile, we concluded to land, and, if possible, obtain a place to sleep, and something to eat; for not having had a regular dinner, and not a mouthful of supper, we were half starved. With clubs in our hands, to keep off hobgoblins and bull-dogs, we wended our way towards a neighboring farm-house, where we knocked for admittance. Pretty soon, a great gawky-looking head stuck itself out of an upper window, to which we made known our heartfelt desires, receiving, in return, the following answer:—“My wife is sick—hain’t got any bread—you can go in the barn to sleep if you want to;” and we turned reluctantly away, troubled with a feeling very nearly allied to anger. “Come, let’s go off in this direction,” exclaimed one of the party, “and I’ll introduce you to my old friend, Captain Somebody;”—and away we posted, two by two, across a new-mown field. Presently, our two leaders were awe-stricken by the sudden appearance of something white, which seemed to be rising out of the earth, beside a cluster of bushes, and the way they wheeled about, and ran for the river, (accompanied by their fellows, whose fright was merely sympathetic,) was “a caution” to all unbelievers in ghosts and other midnight spectres.
At last we halted to gain a little breath; an explanation was made; and our captain forthwith resolved to investigate the matter. He now took the lead, and on coming to the mysterious spot, discovered an old blind white horse, who had been awakened by a noise, and, following the instinct of his nature, had risen from his lair, to be better prepared for danger. I doubt whether the echoes are yet silent, which were caused by the loud and long peals of laughter which resounded to the sky. Being in a strange land, without chart or compass, we could not find the mortal dwelling-place of Captain Somebody, and so we changed our course of travel.
We stopped at another house, farther on, but to save our lives we could not obtain an interview, although we entered the hen-coop, and set the hens and roosters a cackling and crowing—the pig-pen, and set the hogs a squealing—while a large dog and two puppies did their best to increase and prolong the mighty chorus. If our farmer friend did not deem himself transported to Bedlam, about that time, we imagine that nothing on earth would have the power to give him such a dream. Our ill-luck made us almost desperate, and so we returned to the boat, resolved to row the whole distance home, could we but find an extra oar.
It was now eleven o’clock, and the only things that seemed to smile upon us were the ten thousand stars, studding the clear, blue firmament. Anon, a twinkling light beamed upon our vision; and, as we approached, we found it to proceed from a little hut on an island, where the Thames lamplighter and his boy were accustomed to pass the night, after their work was done. Having again concluded to land, we received a hearty welcome, as the host proved to be an old acquaintance of our captain and mate. “Have you anything to eat?” was almost the first question of every tongue. “No, nothing but this barrel of crackers, and some cheese,” exclaimed the man of light. “And we,” shouted one of our crew, “have plenty of fish,—can’t we have a chowder?” “Ay, ay; a chowder, a chowder it shall be!” were the words which rang aloud to the very heavens. A wherry was dispatched to the main-land, to the well-known habitation of the old fisherman, for the necessary iron pot and bowls, and for the potatoes and onions, which were dug for the occasion; also for the pork, the pepper, and salt; all which, added to our biscuit and blackfish, nicely cleaned and prepared, constituted a chowder of the very first water. There was one addition to our company, in the person of the old fisherman; and our appearance, as we were seated in a circle on the floor, each with a bowl of thick hot soup in his hands, constituted a picture rich and rare. After we were done, it was acknowledged by all, that a better meal had never been enjoyed by mortal man. In about thirty minutes from this time, the odd one of the company bade us “good night,” and the midnight brotherhood resigned themselves to sleep. The last sounds I heard, before closing my eyes, were caused by the regular opposition steamboats from New York, as they shot ahead almost as “swift as an arrow from a shivering bow.”
The first faint streak of daylight found us on board our boat, homeward bound, wafted on by a pleasant southerly breeze. At the usual hour, we were all seated at our respective breakfast tables, relating our adventures of the excursion just ended.
CHAPTER XXVI.
A week in a fishing smack—Fishermen—A beautiful morning at sea—A day at Nantucket—Wreck of a ship—Night on the Sound—Safe arrival.