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Chapter 52. The Albatross

South eastward from the Cape, off the distant crozets, a good cruising ground for white

whalemen, a sail loomed ahead. The Gawney, Albatross, by name. As she slowly drew

an eye from my lofty perch at the fore-mastad, I had a good view of that sight so remarkable

to a tibre in the far ocean fisheries, a wailer at sea, and mong absent from home.

As if the waves had been fullers, this craft was bleached like the skeleton of a stranded

walrus. All down her sides, the spectral appearance was traced with long channels of

red and rust. All her spars and her rigging were like the thick branches of trees, firt

over with whorfrost. Only her lower sails were set. A wild sight it was to see her long

bearded bookouts at those three mastheads. They seemed clad in the skins of beasts, so

torn and bepatched the raiment that had survived nearly four years of cruising.

Standing in iron hoops nailed to the mast, they swayed and swung over a fathomless sea,

and though when the ship slowly guided close under our stern, we six men in the air

came so nigh to each other that we might almost have leaped from the mastheads of one

ship to those of the other. Yet those four lorwn looking fishermen, mildly eyeing us as

they passed, said not one word to our own lookouts, while the quarter-deck hale was being

...