Dana, Richard Henry, 1815-1882; Sailors; Seafaring life; Voyages and travels
and no sound heard but the pulsations of the great Pacific! and the
great steep hill rising like a wall, and cutting us off from all the
world, but the "world of waters!" I separated myself from the rest and
sat down on a rock, just where the sea ran in and formed a fine
spouting horn. Compared with the plain, dull sand-beach of the rest of
the coast, this grandeur was as refreshing as a great rock in a weary
land. It was almost the first time that I had been positively
alone--free from the sense that human beings were at my elbow, if not
talking with me--since I had left home. My better nature returned
strong upon me. Everything was in accordance with my state of feeling,
and I experienced a glow of pleasure at finding that what of poetry and
romance I ever had in me, had not been entirely deadened by the
laborious and frittering life I had led. Nearly an hour did I sit,
almost lost in the luxury of this entire new scene of the play in which
I had been so long acting, when I was aroused by the distant shouts of
my companions, and saw that they were collecting together, as the agent
had made his appearance, on his way back to our boat.
We pulled aboard, and found the long-boat hoisted out, and nearly laden
with goods; and after dinner, we all went on shore in the quarter-boat,
with the long-boat in tow. As we drew in, we found an ox-cart and a
couple of men standing directly on the brow of the hill; and having
landed, the captain took his way round the hill, ordering me and one
other to follow him. We followed, picking our way out, and jumping and
scrambling up, walking over briers and prickly pears, until we came to
the top. Here the country stretched out for miles as far as the eye
could reach, on a level, table surface; and the only habitation in
sight was the small white mission of San Juan Capistrano, with a few
Indian huts about it, standing in a small hollow, about a mile from
where we were. Reaching the brow of the hill where the cart stood, we
found several piles of hides, and Indians sitting round them. One or
two other carts were coming slowly on from the mission, and the captain
told us to begin and throw the hides down. This, then, was the way
they were to be got down: thrown down, one at a time, a distance of
four hundred feet! This was doing the business on a great scale.
Standing on the edge of the hill and looking down the perpendicular
height, the sailors,
--"That walk upon the beach,
Appeared like mice; and our tall anchoring bark
Diminished to her cock; her cock a buoy
Almost too small for sight."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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