“Then the vessel takes her departure—an old navigator like yourself, Madam Budd, ought not to forget the departure.”
“Quite true, sir. The departure is a very important portion of a seaman’s life. Often, and often have I heard my poor, dear Mr. Budd talk about his departures. His departures, and his offings and his—”
“Land-falls,” added Spike, perceiving that the ship-master’s relict was a little at fault.
“Thank you, sir; the hint is quite welcome. His land-falls, also, were often in his mouth.”
“What is a land-fall, aunty?” enquired Rose—“It appears a strange term to be used by one who lives on the water.”
“Oh! there is no end to the curiosities of sailors! A ‘land-fall,’ my dear, means a ship-wreck of course. To fall on the land, and a very unpleasant fall it is, when a vessel should keep on the water. I’ve heard of dreadful land-falls in my day, in which hundreds of souls have been swept into eternity, in an instant.”
“Yes; yes, Madam Budd—there are such accidents truly, and serious things be they to encounter,” answered Spike, hemming a little to clear his throat, as was much his practice whenever the widow ran into any unusually extravagant blunder; “yes, serious things to encounter. But the land-fall that I mean is a different sort of thing; being, as you well know, what we say when we come in sight of land a’ter a v’y’ge; or, meaning the land we may happen first to see. The departure is the beginning of our calculation when we lose sight of the last cape or head-land, and the land-fall closes it, by letting us know where we are, at the other end of our journey, as you probably remember.”
“Is there not such a thing as clearing out in navigation?” asked Rose quickly, willing to cover a little confusion that was manifest in her aunt’s manner.
“Not exactly in navigation, Miss Rose, but clearing out, with honest folk, ought to come first and navigation a’terwards. Clearing out means going through the Custom House, accordin’ to law.”
“And the Molly Swash has cleared out, I hope?”