Two
Years Before the Mast
Chapter
36: Hurrah for Yankee Land!
by
Richard Henry Dana
On
Monday morning, the increased depth and dark-blue colour of the
water, and the mixture of shells and white sand which we brought
up, upon sounding, showed that we were in the channel [Great South
Channel], and nearing George’s [Bank]; accordingly, the ship’s
head was put directly to the northward, and we stood on, with
perfect confidence in the soundings, though we had not taken an
observation for two days, nor seen land; and the difference of
an eighth of a mile out of the way might put us ashore. Throughout
the day a provokingly light wind prevailed, and at eight o’clock,
a small fishing schooner, which we passed, told us we were nearly
abreast of Chatham lights. Just before midnight a light land breeze
sprang up, which carried us well along; and at four o’clock,
thinking ourselves to the northward of Race Point, we hauled upon
the wind and stood into the bay, west-north-west, for Boston light,
and began firing guns for a pilot. Our watch went below at four
o’clock, but could not sleep, for the watch on deck were
banging away at the guns every few minutes. And indeed, we cared
very little about it, for we were in Boston Bay; and if fortune
favoured us we could all "sleep in" the next night,
with nobody to call the watch every four hours.
We
turned out, of our own will, at daybreak, to get a sight of land.
In the grey of the morning, one or two small fishing smacks peered
out of the mist; and when the broad day broke upon us, there lay
the low sandhills of Cape Cod over our larboard [port] quarter,
and before us the wide waters of Massachusetts Bay, with here
and there a sail gliding over its smooth surface. As we drew in
toward the mouth of the harbour, as toward a focus, the vessels
began to multiply, until the bay seemed alive with sails gliding
about in all directions; some on the wind, and others before it,
as they were bound to or from the emporium of trade and centre
of the bay. It was a stirring sight for us, who had been months
on the ocean without seeing anything but two solitary sails; and
over two years without seeing more than the three or four traders
on an almost desolate coast. There were the little coasters, bound
to and from the various towns along the south shore, down in the
bight of the bay, and to the eastward; here and there a square-rigged
vessel standing out to seaward; and far in the distance, beyond
Cape Ann, was the smoke of a steamer, stretching along in a narrow
black cloud upon the water. Every sight was full of beauty and
interest. We were coming back to our homes; and the signs of civilisation
and prosperity and happiness, from which we had been so long banished,
were multiplying about us.
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