On the Death of G. Conrad Mecke [pp. 723-724]

184w.] On the Death of G. Cont'a- Mecke. 723
We now begin to look anxiously for indications
of the land. The higher temperature of the water
shows that we are in the gulf stream, and we have
passed the outer edge which is marked by a line
of drift sea-weed. We are diagonally crossing it,
and steering direct for Cape Henry. The current
buoys us under the lee, while, with a steady breeze
from North-East, we are sailing two points free at
a glorious rate. My messmates insist upon it, that
the Norfolk girls have a tow-rope secured to the
ship, and that they are hauling us in with a speed
proportioned to their impatience. At 11 P. M.
we took a pilot, ninety miles from the land. The
prudent and the phlegmatic, aware that much is to
be done to-morrow, have retired to rest: but the
thoughtless, the sanguine, the lover of home and
the votary of pleasure, are not to be enticed from
the deck.
The night is very different from the one on
which we took our first departure. Far to seaward, the dark surface is relieved by the white
caps of the waves, whose tops curl and break into
sparkling foam: to the East, in the midst of a
bright space, which clearly indicates the line of the
horizon, the moon is slowly rising: and towards
the West and North-West. is a dense bank of
clouds —whose tops, catching the first rays of the
moon, give it the appearance of a dark mountain
capped with snow. In that direction lies the land,
which, by the wise providence of its Maker, receives by night the moisture which its sister-element has by day emitted.
Unfortunately, in the morning watch, the wind
hauled to the Southward, and slackened, and with
it, our speed abated. Those who had retired expecting to be aroused at daylight by the cheerful
cry of " land ho," awoke to disappointment. The
morning is foggy,-" puffing with wind and rain."
Still, though the wind be light, it is favorable, and
with fast increasing impatience we scan the Westernii horizon. Presently a huge figure, shrouded
in mist, is descried sharp upon the lee bow. A
minute more its outlines are distinctly visible, and
forgetful of discipline, the shout of hundreds proclaim it to be the ligbhthouse. As we approached
it, the fog lifted; and the sun casting his dark mantle
aside, shone as through a prismatic curtain upon our
dear, our native land. The magnificent Chesapeake lays before us-its radiant surface dotted
with coasting vessels, close-hauled, or with flowing
sheet, steering for their various destinations. In
delightful rivalry, we strive who can first recognize
each feature of the landscape as presented to the
view by the progress of the ship. By meridian
we were anchored in Hampton Roads.
This, the last morning, broke beautifully. The
day is bright, with the genial rays of an unclouded
sun. The soft winds of Spring are wooing Nature to assume her green and fragrant livery; and
the long dormant vegetation revivified by the heat,
shoots in prolific growth and carpets the earth
with its refreshing verdure. At an early hour we
were again under way, and safely threading the
narrow and intricate channel under shortened sail,
"majestically slow," we passed the town; and responded to the loud cheers of our friends congregated on the wharves, by a salute from our great
guns, whose hoarse and brazen throats made the
welkin roar. We cast anchor a little below the
Navy-Yard, and when the sun dipped beneath the
horizon, the sails were unbent, the running rigging
was unrove; and down the sturdy topmasts, the
shrouds and backstays hung in most admired disorder.
Here ends the cruise of the Amphytrion-and in
the hope one day to tread her deck in battle. as firmly
and successfully as she has borne me through the
perils of the deep, I close my first journal to cull
from that, which, next in the order of time, sueceeds it.
[We hope the writer whose pen does so much honor to
the service, and credit to himself, will continue, though
now absent on a distant cruise, to furnish us with "Extracts." They are ably written, and the incidents are told
in the most agreeable manner.]-Ed. Mess.
ON TIlE DEATH OF G. CONRAD MECKE.
BY ANNA CORA MOWATT.
Hushed is the glee that through these old walls rung!
The sweet laugh stilled-and mute the lisping tongue!
Earth holds one angel less-hath, mourning, given
One seraph more, to swell the choir of Heaven!
Conrad! thou parted Cherub! well I knew,
That not for earth thy peerless tbeiCiuty grew:
Who ever watched thy strange angelic smile,
Nor deemed it but a meteor, sent awhile
To light thy mother's soul —beaming too putre,
Amid a world of anguish to endure?
Who ever marked thine eye of heavenly blue,
Nor thought the skies would claim their kindred hue?
Who. ever bent that full fair brow to press,
And viewed thy more than earthly loveliness,
But, gazing, felt that Death, whose ruthless scythe
Singles the fairest form-the heart most blytheWould never pass that beauteous blossom by,
But send the budding flower to bloom on high?
And thou art gone-and she whose young bI)row wore
A touch of care, it never knew before
Thy head upon her heart wvas pillow'd —she
Who seemed to give her joyousness to thee,
Can never more that mirth, reflected, view
Within thine eyes-and he, thy father too,
From whose full breast the weight would pass away,
When thou, sweet burden! on that bosom lay,
Mourns o'er the joys, that dawning with thy smile,
Have with it fled-can none his grief beguile?
Oh! come, Consoler, Faith! thy t)alsain bring!
Oh! come, with Resignation on thy wing,
Shed thou new radiance round their darkened hearth,
Give to her smileless lip its wonted mirth,
Relume her dark eyes' faded lustre-throw
ReliLion's light around her shadowed brow,
1841.]
On the Death of G. Coi2rad Mecke.
723