“Captain, captain,” cried Bangs, looking over the side of his bed, “did you ever see the like of that? There, just under your light––look at it; why it’s a bird’s nest, with a thrush in it, swimming about.”
“Damn your bird’s nest,” growled little Pepperpot, “by Jove, it’s my wig with a live rat in it.”
“The deuce take your wig,” said Paul; “Zounds! take care of my boots.”
“Hang the wig and boots, too,” cried Bangs, “there goes my Sunday coat. Captain, who has sunk the ship?”
Here his eyes met mine, and a few words served to explain our situation; the only question now was, how to get ashore, as nothing could be done until daybreak. My determination was soon made. I put my friends into one of the boats, which were lying alongside of the schooner, gave their wet chests into the care of their black servants, and let them find a lodging as well as they could. Then the wounded, and afterwards the rest of the crew were put on board a couple of merchant vessels lying near us, and as their captains were obliging fellows, I easily persuaded them to take the schooner between them, at ebb-tide, and raise it with the flood. When it was pumped out, and afloat again, I took it into port, where it received a thorough overhauling. As there remained nothing more to be done, I put on dry clothes, and towards evening went ashore. Thus ended my first cruise.
A Winter in the Frozen Ocean.
One stormy winter’s evening, in the year 1579, Gerhard de Ver was sitting in the warm and cheerful parlor of his plain but comfortable dwelling, in the city of Amsterdam. He was a pleasant, good-natured man, but evidently weak, and suffering from hardships recently undergone. As he sat before the fire, in his easy chair, his eye rested, with evident satisfaction, on a group of young sailors, who were accustomed to visit him, both to show the sympathy they felt for the sufferings he had undergone in the service of his native land, and to gain information from his rich store of experience. After a lively conversation, in which they had now and then, to their no little joy, succeeded in bringing a smile to the care-worn face of their patron, they began to converse together in a low tone of voice, and to show by their manner that they were about to prefer a very unusual request.
“Father Gerhard,” at last began one of the party, “you are well aware that nothing would give us greater pleasure than the restoration of your health, and that with you we are impatiently waiting for the moment when you shall be able to leave your room again, but we know well enough that when that moment arrives, the irresistible 126 desire of being useful to your native land, will drive you to distant parts of the earth, and separate us for a long time again; do not, therefore, consider it indiscreet if we now remind you of a promise formerly made to us, and beg you to relate the history of your last voyage to the Frozen Ocean, which must certainly be as astonishing as instructive; indeed, the reports which circulate among the neighbors concerning it, are so incredible that we find it almost impossible to believe them, without having them confirmed by yourself.”