seen one electric storm on the voyage, off the coast
of Madagascar, but it was unlike this one. Here the lightning kept on
longer, and thunderbolts fell in the sea all about. Up to this time I
was bound for New York; but when all was over I rose, made sail, and
hove the sloop round from starboard to port tack, to make for a quiet
harbor to think the matter over; and so, under short sail, she reached
in for the coast of Long Island, while I sat thinking and watching the
lights of coasting-vessels which now began to appear in sight.
Reflections of the voyage so nearly finished stole in upon me now;
many tunes I had hummed again and again came back once more. I found
myself repeating fragments of a hymn often sung by a dear Christian
woman of Fairhaven when I was rebuilding the _Spray_. I was to hear
once more and only once, in profound solemnity, the metaphorical hymn:

By waves and wind I'm tossed and driven.

And again:

But still my little ship outbraves
The blust'ring winds and stormy waves.

After this storm I saw the pilot of the _Pinta_ no more.

The experiences of the voyage of the _Spray_, reaching over three
years, had been to me like reading a book, and one that was more and
more interesting as I turned the pages, till I had come now to the
last page of all, and the one more interesting than any of the rest.

When daylight came I saw that the sea had changed color from dark
green to light. I threw the lead and got soundings in thirteen
fathoms. I made the land soon after, some miles east of Fire Island,
and sailing thence before a pleasant breeze along the coast, made for
Newport. The weather after the furious gale was remarkably fine. The
_Spray_ rounded Montauk Point early in the afternoon; Point Judith was
abeam at dark; she fetched in at Beavertail next. Sailing on, she had
one more danger to pass--Newport harbor was mined. The _Spray_ hugged
the rocks along where neither friend nor foe could come if drawing
much water, and where she would not disturb the guard-ship in the
channel. It was close work, but it was safe enough so long as she
hugged the rocks close, and not the mines. Flitting by a low point
abreast of the guard-ship, the dear old _Dexter_, which I knew well,
some one on board of her sang out, "There goes a craft!" I threw up a
light at once and heard the hail, "_Spray_, ahoy!" It was the voice of
a friend, and I knew that a friend would not fire on the _Spray_. I
eased off the m