cutter, by means of a line pendant from her rigging, like a young
spirit of the storm. Presently, a sixth hand brought down two
little water-casks; presently afterwards, a truck came, and
delivered a hamper. I was now under an obligation to consider that
the cutter was going on a cruise, and to wonder where she was
going, and when she was going, and why she was going, and at what
date she might be expected back, and who commanded her? With these
pressing questions I was fully occupied when the Packet, making
ready to go across, and blowing off her spare steam, roared, ‘Look
at me!’
It became a positive duty to look at the Packet preparing to go
across; aboard of which, the people newly come down by the railroad
were hurrying in a great fluster. The crew had got their
tarry overalls on – and one knew what THAT meant – not to mention
the white basins, ranged in neat little piles of a dozen each,
behind the door of the after-cabin. One lady as I looked, one
resigning and far-seeing woman, took her basin from the store of
crockery, as she might have taken a refreshment-ticket, laid
herself down on deck with that utensil at her ear, muffled her feet
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Dickens, Charles – Reprinted Pieces
in one shawl, solemnly covered her countenance after the antique
manner with another, and on the completion of these preparations
appeared by the strength of her volition to become insensible. The
mail-bags (O that I myself had the sea-legs of a mail-bag!) were
tumbled aboard; the Packet left off roaring, warped out, and made
at the white line upon the bar. One dip, one roll, one break of
the sea over her bows, and Moore’s Almanack or the sage Raphael
could not have told me more of the state of things aboard, than I
knew.
The famous chapter was all but begun now, and would have been quite
begun, but for the wind. It was blowing stiffly from the east, and
it rumbled in the chimney and shook the house. That was not much;
but, looking out into the wind’s grey eye for inspiration, I laid
down my pen again to make the remark to myself, how emphatically
everything by the sea declares that it has a great concern in the
state of the wind. The trees blown all one way; the defences of
the harbour reared highest and strongest against the raging point;
the shingle flung up on the beach from the same direction; the
number of arrows pointed at the common enemy; the sea tumbling in
and rushing towards them as if it were inflamed by the sight. This
put it in my head that I really ought to go out and take a walk in
the wind; so, I gave up the magnificent chapter for that day,
entirely persuading myself that I was under a moral obligation to
have a blow.
I had a good one, and that on the high road – the very high road –
on the top of the cliffs, where I met the stage-coach with all the
outsides holding their hats on and themselves too, and overtook a
flock of sheep with the wool about their necks blown into such
great ruffs that they looked like fleecy owls. The wind played
upon the lighthouse as if it were a great whistle, the spray was
driven over the sea in a cloud of haze, the ships rolled and
pitched heavily, and at intervals long slants and flaws of light
made mountain-steeps of communication between the ocean and the
sky. A walk of ten miles brought me to a seaside town without a
cliff, which, like the town I had come from, was out of the season
too. Half of the houses were shut up; half of the other half were
to let; the town might have done as much business as it was doing
then, if it had been at the bottom of the sea. Nobody seemed to
flourish save the attorney; his clerk’s pen was going in the bowwindow
of his wooden house; his brass door-plate alone was free
from salt, and had been polished up that morning. On the beach,