We have passed Gaspe, and are in the Gulf. To the south, Bird Rock
is dimly seen. Our passenger list--already a long one--has received
an addition during the night. Two birds, the smaller a sparrow,
boarded the ship, most likely before we were yet fairly away from
land. They are objects of much interest to their fellow-passengers.
The larger bird, which the sailors take to be "a howl" (as one of
them expresses it), proves, on closer and more careful scrutiny, to
be a hawk. Jack-tar is not an ornithologist. His acquaintance with
the feathery tribe seems to be confined to a few aquatic birds, such
as seagulls and Mother Carey's chickens. As for land birds, it is
probable that he doesn't even "know a hawk from a handsaw," much less
from "a howl."
The presence of the birds on board gives rise to not a little
speculation. Why hath the sparrow left its cosy nest and the hawk
its home on the dry land, to roam over this waste of waters? Some
say that the birds are stealing a free passage to Newfoundland.
Others, sagely taking into account how ill-assorted the pair are,
reach a more likely solution of the puzzling problem. The hawk, they
say, sallied forth in the early dawn to find itself a breakfast. The
sparrow was already abroad on similar mission bent. Chased by the
pirate of the air, and having a natural dislike to become food for
its hungry pursuer, instead of getting something to appease its own
hunger, it sought refuge on the passing ship, closely followed by its
foe. As we near the coast of Newfoundland the birds leave us and fly
landward. But whether the smaller was inside the larger bird, when
land was reached, is still matter for speculation to the other
passengers of the Vancouver.
By 10.30 a.m. we are abreast of Cape Ray. As we steam by Channel,
otherwise known as Port Basque, we descry the massive hulk of the
Elder-Dempster liner, Montpellier, wrecked here some weeks ago. Even
the good ship Vancouver might be cast away on these cruel rocks, as
was her sister ship, the Chicago, on the rocks of Kinsale. This is
the thought that comes to one's mind as one gazes on the stranded
ship. But the smiling June sky, radiant with sunshine, chases it
quickly away, and we breathe a prayer to the heart of Him who rules
the wind and the waves.
We are now fairly at sea, and our ship has made her first bow to the
Atlantic rollers. This token of homage old Neptune claims, nay
compels, from every ship that presses upon his bosom and feels the
throbbing of his mighty heart. And full many a one of those who go
down to the sea in ships, is, in like manner, made to pay tribute,
and never a one but grudges the payment. But the theme is too
painful to dwell upon.
* * *