- end_line
- 1528
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:14.838Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 1468
- text
- little wind to stir the trees, and every thing looked as if it was
waiting for something, and the sky overhead was blue as my mother’s
eye, and I was so glad and happy then. But I must not think of those
delightful days, before my father became a bankrupt, and died, and we
removed from the city; for when I think of those days, something rises
up in my throat and almost strangles me.
Now, as we sailed through the Narrows, I caught sight of that beautiful
fort on the cliff, and could not help contrasting my situation now,
with what it was when with my father and uncle I went there so long
ago. Then I never thought of working for my living, and never knew that
there were hard hearts in the world; and knew so little of money, that
when I bought a stick of candy, and laid down a sixpence, I thought the
confectioner returned five cents, only that I might have money to buy
something else, and not because the pennies were my change, and
therefore mine by good rights. How different my idea of money now!
Then I was a schoolboy, and thought of going to college in time; and
had vague thoughts of becoming a great orator like Patrick Henry, whose
speeches I used to speak on the stage; but now, I was a poor friendless
boy, far away from my home, and voluntarily in the way of becoming a
miserable sailor for life. And what made it more bitter to me, was to
think of how well off were my cousins, who were happy and rich, and
lived at home with my uncles and aunts, with no thought of going to sea
for a living. I tried to think that it was all a dream, that I was not
where I was, not on board of a ship, but that I was at home again in
the city, with my father alive, and my mother bright and happy as she
used to be. But it would not do. I was indeed where I was, and here was
the ship, and there was the fort. So, after casting a last look at some
boys who were standing on the parapet, gazing off to sea, I turned away
heavily, and resolved not to look at the land any more.
About sunset we got fairly “outside,” and well may it so be called; for
I felt thrust out of the world. Then the breeze began to blow, and the
sails were loosed, and hoisted; and after a while, the steamboat left
us, and for the first time I felt the ship roll, a strange feeling
enough, as if it were a great barrel in the water. Shortly after, I
observed a swift little schooner running across our bows, and
re-crossing again and again; and while I was wondering what she could
be, she suddenly lowered her sails, and two men took hold of a little
boat on her deck, and launched it overboard as if it had been a chip.
Then I noticed that our pilot, a red-faced man in a rough blue coat,
who to my astonishment had all this time been giving orders instead of
the captain, began to button up his coat to the throat, like a prudent
person about leaving a house at night in a lonely square, to go home;
and he left the giving orders to the chief mate, and stood apart
talking with the captain, and put his hand into his pocket, and gave
him some newspapers.
And in a few minutes, when we had stopped our headway, and allowed the
little boat to come alongside, he shook hands with the captain and
officers and bade them good-by, without saying a syllable of farewell
to me and the sailors; and so he went laughing over the side, and got
into the boat, and they pulled him off to the schooner, and then the
schooner made sail and glided under our stern, her men standing up and
waving their hats, and cheering; and that was the last we saw of
America.
- title
- Chunk 4