parate
them.

It was about this time that I had a view, not of the Flying Dutchman
exactly, but of his ship, while standing on the forecastle early one
morning. There had been a fog during the night, and a portion of the vapor
still hung over the surface of the water. I had remained in that position
but a few moments, when my attention was called by the boatswain's-mate,
who stood near by: 'Look yonder!' said he, pointing with his finger. I
looked in the direction indicated, and lo! there lay the mystic 'Phantom
Ship.' She was only a few yards off; perfectly becalmed, with no more
motion than if painted on canvass, and apparently not over six feet long,
yet perfect in every respect. I was gazing in admiration, with my eyes
rivetted upon the object, when there came a light breath of air, so light
that I could hardly feel it; presently the mist began gradually to rise
and disperse; the ship began to recede; the magic scene was at an end! A
breeze had sprung up, and the phantom-ship proved to be one of the fleet;
and by a signal from the Commodore, she took her station in line with the
other vessels. I never saw any thing like it before nor since. The
atmospheric delusion was astonishing; but it was nothing new to the old
boatswain's-mate. All the other vessels were obscured by the fog, and this
happened to be the nearest to us. Had the others been in sight they might
(or might not) have presented the same appearance. Possibly the position
of that particular ship helped to produce the effect. The sight of so
large a fleet formed in two lines, extending four or five miles, each
convoyed by a man-of-war, like a troop of soldiers led on in single-file
by its officers, was 'beautiful exceedingly;' especially when the rising
or setting sun illuminated their white sails, and a signal-gun from the
Commodore changed their course; every ship in that vast fleet, at the cry
of 'About ship!' moving as by one mind, and gracefully bowing to, and as
it were saluting, the breeze! It was a scene never to be forgotten.

The wind gradually increased until it became a smart breeze, and we soon
neared the Island of St. Helena. Here we first heard of the downfall of
NAPOLEON, the greatest warrior of all ages; one who struck such terror
into the souls of combined Europe, that they dared not let him go free,
and imposed upon Great Britain the honorable task of becoming his jailor;
and her very heart quaked within her bosom while life remained in