"Picton!"
"Hallo!" replied the traveller, sitting up on his locker4; "what is the matter now?"
"Nothing, only it is morning; let us get up, I want to see the sun rise out of the ocean."
"Pooh!" replied Picton, "what do you want to be bothering with the sun for?" And again Picton rolled himself up in his sheet-rubber travelling-blanket, and stretched his long body out on the locker. I got up, or rather got down, from my berth5, and casting a bucket over the schooner6's side soon made a sea-water toilet. I forgot to mention the sleeping arrangements of the "Balaklava." There were two lower berths7 on one side[Pg 78] the cabin, either of which was large enough for two persons; and two single upper berths on the other side, neither of which was large enough for one person. At the proper hour for retiring, the captain's lady shut the cabin-door to keep out intruders, deliberately8 arrayed herself in dimity, turned in with baby in one of the large berths, and re?pened the door. There she lay, wide awake, with her bright eyes twinkling within the folds of her night cap, unaffected, chatty, and agreeable; then the captain divested9 himself of boots and pea-jacket and turned in beside his lady (the mate slept, when off his watch, in the other double berth). Picton rolled himself up in his blanket and stretched out on his locker; I climbed into the narrow coop, over the salt beef and hard biscuit department; and so we dozed10 and talked until sleep reigned11 over all. In the morning the ceremonies were reversed, with the exception of the Captain, who was up first. "I never see a man sleep so little as the captain," said Bruce; "about two hoors, an' that's aw."
The sun was already risen when I came out on the deck of the "Balaklava;" but where was the sun? Indeed, where was the ocean, or anything? The schooner was barely making steerage-way, with a light head-wind, over a small patch of water,[Pg 79] not much larger apparently12 than the schooner herself. The air was filled with a luminous13 haze14 that appeared to be penetrable15 by the eye, and yet was not; that seemed at once open and dense16; near yet afar off; close yet diffuse17; contracted yet boundless18. There was no light nor shade, no outline, distance, a?rial perspective. There was no east and west, nor blushing Aurora19, rising from old Tithonus' bed; nor blue sky, nor green sea, nor ship, nor shore, nor color, tint20, hue21, ray, or reflection. There was nothing visible except the sides of the vessel22, a maze23 of dripping rigging, two sailors bristling24 with drops, and the captain in a shiny sou-wester. The feeling of seclusion25 and security was complete, although we might have been run down by another vessel at any moment; the air was deliciously bland26, invigorating, and pregnant with life; to breathe it was a transport; you felt it in every globule of blood, in every pore of the lungs. I could have hugged that fog, I was so happy!
Up and down the rolling deck I marched, and with every inspiration of the moist air, felt the old, tiresome27, lingering sickness floating away. Then I was startled with a new sensation, I began to get hungry!
It was between four and five o'clock in the morning, and the "Balaklava" did not breakfast until[Pg 80] eight. Reader, were you ever hungry at sea? Were you ever on deck, upon the measureless ocean, four hours earlier than the ring of the breakfast-bell? Were you ever awake on the briny28 deep, in advance, when the cook had yet two hours to sleep; when the stove in the galley29 was cold, and the kindling-wood unsplit; the coffee still in its tender, green, unroasted innocence30? Were you ever upon "the blue, the fresh, the ever free," under these circumstances? If so, I need not say to you that the sentiment, then and there awakened31, is stronger than avarice32, pride, ambition or, love.
Presently Picton burst out like a flower on deck, in a mass of over-coats, with an India-rubber mackintosh by way of calyx. These were his night-clothes. Picton could do nothing except in full costume; he could not fish, in ever so small a stream, without being booted to the hips33; nor shoot, in ever so good a cover, without being jacketed above the hips. He shaved himself in front of a silver-mounted dressing-case, wrote his letters on a portable secretary, drew off his boots with a patent boot-jack, brewed34 his punch with a peripatetic35 kettle, and in fact carried a little London with him in every quarter of the globe. "Well," said Picton, looking around at the fog with a low and expressive36 whistle, "this is serene37!"[Pg 81]
Although Picton used the word "serene" ironically, just as a man riding in an omnibus and suddenly discovering that he was destitute38 of the needful sixpence might exclaim, "This is pleasant," yet the phrase was not out of place. The "Balaklava" was gliding39 lazily over the water, at the rate of three knots an hour, sometimes giving a little lurch40 by way of shaking the wet out of her invisible sails, for the fog obscured all her upper canvas, and the mind and body easily yielded to the lullaby movement of the vessel. Talk of lotus-eating; of Castles of Indolence; of the dreamy ether inhaled42 from amber-tubed narghilé; of poppy and mandragora, and all the drowsy43 syrups44 of the world; of rain upon the midnight roof; the cooing of doves, the hush45 of falling snow, the murmur46 of brooks47, the long summer song of grasshoppers48 in the field, the tinkling49 of fountains, and everything else that can soothe50, lull41, or tranquillize; and what are these to the serenity51 of this sail-swinging, ripple-stirring, gently-creaking craft, in her veil of luminous vapor52? "How delightful53 this is!" said I.
The traveller eyed me with surprise, but at last comprehending the idea, admitted, that with the exception of the fog and the calm, the scarcity54 of news, the damp state of the decks, and the want of the morning papers, it was very charming indeed.[Pg 82] Then the traveller got a little restive55, and began to peer closely into the fog, and look aloft to see if he could make out the stay-sails, and then he entered into a long confidential56 talk with the captain, in relation to the chances of "getting on," of a fresh breeze springing up, and the fog lifting; whether we should make Louisburgh by to-morrow night, and if not, when; with various other salt-water speculations57 and problems. Then Picton climbed up on the patent-windlass to get a full view of the fog at the end of the bow-sprit, and took another survey of the buried stay-sails, and the flying-jib. Then he and the Newfoundland sailor on the look-out, had a long consultation58 of great gravity and importance; and finally he turned around and came up to the place where I was standing59, and broke out: "I say, what the devil are we to do with ourselves this morning?"
"What are we to do?" That eternal question. It instantly seemed to double the thickness of the fog, to arrest the slow movement of the vessel. Picton had nothing to do for a fortnight, and I had left home with the sole object of going somewhere where soul and body could rest. "Nothing to do," was precisely60 the one thing needful. "Nothing to do," is exquisite61 happiness, for real happiness is but a negation62. "Nothing to do," is repose63 for the body,[Pg 83] respite64 for the mind. It is an ideal hammock swinging in drowsy tropical groves65, apart from the roar of the busy, relentless66 world; away from the strife67 of faction68, the toils69 of business, the restless stretch of ambition, wealth's tinsel pride, poverty's galling70 harness. "Nothing to do," is the phantom of young Imagination, the evanescent hope that promises to crown
"A youth of labor71 with an age of ease."
"Nothing to do," was the charm that lured72 us on board the "Balaklava," and now "nothing to do," was with us like the Bottle-Imp, an incubus73, still crying out: "You may yet exchange me for a smaller coin, if such there be!" "Nothing to do," is an imposture74. Something to do is the very life of life, the beginning and end of being. "Picton," said I, "one thing we must do, at least, this morning."
"What is that?" replied the traveller, eagerly opening his mackintosh, and drawing it off so as to be ready to do it.
"Taking into consideration the slow and sleepy nature of this climate, the thickness of the fog, the faint, thin air that impels75 the vessel, the early time of day, and the regulations of the 'Balaklava,' it[Pg 84] seems to me we shall have to be steadily76 occupied, for at least three hours, in waiting for breakfast."
Then Picton got hungry! He was a large, stout77 man, wrapped up by a multitude of garments to the thickness of a polar bear, and when he got hungry, it was on a scale of corresponding dimensions. First he alluded78 to the fact that we had gone supperless to bed the night before; then he buttoned up his mackintosh, had a brief interview with the captain, shouted down the gang-way for the cook, and finally disappeared in the forecastle. Then he came up again with that officer, rummaged79 in the galley for the ship's hatchet80, and split up all the kindling-wood on deck; then he shed his petals81 (mackintosh and over-coats) and instructed Cookey in the mystery of building a fire. Then he emerged from the intolerable smoke he had raised in the galley, and devoted82 himself to the stove-pipe outside, Cookey, meanwhile, within the caboose, getting the benefit of all the experiments.
At last a faint smell of coffee issued forth83 from the caboose, a little Arabia breathed through the humid atmosphere, and a sound, as if Cookey were stirring the berries in a pan, was heard in the midst of the smoke. Meanwhile Picton descends84 in the hold with a bucket of salt-water to enjoy the luxury of a bath, and reappears in full toilet just as Cookey[Pg 85] is grinding the berries, burnt and green, with a hand-mill between his knees. The pan by this time is put to a new use; it is now lined with bacon in full frizzle; presently it will be turned to account as a bake-pan, for pearl-ash cakes of chrome-yellow complexion85: everything must take its turn; the pan is the actor of all work; it accepts coffee, cakes, pork, fish, pudding, besides being general dish-washer and soup-warmer, as we found out before long.
During the preparation of these successive courses, Picton and I sat on deck in hungry silence. Now and then an anxious glance at the galley, or a tormenting86 whiff of the savory87 viands88, would give new life to the demon89 that raged within us. I believe if Cookey had accidentally upset the coffee tea-kettle, and put out the fire, his sanctuary90 would have been sacked instantly. Eight o'clock came, and yet we had not broken bread. We walked up and down the deck to relieve our appetites. At last we saw the three cracked mugs, our tea-cups, which had been our ale-glasses of the night before, brought up for a rinse91, and then we knew that breakfast was not far off. The cloth was spread, the saffron cakes, ship's butter, yellow mugs, coffee, pork, and pismires temptingly arrayed. We did not wait to hear the cook ring the bell. We watched him as[Pg 86] he came up with it in his hand, and squeezed past him before he shook out a single vibration92.
Then we made a Meal!
Breakfast being over, the fog lightened a little. Our tiny horizon widened its boundaries a few hundred feet, or so; we could see once more the top-mast of the schooner. So we lazily swung along, with nothing to do again. Sometimes a distant fog-bell; sometimes a distant sound across the face of the deep, like the falling of cataract93 waters.
"What is that sound, Bruce?"
"It's the surf breakin' on the rocks," responds Bruce; "I hae been listenen to it for hoors."
"Are we then so near shore?"
"About three miles aff," replies the mate.
Presently we heard the sound of human voices; a laugh; the stroke of oars94 in the row-locks, plainly distinguishable in the mysterious vapor. The captain hailed: "Hallo!" "Halloo!" echoes in answer. The strokes of the oars are louder and quicker; they are approaching us, but where? "Halloo!" comes again out of the mist. And again the captain shouts in reply. Then a white phantom boat, thin, vapory, unsubstantial, now seen, now lost again, appears on the skirts of our horizon.
"Where are we?" asks the captain.
"Off St. Esprit," answer the boatmen.[Pg 87]
"What are you after?" asks the captain.
"Looking for our nets," is the reply; and once more boat and boatmen disappear in the luminous vapor. These are mackerel fishermen; their nets are adrift from their stone-anchors: the fish are used for bait in the cod-fisheries, as well as for salting down. If we could but come across the nets, what a rare treat we might have at dinner!
Lazily on we glide—nothing to do. Picton is reading a stunning95 book; the captain, his lady, the baby, and I making a small family circle around the wheel; the mate is on the look-out over the bows; all at once, he shouts out: "There they are! the nets!" Down goes Picton's book on the deck; Bruce catches up a rope and fastens it to a large iron hook; the sailors run to the side of the vessel; captain releases his forefinger96 from baby's hand, and catches the wheel; all is excitement in a moment. "Starboard!" shouts the mate, as the nets come sweeping97 on, directly in front of the cut-water. The schooner obeys the wheel, sheers off, and now, as the floats come along sidewise, Bruce has dropped his hook in the mesh98—it takes hold! and the heavy mass is partially99 raised up in the water. "Thousands of them," says Picton; sure enough, the whole net is alive with mackerel, splashing, quivering, glistening100. "Catch hold here,[Pg 88] I canna hold them; O the beauties!" says the mate. Some grasp at the rope, others look around for another hook. "Hauld 'em! hauld 'em!" shouts Bruce; but the weighty piscatorial101 mass is too much for us, it will drag us desperately102 along the deck to the stern of the vessel. The schooner is going slowly, but still she is going. Another hook is rigged and thrown at the struggling mesh; but it breaks loose, the mackerel are dragging behind the rudder; we are at our rope's end. At last, rope, hook, and nets are abandoned, and again we have nothing to do.
High noon, and a red spot visible overhead; the captain brings out his sextant to take an observation. This proceeding103 we viewed with no little interest, and, for the humor of the thing, I borrowed the sextant of the captain and took a satirical view of a great luminary104 in obscurity. As I had the instrument upside down, the sailors were in convulsions of laughter; but why should we not make everybody happy when we have it in our power?
High noon, and again hunger overtook us. Picton, by this time, had brought out the cans of preserved meats, the curried105 tin chicken, the portable soup, the ale and pickles107. The cook was put upon duty; pot and pan were scoured108 for more delicate viands; Picton was chef de cuisine109; we had a[Pg 89] magnificent banquet that day on the "Balaklava."
To give a zest110 to the entertainment, the captain's lady dined with us; the mate kindly111 undertaking112 the charge of the baby.
When we came on deck, after a repast that would have been perfect but for the absence of potatoes, Bruce was marching up and down, dangling113 the baby in a way that made it appear all legs; "I doan't see," said he, "hoo a wummun can lug114 a baby all day aboot in her airms! I hae only carried this one half an 'our, and boath airms is sore. But I suppose it's naturely, it's naturely—everything to its nature."
The dinner having been a success, Picton was in great spirits for the rest of the day. The fog spread its munificent115 halo around us, and before nightfall broke into myriads116 of white rainbows—sea-dogs the sailors call them—and finally lifted so high that we could see the spectral117 moon shining through the thin rack. Once more we sang "Annie Laurie;" the traveller brought out his travelling blanket for a dewy slumber118 on deck; the lady of the "Balaklava" put on her night-cap and retired119 with baby to the double berth: Bruce took the helm. As I was passing the light in the binnacle, I looked in at the compass for a moment.[Pg 90] "She's nailed there," said the old mate. Nailed there, true to her course, as steadfast120 to the guiding rudder as truth is to religion. We were but a few miles from a dangerous coast, in a vessel of the frailest121 kind, but she was "nailed there," obedient to man's intelligence, and that was security and safety. What a text to say one's prayers upon!
"Picton," said I, the next morning, after the schooner-breakfast, "it seems to me the strangest thing that Mrs. Capstan should have the pure Irish pronunciation and the mate the thorough Scotch122 brogue, although both were born in Newfoundland, and of Newfoundland parents. I must confess to no small amount of surprise at the complete isolation123 of the people of these colonies; the divisions among them; the separate pursuits, prejudices, languages; they seem to have nothing in common; no aggregation124 of interests; it is existence without nationality; sectionalism without emulation125; a mere126 exotic life with not a fibre rooted firmly in the soil. The colonists are English, Irish, Scotch, French, for generation after generation. Why is this, O Picton? Why is it that the captain's lady has high cheek-bones, and speaks the pure Hibernise? why is the only railroad in the colony but nine and three-quarter miles long, and the great Shubenacadie Canal yet unfinished, although it was begun in the[Pg 91] year 1826; a canal fifty-three mortal miles in length, already engineered and laid out by nature in a chain of lakes, most conveniently arranged with the foot of each little lake at the head of the next one—like 'orient pearls at random127 strung'—requiring but a few locks to be complete: the head of the first lake lying only twelve hundred and ten yards from Halifax harbor, and the Shubenacadie River itself at the other end, emptying in the place of destination, namely, the Basin of Minas; a work that, if completed, would cut off more than three hundred miles of outside voyaging around a stormy, foggy, dangerous coast; a work that was estimated to cost but seventy-five thousand pounds, and for which fifteen thousand pounds had already been subscribed128 by the government; a work that would be the saving of so many vessels129, crews, and cargoes130 of so much value; a work that would traverse one of the most fertile countries in America; a work that would bring the inland produce within a few hours of the seaboard; a work so necessary, so obvious, so easily completed, that no Yankee could see it undone131, if it were within the limits of his county, and have one single night's rest until the waters were leaping from lock to lock, from lake to lake in one continuous flood of prosperity from[Pg 92] Minas to Chebucto? Why is this, O traveller of the 'Balaklava?'"
"The reason of it all," replied Picton, with great equanimity132 of manner, "is entirely133 owing to the stupidity of the people here; the British government is the best government, sir, in the world; it fosters, protects, and supports the colonies, with a sort of parental134 care, sir; the colonies, sir, afford no recompense to the British government for its care and protection, sir; each colony is only a bill of expense, sir, to the mother country, and if, with all these advantages, the people of these colonies will persist, sir, in being behind the age, sir, what can we do to prevent it, I would like to know, sir?"
"It does seem to me, Picton, this fostering, protecting, and paying the governmental expenses of the colonies, is very like pampering135 and amusing a child with sweetmeats and nick-nacks, and at the same time keeping it in leading-strings. It is very certain that these colonists would not be the same people if their ancestors had been transplanted, a century or so ago, to our side of the Bay of Fundy; no, not even if they had pitched their tents at the 'jumping-off place,' as it is called—Eastport, for even there they would have produced a crop of pure Yankees, although grown from divers136 nations, religions, and tongues."[Pg 93]
Here Picton turned up his lip, and smiled out of a little battery of sarcasm137: "And you think," said he, after a pause, "that these colonists would no longer revel138 in those little prejudices and sectionalisms so dear to every American heart, if they were transplanted to your own favored coasts? Why, sir, there is more sectionalism in the country you would transport these people to, than in any one nation I ever heard of; every one of your States is a petty principality; it has its own separate interests; its own bigoted139 boundaries; its conventionalisms; its pet laws; and as for its prejudices, I will just ask you, as a candid140 man, not as a Yankee, but as a traveller like myself, a cosmopolite, if you please, what you think of the two great eternal States of Massachusetts and South Carolina, and whether prejudices and sectionalisms are to be fairly charged upon these colonies, and upon them only?"
"Picton, I will be frank with you. The States you name are looked upon as the great game-cocks of the union, and we give them a tolerably large arena141 to fight their battles in. Either champion has flapped its wings and crowed its loudest, and drawn142 in its local backers, but the great States of my country are not these two. I feel at this moment an almost irrepressible desire to instance a[Pg 94] single one as an example; but insomuch as nobody has ever flapped wing or crowed because of it, I will not be the first to break the silence. This much I will say, there are some States, and those the very greatest in the union, that neither claim to be, nor make a merit of being provincial143."
"But, even in your State, you have your stately prejudices," said Picton, with a marked emphasis upon the "stately."
"No, sir, we have no stately prejudices, at least among those entitled to have them, the native-born citizens; nor do I believe such prejudices exist in many of the States with us at home, sir."
"But as you admit there is a sectional barrier between your people," said Picton, "I do not see why our form of government is not as wise as your form of government."
"The difference, Picton, is simply this: your government is foreign, and almost unchangeable; ours is local, and mutable as the flux144 and reflux of the tide. As a consequence, sectionalism is active with us, and apathetic145 with you. Your colonists have nothing to care for, and we have everything to care for."
"Then," said Picton, "we can sleep while you struggle?"
"Yes, Picton, that is the question—[Pg 95]—
'Whether 'tis best to roam or rest.
The land's lap, or the water's breast?'
We think it is best to choose the active instead of the stagnant146; if a man cannot take part in the great mechanism147 of humanity, better to die than to sleep. And Picton, so far as this is concerned, so far as the general interests of humanity are concerned, your colonists are only dead men, while our "stately" men are individually responsible, not only to their own kind, but to all human kind, and herein each form of government tells its own story."
"I think you are rather severe upon poor Nova Scotia this morning," said Picton, drily.
"You mistake me, Picton; I do not intend to cast any reflections upon the people; I am only contrasting the effects produced by two different forms of government upon neighboring bodies of men that would have been alike had either a republican or monarchical148 rule obtained over both."
"Likely," said Picton, sententiously.
Meantime the schooner was lazily holding her course through the fog, which was now dense as ever. What an odd little bit of ocean this is to be on! "The sea, the sea, the open sea," all your own, with a diameter of perhaps forty yards. Picton, who is full of activity, begins to unroll the log line; the captain turns the glass, away goes the log.[Pg 96] "Stop," "not three knots!" and then comes the question again: "What shall we do?—we are getting becalmed!"
"By Jove!" said Picton, slapping his thigh149, "I have it—cod-fish!"
There are plenty of hooks on board the "Balaklava," and unfortunately only one cod-line; but what with the deep-sea lead-and-line, and a roll of blue cord, with a spike150 for a sinker, and the hooks, we are soon in the midst of excitement. Now we almost pray for a calm; the schooner will heave ahead, and leave the lines astern; but nevertheless, up come the fine fish, and plenty of them, too; the deck is all flop151 and glister with cod, haddock, pollock; and Cookey, with a short knife, is at work with the largest, preparing them for the banquet, according to the code Newfoundland. Certainly the art of "cooking a cod-fish" is not quite understood, except in this part of the world. The white flakes152 do not exhibit the true conchoidal fracture in such perfection elsewhere; nor break off in such delicious morsels153, edged with delicate brown. "Another bottle of ale, please, and a granitic154 biscuit, and a pickle106, by way of dessert."
Lazily along swings the "Balaklava." Picton brings up his travelling blanket, and we stretch out upon it on deck, basking155 in the warm, humid light,[Pg 97] and leisurely156 puffing157 away at our segars, for we have nothing else to do. Towards evening it grows colder, very much colder; over-coats are in requisition; the captain says we are nearing some icebergs158; the fog folds itself up and hangs above us in strips of cloud, or rolls away in voluminous masses to the edges of the horizon. The stars peep out between the strips overhead, the moon sends forth her silver vapors159 and finally emerges from the "crudded clouds;" the wake of the schooner is one long phosphoric trail of flame; the masts are creaking, sails stretching, the waters pouring against the bows; out on the deep, white crests160 lift and break, the winds are loosened, and now good speed to the "Balaklava." Meanwhile, the hitherto listless Newfoundland men are now wide awake, and busy; the man at the wheel is on the alert; the captain is looking at his charts; Picton and I walking the deck briskly, but unsteadily, to keep off the cold; Mrs. Capstan has turned in with the baby. Blacker and larger waves are rising, with whiter crests; on and on goes the schooner with dip and rise—tossing her yards as a stag tosses his antlers. On and on goes the brave "Balaklava," the captain at the bows on the look-out; the sky is mottled with clouds, but fortunately there is no fog; nine, ten o'clock, and at last a light[Pg 98] begins to lift in the distance. "Is it Louisburgh light, captain?" "I don't make it out yet," replies Captain Capstan, "but I think it is not." After a pause, he adds: "Now I see what it is; it is Scattarie light—we have passed Louisburgh."
This was not pleasant; we had undertaken the voyage for the sake of visiting the old French town. To be sure, it was a great disappointment. But then we were rapidly nearing Scattarie light; and after we doubled the island, the wind would be right astern of us, and by breakfast time we would be in the harbor of Sydney.
"Captain," said we, after a brief consultation, "we will leave the matter entirely to you; although we had hoped to see Louisburgh this night, yet we can visit it overland to-morrow; and as the wind is so favorable for you, why, crack on to Sydney, if you like."
With that we resumed our walk to keep up the circulation.
"It is strange," said Picton, "the captain should have passed the light without seeing it."
"Ever since we left Richmond," said the man at the wheel, "his eyes has been weak, so as he couldn't see as good as common."
"Did you see the light?" we asked.
"Oh, yes; I can see it now, right astern of us."[Pg 99]
We looked, and at last made it out: a faint, nebulous star, upon the very edge of the gloomy waters.
"There is the light, captain."
"Where?"
"Right astern."
The captain walked aft to the steersman and peered anxiously in the distance. Then he came forward again, and shouted down the forecastle: "Hallo, hallo, turn out there! all hands on deck! turn out, men! turn out!"
"What now, captain?"
"Nothing," said he, "only I am going to about-ship."
And sure enough, the little schooner came up to the wind; the men hauled away at the sheets, the sails fluttered—filled upon the new tack161, and in a few minutes our bows were pointed162 for Louisburgh.
The "Balaklava" had barely broadened out her sails to the fair wind, after she had been put about, when we were conscious of an increased straining and chirping163 of the masts and sails, an uneasy, laborious164 motion of the vessel; of blacker and larger waves, of whiter and higher crests, that sometimes broke over the bows, even, and made the deck wet and slippery. The moon was now rising high, but the clouds were rapidly thickening, and her majesty165 seemed to be reeling from side to side, as we bore[Pg 100] on, with plunge166 and shudder167, for the light ahead of us. Bruce had taken the wheel; all hands were on deck, and all busy, hauling upon this rope or that, taking in the stay-sails and flying-jib, as the captain shouted out from time to time; and looking ahead, with no little appearance of anxiety.
"Ah! she's a pretty creature," said the mate; "look there," nodding with his head at the compass, "did'na I tell you? She's nailed there." Then he broke out again: "Ay, she's a flyin' noo; see hoo she's raisin168' the light!"
It was, indeed, surprising to see the great beacon169 rising higher and higher out of the water.
"Is it a good harbor, Bruce?"
"When ye get in," answered the mate; "but it's narrar, it's narrar; ye can pitch a biscuit ashore170 as ye go through; and inside o't is the 'Nag's Head,' a sunken bit o' rock, with about five feet water; if ye miss that, ye're aw right!" We were now rapidly approaching the beacon, and could fairly see the rocks and beach in the track of its light. On the other side there were great masses of savage171 surf, whirling high up in the night, the indications of the three islands on the west of the harbor. The captain had climbed up in the rigging to keep a good look-out ahead; the light of the beacon broadened on the deck; we were within the very jaws172 of[Pg 101] the crags and surf; the wild ocean beating against the doors of the harbor; the churning, whirling, whistling danger on either side, lighted up by the glare of the beacon! past we go, and, with a sweep, the "Balaklava" evades the "Nag's Head," and rounding too, drops sail and anchor beside the walls of Louisburgh.
Then the thick fog, which had been pursuing us, came, and enveloped173 all in obscurity.
"It is lucky," said Captain Capstan, "that it didn't come ten minutes sooner."
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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colonists
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| n.殖民地开拓者，移民，殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
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cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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locker
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| n.更衣箱，储物柜，冷藏室，上锁的人 | |
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5
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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6
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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7
berths
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| n.（船、列车等的）卧铺( berth的名词复数 )；（船舶的）停泊位或锚位；差事；船台vt.v.停泊( berth的第三人称单数 )；占铺位 | |
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8
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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9
divested
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| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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10
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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12
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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13
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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14
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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15
penetrable
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| adj.可穿透的 | |
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16
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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17
diffuse
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| v.扩散；传播；adj.冗长的；四散的，弥漫的 | |
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18
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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19
aurora
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| n.极光 | |
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20
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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21
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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22
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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23
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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24
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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25
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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26
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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27
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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28
briny
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| adj.盐水的；很咸的；n.海洋 | |
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29
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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30
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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31
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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32
avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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33
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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34
brewed
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| 调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 )； 酝酿； 沏（茶）； 煮（咖啡） | |
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35
peripatetic
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| adj.漫游的，逍遥派的，巡回的 | |
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36
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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37
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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38
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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39
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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40
lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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41
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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42
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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44
syrups
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| n.糖浆，糖汁( syrup的名词复数 )；糖浆类药品 | |
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45
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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46
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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47
brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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48
grasshoppers
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| n.蚱蜢( grasshopper的名词复数 )；蝗虫；蚂蚱；（孩子）矮小的 | |
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49
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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50
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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51
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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52
vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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53
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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54
scarcity
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| n.缺乏，不足，萧条 | |
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55
restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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56
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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57
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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58
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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59
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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60
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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61
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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62
negation
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| n.否定；否认 | |
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63
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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64
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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65
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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66
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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67
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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68
faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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69
toils
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| 网 | |
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70
galling
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| adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
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71
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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72
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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73
incubus
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| n.负担；恶梦 | |
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74
imposture
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| n.冒名顶替，欺骗 | |
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75
impels
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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76
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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78
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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80
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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81
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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82
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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83
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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84
descends
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| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
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85
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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86
tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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87
savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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88
viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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89
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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90
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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91
rinse
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| v.用清水漂洗，用清水冲洗 | |
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92
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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93
cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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94
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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95
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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96
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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97
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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98
mesh
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| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
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99
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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100
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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101
piscatorial
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| adj.鱼的；渔业的 | |
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102
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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103
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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104
luminary
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| n.名人，天体 | |
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105
curried
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| adj.加了咖喱（或咖喱粉的），用咖哩粉调理的 | |
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106
pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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107
pickles
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| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
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108
scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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109
cuisine
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| n.烹调，烹饪法 | |
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110
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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111
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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112
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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113
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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114
lug
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| n.柄，突出部，螺帽；(英）耳朵；（俚）笨蛋；vt.拖，拉，用力拖动 | |
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115
munificent
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| adj.慷慨的，大方的 | |
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116
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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117
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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118
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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119
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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120
steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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121
frailest
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| 脆弱的( frail的最高级 )； 易损的； 易碎的 | |
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122
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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123
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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124
aggregation
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| n.聚合，组合；凝聚 | |
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125
emulation
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| n.竞争；仿效 | |
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126
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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127
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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128
subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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129
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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130
cargoes
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| n.（船或飞机装载的）货物( cargo的名词复数 )；大量，重负 | |
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131
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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132
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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133
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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pampering
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| v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的现在分词 ) | |
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136
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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137
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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138
revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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139
bigoted
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| adj.固执己见的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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140
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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141
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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142
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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143
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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144
flux
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| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
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145
apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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146
stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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147
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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148
monarchical
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| adj. 国王的，帝王的，君主的，拥护君主制的 =monarchic | |
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149
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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150
spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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151
flop
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| n.失败(者)，扑通一声；vi.笨重地行动，沉重地落下 | |
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152
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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153
morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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154
granitic
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| 花岗石的，由花岗岩形成的 | |
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155
basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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156
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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157
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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158
icebergs
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| n.冰山，流冰( iceberg的名词复数 ) | |
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159
vapors
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| n.水汽，水蒸气，无实质之物( vapor的名词复数 )；自夸者；幻想 [药]吸入剂 [古]忧郁（症）v.自夸，（使）蒸发( vapor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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160
crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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161
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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162
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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163
chirping
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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164
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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165
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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166
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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167
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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168
raisin
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| n.葡萄干 | |
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169
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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170
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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171
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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172
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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173
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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