A few mornings ago, just as the sun had risen above the eastern hills,
which look down upon the Thames at Norwich, the prettiest sailboat of
the place left her moorings, and with a pleasant northerly breeze
started for the Sound. Her passengers consisted of six gentlemen, all
equipped in their sporting jackets, and furnished with fishing tackle,
and their place of destination was Watch Hill, which is a point of land
in Rhode Island, extending into the Atlantic, a few miles from
Stonington. We were on a fishing frolic, as a matter of course, and a
happier company, I ween, were never yet afloat, for the sport of a
morning breeze. What with the story, the jest, the iced lemonade and
exquisite cigar, the minutes glided by as swiftly and unobserved as the
tiny waves around us. Now we met a solitary fisherman, towing for bass,
and as we hailed him with a friendly shout and passed by, he began to
talk in an under tone, and his voice did not die away until we had
turned a point. Oh, what would I not give for an accurate record of that
old man’s life! Anon, we witnessed the soothing picture of a well
conducted farm, with its greengirt cottage, spacious barns, neat and
flowing fields, and abundance of horses and oxen, cows, sheep, hogs, and
poultry. Now we saw some noble men, such as Vernet delighted to paint,
hauling the seine, and, as the “fruit of all their toil” were thrown
upon the sand, their flipping forms reflected back the sunlight,
reminding us of the short-lived glory of an earth-born name. Now, we
were overtaken and tossed about by a steamer bound to New Haven; and
then we sailed in company with a boat, a sloop, and schooner; meeting
others, beating up, from Boston, New York, and Philadelphia. And the
termination of this pleasing panorama was composed of Gale’s Ferry, the
commanding town, fort, and monument of Groton, together with the city of
New London, among whose anchored shipping floated the saucy Revenue
Cutter, and at whose docks were chained a goodly number of storm-beaten
whalers.
Having taken in “our stores,” and obtained from the fish-market a basket
of bait, we again hoisted sail and put to sea, “bound first to Commit
Rock,” and “binding” ourselves to capture all of the watery enemy which
might tempt the power or the dexterity of our arms.
When about three miles from New London, all eyes were attracted by a
beautiful craft on our lee, laden with a party of ladies and gentlemen.
“They’re going toward a reef!” exclaimed our captain; and no sooner had
the words escaped his lips, than the stranger struck, and stove a hole
through her bottom. We were just in time to save the party from a watery
grave; and when we had landed them in safety on the beach, we were well
repaid for our trouble by the consciousness of having done a good act,
and by the thankful words and benignant smiles of the ladies fair. A
dozen minutes more and we were within oar’s length of the fishing rock.
“All ashore, that’s coming!” shouted our mate, when we all leaped out,
and a plenty of line being given her, the boat swung to, and “like a
cradled thing at rest,” floated upon the waves. Then commenced the
sport. The breeze was refreshing, and the breath of the salt sea-foam
buoyed up our spirits to a higher pitch, and gave new vigor to our
sinews. The youngest of the party was the first who threw his hook,
which was snapped in the twinkling of an eye. Another trial, and a
four-pound blackfish lay extended upon the rock. Another, and another,
and another, until fourscore, even-numbered, came following after. Tired
of the sport, two of the party entered the boat, and hoisted sail for a
little cruize. Half an hour had elapsed, when the steady breeze changed
into a frightful gale, capsizing within hailing distance a fishing boat
with two old men in it. Hanging on, as they were, to the keel of the
boat (which having no ballast could not sink), their situation was
extremely dangerous, as there was not a vessel within two miles. The
poor men beckoned to us to help them; but as our boat was gone, we could
not do so, which of course we much regretted. For one long, long hour
did they thus hang, “midway betwixt life and death,” exposed to the
danger of being washed away by the remorseless surge, or swallowed up,
as we were afterwards told, by a couple of sharks, which were kept away
only by the hand of Providence. This incident tended to cool our ardor
for fishing, and as we were satisfied with that day’s luck, we put up
our gear, during which time the boat arrived, and we embarked for the
Hill. We made one short turn, however, towards the boat which had picked
up the fishermen, as we were anxious to tell them why we did not come to
their relief. We then tacked about, and the last words we heard from our
companions were,—“Thank you—thank you—God bless you all,” and until we
had passed a league beyond Fisher Island, our little vessel “carried a
most beautiful bone between her teeth.”
At sunset we moored our little boat on the eastern shore of Paucatuck
Bay. On ascending to the Watch Hill hotel, we found it to be a large,
well-furnished house, and our host to be a fat and jolly Falstaff-ish
sort of man, just suited to his station. At seven o’clock we sat down to
a first-rate blackfish supper, then smoked a cigar, and while my
companions resorted to the ten-pin alley, I buttoned up my pea-jacket,
and sallied forth on an “exploring expedition.” As I stood on the
highest point of the peninsula facing, the south, I found that the
light-house stood directly before me, on the extreme point, that a
smooth beach faded away on either side, the left hand one being washed
by the Atlantic, and that on the right by the waters of Fisher Island
Bay, and that the dreary hills in my rear were dotted by an occasional
dwelling. The breeze had died away, and the bright, full moon was in the
cloudless sky. Many sails were in the offing, passing by and being
passed by the Providence and Stonington steamboats bound to New York.
The scenery around me, and the loveliness of the day, with its galaxy of
stars above me, caused me to forget myself, and I wandered far away upon
the shore—alone, in the awful presence of the great Atlantic Ocean. No
sounds fell upon my ear, save the muffled roar of the ground swell, and
the faint whispers of the tiny waves as they melted upon the sand. I
traced my name, and beside it that of another, a being beauteous, for
whose cabinet of curiosities I gathered many a round, smooth pebble, and
many a delicate sea-shell. I wandered on, now gazing with wonder and
admiration into the cerulean vault of Heaven, or into the still deeper
blue of the mighty sea; and now singing with a loud voice one of the
sacred songs of the sweet singer of Israel. Now, a thousand images of
surpassing loveliness darted across my vision, as I thought of God—of an
eternal life in heaven—and of love, divine and human; and then there
came a weight upon my spirit, as I remembered the powers of darkness,
the destiny of the condemned, and the miseries engendered by our evil
passions. One moment I deemed myself immortal, released forever from the
contaminating influence of sin, and then I thought of the valley of
death, and trembled. In that communion with the mysteries of the
universe, strongly blended as they were, I felt that I could wander on
without fatigue, until the whole earth should be trodden by my pilgrim
feet. But the chilly air and the fading night warned me to retrace my
steps, and in an hour I had reached my home.
When the sun rose from his ocean-bed on the following morning,
surrounded by a magnificent array of clouds, I was up, and busily
engaged preparing for a day’s fishing,—first, and before breakfast, for
bluefish, then for blackfish, and then for bass. While my companions
were asleep, I went out with an old fisherman, and by breakfast time had
captured thirty bluefish, weighing about two pounds apiece. The manner
of catching these is to tow for them with a long line, the bait being a
piece of ivory attached to a strong hook. They are a very active and
powerful fish, and when hooked make a great fuss, skipping and leaping
out of the water.
At nine o’clock our party were at anchor on a reef about one mile off,
and for the space of about two hours we hauled in the blackfish fast as
possible, many of them weighing eight to ten pounds apiece. For them,
you must have a small straight hook, and for bait, lobsters or crabs. A
broiled blackfish, when rightly cooked, is considered one of the best of
saltwater delicacies.
But the rarest of all fishing is that of catching bass, and a first-rate
specimen I was permitted to enjoy. About eleven o’clock, I jumped into
the surf-boat of an old fisherman, requesting him to pull for the best
bass ground with which he was acquainted. In the mean time my friends
had obtained a large boat, and were going to follow us. The spot having
been reached, we let our boat float, wherever the tide and wind impelled
it, and began to throw over lines, using for bait the skin of an eel six
inches long. Those in the neighboring boat had fine luck, as they
thought, having caught some dozen five-pounders, and they seemed to be
perfectly transported because nearly an hour had passed and I had caught
nothing. In their glee they raised a tremendous shout, but before it had
fairly died away, my line was suddenly straightened, and I knew that I
had a prize. Now it cut the water like a streak of lightning, although
there were two hundred feet out, and as the fish returned I still kept
it taught; and after playing with him for about forty minutes, I
succeeded in drowning him, then hauled up gradually, and with my
boat-hook landed him in the boat safe and sound. The length of that
striped bass was four feet two inches, and his weight, before cleaned,
fifty-eight pounds. That is a “fish story” worth telling. As a
beneficial effect and natural consequence of that triumph, I would
state, that I have grown about one inch in height since then,—more or
less,—as the saying is,—but probably less. You can easily imagine the
chop-fallen appearance of my brother fishermen, when they found out that
“the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.” At
three o’clock in the afternoon, a piece of that bass tended to satisfy
the appetite which had been excited by his capture, and I assure you it
touched the _right_ spot.
Satisfied with our piscatorial sports, we concluded to spend the rest of
the day quietly gathering shells upon the beach; but causes of
excitement were still around us. No sooner had we reached the water’s
edge, than we discovered a group of hardy men standing on a little
knoll, in earnest conversation, while some of them were pointing towards
the sea. “To the boat—to the boat,” suddenly shouted their leader, when
they all descended with the speed of Swiss mountaineers, and on reaching
a boat which had been made ready, they pushed her into the surf, and
three of them jumped in, and thus commenced the interesting scene of
hauling the seine. There was something new and romantic to us in the
thought, that the keen and intelligent eye of man could even penetrate
into the deep, so far as to designate the course of travel of the tribes
of the sea. And when the seine was drawn, it was a glorious and
thrilling sight to see those fishermen tugging at the lines, or leap
into the surf, which sometimes completely covered them, to secure the
tens of thousands of fish which they had caught. There was a grace and
beauty about the whole scene, which made me long for the genius of a
Mount or Edmonds.
A little before sunset, I was again strolling along the shore, when the
following incident occurred. You will please return with me to the spot.
Yonder on that fisherman’s stake, a little sparrow has just alighted,
facing the main. It has been lured away from the green bowers of home by
the music of the sea, and is now gazing, perhaps with feelings kindred
to my own, upon this most magnificent structure of the Almighty hand.
See! it spreads its wing, and is now darting towards the water—fearless
and free. Ah! it has gone too near! for the spray moistens its plumes!
There—there it goes, frightened back to its native woodland. That little
bird, so far as its power and importance are concerned, seems to me a
fit emblem of the mind of man, and this great ocean an appropriate
symbol of the mind of God.
The achievements of the human mind “have their passing paragraphs of
praise, and are forgotten.” Man may point to the Pyramids of Egypt,
which are the admiration of the world, and exclaim, “Behold the symbol
of my power and importance!” But most impotent is the boast. Those
mighty mysteries stand in the solitude of the desert, and the glory of
their destiny is fulfilled, in casting a temporary shadow over the tent
of the wandering Arab.
The achievements of the Almighty mind are beyond the comprehension of
man, and lasting as his own eternity. The spacious firmament, with its
suns, and moons, and stars; our globe, with its oceans, and mountains,
and rivers; the regularly revolving seasons; and the still, small voice
continually ascending from universal nature, all proclaim the power and
goodness of their great original. And everything which God has created,
from the nameless insect to the world of waters, which is the highway of
nations, was created for good, was created to accomplish some omnipotent
end. As this ocean is measureless and fathomless, so is it an emblem,
beautiful but faint, of that wonderful Being, whose throne is above the
milky-way, and who is himself from everlasting to everlasting. But see,
there is a heavy cloud rising in the west, the breeze is freshening,
flocks of wild ducks are flying inland, and the upper air is ringing
with the shrill whistle of the bold and wild sea-gull, whose home is the
boundless sea; therefore, as my dear friend Noble has somewhere written,
“the shortest homeward track’s the best.”
Still in the present tense would I continue. The witching hour of
midnight has again returned. A cold rain-storm has just passed over, the
moon is again the mistress of a cloudless sky, but the wind is still
raging in all its fury.
“I view the ships that come and go,
Looking so like to living things.
O! ’tis a proud and gallant show
Of bright and broad-spread wings,
Making it light around them, as they keep
Their course right onward through the unsounded deep.”
_Dana._
God be with them and their brave and gallant crews. But, again.
“Where the far-off sand-bars lift
Their backs in long and narrow line,
The breakers shout, and leap, and shift,
And send the sparkling brine
Into the air; then rush to mimic strife;
Glad creatures of the sea, and full of life!”
_Ibid._
But I must stop quoting poetry, for as “a thing of beauty is a joy
forever,” I should be forever writing about the sea. Heavens! What a
terrible song is the ocean singing! with his long white hair streaming
in the wind. The waving, splashing, wailing, dashing, howling, rushing,
and moaning of the waves, is a glorious lullaby, and a fit prelude to a
dream of the sea.
At an early hour on the following day we embarked for home, but a sorry
time did we have of it, for the winds were very lazy. We were ten hours
going the distance of twenty-two miles. It was now sunset, we were off
Gale’s Ferry, and not a solitary breath of air. Ashore we went, resolved
to await the coming of the Sag Harbor steamboat, which usually arrived
about nine o’clock, and by which we were taken in tow. Snugly seated in
our boat, and going at the rate of eighteen miles, we were
congratulating ourselves upon an early arrival home, and had already
begun to divide and string up our fish. But, alas, at this moment the
painter broke, the steamer, unconscious of our fate, still sped onward,
while we sheered off towards the shore, _almost disgusted_ with human
life in general—for our boat was large, and we had but one oar. But what
matter? We were a jolly set, and the way we gave three cheers, as a
prelude to the song of “Begone Dull Care,” must have been startling to
the thousand sleeping echoes of hill, forest, river, and glen.
Having crept along at snails pace about one mile, we concluded to land,
and, if possible, obtain a place to sleep, and something to eat; for not
having had a regular dinner, and not a mouthful of supper, we were half
starved. With clubs in our hands, to keep off hobgobblins and bull dogs,
we wended our way towards a neighboring farm-house, where we knocked for
admittance. Pretty soon a great gawky-looking head stuck itself out of
an upper window, to which we made known our heartfelt desires, receiving
in return the following answer: “My wife is sick—hain’t got any
bread—you can go in the barn to sleep if you want to;” and we turned
reluctantly away, troubled with a feeling very nearly allied to anger.
“Come, let’s go off in this direction,” exclaimed one of the party, “and
I’ll introduce you to my old friend, Captain Somebody,”—and away we
posted, two by two, across a new-mown field. Presently our two leaders
were awe-stricken by the sudden appearance of something white, which
seemed to be rising out of the earth beside a cluster of bushes, and the
way they wheeled about and put for the river, (accompanied by their
fellows, whose fright was merely sympathetic,) was “a caution” to all
unbelievers in ghosts and other midnight spectres.
At last we halted to gain a little breath, an explanation was made, and
our captain forthwith resolved to _investigate_ the matter. He now took
the lead, and on coming to the mysterious spot, discovered an _old blind
white horse_; who had been awakened by a noise, and, following the
instinct of his nature, had risen from his lair, to be better prepared
for danger. I doubt whether the echoes are yet silent, which were caused
by the loud and long peals of laughter which resounded to the sky. Being
in a strange land, without chart or compass, we could not find the
mortal dwelling place of Captain Somebody, and so we changed our course
of travel.
We stopt at another house, farther on, but to save our lives we could
not obtain an interview, although we entered the hen-coop, and set the
hens and roosters a cackling and crowing, the pig-pen, and set the hogs
a squealing, while a large dog and two puppies did their best to
increase and prolong the mighty chorus. If our farmer friend did not
deem himself transported to Bedlam, about that time, we imagine that
nothing on earth would have the power to give him such a dream. Our
ill-luck made us almost desperate, and so we returned to the boat,
resolved to row the whole distance home, could we but find an extra oar.
It was now eleven o’clock, and the only things that seemed to smile upon
us were the ten thousand stars, studding the clear, blue firmament.
Anon, a twinkling light beamed upon our vision; and as we approached, we
found it to proceed from a little hut on an island, where the Thames
lamplighter and his boy were accustomed to pass the night after their
work was done. Having again concluded to land, we received a hearty
welcome, as the host proved to be an old acquaintance of our captain and
mate. “Have you anything to eat?” was almost the first question of every
tongue. “No, nothing but this barrel of crackers and some cheese,”
exclaimed the man of light. “And we,” shouted one of our crew, “have
plenty of fish,—can’t we have a chowder?” “Aye, aye; a chowder, a
chowder it shall be,” were the words which rang aloud to the very
heavens. A wherry was despatched to the main-land, to the well known
habitation of an old fisherman, for the necessary iron pot and bowls;
for the potatoes and onions, which were dug for the occasion; for the
pork, the pepper, and salt; all which, added to our biscuit and
black-fish, nicely cleaned and prepared, constituted a chowder of the
very first water. There was one addition to our company, in the person
of the old fisherman; and our appearance, as we were seated in a circle
on the floor, each with a bowl of thick hot soup in his hands,
constituted a picture rich and rare. After we were done, it was
acknowledged by all, that a better meal had never been enjoyed by mortal
man. In about thirty minutes from this time the odd one of the company
bade us “good night,” and the midnight brotherhood resigned themselves
to sleep. The last sounds I heard, before closing my eyes, were caused
by the regular opposition steamboats from New York, as they shot ahead
almost as “swift as an arrow from a shivering bow.”
The first faint streak of daylight found us on board our boat, homeward
bound, wafted on by a pleasant southerly breeze. At the usual hour, we
were all seated at our respective breakfast tables, relating our
adventures of the excursion just ended.