Having got down the bank, and as close to the water as we could, where the sand was the hardest, leaving the Nauset Lights behind us, we began to walk leisurely11 up the beach, in a northwest direction, towards Provincetown, which was about twenty-five miles distant, still sailing under our umbrellas with a strong aft wind, admiring in silence, as we walked, the great force of the ocean stream,—
ποταμοῖο μέγα σθένος Ὠκεανοῖο.
The white breakers were rushing to the shore; the foam ran up the sand, and then ran back as far as we could see (and we imagined how much farther along the Atlantic coast, before and behind us), as regularly, to compare great things with small, as the master of a choir12 beats time with his white wand; and ever and anon a higher wave caused us hastily to deviate13 from our path, and we looked back on our tracks filled with water and foam. The breakers looked like droves of a thousand wild horses of Neptune14, rushing to the shore, with their white manes streaming far behind; and when at length the sun shone for a moment, their manes were rainbow-tinted. Also, the long kelp-weed was tossed up from time to time, like the tails of sea-cows sporting in the brine.
There was not a sail in sight, and we saw none that day,—for they had all sought harbors in the late storm, and had not been able to get out again; and the only human beings whom we saw on the beach for several days were one or two wreckers looking for drift-wood, and fragments of wrecked16 vessels17. After an easterly storm in the spring, this beach is sometimes strewn with eastern wood from one end to the other, which, as it belongs to him who saves it, and the Cape19 is nearly destitute20 of wood, is a Godsend to the inhabitants. We soon met one of these wreckers,—a regular Cape Cod21 man, with whom we parleyed, with a bleached22 and weather-beaten face, within whose wrinkles I distinguished23 no particular feature. It was like an old sail endowed with life,—a hanging cliff of weather-beaten flesh,—like one of the clay boulders24 which occurred in that sand-bank. He had on a hat which had seen salt water, and a coat of many pieces and colors, though it was mainly the color of the beach, as if it had been sanded. His variegated25 back—for his coat had many patches, even between the shoulders—was a rich study to us, when we had passed him and looked round. It might have been dishonorable for him to have so many scars behind, it is true, if he had not had many more and more serious ones in front. He looked as if he sometimes saw a doughnut, but never descended26 to comfort; too grave to laugh, too tough to cry; as indifferent as a clam27,—like a sea-clam with hat on and legs, that was out walking the strand. He may have been one of the Pilgrims,—Peregrine White, at least,—who has kept on the back-side of the Cape, and let the centuries go by. He was looking for wrecks28, old logs, water-logged and covered with barnacles, or bits of boards and joists, even chips, which he drew out of the reach of the tide, and stacked up to dry. When the log was too large to carry far, he cut it up where the last wave had left it, or rolling it a few feet appropriated it by sticking two sticks into the ground crosswise above it. Some rotten trunk, which in Maine cumbers the ground, and is, perchance, thrown into the water on purpose, is here thus carefully picked up, split and dried, and husbanded. Before winter the wrecker painfully carries these things up the bank on his shoulders by a long diagonal slanting29 path made with a hoe in the sand, if there is no hollow at hand. You may see his hooked pike-staff always lying on the bank ready for use. He is the true monarch30 of the beach, whose “right there is none to dispute,” and he is as much identified with it as a beach-bird.
Crantz, in his account of Greenland, quotes Dalagen’s relation of the ways and usages of the Greenlanders, and says, “Whoever finds driftwood, or the spoils of a shipwreck31 on the strand, enjoys it as his own, though, he does not live there. But he must haul it ashore32 and lay a stone upon it, as a token that some one has taken possession of it, and this stone is the deed of security, for no other Greenlander will offer to meddle33 with it afterwards.” Such is the instinctive35 law of nations. We have also this account of drift-wood in Crantz: “As he (the Founder36 of Nature) has denied this frigid37 rocky region the growth of trees, he has bid the streams of the Ocean to convey to its shores a great deal of wood, which accordingly comes floating thither38, part without ice, but the most part along with it, and lodges39 itself between the islands. Were it not for this, we Europeans should have no wood to burn there, and the poor Greenlanders (who, it is true, do not use wood, but train, for burning) would, however, have no wood to roof their houses, to erect40 their tents, as also to build their boats, and to shaft41 their arrows (yet there grew some small but crooked42 alders43, &c.), by which they must procure45 their maintenance, clothing and train for warmth, light, and cooking. Among this wood are great trees torn up by the roots, which by driving up and down for many years and rubbing on the ice, are quite bare of branches and bark, and corroded46 with great wood-worms. A small part of this drift-wood are willows47, alder44 and birch trees, which come out of the bays in the south of (i.e. Greenland); also large trunks of aspen-trees, which must come from a greater distance; but the greatest part is pine and fir. We find also a good deal of a sort of wood finely veined, with few branches; this I fancy is larch-wood, which likes to decorate the sides of lofty, stony48 mountains. There is also a solid, reddish wood, of a more agreeable fragrance49 than the common fir, with visible cross-veins; which I take to be the same species as the beautiful silver-firs, or zirbel, that have the smell of cedar50, and grow on the high Grison hills, and the Switzers wainscot their rooms with them.” The wrecker directed us to a slight depression, called Snow’s Hollow, by which we ascended51 the bank,—for elsewhere, if not difficult, it was inconvenient52 to climb it on ac-count of the sliding sand, which filled our shoes.
This sand-bank—the backbone53 of the Cape—rose directly from the beach to the height of a hundred feet or more above the ocean. It was with singular emotions that we first stood upon it and discovered what a place we had chosen to walk on. On our right, beneath us, was the beach of smooth and gently sloping sand, a dozen rods in width; next, the endless series of white breakers; further still, the light green water over the bar, which runs the whole length of the forearm of the Cape, and beyond this stretched the unwearied and illimitable ocean. On our left, extending back from the very edge of the bank, was a perfect desert of shining sand, from thirty to eighty rods in width, skirted in the distance by small sand-hills fifteen or twenty feet high; between which, however, in some places, the sand penetrated55 as much farther. Next commenced the region of vegetation—a succession of small hills and valleys covered with shrubbery, now glowing with the brightest imaginable autumnal tints56; and beyond this were seen, here and there, the waters of the bay. Here, in Wellfleet, this pure sand plateau, known to sailors as the Table Lands of Eastham, on account of its appearance, as seen from the ocean, and because it once made a part of that town,—full fifty rods in width, and in many places much more, and sometimes full one hundred and fifty feet above the ocean,—stretched away northward57 from the southern boundary of the town, without a particle of vegetation,—as level almost as a table,—for two and a half or three miles, or as far as the eye could reach; slightly rising towards the ocean, then stooping to the beach, by as steep a slope as sand could lie on, and as regular as a military engineer could desire. It was like the escarped rampart of a stupendous fortress58, whose glacis was the beach, and whose champaign the ocean.—From its surface we overlooked the greater part of the Cape. In short, we were traversing a desert, with the view of an autumnal landscape of extraordinary brilliancy, a sort of Promised Land, on the one hand, and the ocean on the other. Yet, though the prospect59 was so extensive, and the country for the most part destitute of trees, a house was rarely visible,—we never saw one from the beach,—and the solitude60 was that of the ocean and the desert combined. A thousand men could not have seriously interrupted it, but would have been lost in the vastness of the scenery as their footsteps in the sand.
The whole coast is so free from rocks, that we saw but one or two for more than twenty miles. The sand was soft like the beach, and trying to the eyes when the sun shone. A few piles of drift-wood, which some wreckers had painfully brought up the bank and stacked up there to dry, being the only objects in the desert, looked indefinitely large and distant, even like wigwams, though, when we stood near them, they proved to be insignificant61 little “jags” of wood.
For sixteen miles, commencing at the Nauset Lights, the bank held its height, though farther north it was not so level as here, but interrupted by slight hollows, and the patches of Beach-grass and Bayberry frequently crept into the sand to its edge. There are some pages entitled “A description of the Eastern Coast of the County of Barnstable,” printed in 1802, pointing out the spots on which the Trustees of the Humane62 Society have erected63 huts called Charity or Humane Houses, “and other places where shipwrecked seamen64 may look for shelter.” Two thousand copies of this were dispersed65, that every vessel18 which frequented this coast might be provided with one. I have read this Shipwrecked Seaman66’s Manual with a melancholy67 kind of interest,—for the sound of the surf, or, you might say, the moaning of the sea, is heard all through it, as if its author were the sole survivor68 of a shipwreck himself. Of this part of the coast he says: “This highland69 approaches the ocean with steep and lofty banks, which it is extremely difficult to climb, especially in a storm. In violent tempests, during very high tides, the sea breaks against the foot of them, rendering70 it then unsafe to walk on the strand which lies between them and the ocean. Should the seaman succeed in his attempt to ascend2 them, he must forbear to penetrate54 into the country, as houses are generally so remote that they would escape his research during the night; he must pass on to the valleys by which the banks are intersected. These valleys, which the inhabitants call Hollows, run at right angles with the shore, and in the middle or lowest part of them a road leads from the dwelling-houses to the sea.” By the word road must not always be understood a visible cart-track.
There were these two roads for us,—an upper and a lower one,—the bank and the beach; both stretching twenty-eight miles northwest, from Nauset Harbor to Race Point, without a single opening into the beach, and with hardly a serious interruption of the desert. If you were to ford71 the narrow and shallow inlet at Nauset Harbor, where there is not more than eight feet of water on the bar at full sea, you might walk ten or twelve miles farther, which would make a beach forty miles long,—and the bank and beach, on the east side of Nantucket, are but a continuation of these. I was comparatively satisfied. There I had got the Cape under me, as much as if I were riding it bare-backed. It was not as on the map, or seen from the stagecoach72; but there I found it all out of doors, huge and real, Cape Cod! as it cannot be represented on a map, color it as you will; the thing itself, than which there is nothing more like it, no truer picture or account; which you cannot go farther and see. I cannot remember what I thought before that it was. They commonly celebrate those beaches only which have a hotel on them, not those which have a Humane house alone. But I wished to see that seashore where man’s works are wrecks; to put up at the true Atlantic House, where the ocean is land-lord as well as sea-lord, and comes ashore without a wharf73 for the landing; where the crumbling74 land is the only invalid75, or at best is but dry land, and that is all you can say of it.
We walked on quite at our leisure, now on the beach, now on the bank,—sitting from time to time on some damp log, maple76 or yellow birch, which had long followed the seas, but had now at last settled on land; or under the lee of a sandhill, on the bank, that we might gaze steadily77 on the ocean. The bank was so steep that, where there was no danger of its caving, we sat on its edge, as on a bench. It was difficult for us landsmen to look out over the ocean without imagining land in the horizon; yet the clouds appeared to hang low over it, and rest on the water as they never do on the land, perhaps on account of the great distance to which we saw. The sand was not without advantage, for, though it was “heavy” walking in it, it was soft to the feet; and, notwithstanding that it had been raining nearly two days, when it held up for half an hour, the sides of the sand-hills, which were porous78 and sliding, afforded a dry seat. All the aspects of this desert are beautiful, whether you behold79 it in fair weather or foul80, or when the sun is just breaking out after a storm, and shining on its moist surface in the distance, it is so white, and pure, and level, and each slight inequality and track is so distinctly revealed; and when your eyes slide off this, they fall on the ocean. In summer the mackerel gulls82—which here have their nests among the neighboring sand-hills—pursue the traveller anxiously, now and then diving close to his head with a squeak83, and he may see them, like swallows, chase some crow which has been feeding on the beach, almost across the Cape.
Though for some time I have not spoken of the roaring of the breakers, and the ceaseless flux84 and reflux of the waves, yet they did not for a moment cease to dash and roar, with such a tumult85 that if you had been there, you could scarcely have heard my voice the while; and they are dashing and roaring this very moment, though it may be with less din4 and violence, for there the sea never rests. We were wholly absorbed by this spectacle and tumult, and like Chryses, though in a different mood from him, we walked silent along the shore of the resounding86 sea,
Βῆ δ’ ἀκέων παρὰ θῖνα πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης.[1]
I put in a little Greek now and then, partly because it sounds so much like the ocean,—though I doubt if Homer’s Mediterranean87 Sea ever sounded so loud as this.
The attention of those who frequent the camp-meetings at Eastham is said to be divided between the preaching of the Methodists and the preaching of the billows on the back-side of the Cape, for they all stream over here in the course of their stay. I trust that in this case the loudest voice carries it. With what effect may we suppose the ocean to say, “My hearers!” to the multitude on the bank! On that side some John N. Maffit; on this, the Reverend Poluphloisboios Thalassa.
There was but little weed cast up here, and that kelp chiefly, there being scarcely a rock for rockweed to adhere to. Who has not had a vision from some vessel’s deck, when he had still his land-legs on, of this great brown apron88, drifting half upright, and quite submerged through the green water, clasping a stone or a deep-sea mussel in its unearthly fingers? I have seen it carrying a stone half as large as my head. We sometimes watched a mass of this cable-like weed, as it was tossed up on the crest89 of a breaker, waiting with interest to see it come in, as if there were some treasure buoyed90 up by it; but we were always surprised and disappointed at the insignificance91 of the mass which had attracted us. As we looked out over the water, the smallest objects floating on it appeared indefinitely large, we were so impressed by the vastness of the ocean, and each one bore so large a proportion to the whole ocean, which we saw. We were so often disappointed in the size of such things as came ashore, the ridiculous bits of wood or weed, with which the ocean labored92, that we began to doubt whether the Atlantic itself would bear a still closer inspection93, and wold not turn out to be a but small pond, if it should come ashore to us. This kelp, oar-weed, tangle94, devils-apron, sole-leather, or ribbon-weed,—as various species are called,—appeared to us a singularly marine95 and fabulous96 product, a lit invention for Neptune to adorn97 his car with, or a freak of Proteus. All that is told of the sea has a fabulous sound to an inhabitant of the land, and all its products have a certain fabulous quality, as if they belonged to another planet, from sea-weed to a sailor’s yarn98, or a fish-story. In this element the animal and vegetable kingdoms meet and are strangely mingled99. One species of kelp, according to Bory St. Vincent, has a stem fifteen hundred feet long, and hence is the longest vegetable known, and a brig’s crew spent two days to no purpose collecting the trunks of another kind cast ashore on the Falkland Islands, mistaking it for drift-wood. (See Harvey on Algæ) This species looked almost edible100; at least, I thought that if I were starving I would try it. One sailor told me that the cows ate it. It cut like cheese: for I took the earliest opportunity to sit down and deliberately101 whittle102 up a fathom103 or two of it, that I might become more intimately acquainted with it, see how it cut, and if it were hollow all the way through. The blade looked like a broad belt, whose edges had been quilled, or as if stretched by hammering, and it was also twisted spirally. The extremity104 was generally worn and ragged105 from the lashing106 of the waves. A piece of the stem which I carried home shrunk to one quarter of its size a week afterward34, and was completely covered with crystals of salt like frost. The reader will excuse my greenness,—though it is not sea-greenness, like his, perchance,—for I live by a river-shore, where this weed does not wash up. When we consider in what meadows it grew. and how it was raked, and in what kind of hay weather got in or out, we may well be curious about it. One who is weatherwise has given the following account of the matter.
The gigantic
Storm-wind of the equinox,
“From Bermuda’s reefs, from edges
On some far-off bright Azore;
From Bahama and the dashing,
Silver-flashing
Surges of San Salvador;
“From the trembling surf that buries
The Orkneyan Skerries.
And from wrecks and ships and drifting
Spars, uplifting
“Ever drifting, drifting, drifting
On the shifting
Currents of the restless main.”
But he was not thinking of this shore, when he added:—
Of sandy beaches,
These weeds were the symbols of those grotesque117 and fabulous thoughts which have not yet got into the sheltered coves of literature.
“Ever drifting, drifting, drifting
On the shifting
Currents of the restless heart,”
And not yet “in books recorded
Household words, no more depart.”
The beach was also strewn with beautiful sea-jellies, which the wreckers called Sun-squall, one of the lowest forms of animal life, some white, some wine-colored, and a foot in diameter. I at first thought that they were a tender part of some marine monster, which the storm or some other foe119 had mangled120. What right has the sea to bear in its bosom121 such tender things as sea-jellies and mosses122, when it has such a boisterous123 shore that the stoutest124 fabrics125 are wrecked against it? Strange that it should undertake to dandle such delicate children in its arm. I did not at first recognize these for the same which I had formerly126 seen in myriads127 in Boston Harbor, rising, with a waving motion, to the surface, as if to meet the sun, and discoloring the waters far and wide, so that I seemed to be sailing through a mere128 sunfish soup. They say that when you endeavor to take one up, it will spill out the other side of your hand like quicksilver. Before the land rose out of the ocean, and became dry land, chaos129 reigned130; and between high and low water mark, where she is partially131 disrobed and rising, a sort of chaos reigns132 still, which only anomalous133 creatures can inhabit. Mackerel-gulls were all the while flying over our heads and amid the breakers, sometimes two white ones pursuing a black one; quite at home in the storm, though they are as delicate organizations as sea-jellies and mosses; and we saw that they were adapted to their circumstances rather by their spirits than their bodies. Theirs must be an essentially134 wilder, that is, less human, nature than that of larks135 and robins136. Their note was like the sound of some vibrating metal, and harmonized well with the scenery and the roar of the surf, as if one had rudely touched the strings137 of the lyre, which ever lies on the shore; a ragged shred138 of ocean music tossed aloft on the spray. But if I were required to name a sound the remembrance of which most perfectly139 revives the impression which the beach has made, it would be the dreary140 peep of the piping plover141 (Charadrius melodus) which haunts there. Their voices, too, are heard as a fugacious part in the dirge142 which is ever played along the shore for those mariners143 who have been lost in the deep since first it was created. But through all this dreariness145 we seemed to have a pure and unqualified strain of eternal melody, for always the same strain which is a dirge to one household is a morning song of rejoicing to another.
A remarkable146 method of catching147 gulls, derived148 from the Indians, was practised in Wellfleet in 1794. “The Gull81 House,” it is said, “is built with crotchets, fixed149 in the ground on the beach,” poles being stretched across for the top, and the sides made close with stakes and seaweed. “The poles on the top are covered with lean whale. The man being placed within, is not discovered by the fowls150, and while they are contending for and eating the flesh, he draws them in, one by one, between the poles, until he has collected forty or fifty.” Hence, perchance, a man is said to be gulled151, when he is taken in. We read that one “sort of gulls is called by the Dutch mallemucke, i.e. the foolish fly, because they fall upon a whale as eagerly as a fly, and, indeed, all gulls are foolishly bold and easy to be shot. The Norwegians call this bird havhest, sea-horse (and the English translator says, it is probably what we call boobies). If they have eaten too much, they throw it up, and eat it again till they are tired. It is this habit in the gulls of parting with their property [disgorging the contents of their stomachs to the skuas], which has given rise to the terms gull, guller, and gulling152, among men.” We also read that they used to kill small birds which roosted on the beach at night, by making a fire with hog’s lard in a frying-pan. The Indians probably used pine torches; the birds flocked to the light, and were knocked down with a stick. We noticed holes dug near the edge of the bank, where gunners conceal153 themselves to shoot the large gulls which coast up and down a-fishing, for these are considered good to eat.
We found some large clams154 of the species Mactra solidissima, which the storm had torn up from the bottom, and cast ashore. I selected one of the largest, about six inches in length, and carried it along, thinking to try an experiment on it. We soon after met a wrecker, with a grapple and a rope, who said that he was looking for tow cloth, which had made part of the cargo155 of the ship Franklin, which was wrecked here in the spring, at which time nine or ten lives were lost. The reader may remember this wreck15, from the circumstance that a letter was found in the captain’s valise, which washed ashore, directing him to wreck the vessel before he got to America, and from the trial which took place in consequence. The wrecker said that tow cloth was still cast up in such storms as this. He also told us that the clam which I had was the sea-clam, or hen, and was good to eat. We took our nooning under a sand-hill, covered with beach-grass, in a dreary little hollow, on the top of the bank, while it alternately rained and shined. There, having reduced some damp drift-wood, which I had picked up on the shore, to shavings with my knife, I kindled156 a fire with a match and some paper and cooked my clam on the embers for my dinner; for breakfast was commonly the only meal which I took in a house on this excursion. When the clam was done, one valve held the meat and the other the liquor. Though it was very tough, I found it sweet and savory157, and ate the whole with a relish158. Indeed, with the addition of a cracker159 or two, it would have been a bountiful dinner. I noticed that the shells were such as I had seen in the sugar-kit at home. Tied to a stick, they formerly made the Indian’s hoe hereabouts.
At length, by mid-afternoon, after we had had two or three rainbows over the sea, the showers ceased, and the heavens gradually cleared up, though the wind still blowed as hard and the breakers ran as high as before. Keeping on, we soon after came to a Charity-house, which we looked into to see how the shipwrecked mariner144 might fare. Far away in some desolate hollow by the sea-side, just within the bank, stands a lonely building on piles driven into the sand, with a slight nail put through the staple160, which a freezing man can bend, with some straw, perchance, on the floor on which he may lie, or which he may burn in the fireplace to keep him alive. Perhaps this hut has never been required to shelter a ship-wrecked man, and the benevolent161 person who promised to inspect it annually162, to see that the straw and matches are here, and that the boards will keep off the wind, has grown remiss163 and thinks that storms and shipwrecks164 are over; and this very night a perishing crew may pry165 open its door with their numbed166 fingers and leave half their number dead here by morning. When I thought what must be the condition of the families which alone would ever occupy or had occupied them, what must have been the tragedy of the winter evenings spent by human beings around their hearths167, these houses, though they were meant for human dwellings168, did not look cheerful to me. They appeared but a stage to the grave. The gulls flew around and screamed over them; the roar of the ocean in storms, and the lapse169 of its waves in calms, alone resounds170 through them, all dark and empty within, year in, year out, except, perchance, on one memorable171 night. Houses of entertainment for shipwrecked men! What kind of sailors’ homes were they?
“Each hut,” says the author of the “Description of the Eastern Coast of the County of Barnstable,” “stands on piles, is eight feet long, eight feet wide, and seven feet high; a sliding door is on the south, a sliding shutter172 on the west, and a pole, rising fifteen feet above the top of the building, on the east. Within it is supplied either with straw or hay, and is further accommodated with a bench.” They have varied173 little from this model now. There are similar huts at the Isle174 of Sable175 and Anticosti, on the north, and how far south along the coast I know not. It is pathetic to read the minute and faithful directions which he gives to seamen who may be wrecked on this coast, to guide them to the nearest Charity-house, or other shelter, for, as is said of Eastham, though there are a few houses within a mile of the shore, yet “in a snow-storm, which rages here with excessive fury, it would be almost impossible to discover them either by night or by day.” You hear their imaginary guide thus marshalling, cheering, directing the dripping, shivering, freezing troop along; “at the entrance of this valley the sand has gathered, so that at present a little climbing is necessary. Passing over several fences and taking heed176 not to enter the wood on the right hand, at the distance of three-quarters of a mile a house is to be found. This house stands on the south side of the road, and not far from it on the south is Pamet River, which runs from east to west through body of salt marsh.” To him cast ashore in Eastham, he says, “The meeting-house is without a steeple, but it may be distinguished from the dwelling-houses near it by its situation, which is between two small groves177 of locusts178, one on the south and one on the north,—that on the south being three times as long as the other. About a mile and a quarter from the hut, west by north, appear the top and arms of a windmill.” And so on for many pages.
We did not learn whether these houses had been the means of saving any lives, though this writer says, of one erected at the head of Stout’s Creek179 in Truro, that “it was built in an improper180 manner, having a chimney in it; and was placed on a spot where no beach-grass grew. The strong winds blew the sand from its foundation and the weight of the chimney brought it to the ground; so that in January of the present year [1802] it was entirely181 demolished182. This event took place about six weeks before the Brutus was cast away. If it had remained, it is probable that the whole of the unfortunate crew of that ship would have been saved, as they gained the shore a few rods only from the spot where the hut had stood.”
This “Charity-house,” as the wrecker called it, this “Humane-house,” as some call it, that is, the one to which we first came, had neither window nor sliding shutter, nor clapboards, nor paint. As we have said, there was a rusty183 nail put through the staple. However, as we wished to get an idea of a Humane house, and we hoped that we should never have a better opportunity, we put our eyes, by turns, to a knot-hole in the door, and after long looking, without seeing, into the dark,—not knowing how many shipwrecked men’s bones we might see at last, looking with the eye of faith, knowing that, though to him that knocketh it may not always be opened, yet to him that looketh long enough through a knot-hole the inside shall be visible,—for we had had some practice at looking inward,—by steadily keeping our other ball covered from the light meanwhile, putting the outward world behind us, ocean and land, and the beach,—till the pupil became enlarged and collected the rays of light that were wandering in that dark (for the pupil shall be enlarged by looking; there never was so dark a night but a faithful and patient eye, however small, might at last prevail over it),—after all this, I say, things began to take shape to our vision,—if we may use this expression where there was nothing but emptiness,—and we obtained the long-wished-for insight. Though we thought at first that it was a hopeless case, after several minutes’ steady exercise of the divine faculty184, our prospects185 began decidedly to brighten, and we were ready to exclaim with the blind bard186 of “Paradise Lost and Regained,”—
“Hail, holy Light! offspring of Heaven first born,
Or of the Eternal co-eternal beam.
May I express thee unblamed?”
A little longer, and a chimney rushed red on our sight. In short, when our vision had grown familiar with the darkness, we discovered that there were some stones and some loose wads of wool on the floor, and an empty fireplace at the further end; but it was not supplied with matches, or straw, or hay, that we could see, nor “accommodated with a bench.” Indeed, it was the wreck of all cosmical beauty there within.
Turning our backs on the outward world, we thus looked through the knot-hole into the Humane house, into the very bowels187 of mercy; and for bread we found a stone. It was literally188 a great cry (of sea-mews outside), and a little wool. However, we were glad to sit outside, under the lee of the Humane house, to escape the piercing wind; and there we thought how cold is charity! how inhumane humanity! This, then, is what charity hides! Virtues189 antique and far away with ever a rusty nail over the latch190; and very difficult to keep in repair, withal, it is so uncertain whether any will ever gain the beach near you. So we shivered round about, not being able to get into it, ever and anon looking through the knot-hole into that night without a star, until we concluded that it was not a humane house at all, but a sea-side box, now shut up. belonging to some of the family of Night or Chaos, where they spent their summers by the sea, for the sake of the sea breeze, and that it was not proper for us to be prying191 into their concerns.
My companion had declared before this that I had not a particle of sentiment, in rather absolute terms, to my astonishment192; but I suspect he meant that my legs did not ache just then, though I am not wholly a stranger to that sentiment. But I did not intend this for a sentimental193 journey.
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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4
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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5
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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7
overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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8
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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9
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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10
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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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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12
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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13
deviate
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| v.(from)背离，偏离 | |
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14
Neptune
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| n.海王星 | |
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15
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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16
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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17
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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18
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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19
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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20
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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21
cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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22
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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23
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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24
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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25
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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26
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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27
clam
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| n.蛤，蛤肉 | |
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28
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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29
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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30
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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31
shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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32
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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33
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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34
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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35
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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36
Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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37
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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38
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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39
lodges
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| v.存放( lodge的第三人称单数 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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40
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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41
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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42
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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43
alders
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| n.桤木( alder的名词复数 ) | |
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44
alder
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| n.赤杨树 | |
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45
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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46
corroded
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| 已被腐蚀的 | |
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47
willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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48
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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49
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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50
cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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51
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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53
backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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54
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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55
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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56
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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57
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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58
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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59
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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60
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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61
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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62
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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63
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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64
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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65
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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66
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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67
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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68
survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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69
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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70
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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71
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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72
stagecoach
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| n.公共马车 | |
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73
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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74
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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75
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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76
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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77
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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78
porous
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| adj.可渗透的，多孔的 | |
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79
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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80
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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81
gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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82
gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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83
squeak
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|
| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
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84
flux
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| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
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85
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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86
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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87
Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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88
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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89
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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90
buoyed
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| v.使浮起( buoy的过去式和过去分词 )；支持；为…设浮标；振奋…的精神 | |
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91
insignificance
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| n.不重要；无价值；无意义 | |
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92
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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93
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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94
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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95
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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96
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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97
adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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98
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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99
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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100
edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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101
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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102
whittle
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| v.削（木头），削减；n.屠刀 | |
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103
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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104
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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105
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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106
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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107
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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108
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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109
scourges
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| 带来灾难的人或东西，祸害( scourge的名词复数 )； 鞭子 | |
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110
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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111
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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112
ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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113
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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114
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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115
coves
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| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
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116
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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117
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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118
hoarded
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| v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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120
mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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121
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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122
mosses
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| n. 藓类, 苔藓植物 名词moss的复数形式 | |
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123
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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124
stoutest
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| 粗壮的( stout的最高级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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125
fabrics
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| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
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126
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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127
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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128
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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129
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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130
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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131
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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132
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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133
anomalous
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| adj.反常的；不规则的 | |
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134
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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135
larks
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| n.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的名词复数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了v.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的第三人称单数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了 | |
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136
robins
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| n.知更鸟，鸫( robin的名词复数 )；（签名者不分先后，以避免受责的）圆形签名抗议书（或请愿书） | |
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137
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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138
shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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139
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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140
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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141
plover
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| n.珩，珩科鸟，千鸟 | |
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142
dirge
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| n.哀乐，挽歌，庄重悲哀的乐曲 | |
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143
mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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144
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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145
dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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146
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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147
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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148
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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149
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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150
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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151
gulled
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| v.欺骗某人( gull的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152
gulling
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| v.欺骗某人( gull的现在分词 ) | |
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153
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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154
clams
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| n.蛤；蚌，蛤( clam的名词复数 )v.（在沙滩上）挖蛤( clam的第三人称单数 ) | |
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155
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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156
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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157
savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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158
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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159
cracker
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| n.（无甜味的）薄脆饼干 | |
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160
staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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161
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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162
annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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163
remiss
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| adj.不小心的，马虎 | |
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164
shipwrecks
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| 海难，船只失事( shipwreck的名词复数 )； 沉船 | |
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165
pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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166
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
hearths
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| 壁炉前的地板，炉床，壁炉边( hearth的名词复数 ) | |
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168
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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169
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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170
resounds
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的第三人称单数 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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171
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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172
shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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173
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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174
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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175
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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176
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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177
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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178
locusts
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| n.蝗虫( locust的名词复数 )；贪吃的人；破坏者；槐树 | |
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179
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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180
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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181
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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182
demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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183
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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184
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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185
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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186
bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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187
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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188
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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189
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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190
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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191
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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192
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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193
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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