CAT HARBOR.—EVENING SERVICE IN CHURCH.—THE FISHERMAN’S
FIRE.—THE RETURN AT MIDNIGHT.
AT eight o’clock, our brave little pink-stern was lying at anchor in her
haven, as quietly as a babe in its cradle, with the wind piping a
pleasant lullaby in the rigging, and the roar of the ocean nearly lost
in the distance. A few rude erections along the rocky shore, with a
small church, a store and warehouse, compose the town of Cat Harbor, the
life of which seems to be the water-craft busy in the one common
employment, some returning with the catch of the day, others going for
the catch of the night. While C—— was painting a sketch of the scene,
the sun vanished behind the purple inland hills, with unusual splendor,
and left the distant icebergs in such a white “as no fuller on earth can
white them.”
After dinner, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, Mr. Hutchinson,
who knew that the clergyman in charge was absent, resolved to go ashore,
and invite the people to attend divine service. As soon as we were
landed, he left us to make our way to the church, at our leisure, while
he ran from house to house to announce himself, and to give notice of
the intended services. Our path, as usual in these coast hamlets, went
in zigzag, serpentine ways, among evergreen fishing-bowers, and
many-legged flakes and huts, and oddly-fenced potato-patches. In the
marshy field around the church, we had some time to amuse ourselves with
gathering slender bulrushes tipped with plumes of whitest down. They
were sprinkled all abroad like snow-flakes over the dusky green ground,
and we ran about with the eagerness of boys, selecting the prettiest as
specimens for home.
Twilight was already close upon the darkness. We turned from the chase
of our thistle-down toys, and gazed upon the solemn magnificence around
us—the dark and lonesome land—the bay, reflecting the colored
heavens—the warm orange fading out into the cool pearl, and the pearl
finally lost in the broad blue above.
It was fully candle-light when the congregation, about forty, assembled,
and the service began. The missionary preached extempore a practical
sermon adapted to his hearers, and we sang, to the tune of Old Hundred,
the One Hundredth Psalm, making the dimly-lighted sanctuary ring again.
After church, our party were invited to warm at one of the houses, which
we did most effectually before a broad and roaring fire, while mine host
recounted the toil and the pleasure of getting winter wood over the deep
snows with his team of dogs, and the more perilous and exciting labors
of the fish-harvest, upon which life and all depend. At the mention of
the puff-pig, the local name for the common porpoise, we indulged
ourselves in a childish laugh. A more ludicrous, and at the same time a
more descriptive name could not be hit upon.
During the half-hour around the exhilarating July fire, there dropped
in, one by one, a room-full, curious to see and hear the strangers from
St. Johns and America, as the United States are often called. We parted
with a general shaking of hands, and plenty of good wishes, among which
was one, “that we might have many igh hicebergs.” Some half dozen
attended us to the shore, and brought us off in handsome style over the
calm and phosphorescent waters. At every dip of the oars it was like
unraking the sparkling embers, so brilliant was that beautiful light of
the sea. The boatmen called it the burning of the water. “When the water
burnt,” they said, “it was a sure sign of south wind and a plenty of
fish.”
It was one of those still and starry nights which require only an
incident or so to make them too beautiful ever to be forgotten. Those
incidents were now present, in a peculiarly plaintive murmur of the
ocean, the kindling waves, and a delicate play of the Aurora Borealis.
When we reached our vessel it was almost midnight, and still there was
sweet daylight in the far north-west, moving along the circle of the
northern horizon to brighten into morning before we were half through
our light and dreamy slumbers. Weary and drowsy, all have crept to their
berths; and I will creep into mine when I have put the period to the
notes of this long and delightful day. I hear the footfalls of the watch
on deck. May God keep us through the short, but most solitary night, and
speed us early on our northern voyage!