The soundings on the American coast are so regular that a navigator
knows as well where he has made land, by the soundings, as he
would by seeing the land. Black mud is the soundings of Block
Island. As you go toward Nantucket, it changes to a dark sand;
then, sand and white shells; and on George's Banks, white sand;
and so on. Being off Block Island, our course was due east, to
Nantucket Shoals, and the South Channel; but the wind died away
and left us becalmed in a thick fog, in which we lay the whole
of Sunday. At noon of
Sunday, 18th, Block Island bore, by calculation, N. W. 1/4 W.
fifteen miles; but the fog was so thick all day that we could see
nothing.
Having got through the ship's duty, and washed and shaved, we went
below, and had a fine time overhauling our chests, laying aside the
clothes we meant to go ashore in and throwing overboard all that were
worn out and good for nothing. Away went the woollen caps in which
we had carried hides upon our heads, for sixteen months, on the
coast of California; the duck frocks, for tarring down rigging;
and the worn-out and darned mittens and patched woollen trowsers
which had stood the tug of Cape Horn.
We hove them overboard with a good will; for there is nothing
like being quit of the very last appendages and remnants of
our evil fortune. We got our chests all ready for going ashore,
ate the last "duff" we expected to have on board the ship Alert;
and talked as confidently about matters on shore as though our
anchor were on the bottom.
"Who'll go to church with me a week from to-day?"
"I will," says Jack; who said aye to everything.
"Go away, salt water!" says Tom. "As soon as I get both legs
ashore, I'm going to shoe my heels, and button my ears behind me,
and start off into the bush, a straight course, and not stop till
I'm out of the sight of salt water!"
"Oh! belay that! Spin that yarn where nobody knows your filling!
If you get once moored, stem and stern, in old B - - -'s grog-shop,
with a coal fire ahead and the bar under your lee, you won't see
daylight for three weeks!"
"No!" says Tom, "I'm going to knock off grog, and go and board
at the Home, and see if they won't ship me for a deacon!"
"And I," says Bill, "am going to buy a quadrant and ship for
navigator of a Hingham packet!"
These and the like jokes served to pass the time while we were
lying waiting for a breeze to clear up the fog and send us on our
way.
Toward night a moderate breeze sprang up; the fog however continuing
as thick as before; and we kept on to the eastward. About the middle
of the first watch, a man on the forecastle sang out, in a tone which
showed that there was not a moment to be lost, - "Hard up the helm!"
and a great ship loomed up out of the fog, coming directly down
upon us. She luffed at the same moment, and we just passed one
another; our spanker boom grazing over her quarter. The officer
of the deck had only time to hail, and she answered, as she went
into the fog again, something about Bristol - probably, a whaleman
from Bristol, Rhode Island, bound out. The fog continued through the
night, with a very light breeze, before which we ran to the eastward,
literally feeling our way along. The lead was heaved every two hours,
and the gradual change from black mud to sand, showed that we were
approaching Nantucket South Shoals. On Monday morning, the increased
depth and deep blue color of the water, and the mixture of shells and
white sand which we brought up, upon sounding, showed that we were
in the channel, and nearing George's; accordingly, the ship's head
was put directly to the northward, and we stood on, with perfect
confidence in the soundings, though we had not taken an observation
for two days, nor seen land; and the difference of an eighth of
a mile out of the way might put us ashore. Throughout the day a
provokingly light wind prevailed, and at eight o'clock, a small
fishing schooner, which we passed, told us we were nearly abreast
of Chatham lights.
Just before midnight, a light land-breeze sprang up, which carried
us well along; and at four o'clock, thinking ourselves to the
northward of Race Point, we hauled upon the wind and stood
into the bay, west-north-west, for Boston light, and commenced
firing guns for a pilot. Our watch went below at four o'clock,
but could not sleep, for the watch on deck were banging away at
the guns every few minutes. And, indeed, we cared very little
about it, for we were in Boston Bay; and if fortune favored us,
we could all "sleep in" the next night, with nobody to call the
watch every four hours.
We turned out, of our own will, at daybreak, to get a sight of land.
In the grey of the morning, one or two small fishing smacks peered
out of the mist; and when the broad day broke upon us, there lay the
low sand-hills of Cape Cod, over our larboard quarter, and before us,
the wide waters of Massachusetts Bay, with here and there a sail
gliding over its smooth surface. As we drew in toward the mouth
of the harbor, as toward a focus, the vessels began to multiply
until the bay seemed actually alive with sails gliding about in
every direction; some on the wind, and others before it, as they
were bound to or from the emporium of trade and centre of the bay.
It was a stirring sight for us, who had been months on the ocean
without seeing anything but two solitary sails; and over two years
without seeing more than the three or four traders on an almost
desolate coast.
