MIRIAM COFFIN,

      In reprinting the present edition of this book, the publisher trusts that his effort will supply a want that has long been manifest among the sons and daughters of Nantucket,

      The scarcity of the work for many years has prevented its perusal by a large number of would-be-readers; and the publisher assures those who now read MIRIAM COFFIN, for the first time, that the present edition is an exact and unabridged reprint of the original work, published in 1834.

      In regard to Prefaces, Ladies consider them so much space for a love story lost; though the Italians call them La salsa del Libro, — the spice of the book."

      "Be it remembered, that we have not to compete with the old worn-out nations of the Continent:  A new people — a few year ago "in the gristle," but now "hardened into the bone of manhood," — are our bold and adventurous rivals.

      THE great river of the West, — the Father of Waters, as it was called by the aborigines, — may be used as an apt personification of the power, the progress of change, and eventual destiny of the American people.  Rising in the far wilderness, and taking its first impulse from a few trickling rills, it gathers in strength as it proceeds on its way, until, in its course of two thousand miles, it receives the contributions of those immense streams that spread out like the arms of a giant and embrace a whole continent; — grasping and binding together its remote corners, and conveying their tribute to the one great body, which thus becomes strengthened and invigorated by the aid of its natural members.  With its power thus accumulated, the Mississippi moves on in the swelling majesty of its grandeur, sweeping away with resistless force every opposing obstacle, — straightening and deepening its own mighty bed, — till finally pouring its volume of deep and rapid waters into the ocean, it mingles its turbid floods with the clear blue sea, and diffuses itself, as it were, in the immensity of creation.

      It is even thus with the American nation.  The remote and interminable wilds of the earth witnessed its birth, amidst forests boasting the growth of centuries, where, giant-like and unconquerable, — combining in its own elements and wisely directing its own energies, — it moves on surely and steadily to the accomplishment of a glorious and unequalled destiny.

      It is not, however, our design to wander over an almost boundless continent, in search of the wherewithal to illustrate what is thus hinted at:  It will be sufficient to select for exemplification quite an inconsiderable portion of the country — a mere speck of American earth, — and to point to it, as to a hive of industrious bees, for a miniature representation of the vast whole.

      Near the coast of the United States of America, some ten leagues to the south of that part of Massachusetts which is called Cape Cod, the little sandy island of Nantucket peeps forth from the Atlantic ocean.  Isolated and alone amidst a wide waste of waters, it presents to the stranger, at first view, a dreary and unpromising appearance.  The scrapings of the great African Desert, were they poured into the sea, would not emerge above its level with an aspect of more unqualified aridity than does this American island, with the exception of a few small lakes, and swampy oases, nourished by an unwonted moisture, which, while they redeem the island from absolute sterility, rather serve to make the likeness to Zaara more complete.  But few trees, and those, it is averred, not the natural growth of the soil, relieve the monotonous surface of the island.  Scattered dusky patches of thin short grass, among which is included an unenclosed cornmon of great extent, afford nourishment to droves of cattle and flocks of sheep, heedfully attended by a few shepherds or keepers during the seasons for browsing, which, be it known, are the same here as in other countries, namely, spring and summer.  But, generally speaking, were it not for the moving things upon it that have life and activity, the island to most eyes would wear the face of utter desolation.  Bleak and uninviting, however, as it may seem, it is the abode of much wealth and intelligence; and, from the nature of the tale which follows, we have constituted it the principal scene of our story.  Though we may occasionally leave it for distant shores, the incidents of the tale will still be found divergent therefrom; and our dramatis personae will perform their actions in direct reference to that little and peculiar world, though thousands of miles intervene between them and the common centre, from which they depart upon deeds of daring.

      We love to linger upon this island.  Perhaps there is no other place in the wide world of similar size and population, possessing so few intrinsic attractions, which has produced, under so many disadvantages, such an industrious and enterprising people as Nantucket.  Though it is said to be literally sterile in the spontaneous gifts of nature, yet it is rife in the physical and intellectual vigour of manhood.  For more than a century the islanders have exhibited the curious and unique spectacle of a thrifty community, bound together by a common interest as well as by a relative tie of consanguinity; — primitive though not altogether puritanic in their manners, as will be seen in the sequel, — winning equal respect for their virtues at home and abroad, — reaping harvests where they have not sown, and fishing up competency for their families from the unappropriated natural wealth in the depths of the sea.

      We are not without fear of giving offense by denominating the Nantucketers an amphibious race.  We do not mean "half horse — half alligator," — for that is a distinction which the Kentuckians appropriate exclusively to themselves: — but we mean that sort of half quaker — half sailor breed, to be found nowhere else on earth: — the men spending the greater part of their lives upon the ocean, and the women, though they tempt not the dangers of the sea, oddly mixing nautical phraseology with that which landsmen are accustomed to listen to "all along shore."  Nevertheless, tinctured as their conversation is with the technicalities of the quarter-deck and the forecastle, the females of the island are modest, virtuous, and agreeable, and thrive with a commendable industry at home; while the men are fishermen upon a grand scale, and pursue and conquer the monarch of the seas in distant and remote waters.  At the present moment they, together with the whale-fishermen in their immediate neighborhood, are the lamp-supplyers to more than half the civilized nations of the globe.  In the exercise of their hazardous trade they have become a bold and hardy race of men; — in danger, cool, collected and adventurous; — seldom or never indulging in the vices or evil propensities of the common sailor, but possessing all his generous and manly qualities, tempered with correct notions of economy and of the true obligations of society.  We know not how we can better sum up their character than by giving them their own expressive title of AMERICAN WHALE-FISHERMEN; and adding thereto, that to the successful prosecution of their trade, the energies of all the inhabitants, both male and female, are constantly directed.

      The town of Sherburne, when its people first undertook fishing for the whale with something like system, was but a small place: but, notwithstanding its insignificance, as contrasted with some of the continental towns; it shortly engrossed the oil-trade of America and of many of the European nations.  It was long after the permanency of its trade was secured, that the eloquent Burke, in the British House of Commons, pronounced the eulogium upon the skill of the islanders which we have written upon the title-page of this tale; and he added that "Neither the perseverance of Holland, nor the activity of France, nor the dexterous and firm sagacity of English enterprise, ever carried this perilous mode of hardy industry to the extent to which it has been pushed by this recent people, — a people who are still, as it were, but in the gristle, and not yet hardened into the bone of manhood."

      England, tying up her prosperity by granting a monopoly to the trade to a chartered company, had fitted out and abandoned her whale-ships in despair; the Dutch had been crippled in contesting the right of fishery with her formidable rival, and the ruder Norwegians, bordering upon the Icelandic seas, had as yet contented themselves with entrapping the monster of the deep, which, like the stultified Esquimaux, they valued chiefly for the greasy and unctuous blubber that the animal afforded for food.

      It may not be denied, however, that the Northern nations of Europe, ahd principally the bold navigators of England, were the pioneers who opened the way of the whale-fishery to other people.  In a long course of perilous and sometimes disastrous voyages of discovery in the Arctic seas, the English endeavoured to penetrate through a supposed North Western passage to the East Indies, and the Danes to regain a doubtful and almost fabulous settlement or colony, planted, as they believed, by their ancestors, somewhere on the coast of Greenland or Labrador.^*  Though their principal object was always defeated, yet science has been greatly benefitted by the devotion and personal sacrifices of such men as the persevering Hudson, Davis, and Baffin, and the patient, self denying, and encouraging example of Hans Egede, the benevolent Lutheran.  But the mariners of Nantucket were assuredly among the first to turn the labours, and, in some respects, fruitless discoveries, of those zealous and enterprising navigators, to good account.

      At the commencement of our tale, which the reader will fix at a period antecedent to our existence as a distinct people, the Northern seas were covered with the whale-fishermen of most maritime nations.  The field in the North had, at that time, as it was thought by American navigators, been well gone over and well reaped; and the precarious cargoes of oil obtained by all, warned them that the persecuted whales had been much diminished in numbers, or had betaken themselves to other and more secluded haunts.  The explorations of Ross and Parry have since confirmed the latter opinion.  Merchant traders, however, had in the mean time reported that a species of the whale, unlike the "right-whale" of the North, was sporting in great numbers in tropical regions, near the coast of Brazil and Western Africa; and some of our captains who had doubled "The Horn" told of immense "schools" of the valuable Spermaceti on the coasts of Peru and Chili, in the great Pacific Ocean. Thither we may take occasion to turn the attention of the reader, whilst we follow the new current of Nantucket enterprise.

      Among the low, scattered, and unpainted buildings of the Quaker Settlement, which surrounds a small but commodious bay on the Northern side of Nantucket, and in the center of the ancient town of Sherburne, whose name has since given place to the unromantic title of the island, uprose the unostentatious mansion of Jethro Coffin, the Oil Merchant.  Originally of small dimensions, it had increased with the gains of the owner, and now appeared a succession of unshapely buildings, of various orders of architecture and design, covering a goodly portion of ground.  Uncouth as were these buildings, they were the storehouses of considerable worldly riches, honestly and laboriously gotten, yet never boastfully nor vain-gloriously displayed.  Content and quiet were the inmates of Jethro's dwelling; and both wealth and comfort, as well as odd gable-ends and patch-like additions to the main building, increased with each arrival from the whaling-ground.  Jethro Coffin was the sole owner of ships and smaller vessels; and had, besides, large interest in others wherein English merchants had invested capital.  Wisely preferring to have their vessels fitted out at Nantucket, and manned and commanded by Nantucket seamen, the foreigners had appointed Jethro their agent and factor, and were well content, from time to time, to receive their gainful dividends through his hands — sometimes in cash, but most generally in shipments of oil and candles of sperm, which were regularly sent to the "mother country."  It is worthy also of remark, that at this period nearly all the successful whale-ships sailing out of English ports, were commanded, and sometimes entirely manned, by Nantucket-men who were seduced from their native island by large bounties from the British government.  In the end their skill and economy came to be imitated by the British; but though they parted with the mystery of their trade, the merit of instructing that nation in the art of killing the whale with dexterity, belongs to our own countrymen.^*

      Two of Jethro's ships were now at sea, and expected to arrive at Sherburne daily.  Nearly three years had elapsed since their departure, and he began to feel anxious for their return from the long voyage.  One of them had been spoken on the hither-side of The Horn near the Equator, deeply laden with oil; and her consort was reported to be not far behind.  The two vessels were manned by nearly a hundred souls, selected from the hardy populace of Nantucket; and every family on the island consequently felt an interest in the successful termination of the voyage.  Wives looked anxiously and fearfully for husbands, too long absent from home; — affectionate parents for affectionate children; — and sisters for brothers long parted.  This intensity of feeling, wound up to a painful pitch by the protracted absence and uncertain fate of the vessels, had however been much relieved by the report of a fast-sailing India trader lately arrived at Boston, then the chief mercantile port of the colonies.  The welcome news was in due season transferred to Nantucket, and joyfully bruited on the Oil'Change at Sherburne.  The weathercock of the lighthouse, on the sandy point at the entrance to the harbour, was, after this, more constantly watched than ever.  The least unfavorable turn of the huge sheet-iron whale, swinging faithfully with the breeze at the top of the beacon-light, was sufficient, at this conjuncture, to produce sadness of heart in the multitude; but the chopping of the vane, when the breeze sprung up from the south, was the signal for renewed hope and cheerful confidence.  Thus did the slight and inanimate fishlike profile, symbolical of the trade of the place, as it veered about under the impulse of the wind, become the lever to raise or depress the animal spirits, and to excite, alternately, the hopes and fears of a whole community!

      Amidst the anticipations consequent upon the report of the Indian trader aforesaid, preparations were making for the far-famed festival of the "Sheep-Shearing."  It is annually held about the middle of June.^*  The time set apart for the shearing was sacred to mirth and merriment among the young people, and strangers, in no moderate numbers, flocked to the place to participate therein; while the elders busied themselves in arranging the preliminaries of the festival, or in adjusting the graver matters of high concernment which gave occasion for the merry-making.  This extraordinary jubilee had, down to the times of which we write, been held on the island from time immemorial, or, at least, dated its origin so long back that the memory of that wonderful personage, "the oldest man living," claimed not to run to the contrary thereof.  It had always brought gladness and plenty, and revived old recollections, and united old friends: — but, alas! for the first time (we speak from having seen the fact upon record) it was likely to have an inauspicious beginning.  A storm had gathered over the island and extended seaward, which, for violence and severity, had scarcely ever been paralleled in this temperate region, at a season which, in our latitude, is generally mild and balmy.  The heaviest artillery of the gathering clouds, which lay darkly piled upon each other in triple array in the heavens, ushered in the rain and the wind, and both continued increasing in violence, until the one became a deluge and the other a hurricane.  The gale proved sufficiently powerful to decapitate chimneys and unroof buildings; while the floods, forming in small swift-running water-courses, did infinite damage to the lands of the settlement.  A shudder thrilled the hearts of the islanders at every gust of wind.  They knew their ships must be near at the commencement of the storm: and less furious gales had been known to strike down vessels at sea, as well prepared and well managed as their own.

      Much to the annoyance and vexation of the expectant youthful merry-makers, the rain, in unremitting torrents, continued to deluge and gully the sands of the devoted little island, long after the thunder had ceased; and, when it had fallen prodigiously for two consecutive days, it is worthy of record that it gave occasion for that original and quaint remark for which Peleg Folger, of Nantucket, stands sponsor; — to wit, that "the storm was likely to turn into a settled rain!"

      Jethro Coffin saw all this with dismay at heart, notwithstanding he was a member of that placid and "straightest sect," which in modern days are known by the denomination of Quakers, and are supposed to be incapable of strong emotion.  He inherited his membership from birthright, and had long ago been taught, by precept and example, to hold his mind under the strictest discipline, let what would befall him.

      If evil fell to his portion, no murmurings were heard; if good came, he tempered his rejoicing with meekness of spirit.  Assuming a calm, outward demeanour, which but ill concealed the workings of his mind, Jethro sat himself down in a corner of his ample, old-fashioned fireplace, opposite to his wife Miriam, who, possessing one of those strong minds that sometimes fall to the lot of woman, was far less agitated both in reality and appearance, than her spouse.  It was cold and damp, and required a fire within doors.  A cheerful, blazing hearth will go far, at any time, to dissipate gloomy thoughts; and the comfort of a good fire is exquisite, while the rain is heard rattling against the casement, and the wind howling over the chimney top.  There is no situation that sooner calls up the grateful incense of the heart.

      But if a sensation of personal security, and assurance of present comfort came over the mind of Jethro at all, they were but momentary.  He had ships on the coast, and his only son trod the deck, or perhaps "rocked on the giddy mast" of one of them.  His thoughts were "far — far at sea."  In the midst of his painful reflections, he frequently drew his breath hard; and anon his lips uttered an unwonted sound, between a sigh and a groan, plainly denoting the agonizing of the spirit.  Now, lighting his pipe, he smoked vehemently, but in silence; and then, resigning himself, with a desperate effort, to the trying emergency of the time, he leaned back in his chair, and no further betrayed the conflict within than by a convulsive nervousness, that showed itself in the clasped hands and the rapid twirling of his thumbs.  Miriam, seated in the other corner of the freplace, was absorbed in her own reflections, and plied her fingers zealously at her knitting-work.  Ruth Coffin, the daughter, stood at a window looking out upon the gloomy sky, pouting with her pretty cherry lips, and ever and anon biting her finger-nails with sheer vexation at the weather.

      "Heigh-ho!" exclaimed Ruth, as, half talking, half thinking aloud, her thoughts began to embody themselves; — "Heigh-ho! — will it never stop raining!  Bless me, how it pours!  Nothing but rain — rain — rain!  We go to bed and it rains — we get up in the morning and it rains still.  The shearing will come on the day after to-morrow, and there will be no going to the common, as I see; — and what use would it be if we did?  Though the thirsty soil of Nantucket can drink up oceans of water, I dare say enough remains of what has fallen from the clouds to drown the flocks.  There will be no occasion to wash the fleece before shearing, for the rain has done that all to our hand.  Many thanks for the trouble it has saved the good people of Sherburne!  Not a soul has come from the continent to see our doings, and we sha'nt have any body but the 'Tucketers to make merry with.  Merry indeed! — very merry we shall be, truly, with the Folgers and the Gardners, and the Jenkinses and the Starbucks, and Colemans, and Macys, and Swains, and such like, that one sees every day from year's end to year's end, with their everlasting drabs and eternal Thees and Thous, — every one of them 'cousins' too, I declare.  Vastly new and edifying it will be to hear their greetings: — 'Cousin Macy, how's thee do?' — 'Thank'ee, cousin Jenkins, how's thee do?' — 'Quite well, all but the rheumatics, which plague me sorely as usual:  How's thy father and cousin Miriam?'  (Here Ruth spitefully repeated the names of a long list of Nantucket cousins.)  'When didst thou see cousin Mehetable Starbuck — and cousin Peleg — and cousin Joshua — and cousin Josiah — and cousin Obadiah!' — O how amusing! — dear me!  Four days of constant rain — and this, the fifth day of outpouring; what an age! — and then, to crown all, the wind blows a right down 'harry-cane," as cousin Peleg calls it, and as cold as mid-winter — ugh! — Father, didst thou not tell me that thy ship Leviathan was expected home shortly?  and isn't the gale dead ahead from the north-east?  Poor brother Isaac — I wonder if he is boxing about in this dreadful storm, and thinking of home!"

      "Ruth," slowly answered Jethro, "thou talkest too fast and too much.  Thou'rt sixteen years old, come the twentieth day of sixth month: thou hast been at Cousin Mary Gardner's seminary for seven years, and thy education in the great city of Boston hath cost me a sweet penny; but I don't see that thou hast mended thy ways in proportion to thy opportunities."  As he uttered these words, Jethro compressed his lips, and coolly knocked the ashes from his pipe against the thick-lipped figure-head of the iron firedog, by way of giving emphasis to his admonition, and clenching the argument of his preachment.

      "Well, but father," said Ruth, who already understood how to manage the kind-hearted Jethro, "here we've been pent up for nearly a week without setting foot out of doors, and the shearing is close by, and not a living being has yet come to the island to see us.  Thou know'st, father, it's only once a year we have a shearing, and our friends are sure never to heave in sight at any other time."

      "True, child," observed the father kindly, "but bethink thee, all things must have an end — the storm cannot last for ever.  Thou must learn to take things as thou find'st them, Ruth, and not repine and worry when disappointment comes athwa't thee.  The wind that's dead ahead to-day may be free to-morrow; for what saith the verse —

      Here the conversation ceased.  It was one of those short, pithy lessons, easy of application and abiding in the memory, with which the fathers of the Friendly Faith were wont to school their children.  It is thus they regulate by degrees the outbreakings of the restless spirit in youth, and teach them to be passionless and long-suffering in years of maturity.

      Jethro Coffin, however, though an exemplary man abroad, and stiff and straight as a handspike before the eyes of the world, was by no means severe in his household.  Turning his eyes from the gloomy prospect without, and from the equally overcast countenance of his cherished and only daughter, they rested affectionately on the matronly form, and sedate, though majestic features of Miriam.  His mind involuntarily reverted to the days of their youth, when, with a fervour incident to the first impressions of love, he passionately admired her.  He remembered when, like his daughter now fast approaching woman's estate, they had set their hearts upon the junkettings and merry times of the shearing, and with what pride he harnessed his sleek but well broken colt to his calesche, or little pleasure cart, and traversed the common, or peered into the tents of the victuallers, or vexed, by undue familiarities, the few Indian families whose dwellings skirted the confines of the common, upon that beautiful water sheet, Miacomet; — and how he drove, with censurable speed through the sands, to the Ultima Thule of fashionable drives — even unto the little fishing village of Siasconset, some seven miles distant from Sherburne; accompanied by the spirited and joyous Miriam, who in after years became his wedded wife.  In this way, as his mind ran over the scenes of his youthful heyday, the waywardness of Ruth was soon forgotten or forgiven.  His countenance gradually reassumed its accustomed placidity; but he twirled his thumbs again as the transition of his thoughts conjured up more serious subjects for contemplation.

      "Tush!" exclaimed Jethro, communing with himself, while a chilly sensation fell upon his heart, and he wiped away the cold drops from his brow: — "Tush! — why should I fear: — the Leviathan is a good ship, and a stout one to boot — Seth Macy is an able commander — always on the lookout — vigilant, active, and nervy.  His people jump like crickets when he gives the word; and if skill will avail aught, the property and the people will be preserved: — a valuable cargo beneath deck, if report speak truly: — seven-and-twenty hundred barrels of sperm are worth the toil of three years.  Let me reckon: — twenty-seven hundred barrels of thirty gallons each — pshaw I am quite forgetting the boy Isaac.  After all, I do believe it is the thought of the lad that overcomes me.  His safety is dear to me indeed; bone of my bone — flesh of my flesh — it would surely be unnatural not to care for one who derives his existence from me.  He must be a stout boy by this time, and turned of fourteen.  The lad had a strong desire to go to sea, and I instructed Seth to put him before the mast, and make a sailor of him; — but what if he should have transferred him to the Sea-Horse?  Well, and what then?  She is a smaller vessel than the Leviathan to be sure; a trifle short of two hundred and fifty tons; — but what of that?  She has a large tonnage as vessels go nowadays; and Jonathan Coleman, a light-hearted, honest fellow, will keep the deck as long as the planks stick together.  But the Leviathan is the better sea-boat, and rides the waves without labouring.  She measures three hundred tons, carpenter's measurement, and was thought a famous ship;  — in fact, when despatched upon her first voyage, she was the largest whaleman known in these parts; and I remember, as though it was but a thing of yesterday, what an object of curiosity she was while on the stocks, and how at her launching a multitude of people attended; and how handsomely she slid off into her element — diving deep with her stern, and lighting up like a waterfowl as her bow made the plunge from the ways!  We build ships larger now; for one generation always grows wiser by the experience of that which precedes it.  The vessel which I expect in a few days from New-Bedford will surprise our nautical men.  Four hundred tons — sharp at the bows below the waterline — bold above water — flush deck — clean counter — salted on the stocks — fastened and bolted with copper, and coppered to the bends: — verily she hath cost me a mint of money, and should be a capital craft.  I wonder what Macy will say to her? He is particular in such matters, and people do say a little old-maidish.  No matter; he shall command her.  There is Jonathan Coleman, too — a queer fish — I misdoubt he will utter some jibe at her model; but I have good reasons for every thing new in her construction, and am pretty certain, though with much contention with the stiffnecked builders, of having a ship at last after my own heart."

      It was after this fashion that Jethro's thinking ran from one subject to another.  A great man has said that the step is but a short one from the sublime to the ridiculous. Another of less pretension has declared that the thickest darkness of the night immediately precedes the dawn of day.  Certain it is, that the grave and the gay are apt to go hand and hand with each other, even as a tall man will sometimes select a short female for his companion; far —

      Jethro Coffin was by no means an exception, in the composition of his temperament, from these general rules. He had forgotten the storm, and the ships at sea, and all on board; and the new ship of four hundred tons, "coppered and copper fastened," was now uppermost in his mind.  The only difficulty remaining was to find a name for her, and sorely it did puzzle him to hit upon a good one.

      "Let me think," said he, pursuing the present train of his thoughts; "what shall her name be?  It is meet that it should be characteristic, and like unto her destined calling.  There's the Leviathan and the Sea-Horse for the two ships — Industry and Hope for the brigs — Periwinkle, Nautilus, and Miriam, for the small craft.  The 'Sea-Lion,' or the 'Sea-Elephant,' would sound well enough for the new comer — but then already I have the 'Sea-Horse,' and the repetition of the word 'Sea' would lead neighbours to imagine my invention rather barren.  Hercules — that's good, and betokens strength; but it's Heathenish, and I may not, even in the naming of my ship, offend the tender consciences of the brethren.  The 'Thunderer' sounds well — but it won't do — it's Pagan.  'King Philip' or 'Anawan' might answer upon a pinch, but such titles savour of man-worship.  'The Grampus' — yea, that's it — I have hit it at last!  Grampus — Grampus, ay, that will do.  Her name is decided on.  It shall be the Grampus, and her commander shall be Seth Macy.  Jonathan may take the Leviathan for the next voyage; and Seth's mate, Nahum Bunker, shall command the Sea-Horse.  The other vessels shall go as they are: Jerudathan Starbuck in the Hope; Pelatiah Gardner in the Industry; Joshua Jenkins in the Periwinkle; John Folger (rather a dull sailor) in the Nautilus, and Jeremiah Bernard in the little Miriam; — a smart, handy craft that of Barnard's — spins round like a top, and sails in the wind's eye, when moved thereto by the helm."

      These important particulars, in regard to the ships and smaller vessels, being happily disposed of, Jethro sat awhile gazing vacantly at the red blaze upon the hearth; but presently his thumbs began slowly to revolve again, and he cogitated once more.  A rupture between the mother country, as Great Britain was familiarly called, and her refractory, tax-burthened colonies, was beginning to be not only hinted at, but openly discussed by the colonists; and Jethro had lately read, with many misgivings, a powerful and well written pamphlet, which spoke of the absurdity of three millions of freemen running to the seaside, upon every arrival from England, to ask what measure of liberty was meted out to them by their haughty governors and lordly masters on the other side of the Atlantic,^*  He was perplexed as to the course it was proper for him to pursue, in case the colonies or the parent country should push matters to extremities; but he hoped for the best — for he was a man of peace, and eschewed quarrel and contention.  He could not, however, shut his eyes upon the prospect before him, if war should grow out of the rebellious discussions of the colonists.  Should he attempt to side with them, as he was secretly inclined, his property both at sea and on land — his ships and his sheep — would fall an easy prey to the British; and if he continued loyal to the crown, its power could not afford him permanent protection against the saucy cruisers of the Confederacy, which, in all probability, would cover the seas within a month after the commencement of hostilities.  Jethro would fain have determined to maintain an "unarmed neutrality," as it best suited the doctrines of that religious creed in which he had been brought up, and which breathes nothing but peace and good will to man.  But there could scarcely be a neutral flag between belligerents; and his ships must either display the ensign of Old England, or that which the colonists should adopt as their own.  There was, to be sure, no immediate cause for making the choice between them; yet, in looking attentively at the signs of the times, he discovered a lowering political horizon, and the absolute necessity, at no very distant day, of meeting the question, or embracing the alternative —

                  "Under which king, Benzonian?  Speak, or die!"

      It was true, he was exposed to the fires of both combatants; and, let him embrace either horn of the dilemma, danger and death might follow.  Nantucket was assailable from every quarter, and alike subject to the violence of invasion from either side, as the inhabitants might determine where to bestow their allegiance, and provoke the vengeance of the rejected party.  The only relief, under this view of the subject was the hope in which Jethro indulged, that both parties would mutually agree to regard the little, sandy, unprotected island, as the contending armies of old did the Wilderness City, — the "Tadmor in the Desert" of Solomon, — and spare it from spoliation, in consideration of the temporary rest and shelter it might afford to the wayworn and weatherbeaten.

      "Mercy on us!"  exclaimed Jethro, suddenly.  A vivid glare of lightning, and a rattling peal of thunder, came simultaneously, and Jethro's dwelling shook to its foundation.  This sudden interruption cut short the thread of his musings, and caused him to start upon his feet with an alacrity altogether unusual to his customary formality of motion, when rising from his easy-chair in the chimney-corner.

      "Mercy on us!"  repeated he, in great consternation: "I trust the house is not struck with lightning — and yet I scent a sulphureous smell — phew! — it almost chokes me.  Wonderful!  see — it has struck the vane and the lights from the beacon — the building is tottering — look, Miriam, look! — there it falls to the ground!"

      "Nay,"  answered Miriam, calmly, "it is the strength of the gale that hath done the mischief: trust me, the lightning hath had no agency in the matter."

      "What say'st thou?"  said Jethro, putting his hand to his nostrils, "thou mistakest, Miriam; the lightning hath surely done the deed, for I smell the abomination of brimstone."

      "The air may be filled with that unsavoury odour,"  replied Miriam,  "and yet no harm be done by the electric fluid."

      "Electric fluid?"  rejoined Jethro; — " ah! — I remember, — thou art a true descendant of Mary Morriel,^* who married the first Folger; and consequently thou'rt near akin to Benny Franklin by the side of the Folgers — and I suppose thou host heard something from him about electricity, and the like, that makes thee so positive —"

      "I spoke of the negative, Jethro,"  retorted Miriam, playing upon the philosophical signification of his last word.  "Thou knowest, or ought to know,"  continued she, "that the glass which surrounded the lights is a non-conductor — and therefore, instead of attracting, it would repel the lightning."

      "That may all be true enough — and, if thou sayest it, I dare say it is so: — but,"  continued her argumentative spouse, who did not relish being beaten even by his wife, — "I recollect, Miriam, when the image of the whale, that swung aloft, and told the direction of the wind, was forged in the shop of neighbor Tinker, the smith; — and the rod upon which it turned was of iron also: now, thou wilt not deny that iron attracts the fluid, as thou call'st it?"

      Miriam Coffin was a woman of sense and perception, and did not deem it worth the trouble to continue an argument in which she saw her husband was determined to triumph; but she intimated, by way of having the last word, — as all women, gentle or simple, will have — that if the destruction of the lighthouse had been accomplished by the lightning, it would have been shivered into splinters, and not fallen over upon its broadside.  The conclusion that the gale had overthrown the light seemed to prevail among the inhabitants, upon a closer inspection of the premises after the storm had subsided; and Miriam's theory was confirmed by the majority.  Now, who will deny that it argued well for the general prevalence of good sense and sound reasoning at Nantucket, that the popular decision, in this important matter, should have been a philosophical one?  The authority of Jethro, touching the agency of the lightning, did not prevail, although he attempted to sustain his position in an argument of great ingenuity, which the lack of printing-presses at Nantucket has prevented us from handing down to posterity.  The people would think for themselves; and they refused to look through Jethro's spectacles.  It is a good republican example to bow to the will of the majority.  But the majority, nevertheless, do not always decide well.  We have seen many instances of crookedness in an American multitude, both in politics and philosophy.  We have every-day examples of blind partisan zeal, which neither investigates cause nor consequence. It must have been after some expression of popular wrongheadedness that Horace exclaimed, in a fit of vexation —

                        "Odi profanum vulgus!"

and that Virgil turned up his magnificent nose at the uninitiated vulgar, in the line —

                  "Procul, o! procal este profani!"

      The old lighthouse upon Brant Point, remembered by few people at this day, was a wooden contrivance of inappreciable ingenuity.  In shape it was like to an inverted leech tub, which is known to bear a considerable similitude to the frustum of a cone.  It rested, without stancheons to secure its permanency, upon spiles or stilts, driven partially into the unstable sands; and the approach to the lights at its top was by a ladder placed on the outside.  Elevated upon perpendicular timbers, it presented not only its sides, but an under surface, to the eddying action of the wind; and the reader will easily conceive the possibility of its taking a lee-lurch, when rudely assailed by a gale of such power as we have described.  Wherefore, as between Miriam and Jethro and their several partisans, — though the point at issue was long contested, and remains "moot" even unto this day, — we do verily believe that Miriam was right in her "assignment of errors," and, ergo, Jethro in the wrong: and we pronounce judgment accordingly.

      It was whispered at the time, with many wise and portentous shakings of the head, — and the allusion to the "coming event casting its shadow before," was remembered long after the signal descent of the iron image, which erst had crowned the unfortunate building, that the glory of Nantucket and its commercial prosperity would depart for a season, as typically exemplified in the upturning of the beacon, and the consequent downfall of the symbol of its trade.  Jethro Coffin and his wife Miriam, though they came of a sailor breed, did not enter into the superstition which prevailed in regard to the prostrate lighthouse: but this great misfortune gave them more immediate uneasiness on another score; for they dreaded the approach of the Leviathan at this particular conjuncture.  There was now no guide to vessels making the island at night, and a dangerous shoal stretched out to sea for many leagues round the island.

      The art of navigating vessels over the pathless ocean had not reached that scientific precision which a later day has supplied.  The admirable chronometer, which gives the longitude to the minute, was not dreamed of; and the brain of the sage, and the crazed skull of the visionary, were cudgelled alike in vain to produce an equable and perpetual motion, which, in all latitudes, should determine the eastings and westings of the navigator, with a certainty equal to that which a well-adjusted quadrant deduces for the latitude from the great luminary of day, whatever may be his declination.  With no sun from which to take an observation, nor star to aid in the projection of a lunar, the unconscious Macy, feeling secure from the very absence of the accustomed night signal, might receive the first intimation of his dangerous proximity to land, by the striking of his ship upon the shoal, and the sudden breaching of the sea over his ill-fated vessel.

      Amidst apprehensions such as these, which must be felt to be appreciated, the family of Jethro Coffin retired to rest at the close of this eventful day: — Jethro and Miriam to uneasy slumbers, and Ruth to dream of the enjoyments of the shearing.  The thunder, which awakened Jethro from his revery in the chimney-corner, was succeeded by a heavy fall of rain, that proved, as the chroniclers declare, "a clearing-up shower."  Before midnight the wind had changed to a favourable quarter, promising good weather.  The thick darkness ceased to canopy the earth, and the stars, one by one, became visible, until the blue vault glowed with brilliants, obscured at intervals by the lessening and departing clouds.

      THE bright streaks along the Eastern horizon at early dawn, and the small fleecy clouds, scattered and scudding over the face of the heavens, indicated that the storm, which had raged with such appalling violence for many days, had passed off, and was about to be succeeded by a glowing sun, and the genial weather of the earliest summer month.

      The sun had not yet risen to dispel the hazy atmosphere, that rested, like a thin mist, on the surface of the sea, when the indistinct figure of a man was seen moving to and fro on the beach, at the side of the island opposite to the town of Sherburne.  The distance from the town to the Southern shore is not great — for Sherburne is deeply embayed in the body of the island; but he who sleeps in the town and finds himself on the Southern beach before sunrise, must have waked with the lark, and travelled with commendable speed.

      At times the man upon the beach stopped and bent his looks earnestly upon the heaving ocean; and then slowly resuming his musing perambulations over the sands, the object of his coming seemed to be forgotten.  In his left hand he carried a short spy-glass, which afterwards, as he looked seaward, he applied occasionally to his eye, and carefully swept the whole range of the horizon.  His right hand grasped a stout hickory walking-cane of great length, curiously carved by the jack-knife of some ever-busy whale-fisherman.  It was wrought into diamonds and ridges, and squares and oblongs, like the war-clubs of the South-sea Island- ers, and surmounted by the head of a grinning sea-lion, with a straight black pin of polished whalebone driven through its ears, and forming a guard to accommodate the gripe of the hand.  This staff was armed at the smaller end with a pointed iron, from the side of which a short grapple turned upwards in the shape of of a well-curved boat-hook.  It is easy to conceive that the sharp iron point was used to render the footing sure in slippery places; but the utility of the hook could not be so easily guessed at.  And how could he manage a walking stick reaching above his ears, and long enough for the tandem whip-stock of a first-rate whiskered Jehu?  We shall see.

      The dress of the lone pedestrian was such as the reader may still occasionally see in the habiliments of an aged Quaker in any part of Europe or America, or wheresoever else the society of the Friends is tolerated.  Like the "last of the cocked hats," it is fast disappearing; and, in almost every other place in America but Nantucket, it may be pronounced rare and ancient.  All travellers agree that whatever is rare and ancient should be faithfully described.  Imprimis: — A drab single-breasted coat, with useless brass or steel buttons, of the size of a half-dollar piece, on the one side, and sham button-holes "to match," worked in worsted or mohair, on the other — meeting at a single point across the breast, and fastened by an invisible hook and eye — collarless, flapless and pocketless — skirts stinted in breadth, but of great longitude, and dangling below the calves of the legs. The chest of the wearer was left uncovered by the coat, but protected by an ample vest — drab in its colour, and buttoned close around the throat — collarless like the upper garment — embracing the body snugly down to the hips, over which depended immensely capacious pockets, covered by huge flaps — a single row of dark brown apple-wood buttons in front, marshalled regularly from the throat to the lower points of the jacket, which were snipped off, or turned under, so as to offer no impediment to the motion of the legs.  As suspenders (a modern invention) were never worn with this dress of antiquity, a portion of the linen of the wearer was visible at the snipping, or at the place where the vest should come in contact with the waistband of the small-clothes in front.  When seated, the deep flaps of the jacket served the purpose of curtains to the chair legs.  The unmentionables, or tight smalls, (long togs or pantaloons, were never seen ashore at Nantucket,) were much the same as those of modern days, and consisted of drab cloth, like the other garments, and were tied or buckled with much precision at the side of the knee.  A pair of homespun stockings for the legs, — blue woollen in winter, and unbleached thread in summer, — a string of a muslin cravat, white as driven snow, tied carefully in folds about the neck, so as to be equally visible behind and before — shirt collarless — knuckle-dabbers, or ruffles, over the hand — drab wool hat of immense dimensions in the brim, — e converso as to the crown, — round and fitting the head closely, and displaying the convexity of the gourd-shell without its handle, the broad brim being looped up to the crown, a la macaroni, or brailed up a la fantail with cords resembling a ship's back-stays — shoes of neats-leather, finished in the grain, and saturated with bee's-wax and tallow to render them pliable, as well as to preserve the feet from wet, and clasped over the instep with tremendous buckles of steel or massive silver, as best suited the means of the wearer — and the costume of the solitary upon the beach, as well the tout ensemble of the once fashionable dress of the grown-up Nantucketers is completed.

      The steps of the nameless stranger were suddenly arrested by the appearance of an ill-defined object, which floated heavily in the water close to the shore — approaching and receding with the surf, but evidently grounding as each successive swell sent it toward the beach.  It came gradually nearer to the land, being buoyed up and impelled forward by the powerful rollers which beat on the shore, and spent themselves in foam and noisy spray, and then rapidly slunk away, but with diminished force and nearly level reaction, leaving the object for some moments visible and almost motionless.

      The man hastily pulled a small cord from his pocket, and rigged a slip-noose at one end. He then cast it over the figurehead of his walking stick, and threw the coil, with the expertness of a sailor, far up the beach. Watching his opportunity, and taking advantage of a receding wave, he dashed into the water, and, in an instant afterwards, the hook of his cane was inserted under the ropes that secured the exterior of the package.  A moment more sufficed him to regain the shore, with the cord trailing in his hand as he retired from the water.  Bracing his feet in the sand, and surging gently upon the line whenever the surf lightened up the package, he drew his burthen to land, until it began to be partially buried in the sands of the undertow, where it was soon left, high and dry, by the receding tide.  It was found, upon investigation, to be a bale of light fancy goods of great value, so thoroughly enveloped in tarred covers that the water had not penetrated within.  Such valuable prizes were not uncommon after a storm, and the early riser was often repaid in this way, for deserting a comfortable bed betimes, and performing a morning's chilly ramble upon the beach.  But the good luck of the islanders was never kept secret; nor the rightful owner, if he could be found, kept in ignorance of the whereabout of his property.  In pursuance of this praiseworthy habit, the package was afterwards advertised in the only newspaper published in the colonies — but no claimant appeared; and the fine dresses of some of the females of Sherburne, in due season, betrayed the fact that the ownership was considered vested in the finder.

      "Good!"  exclaimed the beach-walker, "a very good morning's work, I trow; — but at the expense of some foundered ship, perhaps.  Ah, the dangers of the sea! —— but stop a bit — I'll put my waif upon it, as they do upon the whales at sea, to prevent the lazy louts of the town from claiming it, until I return with a truck to carry it home, where I may examine the windfall or the waterfall more at leisure.  Aha, — here comes an interloper, I dare say!  Had the greedy booby come sooner he would have claimed half the profits of the salvage; — but he will be disappointed, if I do not mistake the virtue of a first discovery."  So saying, the fortunate bale-finder pulled from his fob a little ticket, apparently prepared for such purposes, and fastened it with a string to the bale-rope.  Relieving his hickory cane, which had done him such good service, and hastily coiling up his slender cord, he snatched up his spy-glass and took to the beach again, with his back turned upon the approaching stranger.  He at once resumed his measured step and his musing; feeling perfectly secure that nobody would dare to remove his waif, or question his sole right to the prize he had left half imbedded in the sands, while that little talisman remained upon it.

      The "waif," or target-shaped board, and sometimes a little pennon of bunting, fastened at the end