A Fishing Party on the Thames—Watch Hill—Night Adventures.
Norwich. August.
A few mornings ago, just as the sun had risen above the eastern hills,
which look down upon the Thames at Norwich, the prettiest sail-boat 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, 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 on, he began to talk in an under tone,
and his voice did not die away until we had turned a point. 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
green-girt cottage, spacious barns, neat and flowing fields, with its
horses, 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—anything the reader may be
pleased to imagine. 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 a 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, 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 an oar’s length of the fishing
rock. “All ashore that’s coming!” shouted our mate, as he held the boat
fast, standing on the rock, when we all leaped out, and plenty of line
having been 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 vigour 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 black-fish 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 small fishing
smack, with two old men in it. Hanging on, as they were, to the keel of
the boat, 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 dangers 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 ardour 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’s Island, our little vessel “carried a
most beautiful bone between her teeth.”
At sunset we moored our little craft 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, jolly Falstaff-ish sort
of man, just suited to his station. At seven o’clock we sat down to a
black-fish 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 was situated
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 steam-boats bound to New York. The scenery around me, and
the loveliness of the sky, with its galaxy of stars above, 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 for ever 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, afterwards for black-fish, 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
a-piece. 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 from
shore; and for the space of about two hours we hauled in the black-fish
as fast as possible, many of them weighing eight to ten pounds a-piece.
For them, you must have a small straight hook, and for bait, lobsters or
crabs. A broiled black-fish, 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 ground
having been reached, we let our boat float wherever the tide and wind
impelled it, and began to throw over fines, using for bait the skin of
an eel six inches long. Those in the neighbouring 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. The reader 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.
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, when
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 thrilling sight to
see those fishermen tugging at the lines, leaping 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 a Bingham.
A little before sunset, I was again strolling along the shore, when the
following incident occurred. The reader 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 symbols
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, and highway of nations,
was created for good, 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 the poet 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, and
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 for
ever,” I should be for ever 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, not a
solitary breath of air, and we were off Gale’s Ferry. Ashore we went,
resolved to await the coming of the Sag Harbor steam-boat, 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. 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 snail’s 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 hobgoblins and bull dogs,
we wended our way towards a neighbouring 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 stopped 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
cocks and hens 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 midnight 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 a Thames
lamplighter and his boy were accustomed to pass the night after their
work was done. Having again landed, 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?” “Ay, ay! 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 had finished
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 steam-boats from New York, as they
shot by the island 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.