Nantucket

Nothing more happened on the passage worthy the mentioning; so, after a fine run, we safely arrived in Nantucket.

Nothing else worth mentioning happened on the voyage. So, after a pleasant trip, we arrived safely in Nantucket.

Nantucket! Take out your map and look at it. See what a real corner of the world it occupies; how it stands there, away off shore, more lonely than the Eddystone lighthouse. Look at it—a mere hillock, and elbow of sand; all beach, without a background. There is more sand there than you would use in twenty years as a substitute for blotting paper. Some gamesome wights will tell you that they have to plant weeds there, they don’t grow naturally; that they import Canada thistles; that they have to send beyond seas for a spile to stop a leak in an oil cask; that pieces of wood in Nantucket are carried about like bits of the true cross in Rome; that people there plant toadstools before their houses, to get under the shade in summer time; that one blade of grass makes an oasis, three blades in a day’s walk a prairie; that they wear quicksand shoes, something like Laplander snow-shoes; that they are so shut up, belted about, every way inclosed, surrounded, and made an utter island of by the ocean, that to their very chairs and tables small clams will sometimes be found adhering, as to the backs of sea turtles. But these extravaganzas only show that Nantucket is no Illinois.

Nantucket! Take out your map and look at it. See what a remote corner of the world Nantucket occupies. It lies far offshore, lonelier than the Eddystone lighthouse. Look at it, a mere mound and bend of sand, all beach with nothing behind it. There is more sand there than you would use in twenty years in place of blotting paper. Some playful people will tell you that Nantucketers have to plant weeds because weeds do not grow there naturally. They say Nantucketers import Canada thistles and must send overseas for a wooden plug to stop a leak in an oil cask. They say pieces of wood are carried around Nantucket like pieces of the true cross in Rome. They say people plant toadstools in front of their houses to shelter under them in summer. One blade of grass makes an oasis, they say, and three blades in a day's walk make a prairie. They say Nantucketers wear quicksand shoes, something like Laplander snowshoes. They say the ocean shuts them in so completely, surrounds them so entirely, and makes their home such an utter island, that small clams sometimes cling even to their chairs and tables, as they do to the backs of sea turtles. But these tall tales only show that Nantucket is no Illinois.

Look now at the wondrous traditional story of how this island was settled by the red-men. Thus goes the legend. In olden times an eagle swooped down upon the New England coast, and carried off an infant Indian in his talons. With loud lament the parents saw their child borne out of sight over the wide waters. They resolved to follow in the same direction. Setting out in their canoes, after a perilous passage they discovered the island, and there they found an empty ivory casket,—the poor little Indian’s skeleton.

Now consider the remarkable traditional story of how Native Americans settled this island. The legend goes like this. Long ago, an eagle swooped down on the New England coast and carried off a Native American infant in its talons. The parents cried out in grief as they watched their child disappear over the wide waters. They decided to follow in the same direction. They set out in their canoes, and after a dangerous journey, they discovered the island. There they found an empty ivory casket, the poor little child’s skeleton.

What wonder, then, that these Nantucketers, born on a beach, should take to the sea for a livelihood! They first caught crabs and quohogs in the sand; grown bolder, they waded out with nets for mackerel; more experienced, they pushed off in boats and captured cod; and at last, launching a navy of great ships on the sea, explored this watery world; put an incessant belt of circumnavigations round it; peeped in at Behring’s Straits; and in all seasons and all oceans declared everlasting war with the mightiest animated mass that has survived the flood; most monstrous and most mountainous! That Himmalehan, salt-sea Mastodon, clothed with such portentousness of unconscious power, that his very panics are more to be dreaded than his most fearless and malicious assaults!

No wonder these Nantucketers, born on a beach, turned to the sea to make a living! At first, they caught crabs and quohogs in the sand. Growing bolder, they waded out with nets to catch mackerel. With more experience, they pushed off in boats and caught cod. At last, they launched a navy of great ships and explored this watery world. They circled the globe again and again, forming an endless belt of voyages around it. They peered into Behring’s Straits. In all seasons and all oceans, they declared everlasting war on the mightiest living mass to survive the flood. What a monstrous, mountainous creature! This Himmalehan, salt-sea Mastodon has such immense power, though he is unaware of it. His panics are more to be feared than his most fearless and malicious attacks!

And thus have these naked Nantucketers, these sea hermits, issuing from their ant-hill in the sea, overrun and conquered the watery world like so many Alexanders; parcelling out among them the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans, as the three pirate powers did Poland. Let America add Mexico to Texas, and pile Cuba upon Canada; let the English overswarm all India, and hang out their blazing banner from the sun; two thirds of this terraqueous globe are the Nantucketer’s. For the sea is his; he owns it, as Emperors own empires; other seamen having but a right of way through it. Merchant ships are but extension bridges; armed ones but floating forts; even pirates and privateers, though following the sea as highwaymen the road, they but plunder other ships, other fragments of the land like themselves, without seeking to draw their living from the bottomless deep itself. The Nantucketer, he alone resides and riots on the sea; he alone, in Bible language, goes down to it in ships; to and fro ploughing it as his own special plantation. There is his home; there lies his business, which a Noah’s flood would not interrupt, though it overwhelmed all the millions in China. He lives on the sea, as prairie cocks in the prairie; he hides among the waves, he climbs them as chamois hunters climb the Alps. For years he knows not the land; so that when he comes to it at last, it smells like another world, more strangely than the moon would to an Earthsman. With the landless gull, that at sunset folds her wings and is rocked to sleep between billows; so at nightfall, the Nantucketer, out of sight of land, furls his sails, and lays him to his rest, while under his very pillow rush herds of walruses and whales.

And so these nearly naked Nantucketers, these sea hermits, have poured out of their island anthill. Like so many Alexanders, they have overrun and conquered the watery world. They have divided the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans among themselves, as the three pirate powers divided Poland. Let America add Mexico to Texas and pile Cuba on top of Canada. Let the English swarm over all of India and hang their blazing flag from the sun. Two thirds of this land-and-water globe belong to the Nantucketer. For the sea is his. He owns it as emperors own empires. Other sailors have only the right to pass through it. Merchant ships are only bridges stretching across the sea. Warships are only floating forts. Even pirates and privateers, who use the sea as highwaymen use the road, merely plunder other ships. Those ships, like their own, are only fragments of the land. Pirates and privateers do not try to draw their living from the bottomless deep itself. The Nantucketer alone lives and revels on the sea. He alone, in the language of the Bible, goes down to the sea in ships. He plows back and forth across it as if it were his own private plantation. There is his home. There is his business. Even a flood like Noah’s would not interrupt that business, though it drowned all the millions in China. He lives on the sea as prairie chickens live on the prairie. He hides among the waves and climbs them as chamois hunters climb the Alps. For years he sees no land. So when he finally reaches land, it smells like another world. It smells stranger to him than the moon would to someone from Earth. At sunset, the landless gull folds her wings and is rocked to sleep between the waves. So too, at nightfall, the Nantucketer furls his sails and lies down to rest, out of sight of land. Beneath his very pillow, herds of walruses and whales rush past.