There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be
ascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted about for many
months; clusters of shell-fish had fastened about it, and long
sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. But where, thought I, is the
crew? Their struggle has long been over--they have gone down
amidst the roar of the tempest--their bones lie whitening among
the caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the waves, have
closed over them, and no one can tell the story of their end.
What sighs have been wafted after that ship! what prayers offered
up at the deserted fireside of home! How often has the mistress,
the wife, the mother, pored over the daily news, to catch some
casual intelligence of this rover of the deep! How has
expectation darkened into anxiety--anxiety into dread--and dread
into despair! Alas! not one memento may ever return for love to
cherish. All that may ever be known, is that she sailed from her
port, "and was never heard of more!"
The sight of this wreck, as usual, gave rise to many dismal
anecdotes. This was particularly the case in the evening, when
the weather, which had hitherto been fair, began to look wild and
threatening, and gave indications of one of those sudden storms
that will sometimes break in upon the serenity of a summer
voyage.
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