In some unused lagoon, some nameless bay,
On sluggish, lonesome waters, anchor’d near the shore,
An old, dismasted, gray and batter’d ship, disabled, done,
After free voyages to all the seas of the earth,
haul’d up at last and hawser’d tight,
Lies rusting, mouldering.
—Walt Whitman, 1888
They were wonderful voyages, Yankee heroes. And now we must repair our wounds and rebuild our ship. The Captain is willing and fit. We expect he will have some new mates. There is lucre aplenty in the owner’s trunk. Next year, we sail again….