The superstitious fancies of men are
always apt to turn upon those objects which concern their daily
occupations. The solitary ship, which, from year to year, came like a
raven in the wilderness, bringing to the inhabitants of a settlement
the comforts of life from the world from which they were cut off, was
apt to be present to their dreams, whether sleeping or waking. The
accidental sight from shore, of a sail gliding along the horizon, in
those, as yet, lonely seas, was apt to be a matter of much talk and
speculation. There is mention made in one of the early New-England
writers, of a ship navigated by witches, with a great horse that stood
by the mainmast. I have met with another story, somewhere, of a ship
that drove on shore, in fair, sunny, tranquil weather, with sails all
set, and a table spread in the cabin, as if to regale a number of
guests, yet not a living being on board. These phantom ships always
sailed in the eye of the wind; or ploughed their way with great
velocity, making the smooth sea foam before their bows, when not a
breath of air was stirring.
Moore has finely wrought up one of these legends of the sea into a
little tale which, within a small compass, contains the very essence
of this species of supernatural fiction.
Pages:
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542