Year: 1874

! for Sea--The Return.


Marblehead, Mass, was once a great
fishing port. In this line its glory has
departed. A writer, referring to the
Golden time, says,that when the season
opened there was the hustle of prepara-
ton, the getting in of wood and salt
and stores. The schooner generally
went to Boston for her salt, and then
we youngsters had a fine time of it,
going with her to "the dim rich city,"
and sleeping in the cabin or the "fore-
kistle." and making friends with the
cook. Or was it better when great
ship came to Marblehead with whole
load Of salt, and we were permitted to
go on board of her, and to row at night
under her bows and feel their awful
shadow, and wonder if her stern went
down till it touched the heart of the
world? Then there was the home
preparations, the washing and mending
of the great pea-iackets and trowsers
that smelled so of the sea, the packing
of the chest, the making of "Harrison
cake" and hard gingerbread. When
the day came for sailing it was very
silent morning in the house. There
was no talk at breakfast-time The
handsome thing for the skipper to do
was to sail round the hsrbor an hour or
two with the company that had collected
on board, with long string of Moses
boats" and dories dragging at the
stern. Sometimes there was treat all
round from a certain little keg, which
the more prudent shippers regarded
with unmixed aversion. When at length
the skipper shouted, "All ashore !" the
last boats were always loaded to the
gunnel. Then we wentup on "Bartol's
Head" and watched the white sails
lessen more and more, till they made
only little CLEAN on the horizon. From
that time the "Spoken in the news
papers was narrowly watched, but with
little satisfaction, until the first of the
feet returned, bringing news of nearly
all the rest, and how many thousand
fish they had on such day. They used
to count thousands, but now they guess
quintals. It was a great day when some
good neighbor came to the door or win
dow, saying, "Mrs. -, your hus-
bands coming up the harbor." Some
times there was rich brown face in the
doorway without q word of warning
sometimes a well-known step in the
night upon the gravel.


fVhnfn wac Ona aop1inr, hooly tbot
different from all others within the
memory of the present generation. It
was after the September gale of '46.
After the first news of the disaster had
been brought to town there were many
weeks of terrible anxiety, of alternate
hope and fear. From every headland,
and from the cold North" 4" steeple,
eyes were straining into the distance
to catch the first hint of returning
sail. And when one was deserted, the
word went from house to hsuse all
through the town, and hundreds crowd
ed to the wharf to see what vessel it
might be, and what news it brought of
kindred or of friends. Only the fisher
mems wives staid very quietly at home,
waiting for the sign of hope or widow





tradicted, and "women received their
dead raised to life again, and others
were tortured, not accepting deliver
ance." 1 we'll remember one of these
returns. The wharf was packed with
an expectant crowd of men and women.
AS the vessel came up the harbor there
was none of the usual hilarity. There
were no CHEEKY shouts and answers.
There was no talk about chow deep"
she was, no brag that she had "wet her
SALT" When the crew landed, the
crowd parted silently to let them
through. There was hardly word
spoken. The crowd broke up as the
crew separated, and followed them to
their various homes. remember walk
ing home with my hand held in the
skipper's very tight indeed, his mon
strous fishing boots clumping along
with what then seemed to me a very
solemn sound. For myself, I was not
superior to feeling of qualification at
being escorted home by so many peo-
pie, though I was but fly upon the
wheel. Then followed such a day.
The house was thronged with people
anxiously inquiring for their friends.
Children came to hear that they were
fatherless, and wives to learn that they
were widows. And little by little the
story of the storm was told, and the
story of what followed, when the sea
was strewn with proofs of terrible dis
aster, with wood and spars and seamen's s
chests and bedding, In one place the
masts of two vessels were found hope
lessly entangled in another vessel
lying on her beam ends, and with every
mighty surge lifting her masts high up
out of the melancholy waste, and then
plunging them down again in sad,
hopeless way that almost broke the
hearts of those who witnessed it. To q
stranger in the town the monument on
the cold Hill " means little, but no
monument that [ have ever seen is so
vocal for me with


"The still sad music Of humanity.n