We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a distance. Atsea, every thing that breaks the monotony of the surrounding expanseattracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that musthave been completely wrecked; for there were the remains ofhandkerchiefs, by which some of the crew had fastened themselves tothis spar, to prevent their being washed off by the waves. There wasno trace by which the name of the ship could be ascertained. The wreckhad evidently drifted about for many months; clusters of shell-fishhad fastened about it, and long sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. Butwhere, thought I, is the crew? Their struggle has long been over- theyhave gone down amidst the roar of the tempest- their bones liewhitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like thewaves, have closed over them, and no one can tell the story of theirend. What sighs have been wafted after that ship! what prayers offeredup at the deserted fireside of home! How often has the mistress, thewife, the mother, pored over the daily news, to catch some casualintelligence of this rover of the deep! How has expectation darkenedinto anxiety- anxiety into dread- and dread into despair! Alas! notone memento may ever return for love to cherish. All that may everbe known, is, that she sailed from her port, "and was never heard ofmore!"The sight of this wreck, as usual, gave rise to many dismalanecdotes. This was particularly the case in the evening, when theweather, which had hitherto been fair, began to look wild andthreatening, and gave indications of one of those sudden stormswhich will sometimes break in upon the serenity of a summer voyage. Aswe sat round the dull light of a lamp in the cabin, that made thegloom more ghastly, every one had his tale of shipwreck anddisaster. I was particularly struck with a short one related by thecaptain.
"As I was once sailing," said he, "in a fine stout ship across thebanks of Newfoundland, one of those heavy fogs which prevail inthose parts rendered it impossible for us to see far ahead even in thedaytime; but at night the weather was so thick that we could notdistinguish any object at twice the length of the ship. I keptlights at the mast-head, and a constant watch forward to look outfor fishing smacks, which are accustomed to lie at anchor on thebanks. The wind was blowing a smacking breeze, and we were going ata great rate through the water. Suddenly the watch gave the alarm of'a sail ahead!'- it was scarcely uttered before we were upon her.
She was a small schooner, at anchor, with her broadside towards us.
The crew were all asleep, and had neglected to hoist a light. Westruck her just amid-ships. The force, the size, and weight of ourvessel bore her down below the waves; we passed over her and werehurried on our course. As the crashing wreck was sinking beneath us, Ihad a glimpse of two or three half-naked wretches rushing from hercabin; they just started from their beds to be swallowed shriekingby the waves. I heard their drowning cry mingling with the wind. Theblast that bore it to our ears swept us out of all farther hearing.