University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

Shakspeare.

Gardiner and Daggett met, face to face, on the carcase
of the whale. Each struck his lance into the blubber, steadying
himself by its handle; and each eyed the other in a
way that betokened feelings awakened to a keen desire to
defend his rights. It is a fault of American character,—a
fruit of the institutions, beyond a doubt,—that renders men
unusually indisposed to give up. This stubbornness of
temperament, that so many mistake for a love of liberty
and independence, is productive of much good, when the
parties happen to be right, and of quite as much evil, when
they happen to be wrong. It is ever the wisest, as, indeed,
it is the noblest course, to defer to that which is just, with
a perfect reliance on its being the course pointed out by
the finger of infallible wisdom and truth. He who does
this, need feel no concern for his dignity, or for his success;
being certain that it is intended that right shall prevail
in the end, as prevail it will and does. But both our
shipmasters were too much excited to feel the force of these
truths; and there they stood, sternly regarding each other,
as if it were their purpose to commence a new struggle for
the possession of the leviathan of the deep.

“Captain Daggett,” said Roswell, sharply, “you are too
old a whaler not to know whaling law. My irons were first
in this fish; I never have been loose from it, since it was
first struck, and my lance killed it. Under such circumstances,
sir, I am surprised that any man, who knows the
usages among whalers, should have stuck by the creature
as you have done.”

“It's in my natur', Gar'ner,” was the answer. “I stuck

by you when you was dismasted under Hatteras, and I stick
by everything that I undertake. This is what I call Vineyard
natur'; and I'm not about to discredit my native
country.”

“This is idle talk,” returned Roswell, casting a severe
glance at the men in the Vineyard boat, among whom a
common smile arose, as if they highly approved of the reply
of their own officer. “You very well know that Vineyard
law cannot settle such a question, but American law.
Were you man enough to take this whale from me, as I
trust you are not, on our return home you could be and
would be made to pay smartly for the act. Uncle Sam has
a long arm, with which he sometimes reaches round the
whole earth. Before you proceed any further in this matter,
it may be well to remember that.”

Daggett reflected; and it is probable that, as he cooled
off from the excitement created by his late exertions, he
fully recognised the justice of the other's remarks, and the
injustice of his own claims. Still, it seemed to him un-American,
un-Vineyard, if the reader please, to “give up;”
and he clung to his error with as much pertinacity as if he
had been right.

“If you are fast, I am fast, too. I'm not so certain of
your law. When a man puts an iron into a whale, commonly
it is his fish, if he can get him, and kill him. But
there is a law above all whalers' law, and that is the law
of Divine Providence. Providence has fastened us to this
crittur', as if on purpose to give us a right in it; and I'm
by no means so sure States' law won't uphold that doctrine.
Then, I lost my own whale by means of this, and am entitled
to some compensation for such a loss.”

“You lost your own whale because he led round the
head of mine, and not only drew his own iron, but came
nigh causing me to cut. If any one is entitled to damage
for such an act, it is I, who have been put to extra trouble
in getting my fish.”

“I do believe it was my lance that did the job for the
fellow! I darted, and you struck; in that way I got the
start of you, and may claim to have made the crittur' spout
the first blood. But, hearkee, Gar'ner—there's my hand—
we've been friends so far, and I want to hold out friends.

I will make you a proposal, therefore. Join stocks from
this moment, and whale, and seal, and do all things else in
common. When we make a final stowage for the return
passage, we can make a final division, and each man take
his share of the common adventure.”

To do Roswell justice, he saw through the artifice of this
proposition, the instant it was uttered. It had the effect,
notwithstanding, a good deal to mollify his feelings, since
it induced him to believe that Daggett was manœuvring to
get at his great secret, rather than to assail his rights.

“You are part owner of your schooner, Captain Daggett,”
our hero answered, “while I have no other interest
in mine than my lay, as her master. You may have authority
to make such a bargain, but I have none. It is my
duty to fill the craft as fast and as full as I can, and carry
her back safely to Deacon Pratt; but, I dare say, your
Vineyard people will let you cruise about the earth at your
pleasure, trusting to Providence for a profit. I cannot
accept your offer.”

“This is answering like a man, Gar'ner, and I like you
all the better for it. Forty or fifty barrels of ile shan't
break friendship between us. I helped you into port at
Beaufort, and gave up the salvage; and now I'll help tow
your whale alongside, and see you fairly through this business,
too. Perhaps I shall have all the better luck for
being a little generous.”

There was prudence, as well as art, in this decision of
Daggett's. Notwithstanding his ingenious pretensions to
a claim in the whale, he knew perfectly well that no law
would sustain it, and that, in addition to the chances of
being beaten on the spot, which were at least equal, he
would certainly be beaten in the courts at home, should he
really attempt to carry out his declared design. Then, he
really deferred to the expectation that his future good fortune
might be influenced by his present forbearance. Superstition
forms a material part of a sailor's nature, if, indeed,
it do not that of every man engaged in hazardous and
uncertain adventures. How far his hopes were justified in
this last respect, will appear in the contents of a communication
that Deacon Pratt received from the master of his

schooner, and to which we will now refer, as the clearest
and briefest mode of continuing the narrative.

The Sea Lion left Oyster Pond late in September. It
was the third day of March, in the succeeding year, that
Mary was standing at a window, gazing with melancholy
interest at that point in the adjacent waters where last she
had seen, nearly six months before, the vessel of Roswell
disappear behind the woods of the island that bears his
family name. There had been a long easterly gale, but the
weather had changed; the south wind blew softly, and all
the indications of an early spring were visible. For the
first time in three months, she had raised the sash of that
window; and the air that entered was bland, and savoured
of the approaching season.

“I dare say, uncle”—the deacon was writing near a very
low wood-fire, which was scarcely more than embers — “I
dare say, uncle,” said the sweet voice of Mary, which was a
little tremulous with feeling, “that the ocean is calm enough
to-day. It is very silly in us to tremble, when there is a
storm, for those who must now be so many, many thousand
miles away. What is the distance between the Antarctic
Seas and Oyster Pond, I wonder?”

“You ought to be able to calculate that yourself, gal, or
what is the use to pay for your schooling?”

“I should not know how to set about it, uncle,” returned
the gentle Mary, “though I should be very glad to know.”

“How many miles are there in a degree of latitude,
child? You know that, I believe.”

“More than sixty-nine, sir.”

“Well, in what latitude is Oyster Pond?”

“I have heard Roswell say that we were a little higher,
as he calls it, than forty-one.”

“Well, 41 times 69”—figuring as he spoke—“make
2829; say we are 3000 miles from the equator, the nearest
way we can get there. Then, the antarctic circle commences
in 23° 30′ south, which, deducted from 90 degrees,
leave just 66° 30′ between the equator and the nearest spot
within the sea you have mentioned. Now, 66° 30′ give
about 4589 statute miles more, in a straight line, allowing
only 69 to a degree. The two sums, added together, make
7589 miles, or rather more. But the road is not straight,

by any means, as shipmasters tell me; and I suppose Gar'ner
must have gone, at the very least, 8000 miles to reach
his latitude, to say nothing of a considerable distance of
longitude to travel over, to the southward of Cape Horn.”

“It is a terrible distance to have a friend from us!”
ejaculated Mary, though in a low, dejected tone.

“It is a terrible distance for a man to trust his property
away from him, gal; and I do not sleep a-nights for thinking
of it, when I remember where my own schooner may
be all this time!”

“Ah, here is Baiting Joe, and with a letter in his hand,
uncle, I do declare!”

It might be a secret hope that impelled Mary, for away
she bounded, like a young fawn, running to meet the old
fisherman at the door. No sooner did her eyes fall on the
superscription, than the large package was pressed to her
heart, and she seemed, for an instant, lost in thanksgiving.
That no one might unnecessarily be a witness of what
passed between her uncle and herself, Joe was directed to
the kitchen, where a good meal, a glass of rum and water,
and the quarter of a dollar that Mary gave him as she
showed the way, satisfied him with the results of his trouble.

“Here it is, uncle,” cried the nearly breathless girl, reentering
the `keeping-room,' and unconsciously holding the
letter still pressed to her heart,—“A letter—a letter from
Roswell, in his own precious hand.”

A flood of tears gave some relief to feelings that had so
long been pent, and eased a heart that had been compressed
nearly to breaking. At any other time, and at this unequivocal
evidence of the hold the young man had on the affections
of his niece, Deacon Pratt would have remonstrated
with her on the folly of refusing to become “Roswell Gar'ner's”
wife; but the sight of the letter drove all other
thoughts from his head, concentrating his whole being in
the fate of the schooner.

“Look, and see if it has the Antarctic post-mark on it,
Mary,” said the deacon, in a tremulous voice.

This request was not made so much in ignorance as in
trepidation. The deacon very well knew that the islands
the Sea Lion was to visit were uninhabited, and were destitute

of post-offices; but his ideas were confused, and apprehension
rendered him silly.

“Uncle!” exclaimed the niece, wiping the tears from a
face that was now rosy with blushes at her own weakness,
“surely, Roswell can find no post-office where he is!”

But the letter must have some post-mark, child. Baiting
Joe has not brought it himself into the country.”

“It is post-marked `New York,' sir, and nothing else—
Yes, here is `Forwarded by Cane, Spriggs, and Button,
Rio de Janeiro.' It must have been put into a post-office
there.”

“Rio!—Here is more salvage, gal—more salvage coming
to afflict me!”

“But you had no salvage to pay, uncle, on the other occasion;
perhaps there will be none to pay on this. Had I
not better open the letter at once, and see what has happened?”

“Yes, open it, child,” answered the deacon, in a voice
so feeble as to be scarcely audible—“open it at once, as
you say, and let me know my fate. Anything is better than
this torment!”

Mary did not wait for a second permission, but instantly
broke the seal. It might have been the result of education,
or there may be such a thing as female instinct in these
matters; but, certain it is, that the girl turned towards the
window, as she tore the paper asunder, and slipped the
letter that bore her own name into a fold of her dress, so
dexterously, that one far more keen-sighted than her uncle
would not have detected the act. No sooner was her own
letter thus secured, than the niece offered the principal
epistle to her uncle.

“Read it yourself, Mary,” said the last, in his querulous
tones. “My eyes are so dim, that I could not see to read it.”

“Rio di Janeiro, Province of Brazil, South America,
Nov. 14th, 1819,” commenced the niece.

“Rio di Janeiro!” interrupted the uncle. “Why that
is round Cape Horn, isn't it, Mary?”

“Certainly not, sir. Brazil is on the east side of the
Andes, and Rio di Janeiro is its capital. The king of Por
tugal lives there now, and has lived there as long as I can
remember.”

“Yes, yes; I had forgotten. The Brazil Banks, where
our whalers go, are in the Atlantic. But what can have
taken Gar'ner into Rio, unless it be to spend more money!”

“By reading the letter, sir, we shall soon know. I see
there is something about spermaceti oil here.”

“He? And spalm ile, do you say!” exclaimed the deacon,
brightening up at once — “Read on, Mary, my good
gal—read the letter as fast as you can—read it at a trot.”

“Deacon Israel Pratt — Dear sir,” continued Mary, in
obedience to this command, “the two schooners sailed from
Beaufort, North Carolina, as stated already per mail, in a
letter written at that port, and which has doubtless come
to hand. We had fine weather and a tolerable run of it,
until we reached the calm latitudes, where we were detained
by the usual changes for about a week. On the
18th Oct. the pleasant cry of `there she spouts' was heard
aboard here, and we found ourselves in the neighbourhood
of whales. Both schooners lowered their boats, and I was
soon fast to a fine bull, who gave us a long tow before the
lance was put into him, and he was made to spout blood.
Captain Daggett set up some claims to this fish, in consequence
of his line's getting foul of the creature's jaws, but
he changed his mind in good season, and clapped on to
help tow the whale down to the vessel. His irons drew from
a young bull, and a good deal of dissatisfaction existed
among the other crew, until, fortunately, the school of
young bulls came round quite near us, when Captain Daggett
and his people succeeded in securing no less than
three of the fish, and Mr. Hazard got a very fine one
for us.

“I am happy to say that we had very pleasant weather
to cut in, and secured every gallon of the oil of both our
whales, as did Captain Daggett all of his. Our largest bull
made one hundred and nineteen barrels, of which forty-three
barrels was head-matter. I never saw better case
and junk in a whale in my life. The smallest bull turned
out well too, making fifty-eight barrels, of which twenty-one
was head. Daggett got one hundred and thirty-three
barrels from his three fish, a very fair proportion of head,
though not as large as our own. Having this oil on board,
we came in here after a pleasant run; and I have shipped,

as per invoice enclosed, one hundred and seventy-seven barrels
of spermaceti oil, viz., sixty-four barrels of head, and rest
in body-oil, to your order, care of Fish & Grinnell, New
York, by the brig Jason, Captain Williams, who will sail
for home about the 20th proximo, and to whom I trust this
letter”—

“Stop, Mary, my dear—this news is overpowering—it is
almost too good to be true,” interrupted the deacon, nearly
as much unmanned by this intelligence of his good fortune
as he had previously been by his apprehensions. “Yes, it
does seem too good to be true; read it again, child; yes,
read every syllable of it again!”

Mary complied, delighted enough to hear all she could
of Roswell's success.

“Why, uncle,” said the deeply-interested girl, “all this
oil is spermaceti! It is worth a great deal more than so
much of that which comes of the right whale.”

“More! Ay, nearly as three for one. Hunt me up the
last Spectator, girl — hunt me up the last Spectator, and
let me see at once at what they quote spalm.”

Mary soon found the journal, and handed it to her
uncle.

“Yes, here it is, and quoted $1.12½ per gallon, as I live!
That's nine shillings a gallon, Mary—just calculate on that
bit of paper—thirty times one hundred and seventy-seven,
Mary; how much is that, child?”

“I make it 5310, uncle — yes, that is right. But what
are the 30 times for, sir?”

“Gallons, gal, gallons. Each barrel has 30 gallons in it,
if not more. There ought to be 32 by rights, but this is a
cheating age. Now, multiply 5310 by 9, and see what that
comes to.”

“Just 47,790, sir, as near as I can get it.”

“Yes, that's the shillings. Now, divide 47,790 by 8, my
dear. Be actyve, Mary, be actyve.”

“It leaves 5973, with a remainder of 6, sir. I believe
I'm right.”

“I dare say you are, child; yes, I dare say you are. This
is the dollars. A body may call them $6000, as the barrels
will a little overrun the 30 gallons. My share of this will

be two-thirds, and that will nett the handsome sum of, say
$4000!”

The deacon rubbed his hands with delight, and having
found his voice again, his niece was astonished at hearing
him utter what he had to say, with a sort of glee that
sounded in her ears as very unnatural, coming from him.
So it was, however, and she dutifully endeavoured not to
think of it.

“Four thousand dollars, Mary, will quite cover the first
cost of the schooner; that is without including outfit and
spare-rigging, of which her master took about twice as much
as was necessary. He's a capital fellow, is that young
Gar'ner, and will make an excellent husband, as I've always
told you, child. A little wasteful, perhaps, but an excellent
youth at the bottom. I dare say he lost his spars off Cape
Hatteras in trying to outsail that Daggett; but I overlook
all that now. He's a capital youth to work upon a whale
or a sea-elephant! There isn't his equal, as I'll engage,
in all Ameriky, if you'll only let him know where to find
the creatur's. I knew his character before I engaged him;
for no man but a real skinner shall ever command a craft
of mine.”

“Roswell is a good fellow,” answered Mary, with emphasis,
the tears filling her eyes as she listened to these
eulogiums of her uncle on the youth she loved with all of a
woman's tenderness, at the very moment she scrupled to
place her happiness on one whose `God was not her God.'
“No one knows him better than I, uncle, and no one respects
him more. But, had I not better read the rest of his
letter?—there is a good deal more of it.”

“Go on, child, go on — but, read the part over again
where he speaks of the quantity of the ile he has shipped
to Fish & Grinnell.”

Mary did as requested, when she proceeded to read aloud
the rest of the communication.

“I have been much at a loss how to act in regard to
Captain Daggett,” said Roswell, in his letter. “He stood
by me so manfully and generously off Cape Hatteras, that I
did not like to part company in the night, or in a squall,
which would have seemed ungrateful, as well as wearing a
sort of runaway look. I am afraid he has some knowledge

of the existence of our islands, though I doubt whether he
has their latitude and longitude exactly. Something there
is of this nature on board the other schooner, her people
often dropping hints to my officers and men, when they
have been gamming. I have sometimes fancied Daggett
sticks so close to us, that he may get the advantage of our
reckoning to help him to what he wants to find. He is no
great navigator anywhere, running more by signs and currents,
in my judgment, than by the use of his instruments.
Still, he could find his way to any part of the world.”

“Stop there, Mary; stop a little, and let me have time
to consider. Isn't it awful, child?”

The niece changed colour, and seemed really frightened,
so catching was the deacon's distress, though she scarce
knew what was the matter.

“What is awful, uncle?” at length she asked, anxious
to know the worst.

“This covetousness in them Vineyarders! I consider
it both awful and wicked. I must get the Rev. Mr. Whittle
to preach against the sin of covetousness; it does gain so
much ground in Ameriky! The whole church should lift
its voice against it, or it will shortly lift its voice against
the church. To think of them Daggetts' fitting out a
schooner to follow my craft about the 'arth in this unheard-of
manner; just as if she was a pilot-boat, and young
Gar'ner a pilot! I do hope the fellows will make a wrack
of it, among the ice of the antarctic seas! That would be
a fit punishment for their impudence and covetousness.”

“I suppose, sir, they think that they have the same right
to sail on the ocean that others have. Seals and whales are
the gifts of God, and one person has no more right to them
than another.”

“You forget, Mary, that one man may have a secret that
another doesn't know. In that case he ought not to go
prying about like an old woman in a village neighbourhood.
Read on, child, read on, and let me know the worst
at once.”

“I shall sail to-morrow, having finished all my business
here, and hope to be off Cape Horn in twenty days, if not
sooner. In what manner I am to get rid of Daggett, I do
not yet know. He outsails me a little on all tacks, unless

it be in very heavy weather, when I have a trifling advantage
over him. It will be in my power to quit him any
dark night; but if I let him go ahead, and he should really
have any right notions about the position of the islands, he
might get there first, and make havoc among the seals.”

“Awful, awful!” interrupted the deacon, again; “that
would be the worst of all! I won't allow it; I forbid it—
it shall not be.”

“Alas! uncle, poor Roswell is too far from us, now, to
hear these words. No doubt the matter is long since decided,
and he has acted according to the best of his judgment.”

“It is terrible to have one's property so far away! Government
ought to have steam-boats, or packets of some
sort, running between New York and Cape Horn, to carry
orders back and forth.—But we shall never have things
right, Mary, so long as the democrats are uppermost.”

By this remark, which savours very strongly of a species
of censure that is much in fashion in the coteries of that
Great Emporium, which it is the taste and pleasure of its
people to term a commercial emporium, especially among
elderly ladies, the reader will at once perceive that the
deacon was a federalist, which was somewhat of a novelty
in Suffolk, thirty years since. Had he lived down to our
own times, the old man would probably have made all the
gyrations in politics that have distinguished the school to
which he would have belonged, and, without his own knowledge,
most probably, would have been as near an example
of perpetual motion as the world will ever see, through his
devotion to what are now called “Whig Principles.” We
are no great politician, but time has given us the means of
comparing; and we often smile when we hear the disciples
of Hamilton, and of Adams, and of all that high-toned
school, declaiming against the use of the veto, and talking
of the “one man power,” and of Congress' leading the government!
The deacon was very apt to throw the opprobrium
of even a bad season on the administration, and the
reader has seen what he thought of the subject of running
packets between New York and Cape Horn.

“There ought to be a large navy, Mary, a monstrous
navy, so that the vessels might be kept carrying letters

about, and serving the public. But we shall never have
things right, until Rufus King, or some man like him, gets
in. If Gar'ner lets that Daggett get the start of him, he
never need come home again. The islands are as much
mine as if I had bought them; and I'm not sure an action
wouldn't lie for seals taken on them without my consent.
Yes, yes; we want a monstrous navy, to convoy sealers,
and carry letters about, and keep some folks at home, while
it lets other folks go about their lawful business.”

“Of what islands are you speaking, uncle? Surely the
sealing islands, where Roswell has gone, are public and
uninhabited, and no one has a better right there than another!”

The deacon perceived that he had gone too far, in his
tribulation, and began to have a faint notion that he was
making a fool of himself. He asked his niece, in a very
faint voice, therefore, to hand him the letter, the remainder
of which he would endeavour to read himself. Although
every word that Roswell Gardiner wrote was very precious
to Mary, the gentle girl had a still unopened epistle to herself
to peruse, and glad enough was she to make the exchange.
Handing the deacon his letter, therefore, she
withdrew at once to her private room, in order to read her
own.

`Dearest Mary,” said Roswell Gardiner, in this epistle,
“your uncle will tell you what has brought us into this
port, and all things connected with the schooner. I have
sent home more than $4000 worth of oil, and I hope my
owner will forgive the accident off Currituck, on account
of this run of good luck. In my opinion, we shall yet
make a voyage, and that part of my fortune will be secure.
Would that I could feel as sure of finding you more disposed
to be kind to me, on my return! I read in your
Bible every day, Mary, and I often pray to God to enlighten
my mind, if my views have been wrong. As yet, I cannot
flatter myself with any change, for my old opinions appear
rather to be more firmly rooted than they were before I
sailed.” Here poor Mary heaved a heavy sigh, and wiped
the tears from her eyes. She was pained to a degree she
could hardly believe possible, though she did full credit to
Roswell's frankness. Like all devout persons, her faith in

the efficacy of sacred writ was strong: and she so much
the more lamented her suitor's continued blindness, because
it remained after light had shone upon it. “Still, Mary,”
the letter added, “as I have every human inducement to
endeavour to be right, I shall not throw aside the book, by
any means. In that I fully believe; our difference being
in what the volume teaches. Pray for me, sweetest girl—
but I know you do, and will continue to do, as long as I
am absent.”

“Yes, indeed, Roswell,” murmured Mary—“as long as
you and I live!”

“Next to this one great concern of my life, comes that
which this man Daggett gives me,”—the letter went on to
say. “I hardly know what to do under all the circumstances.
Keep in his company much longer I cannot,
without violating my duty to the deacon. Yet, it is not
easy, in any sense, to get rid of him. He has stood by me
so manfully on all occasions, and seems so much disposed
to make good-fellowship of the voyage, that, did it depend
on myself only, I should at once make a bargain with him
to seal in company, and to divide the spoils. But this is
now impossible, and I must quit him in some way or other.
He outsails me in most weathers, and it is a thing easier
said than done. What will make it more difficult is the
growing shortness of the nights. The days lengthen fast
now, and as we go south they will become so much longer,
that, by the time when it will be indispensable to separate,
it will be nearly all day. The thing must be done, however,
and I trust to luck to be able to do it as it ought to
be effected.

“And now, dearest, dearest Mary_____” But why should
we lift the veil from the feelings of this young man, who
concluded his letter by pouring out his whole heart in a
few sincere and manly sentences. Mary wept over them
most of that day, perusing and reperusing them, until her
eyes would scarce perform their proper office.

A few days later the deacon was made a very happy man
by the receipt of a letter from Fish & Grinnell, notifying
him of the arrival of his oil, accompanied by a most gratifying
account of the state of the market, and asking for
instructions. The oil was disposed of, and the deacon

pocketed his portion of the proceeds as soon as possible;
eagerly looking for a new and profitable investment for the
avails. Great was the reputation Roswell Gardiner made
by this capture of the two spermaceti whales, and by sending
the proceeds to so good a market. In commerce, as in
war, success is all in all, though in both success is nearly
as often the result of unforeseen circumstances as of calculations
and wisdom. It is true there are a sort of trade,
and a sort of war, in which prudence and care may effect
a great deal, yet are both often outstripped by the random
exertions and adventures of those who calculate almost as
wildly as they act. Audacity, as the French term it, is a
great quality in war, and often achieves more than the most
calculated wisdom — nay, it becomes wisdom in that sort
of struggle; and we are far from being sure that audacity
is not sometimes as potent in trade. At all events, it was
esteemed a bold, as well as a prosperous exploit, for a little
schooner like the Sea Lion of Oyster Pond, to take a hundred-barrel
whale, and to send home its “ile,” as the deacon
always pronounced the word, in common with most
others in old Suffolk.

Long and anxious months, with one exception, succeeded
this bright spot of sunshine in Mary Pratt's solicitude in
behalf of the absent Roswell. She knew there was but
little chance of hearing from him again until he returned
north. The exception was a short letter that the deacon
received, dated two weeks later than that written from Rio,
in latitude forty-one, or just as far south of the equator as
Oyster Pond was north of it, and nearly fourteen hundred
miles to the southward of Rio. This letter was written in
great haste, to send home by a Pacific trader who was accidentally
met nearer the coast than was usual for such
vessels to be. It stated that all was well; that the schooner
of Daggett was still in company; and that Gardiner intended
to get “shut” of her, as the deacon expressed it, on
the very first occasion.

After the receipt of this letter, the third written by Roswell
Gardiner since he left home, a long and blank interval
of silence succeeded. Then it was that months passed
away in an anxious and dark uncertainty. Spring followed
winter, summer succeeded to spring, and autumn came to

reap the fruits of all the previous seasons, without bringing
any further tidings from the adventurers. Then winter
made its second appearance since the Sea Lion had sailed,
filling the minds of the mariners' friends with sad forebodings
as they listened to the moanings of the gales that
accompanied that bleak and stormy quarter of the year.
Deep and painful were the anticipations of the deacon, in
whom failing health, and a near approach to the “last of
earth,” came to increase the gloom. As for Mary, youth
and health sustained her; but her very soul was heavy, as
she pondered on so long and uncertain an absence.