--"
PINKNEY.
The stout ship Crisis had, like certain persons, done a good thing
purely by chance, Had her exploit happened in the year 1519, instead
of that of 1800, the renowned passage we had just escaped from would
have been called the Crisis Straits, a better name than the mongrel
appellation it now bears; which is neither English, nor Portuguese.
The ship had been lost, like a man in the woods, and came out nearer
home, than those in her could have at all expected. The "bloody
currents" had been at the bottom of the mistake, though this time they
did good, instead of harm. Any one who has been thoroughly lost on a
heath, or in a forest, or, even in a town, can comprehend how the head
gets turned on such occasions, and will understand the manner in which
we had mystified ourselves.
I shall remember the feelings of delight with which I looked around
me, as the ship passed out into the open ocean, to my dying day. There
lay the vast Pacific, its long, regular waves rolling in towards the
coast, in mountain-like ridges, it is true, but under a radiant sun,
and in a bright atmosphere. Everybody was cheered by the view, and
never did orders sound more pleasant in my ears, than when the captain
called out, in a cheerful voice, "to man the weather braces." This
command was given the instant it was prudent; and the ship went
foaming past the last cape with the speed of a courser.
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