76 OLD PLYMOUTH TRAILS 



island round, and get a broad view of the open 

 downs to southward that tempt one to tramp, 

 seeking the edge of the Gulf Stream, led by the 

 steady roar of its breakers pulsing against the 

 clay cliffs. On the downs one gets a sense of 

 the whole of the island as nowhere else. Here it 

 is a ship at sea, unsinkable and steady, blown 

 upon by the free winds of all the world. In the 

 half-gale out of the west I note the smell of the 

 shoals, a suggestion of bilge in the brine, not al- 

 together pleasant. I fancy a heavy sea stirs the 

 slimy depths and brings their ooze uppermost. 

 I had noticed this from an incoming liner's deck 

 when off the lightship before, but charged it to 

 the ship. Now I know it for a strange odor of 

 the sea. It makes me half believe the humorous, 

 oft-told tale of skipper Hackett, who knew his 

 location by tasting the ooze on the tip of the lead, 

 pe who 



roared to Mar den 

 Nantucket's sunk and here we are 

 Right over old Alarm Hackett's garden. 



In a northwest gale the Nantucketer, though 

 far to the southeast, should be able to locate the 

 shoals and steer home by the smell of the wind. 



On less uproarious days one gets all along the 



