Chapter 65 - Page 2

stiffly saluted by touching their caps, though
refraining from any further civilities. At this juncture, it was
a noble sight to behold those fine frigates, with dripping
breast-hooks, all rearing and nodding in concert, and to look
through their tall spars and wilderness of rigging, that seemed
like inextricably-entangled, gigantic cobwebs against the sky.

Toward sundown the ocean pawed its white hoofs to the spur of its
helter-skelter rider, a strong blast from the Eastward, and,
giving three cheers from decks, yards, and tops, we crowded all
sail on St. George and St. Denis.

But it is harder to overtake than outstrip; night fell upon us,
still in the rear--still where the little boat was, which, at the
eleventh hour, according to a Rabbinical tradition, pushed after
the ark of old Noah.

It was a misty, cloudy night; and though at first our look-outs
kept the chase in dim sight, yet at last so thick became the
atmosphere, that no sign of a strange spar was to be seen. But
the worst of it was that, when last discerned, the Frenchman was
broad on our weather-bow, and the Englishman gallantly leading
his van.

The breeze blew fresher and fresher; but, with even our main-
royal set, we dashed along through a cream-coloured ocean of
illuminated foam. White-Jacket was then in the top; and it was
glorious to look down and see our black hull butting the white
sea with its broad bows like a ram.

"We must beat them with such a breeze, dear Jack," said I to our
noble Captain of the Top.

"But the same breeze blows for John Bull, remember," replied
Jack, who, being a Briton, perhaps favoured the Englishman more
than the Neversink.

"But how we boom through the billows!" cried Jack, gazing over
the top-rail; then, flinging forth his arm, recited,

"'Aslope, and gliding on the leeward side,
The bounding vessel cuts the roaring tide.'

Camoens! White-Jacket, Camoens! Did you ever read him? The
Lusiad, I mean? It's the man-of-war epic of the world, my lad.
Give me Gama for a Commodore, say I--Noble Gama! And Mickle,
White-Jacket, did you ever read of him? William Julius Mickle?
Camoens's Translator? A disappointed man though, White-Jacket.
Besides his version of the Lusiad, he wrote many forgotten
things. Did you ever see his ballad of Cumnor Hall?--No?--Why, it
gave Sir Walter Scott the hint of Kenilworth. My father knew
Mickle when he went to sea on board the old Romney man-of-war.
How many great men have been sailors, White-Jacket! They say
Homer himself was once a tar, even as his hero, Ulysses, was both
a sailor and a shipwright. I'll swear Shakspeare was once a
captain of the forecastle. Do you mind the first