THE AMSBIGAN WHALEMAN. 393 



the fog penetrated to the very marrow of the shivering, half- 

 clad wretches, who, barefooted, held the long watches of the 

 wet decks. The watch below brought little comfort, as the 

 forecastle was damp, and all our clothing and blankets were 

 perfectly wet. At length the fog lifted, however, and the 

 cry of " Land ho !" told of home in sight. But none rushed 

 on deck to gladden their eyes with the low sandy shore 

 which lay close under our larboard beam. " Land ho !" Of 

 course the land was there ; it always had been there ; it al- 

 ways would be there. A week more or less, a day or so, what 

 mattered it to the wearied souls who were coming, sore and 

 worn, from a flight of ninety thousand miles, and of forty- 

 one months' duration. 



On a bright Sunday morning in the last of March, the sul- 

 len plunge of a single anchor in the mouth of the Thames 

 announced the voyage ended. The sails were carelessly roll- 

 ed up on the yards ; no pains taken to dress the yard-arms 

 neatly, pass the gaskets symmetrically, or to form the bunt 

 ship-shape and sailor-fashion. At 9 a.m. the ship-keepers 

 came on board, and at 10 a.m., while the shore -folk were 

 warmly and decently clad, thronging from comfortable homes 

 to church, a band of barefooted barbarians landed on the 

 snow-covered, icy streets of New London. Our soiled, tat- 

 tered clothing, our wild, haggard aspect, contrasted fearful- 

 ly with the respectability — we were shocking ! 



A worthy man came to me, and taking my hand, asked 

 my name. On being told, he said, 



" Why that is my name also ; I have a son on a whale- 

 ship. Come right home with me ; I guess I won't go to 

 church to-day." 



So he and his good wife turned about and took the poor 

 waif, without questioning, to their blessed home; and will 

 not the good Lord overlook the blank in their church pew 

 on that morning? An unwonted tenderness stole over the 



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