CHAPTER XV 



FISHING IN THE HUDSON'S ANCIENT GORGE 



At four o'clock in the morning of July 25th I 

 was on the bridge of the Arcturus when the 

 Captain signalled for slow speed. For an hour 

 we barely pushed through the water, while two 

 sextants were levelled at our namesake which 

 glowed brightly in the heavens. Finally a pencil 

 made a tiny dot on the chart, Full Stop clanged in 

 the engine room and we floated quietly over our 

 objective — the sunken gorge of the Hudson River. 

 There was just a hint of dawn in the star-flecked 

 east as I went to my cabin for an hour's sleep. 



There are mirages and illusions of the senses and 

 there are those of the mind, and in the full light of 

 day I found myself laboring under both. Our last 

 mainland sighted was the old, pirate-famed har- 

 bor of Porto Bello. By solar and sidereal obser- 

 vations we had been close to Chesapeake to make 

 connections with the Warrior, and dredged there 

 in fifteen fathoms with no hint of land in view. 

 Now we were one hundred miles from the New 

 York City Hall, according to the word of the 

 Captain, and in six hundred fathoms of water, 

 according to the somiding wire. I found it quite 



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