Books with author Henry Beston

The seventy-fifth anniversary edition of the classic book about Cape Cod, "written with simplicity, sympathy, and beauty" (New York Herald Tribune)A chronicle of a solitary year spent on a Cape Cod beach, The Outermost House has long been recognized as a classic of American nature writing. Henry Beston had originally planned to spend just two weeks in his seaside home, but was so possessed by the mysterious beauty of his surroundings that he found he "could not go."Instead, he sat down to try and capture in words the wonders of the magical landscape he found himself in thrall to: the migrations of seabirds, the rhythms of the tide, the windblown dunes, and the scatter of stars in the changing summer sky. Beston argued that, "The world today is sick to its thin blood for the lack of elemental things, for fire before the hands, for water, for air, for the dear earth itself underfoot." Seventy-five years after they were first published, Beston's words are more true than ever.

NonfictionLarge Print EditionWritten with simplicity, sympathy, and beauty. New York Herald TribuneIn what is considered to be a classic of American nature writing, The Outermost House chronicles a solitary year spent on a Cape Cod beach. Though Henry Beston had planned to spend only two weeks at the house, he became so entranced by the nature surrounding him that he could not leave. Here we find the migrations of birds, the rhythms of wind, sand and sea, and the changing seasons as Bestons words capture the vividness of nature.

"These tales are memories of several months spent as a special correspondent attached to the forces of the American Navy on foreign service. Many of the little stories are personal experiences, though some are “written up” from the records and others set down after interviews. In writing them, I have not sought the laurels of an official historian, but been content to chronicle the interesting incidents of the daily life as well as the achievements and heroisms of the friends who keep the highways of the sea."This World War I naval classic contains the following chapters:PrefaceI. An Heroic JourneyII. Into the DarkIII. Friend or Foe?IV. Running SubmergedV. The Return of the CaptainsVI. Our SailorsVII. The BaseVIII. The Destroyer and Her ProblemIX. TorpedoedX. The End of a SubmarineXI. “Fishing”XII. AmusementsXIII. StormXIV. On Night PatrolXV. CamouflageXVI. TragedyXVII. Consolidation, Not CooperationXVIII. Machine Against MachineXIX. The Legend of KelleyXX. Sons of the TridentXXI. The FleetXXII. The American SquadronXXIII. To Sea With the FleetXXIV. “Sky Pilots”XXV. In the Wireless RoomXXVI. MarinesXXVII. Ships of the AirXXVIII. The Sailor in LondonXXIX. The Armed GuardXXX. Going AboardXXXI. GrainXXXII. CollisionXXXIII. The Raid by the RiverXXXIV. On Having Been Both a Soldier and a Sailor

A London day of soft and smoky skies darkened every now and then by capricious and intrusive little showers was drawing to a close in a twilight of gold and grey. Our table stood in a bay of plate glass windows over-looking the embankment close by Cleopatra's needle; we watched the little, double-decked tram cars gliding by, the opposing, interthreading streams of pedestrians, and a fleet of coal barges coming up the river solemn as a cloud. Behind us lay, splendid and somewhat theatric, the mottled marble, stiff, white napery, and bright silver of a fashionable dining hall. Only a few guests were at hand. At our little table sat the captain of a submarine who was then in London for a few days on richly merited leave, a distinguished young officer of the "mother ship" accompanying our under water craft, and myself. It is impossible to be long with submarine folk without realizing that they are a people apart, differing from the rest of the Naval personnel even as their vessels differ. A man must have something individual to his character to volunteer for the service, and every officer is a volunteer. An extraordinary power of quick decision, a certain keen, resolute look, a certain carriage; submarine folk are such men as all of us pray to have by our side in any great trial or crisis of our life. Guests began to come by twos and threes, girls in pretty shimmering dresses, young army officers with wound stripes and clumsy limps; a faint murmur of conversation rose, faint and continuous as the murmur of a distant stream. Because I requested him, the captain told me of the crossing of the submarines. It was the epic of an heroic journey. "After each boat had been examined in detail, we began to fill them with supplies for the voyage. The crew spent days manoeuvring cases of condensed milk, cans of butter, meat, and chocolate down the hatchways, food which the boat swallowed up as if she had been a kind of steel stomach. Until we had it all neatly and tightly stowed away, the Z looked like a corner grocery store. Then early one December morning we pulled out of the harbour. It wasn't very cold, merely raw and damp, and it was misty dark. I remember looking at the winter stars riding high just over the meridian. The port behind us was still and dead, but a handful of navy folk had come to one of the wharves to see us off. Yes, there was something of a stir, you know the kind of stir that's made when boats go to sea, shouted orders, the splash of dropped cables, vagrant noises. It didn't take a great time to get under way; we were ready, waiting for the word to go. The flotilla, mother-ship, tugs and all, was out to sea long before the dawn. You would have liked the picture, the immense stretch of the greyish, winter-stricken sea, the little covey of submarines running awash, the grey mother-ship going ahead casually as an excursion steamer into the featureless dawn. The weather was wonderful for two days, a touch of Indian summer on December's ocean, then on the night of the third day we ran into a blow, the worst I ever saw in my life. A storm.... Oh boy!"

NonfictionLarge Print EditionWritten with simplicity, sympathy, and beauty. New York Herald TribuneIn what is considered to be a classic of American nature writing, The Outermost House chronicles a solitary year spent on a Cape Cod beach. Though Henry Beston had planned to spend only two weeks at the house, he became so entranced by the nature surrounding him that he could not leave. Here we find the migrations of birds, the rhythms of wind, sand and sea, and the changing seasons as Bestons words capture the vividness of nature.