Man, when frustrated in his purposes, slowly, if ever, recovers his courage and force; but nature instantly moves on again in her exulting strength. What to her are crumbling temples and mouldering pyramids? She spreads her verdure over the ruins of nations! In her august domain empires rise and fall with as little sensation as leaves put forth and perish. She hushes the great dirge of human sorrow. Her winds waltz over the graves of ages. All are hers, and all, from the stars that tremble in the blue vault of heaven to the groves of coral which wave over the pavements of the unsounded sea, feel the pulses which throb in her mighty heart. What, then, frail man, is thy pride amid these stupendous attributes and achievements of nature?—a bubble that breaks amid the eternal thunders of the deep.
Nov. 9. Sunday, and a soft breeze from the southwest. The sparkling wave disturbs not the even tenor of our keel. Our ship swings only to the slow and solemn undulations of the ocean. No flaping sail disturbed the quietude of our worship. We sung “old hundred,” the band performing the instrumental part. How impressive on the sounding sea is that old majestic tune! It seems in harmony with the many-voiced waves around. The organ-tones of the mighty deep roll it to heaven with a fullness and power which no cathedral choir can pour from its melodious recesses. Nature through all her vast domains awakens and sustains the devotions of the human heart. Our pilgrim fathers worshipped in the sanctuary of the forest. The aisles of the deep wood rang with their hymns of gratitude and praise.
What to them were stately shrines,
Gorgeous dome or towering spire?
’Neath their sturdy oaks and pines,
Rose their anthems, winged with fire.
I distributed tracts to-day to the crew—to all who came to me for them; and few remained behind. It would have encouraged the hearts of those who supply these sources of salutary instruction, to have witnessed the eagerness with which our sailors took them. In a few minutes there were three or four hundred men on the decks of our ship reading tracts; each catching some thought which lures from sin, and throws its clear and tender light on the narrow path which leads to heaven.
Monday, Nov. 10. Our sweet southwest breeze still continues, and we are moving on under an easy sail seven knots the hour. There is not a greater folly on the ocean than for a man-of-war to be crowding on sail, as if speed were the all-predominant motive. This will do for a merchantman, when a market is to be reached as soon as possible; but for a national ship, bound on a three years’ cruise, it is a miserable exhibition of impatience. Indeed, in all the affairs of human life moderation is true philosophy. Our energies will give way soon enough without any forced action. A spirit of restlessness and discontent is one of the most striking faults in the American character. We rush with railroad speed even on ruin. It is as if a man on his way to the scaffold were to put his horse into a gallop.
We have been for several days past in the vicinity of water-spouts. One of them rose close upon our larboard bow. It towered through several strata of clouds, preserving through each its columnar form till its summit was lost in the sky. We attempted to near it sufficiently to bring it within the range of a cannon-ball, but it seemed to elude our approach as the rainbow the flying footsteps of childhood. Its apparent vicinity was undoubtedly one of those optical delusions so common to the phenomena of the sea. The wonders of the deep belong to their Maker. Man may survey them as a worshipper, but when he attempts to appropriate them, they fly his profane grasp, disarm him with their terrors, or overpower him with their magnificence. We filled away and were again on our course.
Tuesday, Nov. 11. This has been inspection-day. Once a month each sailor is required to exhibit his clothing to the officer who has charge of the division to which he belongs. The object of this inspection is to see that his clothes are in good condition, to see if he wants any thing further for his comfort, and to see that every article of apparel is marked with his name. In this respect sailors are to be treated as children. They require the same constant care. They are the most thoughtless, improvident beings in the world; and if left to themselves, will be, in some instances, without a decent article of clothing, and in others with their whole wages in their clothes-bag. There is no subject on which officers of the navy should exercise so much patience, and such sound paternal judgment. It is a work which brings its own reward in the consciousness of the benefits conferred.