“It’s a beautiful morning, and you ought to be up—the fog is gone, and the wind is down; won’t you come up and take the helm awhile—so that the boys and I may obtain a little sleep before reaching the fishing-ground, which will be about, ten o’clock?”
I was delighted to accept the invitation, and in a very short time the sailors were asleep, and I in my new station, proud as a king, and happy as a sinless boy. And, oh! that I could describe the scene that fascinated my eyes as I lay there upon the deck, with one arm reposing on the rudder, and my other hand grasping a Claude glass! I felt as I once felt before, when standing on the famous precipice of Niagara, that then, more than ever, I desired God to be my friend. I also felt, that if the world did not demand the feeble services of my life, I should wish to remain upon the ocean for ever, provided I could have “one fair being for my minister.” More earnestly than ever did I long for a complete mastery of my art. The fact of being out of sight of land, where the blue element announced that the ocean was soundless, filled my soul with that “lone, lost feeling,” which is supposed to be the eagle’s, when journeying to the zenith of the sky. The sun had just risen above the waves, and the whole eastern portion of the heavens was flooded with the most exquisite colouring I ever beheld—from the deepest crimson to the faintest and most delicate purple, from the darkest yellow to an almost invisible green; and all blended, too, in forms of marvellous loveliness. A reflection of this scene was also visible in the remaining quarters of the horizon. Around me the illimitable deep, whose bosom is studded with many a gallant and glittering ship,
that have the plain
Of ocean for their own domain.
The waves are lulling themselves to rest, and a balmy breeze is wandering by, as if seeking its old grandfather, who kicked up the grand “rumpus” last night; whereby I learn, that the offspring of a “rough and stormy sire,” are sometimes very beautiful and affectionate to the children of men. But look, even the dwellers in the sea and of the sea are participating in the hilarity of this bright morning! Here, a school of herrings are skipping along like a frolicsome party of vagabonds as they are—and yonder a shark has leaped out of the water, to display the symmetry of his form, and the largeness of his jaw, and looking as if he thought “that land-lubber would make me a first-rate breakfast;” there, a lot of porpoises are playing “leap-frog,” or some other outlandish game; and, a little beyond them, a gentleman sword-fish is swaggering along to parts unknown, to fight a duel in cold blood with some equally cold-blooded native of the Atlantic; and now, a flock of gulls are cleaving their course to the south, to the floating body, perhaps, of a drowned mariner, which their sagacity has discovered a league or two away—and now, again, I notice a flock of petrels, hastening onward to where the winds blow, and the waves are white. Such are the pictures I beheld in my brief period of command. It may have been but fancy, but I thought my little vessel was trying to eclipse her former beauty, and her former speed. One thing I know, that she “walked the water like a thing of life.”
I fancied, too, that I was the identical last man whom Campbell saw in his vision, and that I was then bound to the haven of eternal rest. But my shipmates returning from the land of Nod, and a certain clamour within my own body having caught my ear, I became convinced that to break my fast would make me happier than anything else just at that time, and I was soon as contented as an alderman at five P.M. About two hours after this, we reached our fishing-place, which was twenty miles east of Nantucket. We then lowered the jib and topsail, and having luffed, and fastened the main-sheet, so that the smack could easily float, we hauled out our lines, and commenced fishing, baiting our hooks with clams, of which we had some ten bushels on board. Cod fishing (for we were on a codding cruise) is rather dull sport; it is, in fact, what I would call hard labour. In six hours we had caught all the skipper wanted, or that the well would hold, so we made sail again, bound to New York; and at supper-time the deck of our smack was as clean and dry, as if it had never been pressed save by the feet of ladies. At sunset, however, a fierce southerly wind sprang up, so that we were compelled to make a harbour; and just as I am closing this record, we are anchoring at Nantucket, with a score of storm-beaten whales on our starboard bow.
Wednesday Evening. The weather to-day has been threatening, and the skipper thought it best to remain at our moorings; but with me the day has not been devoid of interest; for, in my sailor garb, I have been strolling about the town, studying the solemn drama of life, while playfully acting a subordinate part myself. This morning, as it happened, I went into the public cemetery, and spent an hour conning over the rude inscriptions to the memory of the departed. In that city of the dead, I saw a number of the living walking to and fro, but there was one who attracted my particular attention. He was a seaman of noble presence, seated upon an unmarked mound, with his feet resting upon a smaller one beside it, his head reclined upon one hand, while the other was occasionally passed across his face, as if wiping away a tear. I hailed him with a few kind questions, and my answer was the following brief tale.
“Yes, sir, four years ago, I shipped aboard that whaler yonder, leaving behind me, in a sweet little cottage of my own, a mother, a wife, and an only boy. They were all in the enjoyment of good health, and happy; and, when we were under sail, and I saw from the mast-head how kindly they waved their handkerchiefs beside my door, I too was happy, even in my hour of grief. Since that time I have circumnavigated the globe, and every rare curiosity I could obtain was intended for my darling ones at home. Last Saturday our ship returned. I asked no questions of the pilot for he was a stranger, but I landed, flew to my dwelling, and found it locked. The flagging in my yard attracted my notice, and I thought it strange that the rank grass had been suffered to grow over it so thickly. The old minister passed by my gate, and running to him with extended hand, I inquired for my family. ‘Oh Mr. B.,’ said he, ‘you must bless the Lord,—he gave them to you, and he hath taken them away.’ And as the thought stole into my brain, my suffering, sir, was intense, and I longed to die. And there they are, my wife and darling child, and, a step or two beyond, my dear old mother. Peace to their memories.”
Such was the simple story, and I have pondered much upon the world of woe which must be hidden in the breast of that old mariner.
After dinner, to-day, I got into company with some fishermen who were going after bass and bluefish, and in a short time I had captured, with my own hands, two big bass and some dozen bluefish,—which I packed in ice as a present to some New York friends.