THE SUNDAY IN TWILLINGATE.—THE MORNING OF THE FOURTH.
MONDAY MORNING, _July 4, 1859_. We were roused from our slumbers very
suddenly, yesterday morning, by Mr. Hutchinson, in a loud and cheerful
voice, telling us the pleasing news that the Church Ship was at anchor
near by, and that he had exchanged salutations with the Bishop. His
vessel had lost a spar in the same squall that drove us into Cat Harbor.
To that accident we owed the pleasure of meeting him in Twillingate, and
of passing a profitable and happy Lord’s day. The wind was blowing a
perfect gale, and roared among the evergreen woods on the surrounding
hills. At half-past ten, the Bishop’s boat glided alongside, and bore us
ashore, from which we walked past the church, through the assembling
congregation, to the house of the Rector, the Rev. Thomas Boone, where
we joined the Bishop and two or three of the leading persons of the
island. There were the regular morning and evening services, and a third
service at night, completed though by good strong daylight. The house
was filled, and the sermons plain and practical, their burden being
repentance, faith in Christ, and obedience to his law. After supper, and
a social hour with the Rector and his family, we returned to our vessels
respectively, the north-western sky still white with daylight, and the
thunder of the ocean breaking with impressive grandeur upon the solemn
repose, into which all nature seemed gladly to have fallen after the
tempest.
I was up this morning at an early hour, and away upon the hills with Mr.
Hutchinson and Master William Boone, a fine youth of fifteen, for our
guide and companion. The main object was to get a view of the iceberg of
Saturday evening. To my surprise and disappointment, the ocean was one
spotless blue. The berg had foundered, or gone off to sea. It was barely
possible that it lay behind a lofty headland, beneath which we passed in
making the harbor. To settle a question, which in some measure involved
the pleasure of the day, we climbed a rocky peak beset with brushwood,
and descried the berg close in upon the headland apparently, and, as I
supposed, rapidly diminishing, a lengthy procession of fragments moving
up the coast. Looking south, there was unrolled to view, spread out from
east to west, the splendid island scenery of Notre Dame Bay, already
described. A single reach of water, with islets and mountainous shores,
had a striking resemblance to Lake George.
At eight o’clock, we were again on board and ready for the boat, which,
by appointment, was to take our party to the Hawk for a farewell
breakfast with the Bishop. It is needless to say that we were most
kindly and pleasantly entertained. The Bishop was pleased to accompany
us back to our vessel, and to give us his parting blessing, on our own
more humble deck. Just before sailing, Master Boone came off to us in a
boat with a gift of milk and eggs, and a nice, fat lamb. By ten o’clock,
both the Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes were waving on high in a
south-west breeze, and we glided through the narrows toward the open
sea, the chasms of the precipices heavily charged with the last winter’s
snow.