{"id":"01KG8AKXY8K3TJ8JDDDZV6E9CD","cid":"bafkreic4ytorgczfmdti7glrt4betglr7dy4ypzf5vnqjmsy2rve2ozwam","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":4940,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:14.838Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 2","source_file":"01KG89J1GP71YDJ60P8SRH97MF","start_line":4870,"text":"\r\nAnd did a real queen with a diadem reign over that very land I was\r\nlooking at, with the identical eyes in my own head?—And then I thought\r\nof a grandfather of mine, who had fought against the ancestor of this\r\nqueen at Bunker’s Hill.\r\n\r\nBut, after all, the general effect of these mountains was mortifyingly\r\nlike the general effect of the Kaatskill Mountains on the Hudson River.\r\n\r\nWith a light breeze, we sailed on till next day, when we made Holyhead\r\nand Anglesea. Then it fell almost calm, and what little wind we had,\r\nwas ahead; so we kept tacking to and fro, just gliding through the\r\nwater, and always hovering in sight of a snow-white tower in the\r\ndistance, which might have been a fort, or a light-house. I lost myself\r\nin conjectures as to what sort of people might be tenanting that lonely\r\nedifice, and whether they knew any thing about us.\r\n\r\nThe third day, with a good wind over the taffrail, we arrived so near\r\nour destination, that we took a pilot at dusk.\r\n\r\nHe, and every thing connected with him were very different from our New\r\nYork pilot. In the first place, the pilot boat that brought him was a\r\nplethoric looking sloop-rigged boat, with flat bows, that went wheezing\r\nthrough the water; quite in contrast to the little gull of a schooner,\r\nthat bade us adieu off Sandy Hook. Aboard of her were ten or twelve\r\nother pilots, fellows with shaggy brows, and muffled in shaggy coats,\r\nwho sat grouped together on deck like a fire-side of bears, wintering\r\nin Aroostook. They must have had fine sociable times, though, together;\r\ncruising about the Irish Sea in quest of Liverpool-bound vessels;\r\nsmoking cigars, drinking brandy-and-water, and spinning yarns; till at\r\nlast, one by one, they are all scattered on board of different ships,\r\nand meet again by the side of a blazing sea-coal fire in some Liverpool\r\ntaproom, and prepare for another yachting.\r\n\r\nNow, when this English pilot boarded us, I stared at him as if he had\r\nbeen some wild animal just escaped from the Zoological Gardens; for\r\nhere was a real live Englishman, just from England. Nevertheless, as he\r\nsoon fell to ordering us here and there, and swearing vociferously in a\r\nlanguage quite familiar to me; I began to think him very common-place,\r\nand considerable of a bore after all.\r\n\r\nAfter running till about midnight, we _“hove-to”_ near the mouth of the\r\nMersey; and next morning, before day-break, took the first of the\r\nflood; and with a fair wind, stood into the river; which, at its mouth,\r\nis quite an arm of the sea. Presently, in the misty twilight, we passed\r\nimmense buoys, and caught sight of distant objects on shore, vague and\r\nshadowy shapes, like Ossian’s ghosts.\r\n\r\nAs I stood leaning over the side, and trying to summon up some image of\r\nLiverpool, to see how the reality would answer to my conceit; and while\r\nthe fog, and mist, and gray dawn were investing every thing with a\r\nmysterious interest, I was startled by the doleful, dismal sound of a\r\ngreat bell, whose slow intermitting tolling seemed in unison with the\r\nsolemn roll of the billows. I thought I had never heard so boding a\r\nsound; a sound that seemed to speak of judgment and the resurrection,\r\nlike belfry-mouthed Paul of Tarsus.\r\n\r\nIt was not in the direction of the shore; but seemed to come out of the\r\nvaults of the sea, and out of the mist and fog.\r\n\r\nWho was dead, and what could it be?\r\n\r\nI soon learned from my shipmates, that this was the famous _Bett-Buoy,_\r\nwhich is precisely what its name implies; and tolls fast or slow,\r\naccording to the agitation of the waves. In a calm, it is dumb; in a\r\nmoderate breeze, it tolls gently; but in a gale, it is an alarum like\r\nthe tocsin, warning all mariners to flee. But it seemed fuller of\r\ndirges for the past, than of monitions for the future; and no one can\r\ngive ear to it, without thinking of the sailors who sleep far beneath\r\nit at the bottom of the deep.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 2"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJQSBEW41AMVEGVANV2QC","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1GP71YDJ60P8SRH97MF","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKXY9ZFQXZQXH699TEFWB","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AKXY86D7Q3C01FNX9P04B","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:20.424Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:28.714Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}