THE VOYAGE.
Ships, ships, I will descrie you Amidst the main, I will come and try you, What you are protecting, And projecting, What's your end and aim. One goes abroad for merchandise and trading, Another stays to keep his country from invading, A third is coming home with rich and wealthy lading. Hallo! my fancie, whither wilt thou go? OLD POEM.
To an American visiting Europe, the long voyage he has to make is anexcellent preparative. The temporary absence of worldly scenes andemployments produces a state of mind peculiarly fitted to receivenew and vivid impressions. The vast space of waters that separate thehemispheres is like a blank page in existence. There is no gradualtransition by which, as in Europe, the features and population of onecountry blend almost imperceptibly with those of another. From themoment you lose sight of the land you have left, all is vacancy, untilyou step on the opposite shore, and are launched at once into the bustleand novelties of another world.
In travelling by land there is a continuity of scene, and a connectedsuccession of persons and incidents, that carry on the story of life,and lessen the effect of absence and separation. We drag, it is true,"a lengthening chain" at each remove of our pilgrimage; but the chain isunbroken; we can trace it back link by link; and we feel that the laststill grapples us to home. But a wide sea voyage severs us at once.It makes us conscious of being cast loose from the secure anchorage ofsettled life, and sent adrift upon a doubtful world. It interposes agulf, not merely imaginary, but real, between us and our homes--agulf, subject to tempest, and fear, and uncertainty, rendering distancepalpable, and return precarious.
Such, at least, was the case with myself. As I saw the last blue linesof my native land fade away like a cloud in the horizon, it seemed as ifI had closed one volume of the world and its concerns, and had time formeditation, before I opened another. That land, too, now vanishing frommy view, which contained all most dear to me in life; what vicissitudesmight occur in it--what changes might take place in me, before I shouldvisit it again! Who can tell, when he sets forth to wander, whither hemay be driven by the uncertain currents of existence; or when he mayreturn; or whether it may be ever his lot to revisit the scenes of hischildhood?
I said, that at sea all is vacancy; I should correct the impression. Toone given to day-dreaming, and fond of losing himself in reveries, a seavoyage is full of subjects for meditation; but then they are the wondersof the deep and of the air, and rather tend to abstract the mind fromworldly themes. I delighted to loll over the quarter-railing or climb tothe main-top, of a calm day, and muse for hours together on the tranquilbosom of a summer's sea; to gaze upon the piles of golden clouds justpeering above the horizon, fancy them some fairy realms, and peoplethem with a creation of my own;--to watch the gently undulating billowsrolling their silver volumes, as if to die away on those happy shores.
There was a delicious sensation of mingled security and awe with which Ilooked down, from my giddy height, on the monsters of the deep at theiruncouth gambols: shoals of porpoises tumbling about the bow of the ship;the grampus, slowly heaving his huge form above the surface; or theravenous shark, darting, like a spectre, through the blue waters. Myimagination would conjure up all that I had heard or read of the wateryworld beneath me; of the finny herds that roam its fathomless valleys;of the shapeless monsters that lurk among the very foundations of theearth; and of those wild phantasms that swell the tales of fishermen andsailors.
Sometimes a distant sail, gliding along the edge of the ocean, would beanother theme of idle speculation. How interesting this fragment of aworld, hastening to rejoin the great mass of existence! What a gloriousmonument of human invention; which has in a manner triumphed overwind and wave; has brought the ends of the world into communion; hasestablished an interchange of blessings, pouring into the sterileregions of the north all the luxuries of the south; has diffused thelight of knowledge, and the charities of cultivated life; and has thusbound together those scattered portions of the human race, between whichnature seemed to have thrown an insurmountable barrier.
We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a distance. Atsea, every thing that breaks the monotony of the surrounding expanseattracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must havebeen completely wrecked; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, bywhich some of the crew had fastened themselves to this spar, to preventtheir being washed off by the waves. There was no trace by which thename of the ship could be ascertained. The wreck had evidently driftedabout for many months; clusters of shell-fish had fastened about it, andlong sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. But where, thought I, is the crew?Their struggle has long been over--they have gone down amidst the roarof the tempest--their bones lie whitening among the caverns of the deep.Silence, oblivion, like the waves, have closed over them, and no onecan tell the story of their end. What sighs have been wafted after thatship! what prayers offered up at the deserted fireside of home! Howoften has the mistress, the wife, the mother, pored over the daily news,to catch some casual intelligence of this rover of the deep! How hasexpectation darkened into anxiety--anxiety into dread--and dread intodespair! Alas! not one memento may ever return for love to cherish. Allthat may ever be known, is that she sailed from her port, "and was neverheard of more!"
The sight of this wreck, as usual, gave rise to many dismal anecdotes.This was particularly the case in the evening, when the weather, whichhad hitherto been fair, began to look wild and threatening, and gaveindications of one of those sudden storms that will sometimes break inupon the serenity of a summer voyage. As we sat round the dull light ofa lamp, in the cabin, that made the gloom more ghastly, everyone had histale of shipwreck and disaster. I was particularly struck with a shortone related by the captain:
"As I was once sailing," said he, "in a fine, stout ship, across thebanks of Newfoundland, one of those heavy fogs that prevail in thoseparts rendered it impossible for us to see far ahead, even in thedaytime; but at night the weather was so thick that we could notdistinguish any object at twice the length of the ship. I kept lightsat the mast-head, and a constant watch forward to look out for fishingsmacks, which are accustomed to anchor of the banks. The wind wasblowing a smacking breeze, and we were going at a great rate throughthe water. Suddenly the watch gave the alarm of 'a sail ahead!'--it wasscarcely uttered before we were upon her. She was a small schooner, atanchor, with her broadside toward us. The crew were all asleep, and hadneglected to hoist a light. We struck her just amidships. The force, thesize, and weight of our vessel, bore her down below the waves; we passedover her and were hurried on our course. As the crashing wreck wassinking beneath us, I had a glimpse of two or three half-naked wretches,rushing from her cabin; they just started from their beds to beswallowed shrieking by the waves. I heard their drowning cry minglingwith the wind. The blast that bore it to our ears, swept us out of allfurther hearing. I shall never forget that cry! It was some time beforewe could put the ship about, she was under such headway. We returned, asnearly as we could guess, to the place where the smack had anchored. Wecruised about for several hours in the dense fog. We fired signal-guns,and listened if we might hear the halloo of any survivors: but all wassilent--we never saw or heard any thing of them more."
I confess these stories, for a time, put an end to all my fine fancies.The storm increased with the night. The sea was lashed into tremendousconfusion. There was a fearful, sullen sound of rushing waves and brokensurges. Deep called unto deep. At times the black volume of cloudsoverhead seemed rent asunder by flashes of lightning which quiveredalong the foaming billows, and made the succeeding darkness doublyterrible. The thunders bellowed over the wild waste of waters, and wereechoed and prolonged by the mountain waves. As I saw the ship staggeringand plunging among these roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous that sheregained her balance, or preserved her buoyancy. Her yards would dipinto the water; her bow was almost buried beneath the waves. Sometimesan impending su
rge appeared ready to overwhelm her, and nothing but adexterous movement of the helm preserved her from the shock.
When I retired to my cabin, the awful scene still followed me. Thewhistling of the wind through the rigging sounded like funerealwailings. The creaking of the masts; the straining and groaning ofbulkheads, as the ship labored in the weltering sea, were frightful. AsI heard the waves rushing along the side of the ship, and roaring in myvery ear, it seemed as if Death were raging around this floating prison,seeking for his prey: the mere starting of a nail, the yawning of aseam, might give him entrance.
A fine day, however, with a tranquil sea and favoring breeze, soon putall these dismal reflections to flight. It is impossible to resist thegladdening influence of fine weather and fair wind at sea. When the shipis decked out in all her canvas, every sail swelled, and careering gaylyover the curling waves, how lofty, how gallant, she appears--how sheseems to lord it over the deep!
I might fill a volume with the reveries of a sea voyage; for with me itis almost a continual reverie--but it is time to get to shore.
It was a fine sunny morning when the thrilling cry of "land!" was givenfrom the mast-head. None but those who have experienced it can form anidea of the delicious throng of sensations which rush into an American'sbosom, when he first comes in sight of Europe. There is a volume ofassociations with the very name. It is the land of promise, teeming witheverything of which his childhood has heard, or on which his studiousyears have pondered.
From that time, until the moment of arrival, it was all feverishexcitement. The ships of war, that prowled like guardian giants alongthe coast; the headlands of Ireland, stretching out into the channel;the Welsh mountains towering into the clouds;--all were objects ofintense interest. As we sailed up the Mersey, I reconnoitred the shoreswith a telescope. My eye dwelt with delight on neat cottages, with theirtrim shrubberies and green grass-plots. I saw the mouldering ruin of anabbey overrun with ivy, and the taper spire of a village church risingfrom the brow of a neighboring hill;--all were characteristic ofEngland.
The tide and wind were so favorable, that the ship was enabled to comeat once to her pier. It was thronged with people; some idle lookers-on;others, eager expectants of friends or relations. I could distinguishthe merchant to whom the ship was consigned. I knew him by hiscalculating brow and restless air. His hands were thrust into hispockets; he was whistling thoughtfully, and walking to and fro, asmall space having been accorded him by the crowd, in deference to histemporary importance. There were repeated cheerings and salutationsinterchanged between the shore and the ship, as friends happened torecognize each other. I particularly noticed one young woman of humbledress, but interesting demeanor. She was leaning forward from among thecrowd; her eye hurried over the ship as it neared the shore, to catchsome wished-for countenance. She seemed disappointed and sad; when Iheard a faint voice call her name.--It was from a poor sailor who hadbeen ill all the voyage, and had excited the sympathy of every one onboard. When the weather was fine, his messmates had spread a mattressfor him on deck in the shade, but of late his illness had so increasedthat he had taken to his hammock, and only breathed a wish that he mightsee his wife before he died. He had been helped on deck as we came upthe river, and was now leaning against the shrouds, with a countenanceso wasted, so pale, so ghastly, that it was no wonder even the eye ofaffection did not recognize him. But at the sound of his voice, her eyedarted on his features: it read, at once, a whole volume of sorrow; sheclasped her hands, uttered a faint shriek, and stood wringing them insilent agony.
All now was hurry and bustle. The meetings of acquaintances--thegreetings of friends--the consultations of men of business. I alone wassolitary and idle. I had no friend to meet, no cheering to receive. Istepped upon the land of my forefathers--but felt that I was a strangerin the land.
The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon Page 4