PAINTING THE CAVERN OF GREAT ISLAND, AND OUR SAIL HOMEWARD IN A
GALE.
TWO o’clock P. M. The wind has moderated, and blows from the land. We
sail out upon the eastern or ocean side of Great Island. This is not
precisely the excursion proposed in the morning, which was to an iceberg
in the bay. It is the best, though, that we can do, and may turn out
very well. I could wish a less exciting passage in than we had out,
when, for the first, I learned the power of wind to knock a vessel over
at a single blow. It pounced upon us, as it swept over the lofty ridge
of the island, in puffs and gusts quite frightful. At one moment, the
sails would be without a breath; at another, the wonder is that they
were not burst from their fastenings. As the Captain turned into the
wind, the boat would jump as if going out of the water. Some training is
necessary for your landsman to bear this with perfect coolness. After
landing us, the Captain, with a couple of men, plays off and on between
a fishing-fleet and shore, while C—— paints the particular part of the
coast for which we have come.
It consists of what once might have been a grand cavern, but now fallen
in, and all its cragged gulf opened to the day. Into the yawning portal
of this savage chasm plunge the big waves of the Atlantic. In an
easterly gale, there is performed in this gloomy theatre no farce of the
surges, but the grandest tragedy. In fact, this whole coast, a thousand
miles or more, is built up, rather torn down, on the most stupendous
scale—vast and shattered—terrifically rough—tumult and storm all in
horrid stone. It would well pay the painter of coast scenery to spend a
fall and winter upon these shores. The breaking of the waves upon such
rocks as these must be an astonishing spectacle of power and fury. The
charge and the retreat of billows upon slopes of rock so torn and
shattered, for miles and miles at the same moment, Mr. Hutchinson
repeatedly declares, is one of the most brilliant and imposing sights on
earth. While C—— is painting, I have been writing these periods, and
clambering the mossy cliffs for plants and flowers. Half-past 7, and
Captain Knight below, waiting for us near the mouth of the chasm. The
fishing-fleet is dispersing, homeward-bound, and we are now ready to put
up paint and pencil, and join in the general run.
There is nothing like a dash of peril to wake one up. Now that I am
quietly sitting by the cabin candles, I will sketch you our passage in.
These notes are usually taken on the spot; upon the occasion of which I
am at present speaking, my note-book was buttoned in pretty tightly in
its pocket.
It was blowing a gale, but, fortunately for us, from the land. In from
sea, the same wind would have driven all into the surf. Close-reefed as
we were, and under the island, with a capital craft, and Captain Knight,
the very best of sailors, it was quite enough for us. We were almost
over at times. The sharp, short seas thumped our bows like
sledge-hammers. The spray flashed across like water from an engine.
There were the hum and trembling of a swiftly revolving wheel. When she
came into the wind for a tack, all shook and cracked again, and then
sang on shrill and wildly as shuttle-like we shot to the next point of
turning. A few small islands make a net-work of channels. Through this
entanglement we and the fishing-fleet were now making our way home,
crossing and recrossing, shooting here and there, singly and in pairs,
with sails black, white, and red—a lively and picturesque sight, and
just the prettiest play in all the world. In a narrow strait leading
into the harbor, we were nearly baffled. The tempest, for to such it had
increased, at some moments, seemed to fall upon us from above,
flattening the swells, and sweeping the spray about as a whirlwind
sweeps the dust. Back and forth we darted between the iron shores,
wheeling in the nick of time, and losing nearly as often as we gained.
C—— and I lay close below the booms, and watched the strife as one
might watch a battle round the corner of a wall. Wrapped in heavy
overcoats, and wet and chilly, we came, notwithstanding, to enjoy it
vastly. C—— fairly overflowed with fun and humor. But what admirable
sailors are these northern seamen, in their schooner whaleboats! the
very Tartars and Camanches of the ocean! They go off to the
fishing-grounds in stormy weather, and stay with unconquerable patience
at their hard and dangerous labor. Under the cliffs of Cariboo we glided
into calm water, and looked back at the dark and troubled deep, in broad
contrast with the clouds and icebergs resplendent with rosy sunlight.