Thalatta! Thalatta!
I greet thee, thou ocean eternal!
I give thee ten thousand times greeting,
My whole soul exulting!
—Heine.

It was a splendid winter morning, and Boston harbor, with its shipping, presented a magnificent appearance, lighted up by the rising sun, as the "Oceana" steamed out towards the open sea.

Our three friends stood in the after part of the deck, gazing upon the dear native land they were leaving behind them. The professor waited in respectful attendance upon them.

A little way from the shore the signal gun was fired; the farewell gun! how it brought back to the father's memory that moment of agony when the signal gun of another steamer struck the knell of his parting with his only daughter, and seemed to break his heart!

He was going to Claudia now, but oh! how should he find her? Who could tell?

Still there was hope in the thought that he was going to her, and there was exhilaration in the wide expanse of sparkling waters, in the splendid winter sky, in the fresh sea-breeze, and in the swift motion of the steamer.

His eyes, however, with those of all his party, were fixed upon the beloved receding shore; for so smooth as yet was the motion of the steamer that it did not seem to be so much the "Oceana" that was sailing eastward, as the shore that was receding and dropping down below the western horizon.

They stood watching it until all the prominent objects grew gradually indistinct and became blended in each other; then until the dimly diversified boundary faded into a faint irregular blue line; then until it vanished. Only then they left the deck and went down into the cabin to explore their staterooms.

Ishmael found the professor, who had gone down a few minutes before him, busy unpacking his master's sea trunk, and getting him, as he said:

"Comfortably to housekeeping for the next two weeks."

When Ishmael entered the professor was just in the act of setting up the three books that comprised the sea library, carefully arranging them on a tiny circular shelf in the corner. One of the stateroom stewards who stood watching the "landlubber's" operations sarcastically said:

"How long, friend, do you expect them books to stand there?"

"Until my master takes them down, sir," politely answered the professor.

"Well, now, they'll stand there maybe until we get out among the big waves; when, at the first lurch of the ship, down they'll tumble upon somebody's head."

"'Sufficient unto the day—'" said the professor, persevering in his housekeeping arrangements. All that day there was nothing to threaten the equilibrium of the books. A splendid first day's sail they had. The sky was clear and bright; the sea serene and sparkling; the wind fresh and fair; and the motion of the steamer smooth and swift. Our travelers, despite the care at the bottom of their hearts, enjoyed it immensely. Who, with a remnant of hope remaining to them, can fail to sympathize with the beauty, glory, and rapture of Nature in her best moods?

At dinner they feasted with such good appetites as to call forth a jocose remark from a fellow-passenger who seemed to be an experienced voyager. He proved, in fact, to be a retired sea- captain, who was making this voyage partly for business, partly for pleasure. He was an unusually tall and stout old gentleman, with a stately carriage, a full, red face, and gray hair and beard.

"That is right. Go it while you're well, friends! For in all human probability this is the last comfortable meal you will enjoy for many a day," he said. Those whom he addressed looked up in surprise and smiled in doubt.

The splendid sunny day was followed by a brilliant starlight night, in which all the favorable circumstances of the voyage, so far, continued.

After tea the passengers went on deck to enjoy the beauty of the evening.

"What do you think, Captain Mountz?" inquired a gentleman, "will this fair wind continue long?"

"What the deuce is the wind to me? I'm a passenger," responded the irresponsible retired captain.

They remained on deck enjoying the starlit glory of the sea and sky until a late hour, when, fatigued and sleepy, they went below and sought their berths. To new voyagers there is in the first night at sea something so novel, so wild, so weird, so really unearthly, that few, if any, can sleep. They have left the old, still, safe land far behind, and are out in the dark upon the strange, unstable, perilous sea. It is a new element, a new world, a new life; and the novelty, the restlessness, and even the dangers, have a fascination that charms the imagination and banishes repose. A few voyages cure one of these fancies; but this is how a novice feels.

And thus it was with Ishmael. Fatigued as he was, he lay awake in his berth, soothed by the motion of the vessel and the sound of the sea, until near morning, when at length he fell into a deep sleep. It was destined to be a brief one, however.

Soon every passenger was waked up by the violent rolling and tossing of the ship; the creaking and groaning of the rigging; the howling and shrieking of the wind, and the rising and falling of the waves.

All the brave and active passengers tumbled up out of their berths and dressed quickly, while the timid and indolent cowered under their sheets and waited the issue.

Ishmael was among the first on deck. Day was dawning.

Here all hands were on the alert: the captain swearing his orders as fast as they could be obeyed. One set of men were rapidly taking in sail. Another set were seeing to the life boats. The sea was running mountains high; the ship rolling fearfully; the wind so fierce that Ishmael could scarcely stand.

He saw old Captain Mountz on deck, and appealed to him.

"We are likely to have a heavy gale?"

"Oh, a capful of wind! Only a capful of wind!" contemptuously replied that "old salt," who, by the way, through the whole of the tempestuous voyage could not be induced to acknowledge that they had had a single gale worth noticing.

But the wind increased in violence and the sea arose in wrath, and to battle they went, with their old irreconcilable hatred. And yet, notwithstanding the fury of wind and wave, the sun arose upon a perfectly clear sky.

Ishmael remained on deck watching the fierce warring of the elements until the second breakfast bell rung, when he went below.

Neither Judge Merlin nor Mr. Brudenell was at the breakfast table. In fact there was no one in the saloon, except Captain Mountz and two or three other seasoned old voyagers.

The remainder of the passengers were all dreadfully ill in their berths. The prediction of the old captain was fulfilled in their cases at least; they had eaten the last comfortable meal they could enjoy for many days.

As soon as Ishmael had eaten his breakfast he went below in search of the companions of his voyage.

He found the judge lying flat on his back, with his hands clasping his temples, and praying only to be let alone.

The stateroom steward was standing over him, bullying him with a cup of black tea, which he insisted upon his taking, whether or no.

"If he drinks it, sir, he will have something to throw up; which will be better for him than all this empty retching. And after he has thrown up he will be all right, and be able to get up and eat his breakfast and go on deck," said the man, appealing to Ishmael.

"Ishmael, kick that rascal out of my room, and break his neck and throw him overboard!" cried the judge, in anguish and desperation.

"Friend, don't you know better than to exasperate a seasick man? Leave him to me until he is better," said Ishmael smiling on the well-meaning steward.

"But, sir, if he would drink this tea he would throw up and—"

"Ishmael, will you strangle that diabolical villain and pitch him into the sea?" thundered the judge.

The "diabolical villain" raised his disengaged hand in deprecation and withdrew, carrying the cup of tea in the other.

"And now, Ishmael, take yourself off, and leave me in peace. I hate you! and I loathe the whole human race!"

Ishmael left the stateroom, meditating on the demoralizing nature of seasickness.

He next visited Mr. Brudenell, whom he found in a paroxysm of illness, with another stateroom steward holding the basin for him.

"Ugh! ugh! ugh!" moaned the victim. "This heaving, rising, falling sea! And this reeling, pitching, tossing ship! If it would only stop for one moment! I should be glad of anything that would stop it— even a fire!"

"I am sorry to see you suffering so much, sir! Can I do anything for you?" inquired Ishmael sympathetically.

"Ugh! ugh! ugh! No! Hold the basin for me again, Bob! No, Ishmael, you can do nothing for me! only do go away! I hate anyone to see me in this debasing sickness! for it is debasing, Ishmael! Ugh! the basin, Bob! quick!"

Ishmael backed out in double-quick time.

And next he found his way to the second cabin, to the bedside of the professor.

Apparently Jim Morris had just suffered a very severe paroxysm; for he lay back on his pillow with pale, sharp, sunken features and almost breathless lungs.

"I am sorry to see you so ill, professor," said Ishmael tenderly, laying his hand on the old man's forehead.

"It is nothing, Mr. Ishmael, sir, only a little seasickness, as all the passengers have. I dare say it will soon be over. I am only concerned because I can't come and wait on you," said the professor, speaking faintly, and with a great effort.

"Never mind that, dear old friend. I can wait on myself very well; and on you, too, while you need attention."

"Oh, Mr. Ishmael, sir! You are much too kind; but I shall be all right in a little time, and am so glad you are not sick, too."

"No; I am not sick, Morris. But I am afraid that you have been suffering very much," said Ishmael, as he noticed the old man's pallid countenance.

"Oh, no, Mr. Ishmael! Don't disturb yourself. I shall be better soon. You see, when I was very bad they persuaded me to drink a pint of sea-water, which really made me much worse, though it was all well meant. But now I am better. And I think I will try to get up on deck. Why, law, seasickness aint pleasant, to be sure; but then it is worth while to bear it for the sake of crossing the sea and beholding the other hemisphere," said Jim Morris, trying to smile over his own illness and Ishmael's commiseration.

"God bless you, for a patient, gentle-spirited old man and a true philosopher! When you are able to rise, Morris, I will give you my arm up on deck and have a pallet made for you there, and the fresh air will do you good."

"Thank you, thank you, Mr. Ishmael! It is good to be ill when one is so kindly cared for. Isn't there a gale, sir?"

"Yes, Morris, a magnificent one! The old enemies, wind and sea, are in their most heroic moods, and are engaged in a pitched battle. This poor ship, like a neutral power, is suffering somewhat from the assaults of both."

"I think I will go and look on that battlefield," smiled the professor, trying to rise.

Ishmael helped him, and when he was dressed gave him his arm and took him up on deck, at the same time requesting one of the second- cabin stewards to follow with a rug and cushion.

This man, wondering at the affectionate attention paid by the stately young gentleman to his sick servant, followed them up and made the professor a pallet near the wheel-house, on the deck.

When, with the assistance of the steward, Ishmael had made his old retainer comfortable, he placed himself with his shoulders against the back of the wheel-house to steady himself, for the ship was rolling terribly, and he stood gazing forth upon the stormy surface of the sea.

A magnificent scene! The whole ocean, from the central speck on which he stood to the vast, vanishing circle of the horizon, seemed one boundless, boiling caldron. Millions of waves were simultaneously leaping in thunder from the abyss and rearing themselves into blue mountain peaks, capped with white foam, and sparkling in the sunlight for a moment, to be swallowed up in the darkness of the roaring deep the next. A lashing, tossing, heaving, foaming, glancing rise and fall of liquid mountains and valleys, awful, but ravishing, to look on.

Ishmael stood leaning against the wheel-house, with his arms folded and his eyes gazing out at sea. His whole soul was exalted to reverence and worship, and he murmured within himself:

"It is the Lord that commandeth the waters; it is the glorious God that maketh the thunder!

"It is the Lord that ruleth the sea; the voice of the Lord is mighty in operation; the voice of the Lord is a glorious voice!"

As for the professor, he lay propped up at his master's feet, and looking forth upon the mighty war of wind and wave. The sight had subdued him. He was content only to exist and enjoy.