Nothing particularly remarkable occurred during our passage home. It was in the season of the year when severe gales are met with on the Atlantic, but the brig Joseph proved a good sea boat, tight as a drum, and could lie to or scud without danger of being overwhelmed by the combing waves. On this passage a little incident occurred off the Orkney Islands, that will convey some idea of the dangers to which those are subjected whose home is on the ocean.
We were lying to in a gale. The wind blew fiercely in flaws, and there was a high and turbulent sea running. The brig was at times uneasy, and in the pauses of the gale rolled heavily to windward as well as to leeward. Orders were given to send down the fore-top-gallant mast. I hastened with alacrity aloft for that purpose, and had reached the cross-trees, when in a lull of the tempest, the brig, lying in the trough of the sea, lurched fearfully to windward. I grasped firmly one of the top-gallant shrouds above the cross-trees, but the rope being old and decayed, parted in the horn of the cross-trees BENEATH MY HANDS.
I clung, with a desperate grasp, to the rope, but was thrown out with a jerk in an angle of forty-five degrees with the horizon, and when the brig suddenly righted I attained for a few seconds a horizontal position, and to an observer on deck must have looked not unlike a spread eagle burgee at half-mast. If I had relinquished my grasp at that moment I should have been thrown into the sea some thirty feet from the vessel's side, and a full period would have been put to the adventures of Hawser Martingale. But, notwithstanding the muscles of my arms were severely wrenched, I was fortunately able to retain my grasp. The next moment the action of gravitation, together with the roll to leeward, threw me back with terrific force against the topmast rigging, which I eagerly seized, and then rejoicing at my lucky escape from a great danger, and regardless of the bruises I had received, I went on with my work.
On the passage homeward I often indulged in reflections in regard to my future position in life; and while walking the deck at night loved to let my fancy roam and picture castles in the air, which, I fondly hoped, might at some future day be actually constructed. My highest ambition was to gain, as rapidly as possible, a thorough knowledge of my business, procure the command of a good ship, and by my own labors, acquire a competence before age should weaken the faculties or diminish a relish for society; and then, residing in my own house with a small piece of land attached which I could cultivate with my own hands, and within a few miles of the metropolis of New England, surrounded by a pleasant neighborhood, and enjoying domestic happiness in all its purity, gently sail down the stream of life.
This was not an extravagant dream. Yet the chances were at times terribly against its fulfilment. But I never despaired, and fully believed that if Providence should grant me life and continued health, THE CASTLE WOULD BE BUILT. In the darkest hours I kept a bright lookout ahead, far ahead for the cheerful and safe harbor which imagination had so often portrayed. And the dream has been realized almost precisely as it appeared to me in my youthful days; and I have enjoyed for many years, in the retirement which my fancy painted, as much happiness as usually falls to the lot of man in this checkered life, with a strong hope,
"When the brief voyage in safety is o'er,
To meet with loved friends on the far distant shore."
About forty days after leaving Gottenburg we reached the Grand Bank of Newfoundland, and crossed it in latitude of forty-four degrees. We fell in with many fishing vessels riding at anchor in thirty fathoms of water, the hardy crews of which, rigged out in their "boots and barvels," were busily engaged in their useful but arduous occupation. When on the centre of the bank, the fog which had previously obscured objects at a distance, was suddenly swept away, and we counted from the deck seventy-four schooners at anchor, besides several which were under sail.
The Bank of Newfoundland is of enormous extent, reaching some two hundred and fifty miles into the Atlantic, from the southern part of Newfoundland and islands in that vicinity. Its southern extremity is in about forty-two degrees of latitude, and fifty degrees west longitude from Greenwich. The depth of water varies from twenty-five to fifty fathoms. The Bank is in the direct track of vessels bound to and from Europe, and many sad disasters have occurred to the fishermen, while lying at anchor in rough weather in a dense fog. In some instances they have been run down, crushed to fragments, by large ships under full sail, and every one of the crew has perished.
The fish on this Bank are chiefly cod, and have been taken in incredible numbers by the crews of vessels built and fitted out for this purpose, for more than two hundred years; and in times past this fishery has proved a certain source of income, and sometimes of wealth, to bold and enterprising men. But for a number of years this business has not been so profitable as formerly, and not so many vessels have been employed. It has been intimated by evil-disposed persons that the capital stock of the Bank is getting reduced, and that it will ere long fail to make discounts or pay dividends. But such rumors are the offspring of calumny; the Bank is undoubtedly sound, has a solid bottom, and its treasures and resources are inexhaustible.
The fishermen of the Grand Bank, in "days lang syne," belonged chiefly to Marblehead and Cape Ann. They were a bold, hardy, sinewy set of men, inured to fatigue and reckless of danger, cheerful in their dispositions, impatient under restraint, fond of what they considered good living, ready with a joke or yarn on all occasions, and not a little inclined to superstition. Indeed the fishing vessels on the Bank, if we are to credit the tales told years ago, were often favored by the presence of death warnings, mysterious noises, ghosts, and apparitions. Sounds were heard and sights seen on board fishing vessels on the Bank, which filled the stoutest hearts with fear and wonder, and would even astonish the most inveterate spiritualist of the present day.