At Sea, August
“She moves, she throbs, she seems to feel the thrill of life upon her keel.” At last the great Leviathan of the Deep has left the dock amid waving ‘kerchiefs and loud huzzas. Like great mountain ranges, rising tier upon tier, the vast buildings of Gotham looked down upon the gallant ship as she turns her course toward the vast and trackless deep. Beautiful somber tints stretch from horizon upward, blending into the deep blue of Heaven’s own firmament. Dainty white caps assail the towering walls of steel that are to be our home for so many days. Bartholdi’s peerless statue, with hand uplifted, seems to cast its benedictions on us as we start for those distant shores to the eastward, and Nature smiles fondly upon us as America’s shores sink lower and lower, back in the direction of dear Bird Center. What joy it is to breathe this ocean air, unsullied by smoke, undefiled by foreign matter. Eyes are flashing with renewed invigoration, hearts are light as the giant of the sea swings into the easy roll of the long Atlantic billows. Spindrift whips by as a great wave, more saucy than its sisters, assails the reeling bow. The splendid craft trembles but goes onward, ever onward, its propellers singing their endless song of struggle. Mr. Figgey, immaculate and white-flanneled, is quite the dressiest passenger on board, and is constantly the cynosure of all eyes. See how he swings along the deck, perfect sailor that he is. Now the rollers batter more furiously, as Mr. Figgey approaches, cigar in mouth, to tell us to get busy and have a good time. The ship rolls and wallows—”
Editor’s Note—
We regret that only part of this story was mailed to the Argosy in Captain Fry’s handwriting. Evidently the remaining leaves miscarried in the mails. Better luck next time.
J. Oscar Fisher,
Editor Bird Center Argosy.
BIRD CENTER AT SEA
