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Updated: May 26, 2025
For it is part of the might and mystery of the sea, the secret influence that sets the blood on fire and the heart throbbing, of any in whose veins runs some of the true salt-water sympathy. Men are born landsmen, and are born on land, but belong to the Ocean's family. Sooner or later, whatever their calling, they recognize the tie. They may struggle against it, and scotch it, but cannot kill it.
But we cannot watch the slow upheaval of a long line of coast, where the fisherman hardly knows at the end of a lifetime whether the sea has drawn back or his own landmarks have been moved; we are all unable to note how new continents are now being formed in the ocean's stillest depths, from whose hardened and uplifted strata future ages may dig out the relics of so much that has been dear and precious to us; we fail to notice how every running stream, from the tiniest mountain rill to muddy Po and fertilizing Nile, is perpetually at work to carry down the hills into the plains, and to change the world's familiar face.
"I think we had better lie low and watch developments," the other cautioned. "There's no telling what may turn up during the day." "That's right. Stranglers is like spirits they work best in the dark." As the day grew, the storm died, leaving ramparts of clouds hanging sullenly above the ocean's rim, while those skilled in weather prophecy foretold the coming of the equinoctial.
Lest it displease thee, if, to thee unknown, I sought the Ocean's deeply flowing stream, There is a custom among all people for those who go to a war or who are in danger to send some message to their families. Our poet was familiar with this custom.
In a couple of hours more the land was distinctly visible from the deck, the peak spoken of as "Look-out Peak" appearing first, and then the land on each side of it, rising gradually above the ocean's brim until it lay stretched along the horizon for a length of some half a dozen miles.
Now and again a bird sang a few notes, a strange sound in the night, or the soft wind murmured like the ocean's echo through the pines. The song finished. "Benicia, I love you," whispered Russell. "We will now eat," said Benicia. "Mamma," she raised her voice, "shall I tell Raphael to bring down the supper?" "Yes, niña." The girl sprang lightly up the rocks, followed by Russell.
Just two or three brilliant, hot days, and then, as regular as the sun, up from the ocean's rim would rise dazzling cloud-mountains, piling themselves up and up into glorious towers and domes and battlements; and when the earth had begun to droop beneath the sun's blaze, with a great thunder signal they would fling their banners to the zenith, and pour from their dark heights a rain of silver spears, till the thirsty hills were drenched with bounty, and the valleys laughed and sang.
The sea, meanwhile, was rising with astounding rapidity, taking into consideration the fact that, as just stated, the height of the combers was greatly reduced by the enormous volumes of water that were scooped up from the ocean's surface by the fury of the wind; moreover the sea was short, steep, and irregular, much more nearly resembling the breakers on a coast in shallow water, than the long, regular, majestically moving seas of the open ocean.
"Snatch'd from an Indian ocean's roar, I drink the whelming tide no more; But in this rock, remote and still, Now serve to pour the murmuring rill. Listen! Do thoughts awake, which long have slept Oh! like his song, who placed me here, The sweetest song to Memory dear, When life's tumultuous storms are past, May we, to such sweet music, close at last The eyelids that have wept!"
Pleasant to see on either hand the flat landscape with all its signs of safety and plenty; its orange groves, its greening fields of young sugar-cane, its pillared and magnolia-shaded plantation houses, its white lines of slave cabins in rows of banana trees, and its wide wet plains swarming with wild birds; pleasant to see it swing slowly, majestically back and melt into a skyline as low and level as the ocean's.
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