Dana, Richard Henry, 1815-1882; Sailors; Seafaring life; Voyages and travels
We turned out, of our own will, at daybreak, to get a sight of
land. In the gray 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 alive with sails gliding
about in all directions; 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. There were the little coasters, bound to
and from the various towns along the south shore, down in the
bight of the bay, and to the eastward; here and there a
square-rigged vessel standing out to seaward; and, far in the
distance, beyond Cape Ann, was the smoke of a steamer, stretching
along in a narrow black cloud upon the water. Every sight was full
of beauty and interest. We were coming back to our homes; and the
signs of civilization and prosperity and happiness, from which we
had been so long banished, were multiplying about us. The high
land of Cape Ann and the rocks and shore of Cohasset were full in
sight, the light-houses standing like sentries in white before the
harbors; and even the smoke from the chimneys on the plains of
Hingham was seen rising slowly in the morning air. One of our boys
was the son of a bucket-maker; and his face lighted up as he saw
the tops of the well-known hills which surround his native place.
About ten o'clock a little boat came bobbing over the water, and
put a pilot on board, and sheered off in pursuit of other vessels
bound in. Being now within the scope of the telegraph stations,
our signals were run up at the fore; and in half an hour
afterwards, the owner on 'Change, or in his counting-room, knew
that his ship was below; and the landlords, runners, and sharks in
Ann Street learned that there was a rich prize for them down in
the bay,-- a ship from round the Horn, with a crew to be paid off
with two years' wages.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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