There were many vessels, like gulls, skimming over the surface of the
sea, now half concealed in its troughs, their dolphin-strikers
ploughing the water, now tossed on the top of the billows. One, a bark
standing down parallel with the coast, suddenly furled her sails, came
to anchor, and swung round in the wind, near us, only half a mile from
the shore. At first we thought that her captain wished to communicate
with us, and perhaps we did not regard the signal of distress, which a
mariner would have understood, and he cursed us for cold-hearted
wreckers who turned our backs on him. For hours we could still see her
anchored there behind us, and we wondered how she could afford to
loiter so long in her course. Or was she a smuggler who had chosen that
wild beach to land her cargo on? Or did they wish to catch fish, or
paint their vessel? Erelong other barks, and brigs, and schooners,
which had in the mean while doubled the Cape, sailed by her in the
smacking breeze, and our consciences were relieved. Some of these
vessels lagged behind, while others steadily went ahead. We narrowly
watched their rig, and the cut of their jibs, and how they walked the
water, for there was all the difference between them that there is
between living creatures. But we wondered that they should be
remembering Boston and New York and Liverpool, steering for them, out
there; as if the sailor might forget his peddling business on such a
grand highway. They had perchance brought oranges from the Western
Isles; and were they carrying back the peel? We might as well transport
our old traps across the ocean of eternity. Is _that_ but another
“trading-flood,” with its blessed isles? Is Heaven such a harbor as the
Liverpool docks?
Still held on without a break, the inland barrens and shrubbery, the
desert and the high sand bank with its even slope, the broad white
beach, the breakers, the green water on the bar, and the Atlantic
Ocean; and we traversed with delight new reaches of the shore; we took
another lesson in sea-horses’ manes and sea-cows’ tails, in sea-jellies
and sea-clams, with our new-gained experience. The sea ran hardly less
than the day before. It seemed with every wave to be subsiding, because
such was our expectation, and yet when hours had elapsed we could see
no difference. But there it was, balancing itself, the restless ocean
by our side, lurching in its gait. Each wave left the sand all braided
or woven, as it were, with a coarse woof and warp, and a distinct
raised edge to its rapid work. We made no haste, since we wished to see
the ocean at our leisure; and indeed that soft sand was no place in
which to be in a hurry, for one mile there was as good as two
elsewhere. Besides, we were obliged frequently to empty our shoes of
the sand which one took in in climbing or descending the bank.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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