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diff --git a/77366-h/77366-h.htm b/77366-h/77366-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..04fde38 --- /dev/null +++ b/77366-h/77366-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5442 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Among the Isles of Shoals | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } + + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} + +.pagenum { + + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} + + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + + +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} + +.illowp30 {width: 30%;} +.illowp40 {width: 40%;} +.illowp80 {width: 80%;} +.illowp90 {width: 90%;} + + +img.drop-cap +{ + float: left; + margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; +} + +p.drop-cap:first-letter +{ + color: transparent; + visibility: hidden; + margin-left: -0.9em; +} + +.upper-case +{ + text-transform: uppercase; +} + +x-ebookmaker-drop + { + display:none; + } + +.x-ebookmaker img.drop-cap + { + display: none; + } + +.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap:first-letter + { + color: inherit; + visibility: visible; + margin-left: 0; + } + + </style> + +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77366 ***</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i003_frontis" style="max-width: 126.5625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i003_frontis.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption class="caption"><p><span class="smcap">White Island, looking Southwest from Appledore.</span></p></figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span></p> + + + + +<h1><i>Among the Isles of Shoals.</i></h1> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By</span> CELIA THAXTER.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i004_title" style="max-width: 10em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i004_title.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + + +<p class="center">“Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine.”</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Tennyson.</span></p> + +<p class="center">BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br> +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br> +The Riverside Press, Cambridge +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + + +<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1873, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & COMPANY</p> + +<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY ROLAND THAXTER</p> + +<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY ROLAND THAXTER AND JOHN THAXTER</p> + +<p class="center">ALL RIGHTS RESERVED +</p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> +</div> + + + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#i003_frontis">White Island, looking Southwest from Appledore</a></td> +<td class="tdr"><i>Frontispiece.</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#i022_18">Trap Dike, Appledore</a></td> +<td class="tdr">Page 18</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#i126_120">White Island</a></td> +<td class="tdr">“ 120</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#i188_180">View from the Southeastern Point of Appledore</a></td> +<td class="tdr">“ 180</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pgs 5-6]</span></p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i008_01" style="max-width: 63.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i008_01.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + +<div class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i008_02.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt=""> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">It</span> is with reluctance that I suffer these +fragmentary and inadequate sketches of +the Isles of Shoals to appear in book +form. Except that some account of the place, +however slight, is so incessantly called for by +people who throng these islands in summer, I +should hardly venture to offer to the public so +imperfect a chronicle, of which the most that +can be said is, that it is, perhaps, better than +nothing.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i008_03" style="max-width: 47.0625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i008_03.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> + + + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="AMONG_THE_ISLES_OF_SHOALS">AMONG THE ISLES OF SHOALS.</h2> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i010_01" style="max-width: 47.0625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i010_01.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> +<br> + +<div class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i010_02.jpg" width="50" height="50" alt=""> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">In</span> +a series of papers published not many +years ago, Herman Melville made the +world acquainted with the “Encantadas,” +or Enchanted Islands, which he describes as +lying directly under the equator, off the coast of +South America, and of which he says: “It is to +be doubted whether any spot of earth can, in desolateness, +furnish a parallel to this group.” But +their dark volcanic crags and melancholy beaches +can hardly seem more desolate than do the low +bleached rocks of the Isles of Shoals to eyes that +behold them for the first time. Very sad they +look, stern, bleak, and unpromising, yet are they +enchanted islands in a better sense of the word +than are the great Galapagos of which Mr. Melville +discourses so delightfully.</p> + +<p>There is a strange charm about them, an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> +indescribable influence in their atmosphere, hardly to be +explained, but universally acknowledged. People +forget the hurry and worry and fret of life after +living there awhile, and, to an imaginative mind, +all things become dreamy as they were to the +lotus-eaters, to whom</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">“The gushing of the wave</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Far, far away did seem to mourn and rave</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">On alien shores.”</span><br> +</p> + +<p>The eternal sound of the sea on every side has +a tendency to wear away the edge of human +thought and perception; sharp outlines become +blurred and softened like a sketch in charcoal; +nothing appeals to the mind with the same distinctness +as on the mainland, amid the rush and +stir of people and things, and the excitements of +social life. This was strikingly illustrated during +the late war, which, while it wrung the heart of +the whole country, and stirred the blood of every +man, woman, and child on the continent, left the +handful of human beings upon these lonely rocks +almost untouched. The echoes of woe and terror +were so faint and far they seemed to lose their +significance among the many-voiced waters they +crossed, and reached at last the indifferent ears they +sought with no more force than a spent wave.</p> + +<p>Nine miles of the Atlantic Ocean intervene<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span> +between these islands and the nearest point of the +coast of New Hampshire; but from this nearest +point the coast-line recedes gradually, in dim and +dimmer distance, to Cape Ann, in Massachusetts, +twenty-one miles away at the southwest, and to +Cape Neddock, in Maine, sixteen miles distant in +the northeast (in clear weather another cape is +faintly distinguishable beyond this), and about one +third of the great horizon is filled by this beautiful, +undulating line of land, which, under the +touch of atmospheric change, is almost as plastic +as the clouds, and wears a new aspect with every +turn of wind and weather.</p> + +<p>Sailing out from Portsmouth Harbor with a fair +wind from the northwest, the Isles of Shoals lie +straight before you, nine miles away,—ill-defined +and cloudy shapes, faintly discernible in the distance. +A word about the origin of this name, +“Isles of Shoals.” They are supposed to have +been so called, not because the ragged reefs run +out beneath the water in all directions, ready to +wreck and destroy, but because of the “shoaling,” +or “schooling,” of fish about them, which, in the +mackerel and herring seasons, is remarkable. As +you approach they separate, and show each its own +peculiar characteristics, and you perceive that +there are six islands if the tide is low; but if it is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span> +high, there are eight, and would be nine, but that +a breakwater connects two of them. Appledore, +called for many years Hog Island, from its rude +resemblance to a hog’s back rising from the water, +when seen from out at sea, is the largest and most +regular in shape. From afar, it looks smoothly +rounded, like a gradually sloping elevation, the +greatest height of which is only seventy-five feet +above high-water mark. A little valley in which +are situated the buildings belonging to the house +of entertainment, which is the only habitation, +divides its four hundred acres into two unequal +portions. Next, almost within a stone’s throw, is +Haley’s Island, or “Smutty-nose,” so christened +by passing sailors, with a grim sense of humor, +from a long black point of rock stretching out to +the southeast, upon which many a ship has laid +her bones. This island is low and flat, and contains +a greater depth of soil than the others. At +low tide, Cedar and Malaga are both connected +with it,—the latter permanently by a breakwater,—the +whole comprising about one hundred acres. +Star Island contains one hundred and fifty acres, +and lies a quarter of a mile southwest of Smutty-nose. +Toward its northern end are clustered the +houses of the little village of Gosport, with a tiny +church crowning the highest rock. Not quite a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> +mile southwest from Star, White Island lifts a +lighthouse for a warning. This is the most picturesque +of the group, and forms, with Seavey’s +Island, at low water, a double island, with an area +of some twenty acres. Most westerly lies Londoner’s, +an irregular rock with a bit of beach, upon +which all the shells about the cluster seem to be +thrown. Two miles northeast from Appledore, +Duck Island thrusts out its lurking ledges on all +sides beneath the water, one of them running half +a mile to the northwest. This is the most dangerous +of the islands, and, being the most remote, +is the only one visited to any great degree by the +shy sea-fowl that are nearly banished by civilization. +Yet even now, at low tide, those long black +ledges are often whitened by the dazzling plumage +of gulls whose exquisite and stainless purity rivals +the new-fallen snow. The ledges run toward the +west and north; but at the east and south the +shore is bolder, and Shag and Mingo Rocks, where, +during or after storms, the sea breaks with magnificent +effect, lie isolated by a narrow channel +from the main granite fragment. A very round +rock west of Londoner’s, perversely called “Square,” +and Anderson’s Rock, off the southeast end of +Smutty-nose, complete the catalogue.</p> + +<p>Smutty-nose and Appledore are almost united<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> +by a reef, bare at low tide, though a large vessel +can pass between them even then. Off the landing +at White Island the Devil’s Rock rolls an incessant +breaker, and makes an attempt to reach +the shore perilous in any but the serenest weather. +Between Londoner’s and Star is another, hardly +bare at low tide; a perpetual danger, for it lies +directly in the path of most of the sailing vessels, +and many a schooner has been “brought up all +standing” by this unexpected obstacle. Another +rock, about four miles east of Appledore, rejoices +in the significant title of the “Old Harry.” Old +Harry is deeply sunk beneath the surface, and +never betrays himself except in great storms, when +an awful white spray rises afar off, and the Shoalers +know how tremendous are the breakers that +send it skyward.</p> + +<p>The names of the towns, Appledore, Gosport, +and, along the coast, Portsmouth, Newcastle, Rye, +Ipswich, Portland, Bangor, Newbury, Amesbury, +Salisbury, and many more, are all borrowed from +towns on, or not far from, the coasts of England +and Wales, as may be seen from the maps of those +countries. Salisbury Beach fronts our islands. +Amesbury lies farther inland, but the gentle outline +of Po Hill, in that town, is the last eminence +of any importance on the southern end of the +coast line.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span></p> + +<p>The dividing line between Maine and New +Hampshire passes through the group, giving Appledore, +Smutty-nose, and Duck Islands to Maine, and +the rest to New Hampshire; but their allegiance to +either is a matter of small importance, the few +inhabitants troubling themselves but little about +what State they belong to. Till within a few +years no taxes were required of them, and they +enjoyed immunity from this and various other +earthly ills as completely as the gulls and loons +that shared their dwelling-place.</p> + +<p>Swept by every wind that blows, and beaten +by the bitter brine for unknown ages, well may +the Isles of Shoals be barren, bleak, and bare. At +first sight nothing can be more rough and inhospitable +than they appear. The incessant influences +of wind and sun, rain, snow, frost, and spray, have +so bleached the tops of the rocks, that they look +hoary as if with age, though in the summer-time +a gracious greenness of vegetation breaks here and +there the stern outlines, and softens somewhat +their rugged aspect. Yet so forbidding are their +shores, it seems scarcely worth while to land upon +them,—mere heaps of tumbling granite in the +wide and lonely sea,—when all the smiling, “sapphire-spangled +marriage-ring of the land” lies +ready to woo the voyager back again, and welcome<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> +his returning prow with pleasant sights and sounds +and scents that the wild wastes of water never +know. But to the human creature who has eyes +that will see and ears that will hear, nature appeals +with such a novel charm, that the luxurious +beauty of the land is half forgotten before one is +aware. Its sweet gardens, full of color and perfume, +its rich woods and softly swelling hills, its +placid waters, and fields and flowery meadows, are +no longer dear and desirable; for the wonderful +sound of the sea dulls the memory of all past impressions, +and seems to fulfil and satisfy all present +needs. Landing for the first time, the stranger is +struck only by the sadness of the place,—the vast +loneliness; for there are not even trees to whisper +with familiar voices,—nothing but sky and sea +and rocks. But the very wildness and desolation +reveal a strange beauty to him. Let him wait till +evening comes,</p> + +<p class="center"> +“With sunset purple soothing all the waste,”<br> +</p> + +<p>and he will find himself slowly succumbing to the +subtile charm of that sea atmosphere. He sleeps +with all the waves of the Atlantic murmuring in +his ears, and wakes to the freshness of a summer +morning; and it seems as if morning were made for +the first time. For the world is like a new-blown<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> +rose, and in the heart of it he stands, with only +the caressing music of the water to break the utter +silence, unless, perhaps, a song-sparrow pours out +its blissful warble like an embodied joy. The sea +is rosy, and the sky; the line of land is radiant; +the scattered sails glow with the delicious color +that touches so tenderly the bare, bleak rocks. +These are lovelier than sky or sea or distant sails, +or graceful gulls’ wings reddened with the dawn; +nothing takes color so beautifully as the bleached +granite; the shadows are delicate, and the fine, +hard outlines are glorified and softened beneath +the fresh first blush of sunrise. All things are +speckless and spotless; there is no dust, no noise, +nothing but peace in the sweet air and on the +quiet sea. The day goes on; the rose changes to +mellow gold, the gold to clear, white daylight, and +the sea is sparkling again. A breeze ripples the +surface, and wherever it touches the color deepens. +A seine-boat passes, with the tawny net heaped in +the stern, and the scarlet shirts of the rowers brilliant +against the blue. Pleasantly their voices +come across the water, breaking the stillness. The +fishing-boats steal to and fro, silent, with glittering +sails; the gulls wheel lazily; the far-off coasters +glide rapidly along the horizon; the mirage steals +down the coast-line, and seems to remove it leagues<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span> +away. And what if it were to slip down the +slope of the world and disappear entirely? You +think, in a half-dream, you would not care. Many +troubles, cares, perplexities, vexations, lurk behind +that far, faint line for you. Why should you be +bothered any more?</p> + +<p class="center"> +“Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,<br> +And in a little while our lips are dumb.”<br> +</p> + +<p>And so the waves, with their lulling murmur, do +their work, and you are soothed into repose and +transient forgetfulness.</p> + +<p>The natives, or persons who have been brought +up here, find it almost as difficult to tear themselves +away from the islands as do the Swiss to +leave their mountains. From a civilized race’s +point of view, this is a curious instance of human +perversity, since it is not good for men to live their +whole lives through in such remote and solitary +places. Nobody hears of people dying of homesickness +for New York, or Albany, or Maine, or +California, or any place on the broad continent; +but to wild and lonely spots like these isles humanity +clings with an intense and abiding affection. +No other place is able to furnish the inhabitants +of the Shoals with sufficient air for their capacious +lungs; there is never scope enough elsewhere;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> +there is no horizon; they must have sea-room. +On shore it is to them as if all the trees and houses +crowded against the windows to suffocation; and I +know a youth who, when at the age of thirteen he +made his first visit to the mainland, descended to +the cellar of the house in which he found himself, +in the not over-populous city of Portsmouth, and +spent the few hours of his stay sitting dejectedly +upon a wood-pile, in mute protest against the condition +of things in general, and the pressure of +human society in particular.</p> + +<p>Each island has its peculiar characteristics, as I +said before, and no two are alike, though all are of +the same coarse granite, mixed with masses and +seams of quartz and feldspar and gneiss and mica-slate, +and interspersed with dikes of trap running +in all directions. Upon Appledore, for the most +part, the trap runs from north to south, while +the veins of quartz and feldspar run from east to +west. Sometimes the narrow white quartz veins +intersect the dark trap, in parallel lines, now wavering, +and now perfectly straight, and showing a +surface like that of some vast piece of inlaid work. +Each island presents its boldest shore to the east, +to breast the whole force of the great Atlantic, +which every year assails the iron cliffs and headlands +with the same ponderous fury, yet leaves<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> +upon them so little trace of its immense power,—though +at White Island, on the top of a precipitous +rock called “The Head,” which is nearly fifty +feet high, lies a bowlder weighing fifteen tons, +tossed there from below by the breakers. The +shores are seldom very bold, but on the east they +are often very striking with their rifts and chasms, +and roughly piled gorges, and square quarries of +stone, and stairways cut as if by human hands. +The trap rock, softer than the granite, is worn +away in many places, leaving bare perpendicular +walls fifteen or twenty feet high. The largest trap +dike upon Appledore runs across the island from +northeast to southwest, disappears in the sea, and +reappears upon Smutty-nose, a quarter of a mile +distant in a straight line. In some places, the geologist +will tell you, certain deep scratches in the +solid rock mean that here the glacier ground its +way across in the world’s earlier ages. Frequently +the trap rock is honeycombed in a curious fashion,—filled +with small holes on the surface, as if drops +of water falling for years in the same spots had +worn these smooth round hollows. This always +happens close to the water, and only in the trap +rock, and looks as if it might be the result of the +flying spray which, in winter and toward spring, +when the northwest gales blow sometimes for three +weeks steadily day and night, beats continually +upon the shore.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp90" id="i022_18" style="max-width: 88.0625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i022_18.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption class="caption"><p><span class="smcap">Trap Dike, Appledore.</span></p></figcaption> +</figure> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> + +<p>The coast-line varies, of course, with high or +low tide. At low water the shores are much more +forbidding than at high tide, for a broad band of +dark sea-weed girdles each island, and gives a sullen +aspect to the whole group. But in calm days, +when the moon is full and the tides are so low +that it sometimes seems as if the sea were being +drained away on purpose to show to eager eyes +what lies beneath the lowest ebb, banks of golden green +and brown moss thickly clustered on the +moist ledges are exposed, and the water is cut +by the ruffled edges of the kelps that grow in +brown and shining forests on every side. At sunrise +or sunset the effect of the long rays slanting +across these masses of rich color is very beautiful. +But at high tide the shores are most charming; +every little cove and inlet is filled with the music +of the waves, and their life, light, color, and sparkle. +Who shall describe that wonderful noise of +the sea among the rocks, to me the most suggestive +of all the sounds in nature? Each island, +every isolated rock, has its own peculiar rote, and +ears made delicate by listening, in great and frequent +peril, can distinguish the bearings of each +in a dense fog. The threatening speech of Duck<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> +Island’s ledges, the swing of the wave over Halfway +Rock, the touch of the ripples on the beach +at Londoner’s, the long and lazy breaker that is +forever rolling below the lighthouse at White +Island,—all are familiar and distinct, and indicate +to the islander his whereabouts almost as clearly +as if the sun shone brightly and no shrouding +mist were striving to mock and to mislead him.</p> + +<p>There are no beaches of any considerable size +along the circle of these shores, and except in two +narrow fissures, one on Malaga and one on Star, +only a few feet wide at their widest, there is no +fine, clean sand, such as lies sparkling on the coast +at Rye, opposite, and shows, faintly glimmering, +white in the far distance. The dock at Smutty-nose +is filled with coarse sand and mud, like the +little basin of the “Upper Cove” on Appledore; +and the largest beach on Star, of the same character, +is covered with a stratum of fish-bones several +feet deep,—by no means a pleasantly fragrant +pavement. Roughly rounded pebbles, not beautiful +with warmth of color like those on the Cohasset +beaches, but a cold, hard combination of gray granite +and dark trap, are heaped in the coves. Indian +arrowheads of jasper and flint have been +found among them. Now and then a smoother +bit consists of a coarse gravel, which, if you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> +examine, you will find to be principally composed of +shells ground fine by the waves, a fascinating mixture +of blue and purple mussels, lined with the +rainbow tints of mother-of-pearl, and fragments of +golden and ruddy snail-shells, and striped and colored +cockles; with here and there a piece of transparent +quartz, white or rosy, or of opaque feldspar, +faintly straw-colored, or of dull-purple porphyry +stone, all clean and moist with the odorous brine. +Upon Appledore and the little islets undevastated +by civilization these tiny coves are the most delightful +places in the world, lovely with their fringe +of weeds, thistles, and mullein-stalks drawn clearly +against the sky at the upper edge of the slope, +and below, their mosaic of stone and shell and +sea-wrack, tangles of kelp and driftwood,—a mass +of warm neutral tints,—with brown, green, and +crimson mosses, and a few golden snail-shells lying +on the many-tinted gravel, where the indolent +ripples lapse in delicious murmurs. There are few +shells more delicate than the variegated snails and +cockles and stout whelks that sparsely strew the +beaches, but these few are exceedingly beautiful, +and more precious from their rarity. Two kinds +of pure white spiral shells, not quite an inch long, +are occasionally found, and cause one to wonder +how they can be rolled together with the heavy +pebbles by the breakers and not be annihilated.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p> + +<p>After the dark blue mussel-shells have lain long +on shore in sun and rain, they take a curious satin +sheen, lovely to behold, and the larger kind, shedding +their coat of brown varnish, are colored like +the eastern sky in clear winter sunsets, a rosy purple, +with pearly linings streaked with iridescent +hues. The driftwood is always full of suggestions:—a +broken oar; a bit of spar with a ragged end +of rope-yarn attached; a section of a mast hurriedly +chopped, telling of a tragedy too well known +on the awful sea; a water-worn buoy, or flakes +of rich brown bark, which have been peacefully +floated down the rivers of Maine and out on the +wide sea, to land at last here and gladden firesides +so remote from the deep green wood where they +grew; pine-cones, with their spicy fragrance yet +lingering about them; apples, green spruce twigs, +a shingle, with some carpenter’s half-obliterated +calculations pencilled upon it; a child’s roughly +carved boat; drowned butterflies, beetles, birds; +dead boughs of ragged fir-trees completely draped +with the long, shining ribbon-grass that grows in +brackish water near river mouths. The last, after +lying awhile in the wind and sun, present a weird +appearance, for the narrow ribbons are dried and +bleached as white as chalk, and shiver and shudder +with every wind that blows. It used to be a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span> +great delight to hold such a bough aloft, and watch +all the long, delicate pennons and streamers fly +trembling out on the breeze. Beyond high-water +mark all things in the course of time take a uniform +gray color from the weather; wood, shells, +stones, deposited by some great tide or storm, and +left undisturbed for months, chocolate-colored bark +and yellow shingle and gray stone are not to be +distinguished one from another, except by their +shape. Of course all white things grow whiter, +and shells already colorless become as pure as +snow. Sometimes the slabs and blocks of wood +that float ashore have drifted so long that they are +water-logged, and covered with a rich growth of +mosses, barnacles, and wondrous sea-creatures. +Sometimes they are completely riddled by the +pholas, and the hardest shells are pierced smoothly +through and through by these soft worms.</p> + +<p>But as a child I was never without apprehension +when examining the drift, for I feared to find +some too dreadful token of disaster. After the +steamer Bohemian was wrecked (off Halifax, I +think) a few years ago, bales of her costly cargo +of silks and rich stuffs and pieces of the wreck +were strewn along the coast even to Cape Ann; +and upon Rye Beach, among other things, two +boots came on shore. They were not mates, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> +each contained a human foot. That must have +been a grewsome discovery to him who picked them +up.</p> + +<p>There are not many of these quiet coves. In +general a confusion reigns as if an earthquake had +rent and split the coasts, and tumbled the masses +in chaotic heaps. On Appledore and the larger +islands the interior is rather smoother, though nowhere +will you find many rods of plain walking. +Slopes of greenness alternate with the long white +ledges, and here and there are bits of swampy +ground and little valleys where the turf is short, +and the sheep love to browse, and the mushrooms +grow in August and September. There are no +trees except, perhaps, a few balm-of-gilead trees +on Star and a small elm on Appledore, which has +been struggling with the bleakness of the situation +some twenty years. It is very probable that the +islands were wooded many years ago with spruce +and pine perhaps,—a rugged growth. I am certain +that cedars grew there, for I found on the highest +part of Smutty-nose Point, deep down in a crevice +in the rocks, a piece of a root of cedar-wood, which, +though perfectly preserved, bore marks of great +age, being worn as smooth as glass with the raindrops +that had penetrated to its hiding-place. +There are a few bushes, browsed down by the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span> +sheep, with maple, poplar, and birch leaves; and +I have seen the crumbling remains of the stump +of some large tree in the principal gorge or valley +at Appledore. The oldest inhabitants remember +quite an orchard on Smutty-nose. In the following +note (for which I am indebted to Mr. T. B. +Fox) from “Christopher Leavitt’s Voyage into New +England” in the year 1623, it appears that there +were trees, though not of the kind the voyagers +wished to see. He says: “The first place I set my +foot upon in New England was the Isles of +Shoulds. We could see not one good timber tree, +or so much good ground as to make a garden. +Good fishing-place for six ships,” he goes on to say, +“not more for want of good storage rooms. Harbor +indifferent good. No savages at all.” That +was two hundred and forty-six years ago. In the +Rev. Jedediah Morse’s journal of a mission to the +Shoals in August, 1800, he says, referring to the +wretched state of the inhabitants of Star Island at +that time, “All the trees, and the bushes even, +have been consumed, and they have cut up, dried, +and burned many acres of the sward, leaving only +naked rocks where formerly there was the finest +pasturage for cows.” The bushes have never +grown again on Star; but Appledore, wherever +there is soil enough to hold a root, is overgrown<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> +with huckleberry and bayberry bushes, the glossy +green leaves of the latter yielding a wholesome, +aromatic fragrance, which accords well with the +fresh and healthy sea-odors. Blackberry, raspberry, +wild currant, and gooseberry bushes also flourish; +there are clumps of elder and sumach, woodbine +and the poison ivy, shrubs of wild-cherry and +shadbush, and even one little wild apple-tree that +yearly bears a few large, bright blossoms.</p> + +<p>It is curious to note the varieties of plants, wild-flowers, +and grasses on this island alone. There +are six different ferns, and many delicate flowers +bloom in the spring, whose faces it is a continual +surprise to find looking up at you from the rough +ground, among the rocks. Every flower seems +twice as beautiful under these circumstances; and it +is a fact that the salt air and a peculiar richness in +the soil give a luxuriance of growth and a depth of +color not found elsewhere. “Is that willow-weed” +(or whatever it may be)? “I never saw +any so bright!” is a remark often heard from +strangers visiting the islands for the first time. +The pale-pink herb-robert, for instance, blushes +with a tint almost as deep as a damask rose, and +as for the wild-roses, I heard some one say they +were as “bright as red carnations.” In the spring +the anemones are stained with purple and pink<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> +and yellow in a way that makes their sisters of +the mainland seem pallid beside them; and the +violets are wonderful,—the blue ones so large +and dark, and the delicately-veined white ones rich +with creamy fragrance.</p> + +<p>The calyx of the shadbush-flower is dyed with +purple, almost crimson, and the color runs into +the milky whiteness of the petals. The little +pimpernel (when it has anything but salt gravel to +grow in, for it runs fairly into the sea) is clear +vermilion, and the pearly eyebright is violet on +the edges; the shy celandine glows golden in its +shady clefts, and the spotted jewel-weed is as rich +and splendid as a flower in Doctor Rappacini’s famous +garden. Sometimes it is as if the order of +nature were set aside in this spot; for you find the +eyebright and pimpernel and white violets growing +side by side until the frost comes in November; +often October passes with no sign of frost, +and the autumn lingers later than elsewhere. I +have even seen the iris and wild-rose and golden-rod +and aster in blossom together, as if, not having +the example of the world before their eyes, they +followed their own sweet will, and bloomed when +they took the fancy. As for garden flowers, when +you plant them in this soil they fairly run mad +with color. People say, “Do give me some seeds<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> +of these wonderful flowers”; and they sow them +in their gardens on the mainland, and they come +up decorous, commonplace, and pale, like their sisters +in the same soil. The little spot of earth on +which they grow at the island is like a mass of +jewels. Who shall describe the pansies, richly +streaked with burning gold; the dark velvet coreopsis +and the nasturtium; the larkspurs, blue and +brilliant as lapis-lazuli; the “ardent marigolds,” +that flame like mimic suns? The sweet-peas are +of a deep, bright rose-color, and their odor is like +rich wine, too sweet almost to be borne, except +when the pure fragrance of mignonette is added,—such +mignonette as never grows on shore. +Why should the poppies blaze in such imperial +scarlet? What quality is hidden in this thin soil, +which so transfigures all the familiar flowers with +fresh beauty? I have heard it said that it is the +crumbled rock which so enriches the earth, but I +do not know.</p> + +<p>If a flock of sheep and various cows did not +browse over Appledore incessantly, it would be a +little wilderness of wild-flowers in the summer; +they love the soil and climate, and put forth all +their strength and loveliness. And every year or +two a new kind appears, of which the seed has +been brought by some bird, or, perhaps, shaken<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> +out of a bundle of hay. Last summer, for the +first time, I found the purple polygala growing in +a meadowy piece of turf on the south side of the +island. Columbines and the fragrant ground-nut, +helianthus, and various other plants, grow only on +Duck Island; and it is singular that the little potentilla, +which I am told grows elsewhere only on +mountain-sides, is found here on all the islands. +At Smutty-nose alone certain plants of the wicked-looking +henbane (<i>Hyoscyamus niger</i>) flourish, and, +on Londoner’s only, there spreads at the top of +the beach a large sea-lungwort (<i>Mertensia maritima</i>). +At Star the crooked little ways between +the houses are lined with tall plants of the poisonous +hemlock (the <i>Conium</i> that made the death-draught +of Socrates), which flourishes amain, and +is the only green thing out of the small walled enclosures, +except the grass and the burdocks; for +the cows and the children devastate the ground.</p> + +<p>Appledore is altogether the most agreeable in +its aspect of all the islands, being the largest, and +having a greater variety of surface than the rest. +Its southern portion is full of interest, from the +traces of vanished humanity which one beholds at +every step; for the ground in some places is undermined +with ancient graves, and the ruined cellars +of houses wherein men and women lived more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> +than a century ago are scattered here and there +to the number of seventy and more. The men and +women are dust and ashes; but here are the stones +they squared and laid; here are the thresholds +over which so many feet have passed. The pale +green and lilac and golden lichens have overgrown +and effaced all traces of their footsteps on the door-stones; +but here they passed in and out,—old and +young, little feet of children, heavy tramp of stalwart +fishermen, lighter tread of women, painful and +uncertain steps of age. Pleasant it is to think of +the brown and swarthy fisherman, the father, standing +on such a threshold, and with the keen glance +all seafaring men possess sweeping the wide horizon +for signs of fair or foul weather; or the +mother, sitting in the sun on the step, nursing +her baby, perhaps, or mending a net, or spinning,—for +the women here were famous spinners, and +on Star Island yet are women who have not forgotten +the art. Pleasanter still to think of some +slender girl at twilight lingering with reluctant +feet, and wistful eyes that search the dusky sea for +a returning sail whose glimmer is sweeter than +moonlight or starlight to her sight,—lingering +still, though her mother calls within and the dew +falls with the falling night. I love to people these +solitudes again, and think that those who lived<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> +here centuries ago were decent, God-fearing folk, +most of them,—for so tradition says;<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> though +in later years they fell into evil ways, and drank +“fire-water,” and came to grief. And all the pictures +over which I dream are set in this framework +of the sea, that sparkled and sang, or frowned and +threatened, in the ages that are gone as it does +to-day, and will continue to smile and threaten +when we who listen to it and love it and fear it +now are dust and ashes in our turn.</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[A]</a> “The character and habits of the original settlers for industry, +intelligence, and pure morals have acquired for them +great respect in the estimation of posterity.”—<i>Williamson’s +History of Maine.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p>Some of the cellars are double, as if two families +had built together; some are distinctly marked; +in others the stones have partly fallen in; all are +more or less overgrown with lichens, and thick, +short turf creeps everywhere in and about them. +Sometimes garlands of woodbine drape the +walls, and poison-ivy clasps and knots itself about +the rocks; clumps of sweet flowering-elder cluster +in the corners, or graceful, stag-horned sumachs, +or raspberry bushes with ruddy fruit. Wild +spiked thistles spread, and tall mullein-stalks +stand like sentinels on guard over the desolation. +Beautiful it is to see the delicate herb-robert’s rosy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span> +flowers among the rough heaps of rocks, like a +tender afterthought where all is hard and stern.</p> + +<p>It is a part of the religious belief of the Shoalers, +that the ruinous cairn on the summit of Appledore +was built by the famous John Smith and +his men when they discovered the islands in the +year 1614; and I will not be so heretical as to +doubt the fact, though it seems just as likely that +it was set up by fishermen and sailors as a landmark. +At any rate, nobody knows when it was +not there, and it is perfectly safe to imagine any +origin for it. I never could be precisely certain +of the site of the first meeting-house on this island, +“built (of brick) at a very early period, possibly +the first in the province,” says Williamson in +his “History of Maine.” Probably there was no +cellar beneath it, and the slight underpinning has +been scattered and obliterated by time,—a fate +which many of the houses must have shared in like +manner. When man has vanished, Nature strives +to restore her original order of things, and she +smooths away gradually all traces of his work with +the broad hands of her changing seasons. The +men who built the Pyramids felt this; but will not +the world spin long enough to level their masonry +with the desolate sands? Neither is there any +sign of the foundation of that “Academy” to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span> +which “even gentlemen from some of the principal +towns on the sea-coast sent their sons for literary +instruction,”—I quote again from Williamson. +How like a dream it seems, looking now at +these deserted rocks, that so much happened here +in the years that are gone! The connection of +Spain with these islands always had a great fascination +for me; it is curious that the brightest and +gayest of lands, all aglow with sunshine and so +rich with southern beauty, should be in any way +linked with this place, so remote and desolate. +“In 1730, and afterwards, three or four ships used +to load at the Shoals with winter and spring merchantable +fish for Bilboa in Spain.” What wondrous +craft must have navigated these waters,—lazy, +lumbering old ships, with quaintly carved figure-heads, +and high-peaked sterns and prows, and +heavy draperies of weather-beaten sails, picturesque +and charming to behold, and well enough +for the sparkling Mediterranean, but not the sort +of build to battle with the Atlantic breakers, as +several wrecks of vessels caught in the terrible +gales and driven upon the pitiless ledges might +testify! The ship Sagunto, it is said, met her destruction +here as late as the year 1813; and there +are faint echoes of other disasters of the kind, but +the names of other ships have not come down to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> +us. One wrecked on Appledore left only a quantity +of broad silver pieces sprinkled about the +rocks to tell of the calamity. A fisherman from +Star, paddling over in his dory to explore the coves +and chasms for driftwood (for the island was uninhabited +at the time), came suddenly upon the +glittering coins. His amazement was boundless. +After filling his pockets, a sudden terror possessed +him; he began to have a suspicion that something +uncanny lurked at the bottom of such good fortune +(for the superstition of the natives is very +great), and fled home to tell his neighbors, who +came in a body and made short work of the process +of gathering the rest of the treasure. Occasionally, +since that time, coins have been found about +the southeast point, whereon the unknown vessel +struck and was completely destroyed. Of course +Captain Kidd, “as he sailed,” is supposed to have +made the locality one of his many hiding-places. +I remember being awed when a child at the story +of how a certain old black Dinah, an inhabitant +of Portsmouth, came out to Appledore, then entirely +divested of human abodes, and alone, with +only a divining-rod for company, passed several +days and nights wandering over the island, muttering +to herself, with her divining-rod carefully +balanced in her skinny hands. Robert Kidd’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> +buried treasure, if it existed, never signalled from +below to that mystic rod, and the old negress returned +empty-handed; but what a picture she +must have made wandering there in the loneliness, +by sunlight, or moonlight, or starlight, with her +weird figure, her dark face, her garments fluttering +in the wind, and the awful rod in her hand!</p> + +<p>On Star Island, I have been told, a little three-legged +black pot full of gold and silver pieces was +dug up not very many years ago; and it is certainly +true that Mr. Samuel Haley, who lived upon +and owned Smutty-nose, in building a wall, turned +over a large, flat stone beneath which lay four bars +of solid silver. He must have been a fine, energetic +old fellow, that Samuel Haley. With this +treasure, says tradition again, he built, at great +trouble and expense, the sea-wall which connects +Smutty-nose with Malaga, and makes a safe harbor +for distressed mariners in stormy weather. +(This name Malaga, by the way, is a very distinct +token of the Spaniards.) Not only did Haley +build the sea-wall, but he erected salt-works which +“manufactured excellent salt for the curing of +fish,” and stretched a ropewalk over the uneven +ground to the extent of two hundred and seventy +feet, and set up windmills to catch with their +wide wings all the winds that blew, that he might<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> +grind his own corn and wheat, and live as independently +as possible of his fellow-men; for that is one +of the first things a settler on the Isles of Shoals +finds it necessary to learn. He planted a little +orchard where the soil was deepest, and with much +cherishing care contrived to coax his cherry-trees +into abundant fruitfulness, and in every way made +the most of the few advantages of the place. The +old square house which he built upon his island, +and which still stands, had, long ago, a broad +balcony running the whole length of the house +beneath the second-story windows. This being in +a ruinous condition, I never dared venture out +upon it; but a large, square lookout, with a stout +railing, which he built on the top of the house, +remained till within a few years; and I found it a +charming place to linger in on still days, and watch +the sky and the sea and the vessels, and the play +of color over the bright face of the world. Looking +from that airy station years ago, I used to think +how many times he had sat there with his spy-glass, +scanning the horizon and all within it, while +the wind ruffled his gray hair and the sun shone +pleasantly across his calm old face. Many years +of his useful, happy life he lived there, and left +behind him a beloved and honorable name. His +descendants, still living upon Star, are among the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> +best people in the village. A young girl bearing +his name was lately married to one of the +youthful fishermen. Star Island might well be +proud of such a girl, so modest and sweet, and +pretty too, slender and straight, dark-haired, +brown-eyed,—as picturesque a creature as one +would wish to see, with a delicate rose in her +cheek and a clear light of intelligence in her eyes. +Considering her, and remembering this ancient +ancestor of hers, I thought she came honestly by +her gentle, self-reliant expression, and her fine +bearing, full of unconscious dignity and grace. +The old man’s quaint epitaph speaks of his humanity +in “receiving into his enclosure many a +poor, distressed seaman and fisherman in distress +of weather.” “In distress of weather!” One must +live in such a place fully to comprehend the meaning +of the words. It was his custom every night +to put in his bedroom window, over the broad +balcony facing the southeast, a light which +burned all night,—a little act of thoughtfulness +which speaks volumes. I think the lighthouse +could not have been kindled at that time, but I am +not sure. There is much uncertainty with regard +to dates and records of those old times. Mr. +Haley is said to have died in 1811, but I have +always heard that he was living when the Sagunto<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> +was wrecked upon his island, which happened, +according to the Gosport records, in 1813. This +is the entry: “Ship Sagunto stranded on Smotinose +Isle Jany 14<sup>th</sup> 1813 Jany 15<sup>th</sup> one man +found, Jany 16<sup>th</sup> 6 men found 21—7 the Number +of men yet found Belonging to said ship +twelve.” I am inclined to think the writer made +a mistake in his date as well as his spelling and +arithmetic, for it is an accepted tradition that Mr. +Haley found and buried the dead crew of that +ship, and I have always heard it spoken of as a +simple fact. On that stormy January night, runs +the story, he placed the light as usual in his +chamber window, and I dare say prayed in his +good heart that no vessel might be wandering near +this dangerous place, tossed helpless on the raging +sea in the thick darkness and bitter cold and blinding +snow. But that night the great ship Sagunto +drove, crashing, full upon the fatal southeast point, +in sight of the tiny spark that burned peacefully, +unwavering, in that quiet chamber. Her costly +timbers of mahogany and cedar-wood were splintered +on the sharp teeth of those inexorable rocks; +her cargo of dried fruits and nuts and bales of +broadcloth and gold and silver, was tossed about +the shore, and part of her crew were thrown alive +upon it. Some of them saw the light, and crawled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> +toward it benumbed with cold and spent with +fatigue and terror. The roaring of the storm +bore away their faint cries of distress; the old +man slept on quietly, with his family about him, +sheltered, safe; while a stone’s-throw from his +door these sailors strove and agonized to reach +that friendly light. Two of them gained the stone-wall +in front of the house, but their ebbing strength +would not allow them to climb over; they threw +themselves upon it, and perished miserably, with +safety, warmth, and comfort so close at hand! In +the morning, when the tumult was somewhat +hushed, and underneath the sullen sky rolled the +more sullen sea in long, deliberate waves, the old +man looked out in the early light across the waste +of snow, and on the wall lay—something that +broke the familiar outline, though all was smooth +with the pure, soft snow. He must put on coat +and cap, and go and find out what this strange +thing might be. Ah, that was a sight for his pitying +eyes under the cold and leaden light of that +unrelenting morning! He summoned his sons +and his men. Quickly the alarm was given, and +there was confusion and excitement as the islanders, +hurriedly gathering, tried if it were possible +yet to save some life amid the wreck. But it was +too late; every soul was lost. Fourteen bodies<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> +were found at that time, strewn all the way between +the wall and that southeast point where the +vessel had gone to pieces. The following summer +the skeleton of another was discovered among +some bushes near the shore. The imagination +lingers over those poor drowned sailors; strives +to figure what each man was like, what might +have been the musical name of each (for all names +in Spanish should be musical, with a reminiscence +of flute and guitar in them); dwells on the dark-olive +faces and jet-black hair, the graceful foreign +dress,—curious short jackets, perhaps, with bits +of bright embroidery that loving hands had +worked for them, all stained and tarnished by the +brine. No doubt some of them wore about their +necks a cross or amulet, with an image of the +“Blessed Virgin” or the “Son of God,” that so +they might be saved from just such a fate as +this; and maybe some one among these sailor-men +carried against his heart a lock of hair, dark and +lustrous before the washing of the cold waves +dulled the brightness of its beauty. Fourteen +shallow graves were quarried for the unknown +dead in the iron earth, and there they lie, with +him who buried them a little above in the same +grassy slope. Here is his epitaph:—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span></p> + +<p class="center"> +“In memory of Mr. Samuel Haley<br> +Who died in the year 1811<br> +Aged 84<br> +He was a man of great Ingenuity<br> +Industry Honor and Honesty, true to his<br> +Country & A man who did A great<br> +Publik good in Building A<br> +Dock & Receiving into his<br> +Enclosure many a poor<br> +Distressed Seaman & Fisherman<br> +In distress of Weather.”<br> +</p> + +<p>A few steps from their resting-place the low wall +on which the two unfortunates were found frozen +is falling into ruin. The glossy green leaves of +the bayberry-bushes crowd here and there about +it, in odorous ranks on either side, and sweetly +the warm blush of the wild-rose glows against its +cool gray stones. Leaning upon it in summer +afternoons, when the wind is quiet and there steals +up a fragrance and fresh murmur from the incoming +tide, when the slowly mellowing light lies tranquil +over the placid sea, enriching everything it +touches with infinite beauty,—waves and rocks +that kill and destroy, blossoming roses and lonely +graves,—a wistful sadness colors all one’s thoughts. +Afar off the lazy waters sing and smile about that +white point, shimmering in the brilliant atmosphere. +How peaceful it is! How innocent and +unconscious is the whole face of this awful and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> +beautiful nature! But, listening to the blissful +murmur of the tide, one can but think with what +another voice that tide spoke when it ground the +ship to atoms and roared with sullen thunder +about those dying men.</p> + +<p>There is no inscription on the rough boulders at +the head and foot of these graves. A few more +years, and all trace of them will be obliterated. +Already the stones lean this way and that, and +are half buried in the rank grass. Soon will they +be entirely forgotten; the old, old world forgets +so much! And it is sown thick with graves from +pole to pole.</p> + +<p>“These islands bore some of the first footprints +of New-England Christianity and civilization. +They were for a long time the abode of intelligence, +refinement, and virtue, but were afterwards +abandoned to a state of semi-barbarism.” The +first intelligence of the place comes to us from +the year 1614, when John Smith is supposed to +have discovered them. The next date is of the +landing of Christopher Leavitt, in 1623. In 1645, +three brothers, Robert, John, and Richard Cutts, +emigrated from Wales, and on their way to the +continent paused at the Isles of Shoals, and, finding +them so pleasant, made their settlement here. +Williamson mentions particularly Richard Gibson,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> +from Topsham, England, and various other men +from England and Wales. Many people speedily +joined the little colony, which grew yearly more +prosperous. In 1650, the Rev. John Brock came +to live among the islanders, and remained with +them twelve years. All that we hear of this man +is so fine, he is represented as having been so faithful, +zealous, intelligent, and humane, that it is no +wonder the community flourished while he sat at +the helm. It was said of him, “He dwells as near +Heaven as any man upon earth.” Cotton Mather +thus quaintly praises him: “He was a good +<i>grammarian</i>, chiefly in this, that he still <i>spoke the +truth from his heart</i>. He was a good <i>logician</i>, +chiefly in this, that he <i>presented himself unto God +with a reasonable service</i>. He was a good <i>arithmetician</i>, +chiefly in this, that he <i>so numbered his +days as to apply his heart unto wisdom</i>. He was a +good <i>astronomer</i>, chiefly in this, <i>that his conversation +was in Heaven</i>.... So much belonged to +this <i>good man</i>, that so <i>learned a life</i> may well be +judged worthy of being a <i>written one</i>.” After him +came a long procession of the clergy, good, bad, +and indifferent, up to the present time, when +“divine service,” so-called, has seemed a mere +burlesque as it has been often carried on in the +little church at Star.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></p> + +<p>Last summer I was shown a quaint little book +entitled “The Fisherman’s Calling. A brief essay +to Serve the Great Interests of Religion among our +Fishermen. By Cotton Mather, D. D. Boston in +New England. Printed: Sold by T. Green. 1712,” +and I found the following incident connected with +Mr. Brock’s ministry at the Shoals: “To Illustrate +and Demonstrate the Providence of God our Saviour +over the Business of fishermen, I will entertain you +with Two short Modern Histories.” Then follows +an account of some Romish priests upon some isles +belonging to Scotland, who endeavored to draw the +poor fishermen over to popery. The other is this: +“When our Mr. Brock lived on the Isles of Shoals, +he brought the Fishermen into an agreement that +besides the Lord’s Day they would spend one day +of every month together in the worship of the +Glorious Lord. A certain day which by their +Agreement belonged unto the Exercises of Religion +being arrived, they came to Mr. Brock, and asked +him, that they might put by their meeting and go +a Fishing, because they had Lost many Days by the +Foulness of the weather. He, seeing that without +and against his consent they resolved upon doing +what they asked of him, replied, ‘If you will go +away I say unto you, ‘Catch Fish if you can!’ +But as for you that will tarry, and worship our Lord<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> +Jesus Christ this day, I will pray unto Him for +you that you may afterwards take fish till you are +weary.’ Thirty men went away from the meeting +and Five tarried. The thirty that went away from +the meeting with all their Craft could catch but +four Fishes. The Five which tarried went forth +afterwards and <i>they</i> took <i>five Hundred</i>. The Fishermen +were after this Readier to hearken unto the +Voice of their Teacher.”</p> + +<p>If virtue were often its own reward after a fashion +like this, in what a well-conducted world we +should live! Doubtless the reckless islanders +needed the force of all the moral suasion good Mr. +Brock could bring to bear upon them; too much +law and order they could not have; but I like better +this story of the stout old fisherman who in +church so unexpectedly answered his pastor’s +thrilling exhortation, “Supposing, my brethren, +that any of you should be overtaken in the bay +by a northeast storm, your hearts trembling with +fear, and nothing but death before, whither would +your thoughts turn? what would you do?”—with +the instant inspiration of common-sense, “I’d hoist +the foresail and scud away for Squam!”</p> + +<p>The first church on Star was built principally +of timbers from the wrecks of Spanish ships, but +it has been partially burned and rebuilt twice.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> +Various rough characters, given over to hard drinking, +and consequently lawless living, have joined +the colony within the last ten years, and made the +place the scene of continually recurring fires. On +going down to Appledore one spring I was surprised +at the daily and nightly jangling of the dull +bell at Star,—a dissonant sound borne wildly on the +stormy wind to our dwelling. “What is Star Island +ringing for?” I kept asking, and was as often +answered, “O, it’s only Sam Blake setting his house +on fire!”—the object being to obtain the insurance +thereupon.</p> + +<p>On the Massachusetts records there is a paragraph +to the effect that, in the year 1653, Philip +Babb, of Hog Island, was appointed constable for +all the islands of Shoals, Star Island excepted. +To Philip Babb we shall have occasion to refer +again. “In May, 1661,” says Williamson, “being +places of note and great resort, the General Court +incorporated the islands into a town called Appledore, +and invested it with the powers and privileges +of other towns.” There were then about +forty families on Hog Island, but between that +time and the year 1670 these removed to Star Island +and joined the settlement there. This they +were induced to do partly through fear of the Indians, +who frequented Duck Island, and thence<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> +made plundering excursions upon them, carrying +off their women while they were absent fishing, +and doing a variety of harm; but, as it is expressly +stated that people living on the mainland sent +their children to school at Appledore that they +might be safe from the Indians, the statement of +their depredations at the Shoals is perplexing. +Probably the savages camped on Duck to carry on +their craft of porpoise-fishing, which to this day +they still pursue among the islands on the eastern +coast of Maine. Star Island seemed a place of +greater safety; and probably the greater advantages +of landing and the convenience of a wide cove at +the entrance of the village, with a little harbor +wherein the fishing-craft might anchor with some +security, were also inducements. William Pepperell, +a native of Cornwall, England, emigrated +to the place in the year 1676, and lived there upwards +of twenty years, and carried on a large fishery. +“He was the father of Sir William Pepperell, +the most famous man Maine ever produced.” For +more than a century previous to the Revolutionary +War there were at the Shoals from three to six +hundred inhabitants, and the little settlement +flourished steadily. They had their church and +school-house, and a court-house; and the usual +municipal officers were annually chosen, and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> +town records regularly kept. From three to four +thousand quintals of fish were yearly caught and +cured by the islanders; and, beside their trade +with Spain, large quantities of fish were also carried +to Portsmouth, for the West India market. +In 1671 the islands belonged to John Mason and +Sir Ferdinando Gorges. This man always greatly +interested me. He must have been a person of +great force of character, strong, clear-headed, full +of fire and energy. He was appointed governor-general +of New England in 1637. Williamson has +much to say of him: “He and Sir Walter Raleigh, +whose acquaintance was familiar, possessing minds +equally elastic and adventurous, turned their +thoughts at an early period of life towards the +American hemisphere.” And the historian thus +goes on lamenting over him: “Fame and wealth, +so often the idols of superior intellects, were the +prominent objects of this aspiring man. Constant +and sincere in his friendships, he might have had +extensively the estimation of others, had not selfishness +been the centre of all his efforts. His life +and name, though by no means free from blemishes, +have just claims to the grateful recollections +of the Eastern Americans and their posterity.”</p> + +<p>From 1640 to 1775, says a report to the “Society +for Propagating the Gospel among the Indians<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> +and Others in North America,” the church at the +Shoals was in a flourishing condition, and had a +succession of ministers,—Messrs. Hull, Brock, +Belcher, Moody, Tucke, and Shaw, all of whom +were good and faithful men; two, Brock and +Tucke, being men of learning and ability, with +peculiarities of talent and character admirably +fitting them for their work on these islands. Tucke +was the only one who closed his life and ministry +at the Shoals. He was a graduate of Harvard +College of the class of 1723, was ordained at the +Shoals July 20, 1732, and died there August 12, +1773,—his ministry thus covering more than forty +years. His salary in 1771 was paid in merchantable +fish, a quintal to a man, when there were on +the Shoals from ninety to one hundred men, and +a quintal of fish was worth a guinea. His grave +was accidentally discovered in 1800, and the Hon. +Dudley Atkins Tyng, who interested himself most +charitably and indefatigably for the good of these +islands, placed over it a slab of stone, with an inscription +which still remains to tell of the fine +qualities of the man whose dust it covers; but +year by year the raindrops with delicate touches +wear away the deeply cut letters, for the stone +lies horizontal; even now they are scarcely legible, +and soon the words of praise and appreciation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> +will exist only in the memory of a few of the older +inhabitants.</p> + +<p>At the time of Mr. Tucke’s death the prosperity +of the Shoals was at its height. But in less +than thirty years after his death a most woful condition +of things was inaugurated.</p> + +<p>The settlement flourished till the breaking out +of the war, when it was found to be entirely at +the mercy of the English, and obliged to furnish +them with recruits and supplies. The inhabitants +were therefore ordered by the government to quit +the islands; and as their trade was probably +broken up and their property exposed, most of +them complied with the order, and settled in the +neighboring seaport towns, where their descendants +may be found to this day. Some of the people +settled in Salem, and the Mr. White so mysteriously +murdered there many years ago was born at +Appledore. Those who remained, with a few exceptions, +were among the most ignorant and degraded +of the people, and they went rapidly down +into untold depths of misery. “They burned the +meeting-house, and gave themselves up to quarrelling, +profanity, and drunkenness, till they became +almost barbarians”; or, as Mr. Morse expresses it, +“were given up to work all manner of wickedness +with greediness.” In no place of the size has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> +there been a greater absorption of “rum” since +the world was made. Mr. Reuben Moody, a theological +student, lived at the Shoals for a few +months in the year 1822, and his description of +the condition of things at that time is frightful. +He had no place to open a school; one of the islanders +provided him with a room, fire, etc., giving +as a reason for his enthusiastic furtherance of Mr. +Moody’s plans, that his children made such a disturbance +at home that he couldn’t sleep in the +daytime. An extract from Mr. Moody’s journal +affords an idea of the morals of the inhabitants at +this period:—</p> + +<p>“May 1<sup>st</sup>. I yet continue to witness the Heaven-daring +impieties of this people. Yesterday my +heart was shocked at seeing a man about seventy +years of age, as devoid of reason as a maniac, giving +way to his passions; striving to express himself +in more blasphemous language than he had +the ability to utter; and, being unable to express +the malice of his heart in words, he would <i>run at</i> +every one he saw. All was tumult and confusion,—men +and women with tar-brushes, clenched fists, +and stones; one female who had an infant but +eight days old, with a stone in her hand and an +oath on her tongue, threatened to dash out the +brains of her antagonists.... After I arrived<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> +among them some of them dispersed, some led +their wives into the house, others drove them off, +and a calm succeeded.”</p> + +<p>In another part of the journal is an account of +an old man who lived alone and drank forty gallons +of rum in twelve months,—some horrible old Caliban, +no doubt. This hideous madness of drunkenness +was the great trouble at the Shoals; and though +time has modified, it has not eliminated the apparently +hereditary bane whose antidote is not yet +discovered. The misuse of strong drink still proves +a whirlpool more awful than the worst terrors +of the pitiless ocean that hems the islanders in.</p> + +<p>As may be seen from Mr. Moody’s journal, the +clergy had a hard time of it among the heathen +at the Isles of Shoals; but they persevered, and +many brave women at different times have gone +among the people to teach the school and reclaim +the little children from wretchedness and ignorance. +Miss Peabody, of Newburyport, who came +to live with them in 1823, did wonders for them +during the three years of her stay. She taught +the school, visited the families, and on Sundays +read to such audiences as she could collect, took +seven of the poorer female children to live with +her at the parsonage, instructed all who would +learn in the arts of carding, spinning, weaving,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> +knitting, sewing, braiding mats, etc. Truly she +remembered what “Satan finds for idle hands to +do,” and kept all her charges busy and consequently +happy. All honor to her memory! she +was a wise and faithful servant. There is still an +affectionate remembrance of her among the present +inhabitants, whose mothers she helped out of +their degradation into a better life. I saw in one +of the houses, not long ago, a sampler blackened +by age, but carefully preserved in a frame; and +was told that the dead grandmother of the family +had made it when a little girl, under Miss Peabody’s +supervision. In 1835 the Rev. Origen +Smith went to live at Star, and remained perhaps +ten years, doing much good among the people. +He nearly succeeded in banishing the great demoralizer, +liquor, and restored law and order. He +is reverently remembered by the islanders. In +1855 an excellent man by the name of Mason occupied +the post of minister for the islanders, and +from his report to the “Society for Propagating +the Gospel among the Indians and Others in +North America” I make a few extracts. He +says: “The kind of business which the people +pursue, and by which they subsist, affects unfavorably +their habits, physical, social, and religious. +Family discipline is neglected, domestic arrangements<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> +very imperfect, much time, apparently +wasted, is spent in watching for favorable indications +to pursue their calling.... A bad moral +influence is excited by a portion of the transient +visitors to the Shoals during the summer months.” +This is very true. He speaks of the people’s appreciation +of the efforts made in their behalf; and +says that they raised subscriptions among themselves +for lighting the parsonage, and for fuel for +the singing-school (which, by the way, was a most +excellent institution), and mentions their surprising +him by putting into the back kitchen of the parsonage +a barrel of fine flour, a bucket of sugar, a +leg of bacon, etc. “Their deep poverty abounded +unto the riches of their liberality,” he says; and +this little act shows that they were far from being +indifferent or ungrateful. They were really attached +to Mr. Mason, and it is a pity he could not +have remained with them.</p> + +<p>Within the last few years they have been trying +bravely to help themselves, and they persevere +with their annual fair to obtain money to pay the +teacher who saves their little children from utter +ignorance; and many of them show a growing +ambition in fitting up their houses and making +their families more comfortable. Of late, the fires +before referred to, kindled in drunken madness by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> +the islanders themselves, or by the reckless few +who have joined the settlement, have swept away +nearly all the old houses, which have been replaced +by smart new buildings, painted white, +with green blinds, and with modern improvements, +so that yearly the village grows less picturesque,—which +is a charm one can afford to lose, when the +external smartness is indicative of better living +among the people. Twenty years ago Star Island +Cove was charming, with its tumble-down fish-houses, +and ancient cottages with low, shelving +roofs, and porches covered with the golden lichen +that so loves to embroider old weather-worn wood. +Now there is not a vestige of those dilapidated +buildings to be seen; almost everything is white +and square and new; and they have even cleaned +out the cove, and removed the great accumulation +of fish-bones which made the beach so curious.</p> + +<p>The old town records are quaint and interesting, +and the spelling and modes of expression so +peculiar that I have copied a few. Mr. John +Muchamore was the moderator of a meeting called +“March ye 7th day, 1748. By a Legall town +meeting of ye Free holders and Inhabitence of +gosport, dewly quallefide to vote for Tiding men +Collers of fish, Corders of wood. Addition to ye +minister’s sallery Mr John Tucke, 100 lbs old +tenor.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p> + +<p>In 1755, it was “Agred in town meating that +if any person shall spelth [split] any fish above hie +water marck and leave their heads and son bones +[sound-bones] their, shall pay ten lbs new tenor to +the town, and any that is above now their, they +that have them their, shall have them below hie +warter in fortinets time or pay the same.” In +another place “it is agreed at ton meating evry +person that is are kow [has a cow] shall carry +them of at 15 day of may, keep them their til +the 15 day of October or pay 20 shillings lawful +money.” And “if any person that have any hogs, +If they do any damg, hom [whom] they do the +damg to shall keep the hog for sattisfaxeon.”</p> + +<p>The cows seem to have given a great deal of +trouble. Here is one more extract on the subject:—</p> + +<p>“This is a Leagel vot by the ton meeting, that +if any presson or pressons shall leave their Cowks +out after the fifteenth day of May and they do +any Dameg, they shall be taken up and the owner +of the kow shall pay teen shillings old tenor to +the kow constabel and one half he shall have and +the other shall give to the pour of the place.</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap"><span style="margin-left: 6em;">“Mr Dainel Randel</span></span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“<i>Kow Constabel</i>.”</span><br> +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></p> + +<p>“On March 11<sup>th</sup> 1762. A genarel free Voot +past amongst the inhabents that every fall of the +year when Mr Rev<sup>d.</sup> John Tucke has his wood to +Carry home evary men will not com that is abel +to com shall pay forty shillings ould tenor.”</p> + +<p>But the most delightfully preposterous entry is +this:—</p> + +<p>“March 12<sup>th</sup> 1769. A genarel free voot past +amongst the inhabents to cus [cause] tow men to +go to the Rev<sup>d</sup> Mr John Tucke to hear wether he +was willing to take one Quental of fish each man, +or to take the price of Quental in ould tenor +which he answered this that he thought it was +easer to pay the fish than the money which he +consented to taik the fish for the year insuing.”</p> + +<p>“On March ye 25 1771. ”then their was a +meating called and it was <i>gurned</i> until the 23<sup>rd</sup> +day of apirel.</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap"><span style="margin-left: 6em;">“Mr Deeken Willam Muchmore</span></span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“<i>Moderator</i>.”</span><br> +</p> + +<p>Among the “offorsers” of “Gospored” were, +besides “Moderator” and “Town Clarke,” “Seelekt +meen,” “Counstauble,” “Tidon meen” (Tithing-men), +“Coulears of fish,”—“Coulear” meaning, +I suppose, culler, or person appointed to +select fish,—and “Sealers of Whood,” oftener +expressed corders of wood.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span></p> + +<p>In 1845 we read that Asa Caswell was chosen +highway “sovair.”</p> + +<p>Very ancient tradition says that the method of +courtship at the Isles of Shoals was after this +fashion: If a youth fell in love with a maid, he +lay in wait till she passed by, and then pelted +her with stones, after the manner of our friends +of Marblehead; so that if a fair Shoaler found herself +the centre of a volley of missiles, she might +be sure that an ardent admirer was expressing +himself with decision certainly, if not with tact! +If she turned, and exhibited any curiosity as to the +point of the compass whence the bombardment +proceeded, her doubts were dispelled by another +shower; but if she went on her way in maiden +meditation, then was her swain in despair, and life, +as is usual in such cases, became a burden to him.</p> + +<p>Within my remembrance an occasional cabbage-party +made an agreeable variety in the life +of the villagers. I never saw one, but have heard +them described. Instead of regaling the guests +with wine and ices, pork and cabbage were the +principal refreshments offered them; and if the +cabbage came out of the garden of a neighbor, +the spice of wickedness lent zest to the entertainment,—stolen +fruit being always the sweetest.</p> + +<p>It would seem strange that, while they live in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> +so healthy a place, where the atmosphere is absolutely +perfect in its purity, they should have suffered +so much from ill health, and that so many +should have died of consumption,—the very disease +for the cure of which physicians send invalids +hither. The reasons are soon told. The first +and most important is this: that, as nearly as they +could, they have in past years hermetically sealed +their houses, so that the air of heaven should not +penetrate within. An open window, especially at +night, they would have looked upon as madness,—a +temptation of Providence; and during the winter +they have deliberately poisoned themselves with +every breath, like two thirds of the rest of the +world. I have seen a little room containing a +whole family, fishing-boots and all, bed, furniture, +cooking-stove in full blast, and an oil lamp with a +wick so high that the deadly smoke rose steadily, +filling the air with what Browning might call +“filthiest gloom,” and mingling with the incense +of ancient tobacco-pipes smoked by both sexes +(for nearly all the old women used to smoke); +every crack and cranny was stopped; and if, by +any chance, the door opened for an instant, out +rushed a fume in comparison with which the gusts +from the lake of Tartarus might be imagined +sweet. Shut in that deadly air, a part of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> +family slept, sometimes all. What wonder that +their chests were hollow, their faces haggard, and +that apathy settled upon them! Then their food +was hardly selected with reference to health, saleratus +and pork forming two of the principal ingredients +in their daily fare. Within a few years +past they have probably improved in these respects. +Fifteen years ago I was passing a window +one morning, at which a little child two years old +was sitting, tied into a high chair before a table +drawn close to the window, eating his breakfast +alone in his glory. In his stout little fist he +grasped a large iron spoon, and fed himself from +a plate of beans swimming in fat, and with the +pork cut up in squares for his better convenience. +By the side of the plate stood a tin mug of bitter-strong +black coffee sweetened with molasses. I +spoke to his mother within; “Ar’n’t you afraid +such strong coffee will kill your baby?” “O no,” +she answered, and held it to his lips. “There, +drink that,” she said, “that’ll make you hold +your head up!” The poor child died before he +grew to be a man, and all the family have fallen +victims to consumption.</p> + +<p>Very few of the old people are left at the present +time, and the village is very like other fishing-villages +along the coast. Most of the peculiar<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span> +characteristics of the race are lost in the present +generation of young women, who are addicted to +the use of hoops and water-falls, and young men, +who condescend to spoil their good looks by dyeing +their handsome blond beards with the fashionable +mixture which inevitably produces a lustre like +stove-blacking. But there are sensible fellows +among them, fine specimens of the hardy New +England fisherman, Saxon-bearded, broad-shouldered, +deep-chested, and bronzed with shade on +shade of ruddy brown. The neutral blues and +grays of the salt-water make perfect backgrounds +for the pictures these men are continually showing +one in their life about the boats. Nothing can be +more satisfactory than the blendings and contrasts +of color and the picturesque effect of the general +aspect of the natives in their element. The eye +is often struck with the richness of the color +of some rough hand, glowing with mingled red, +brown, and orange, against the gray-blue water, +as it grasps an oar, perhaps, or pulls in a rope. It +is strange that the sun and wind, which give such +fine tints to the complexions of the lords of creation, +should leave such hideous traces on the faces +of women. When they are exposed to the same +salt wind and clear sunshine they take the hue +of dried fish, and become objects for men and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> +angels to weep over. To see a <i>bona fide</i> Shoaler +“sail a boat” (when the craft is a real boat and +no tub) is an experience. The vessel obeys his +hand at the rudder as a trained horse a touch on +the rein, and seems to bow at the flash of his +eye, turning on her heel and running up into the +wind, “luffing” to lean again on the other tack,—obedient, +graceful, perfectly beautiful, yielding to +breeze and to billow, yet swayed throughout by a +stronger and more imperative law. The men become +strongly attached to their boats, which seem +to have a sort of human interest for them,—and +no wonder. They lead a life of the greatest hardship +and exposure, during the winter especially, +setting their trawls fifteen or twenty miles to the +eastward of the islands, drawing them next day if +the stormy winds and waves will permit, and taking +the fish to Portsmouth to sell. It is desperately +hard work, trawling at this season, with the +bitter wind blowing in their teeth, and the flying +spray freezing upon everything it touches,—boats, +masts, sails, decks, clothes completely cased +in ice, and fish frozen solid as soon as taken from +the water. The inborn politeness of these fishermen +to stranger-women is something delightful to +witness. I remember once landing in Portsmouth, +and being obliged to cross three or four schooners<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> +just in (with their freight of frozen fish lying +open-mouthed in a solid mass on deck) to reach +the wharf. No courtly gentlemen could have displayed +more beautiful behavior than did these +rough fellows, all pressing forward, with real grace,—because +the feeling which prompted them was a +true and lofty feeling,—to help me over the tangle +of ropes and sails and anchors to a safe footing on +shore. There is a ledge forty-five miles east of +the islands, called Jeffrey’s Ledge, where the +Shoalers go for spring fishing. During a northeast +storm in May, part of the little fleet came +reeling in before the gale; and, not daring to +trust themselves to beat up into the harbor (a +poor shelter at best), round the rocky reefs and +ledges, the fishermen anchored under the lee of +Appledore, and there rode out the storm. They +were in continual peril; for, had their cables +chafed apart with the shock and strain of the billows +among which they plunged, or had their +anchors dragged (which might have been expected, +the bottom of the sea between the islands and +the mainland being composed of mud, while all +outside is rough and rocky), they would have inevitably +been driven to their destruction on the +opposite coast. It was not pleasant to watch +them as the early twilight shut down over the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> +vast, weltering desolation of the sea, to see the +slender masts waving helplessly from one side to +another,—sometimes almost horizontal, as the +hulls turned heavily this way and that, and the +long breakers rolled in endless succession against +them. They saw the lights in our windows a half-mile +away; and we, in the warm, bright, quiet room, +sitting by a fire that danced and shone, fed with +bits of wreck such as they might scatter on Rye +Beach before morning, could hardly think of anything +else than the misery of those poor fellows, +wet, cold, hungry, sleepless, full of anxiety till +the morning should break and the wind should +lull. No boat could reach them through the terrible +commotion of waves. But they rode through +the night in safety, and the morning brought relief. +One brave little schooner “toughed it out” +on the distant ledge, and her captain told me that +no one could stand on board of her; the pressure +of the wind down on her decks was so great that +she shuddered from stem to stern, and he feared +she would shake to pieces, for she was old and not +very seaworthy. Some of the men had wives and +children watching them from lighted windows at +Star. What a fearful night for them! They could +not tell from hour to hour, through the thick +darkness, if yet the cables held; they could not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> +see till daybreak whether the sea had swallowed +up their treasures. I wonder the wives were not +white-haired when the sun rose, and showed them +those little specks yet rolling in the breakers! +The women are excessively timid about the water, +more so than landswomen. Having the terror and +might of the ocean continually encircling them, +they become more impressed with it and distrust +it, knowing it so well. Very few accidents happen, +however: the islanders are a cautious people. Years +ago, when the white sails of their little fleet of +whale-boats used to flutter out of the sheltered +bight and stand out to the fishing-grounds in the +bay, how many eyes followed them in the early +light, and watched them in the distance through +the day, till, toward sunset, they spread their wings +to fly back with the evening wind! How pathetic +the gathering of women on the headlands, when +out of the sky swept the squall that sent the +small boats staggering before it, and blinded the +eyes, already drowned in tears, with sudden rain +that hid sky and sea and boats from their eager +gaze! What wringing of hands, what despairing +cries, which the wild wind bore away while it +caught and fluttered the homely draperies and +unfastened the locks of maid and mother, to blow +them about their pale faces and anxious eyes!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> +Now no longer the little fleet goes forth; for the +greater part of the islanders have stout schooners, +and go trawling with profit, if not with pleasure. +A few solitaries fish in small dories and earn a +slender livelihood thereby.</p> + +<p>The sea helps these poor people by bringing +fuel to their very doors; the waves continually +deposit driftwood in every fissure of the rocks. +But sad, anxious lives they have led, especially +the women, many of whom have grown old before +their time with hard work and bitter cares, with +hewing of wood and drawing of water, turning of +fish on the flakes to dry in the sun, endless household +work, and the cares of maternity, while their +lords lounged about the rocks in their scarlet +shirts in the sun, or “held up the walls of the +meeting-house,” as one expressed it, with their +brawny shoulders. I never saw such wrecks of +humanity as some of the old women of Star +Island, who have long since gone to their rest. In +my childhood I caught glimpses of them occasionally, +their lean brown shapes crouching over +the fire, with black pipes in their sunken mouths, +and hollow eyes, “of no use now but to gather +brine,” and rough, gray, straggling locks: despoiled +and hopeless visions, it seemed as if youth and joy +would never have been theirs.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p> + + +<p class="center">A WOMAN OF STAR ISLAND.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Isles of Shoals</span>, 1844.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Over the embers she sits,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Close at the edge of the grave,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With her hollow eyes like pits,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And her mouth like a sunken cave.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Her short black pipe held tight</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Her withered lips between,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She rocks in the flickering light</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Her figure bent and lean.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">She turns the fish no more</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That dry on the flakes in the sun;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No wood she drags to the door,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Nor water,—her labor is done.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">She cares not for oath or blow,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">She is past all hope or fear;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There is nothing she cares to know,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">There is nothing hateful or dear.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Deep wrong have the bitter years</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Wrought her, both body and soul.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Life has been seasoned with tears;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">But saw not God the whole?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O wreck in woman’s shape!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Were you ever gracious and sweet?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Did youth’s enchantment drape</div> + <div class="verse indent2">This horror, from head to feet?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Have dewy eyes looked out</div> + <div class="verse indent2">From these hollow pits forlorn?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Played smiles the mouth about</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of shy, still rapture born?</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Yea, once. But long ago</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Has evil ground away</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All beauty. The salt winds blow</div> + <div class="verse indent2">On no sorrier sight to-day.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Trodden utterly out</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Is every spark of hope.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There is only left her, a doubt,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">A gesture, half-conscious, a grope</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">In the awful dark for a Touch</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That never yet failed a soul.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is not God tender to such?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Hath he not seen the whole?</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The local pronunciation of the Shoalers is very +peculiar, and a shrewd sense of humor is one of +their leading characteristics. Could De Quincey +have lived among them, I think he might have +been tempted to write an essay on swearing as a +fine art, for it has reached a pitch hardly short of +sublimity in this favored spot. They seemed to +have a genius for it, and some of them really +devoted their best powers to its cultivation. The +language was taxed to furnish them with prodigious +forms of speech wherewith to express the slightest +emotion of pain, anger, or amusement; and though +the blood of the listener was sometimes chilled in +his veins, overhearing their unhesitating profanity, +the prevailing sentiment was likely to be one of +amazement mingled with intense amusement,—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span> +whole thing was so grotesque and monstrous, +and their choice of words so comical, and generally +so very much to the point.</p> + +<p>The real Shoals phraseology existing in past +years was something not to be described; it is +impossible by any process known to science to +convey an idea of the intonations of their speech, +quite different from Yankee drawl or sailor-talk, +and perfectly unique in itself. Why they should +have called a swallow a “swallick” and a sparrow +a “sparrick” I never could understand; or what +they mean by calling a great gale or tempest a +“Tan toaster.” Anything that ends in <i>y</i> or <i>e</i> they +still pronounce <i>ay</i> with great breadth; for instance, +“Benny” is Bennaye; “Billy” Billay, and so on. +A man by the name of Beebe, the modern “missionary,” +was always spoken of as Beebay, when +he was not called by a less respectful title. Their +sense of fun showed itself in the nicknames with +which they designated any person possessing the +slightest peculiarity. For instance, twenty years +ago a minister of the Methodist persuasion came +to live among them; his wife was unreasonably +tall and thin. With the utmost promptitude and +decision the irreverent christened her “Legs,” and +never spoke of her by any other name. “Laigs +has gone to Portsmouth,” or “Laigs has got a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> +new gown,” etc. A spinster of very dark complexion +was called “Scip,” an abbreviation of +Scipio, a name supposed to appertain particularly +to the colored race. Another was called “Squint,” +because of a defect in the power of vision; and +not only were they spoken of by these names, +but called so to their faces habitually. One man +earned for himself the title of “Brag,” so that +no one ever thought of calling him by his real +name; his wife was Mrs. Brag; and constant use +so robbed these names of their offensiveness that +the bearers not only heard them with equanimity, +but would hardly have known themselves by their +true ones. A most worthy Norwegian took up his +abode for a brief space among them a few years +ago. His name was Ingebertsen. Now, to expect +any Shoaler would trouble himself to utter such +a name as that was beyond all reason. At once +they called him “Carpenter,” apropos of nothing +at all, for he never had been a carpenter. But +the name was the first that occurred to them, and +sufficiently easy of utterance. It was “Carpenter,” +and “Mis’ Carpenter,” and “them Carpenter +children,” and the name still clings to fine old +Ingebertsen and his family. Grandparents are +addressed as Grans and Gwammaye, Grans being +an abbreviation of grandsire. “Tell yer grans<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span> +his dinner’s ready,” calls some woman from a cottage +door. One old man, too lazy almost to live, +was called “Hing”; one of two brothers “Bunker,” +the other “Shothead”; an ancient scold was called +“Zeke,” another “Sir Polly,” and so on indefinitely. +In pleasant weather sometimes the younger +women would paddle from one island to another +“making calls.” If any old “Grans” perceived +them, loafing at his door in the sun, “It’s going +to storm! the women begin to flit!” he would +cry, as if they were a flock of coots. A woman, +describing how slightly her house was put together, +said, “Lor’, ’twan’t never built, ’twas only hove together.” +“I don’ know whe’r or no it’s best or no +to go fishin’ whiles mornin’,” says some rough fellow, +meditating upon the state of winds and waters. +Of his boat another says with pride, “<i>She’s</i> a +pretty piece of wood!” and another, “She strikes +a sea and comes down like a pillow,” describing +her smooth sailing. Some one, relating the way +the civil authorities used to take political matters +into their own hands, said that “if a man didn’t +vote as they wanted him to, they took him and +hove him up agin the meetin’ us,” by way of bringing +him to his senses. Two boys in bitter contention +have been heard calling each other “nasty-faced +chowderheads,” as if the force of language<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> +could no further go. “I’m dryer than a graven +image,” a man says when he is thirsty. But it is +impossible to give an idea of their common speech +leaving out the profanity which makes it so startling.</p> + +<p>Some comical stories are told of the behavior of +officers of the law in certain emergencies. On +one occasion two men attacked each other in the +cove which served as the Plaza, the grand square +of the village, the general lounging-place. A +comrade in a state of excitement ran to inform the +one policeman, who straightway repaired to the +scene of battle. There were the combatants raging +like wild beasts, while the whole community looked +on aghast. What was to be done? Evidently +something, and at once. The policeman looked +about him, considering. As for interfering with +that fearful twain, it was out of the question. +His eye fell upon a poor old man who leaned +against a fish-house enjoying the scene. A happy +thought struck him! He dashed down upon the +ancient and unoffending spectator, and hurled him +to the ground with such force that he broke his +collar-bone. Then, I suppose, he retired, serene +in the proud consciousness of having done his +duty, and of having been fully equal to the occasion.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span></p> + +<p>Two of the chief magistrates of the place had +a deadly feud, entirely personal, which had smouldered +between them for years. One day the +stronger of the two quietly “arrested” the weaker, +tied him hand and foot with ropes, “hove” him +into his whale-boat, and sailed off with him in triumph +to the land. Arrived at the city of Portsmouth, +he conducted him to jail, delivered him +over to the jailer with much satisfaction, crying, +“There! There he is! Take him and lock him +up! He’s a poor pris’ner. Don’t you give him +nothin’ t’ eat!” and returned rejoicing to the bosom +of his family. It being Thanksgiving Day, the +jailer is said to have taken the prisoner at once +into his house, and, instead of locking him up, +gave him, according to his own account, “one of +the best Thanksgiving dinners he ever ate.”</p> + +<p>Nearly all the Shoalers have a singular gait, +contracted from the effort to keep their equilibrium +while standing in boats, and from the unavoidable +gymnastics which any attempt at locomotion +among the rocks renders necessary. Some stiff-jointed +old men have been known to leap wildly +from broad stone to stone on the smooth, flat +pavements of Portsmouth town, finding it out of +the question to walk evenly and decorously along +the straight and easy way. This is no fable.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span> +Such is the force of habit. Most of the men are +more or less round-shouldered, and seldom row +upright, with head erect and shoulders thrown +back. They stoop so much over the fish-tables—cleaning, +splitting, salting, packing—that they +acquire a permanent habit of stooping.</p> + +<p>Twenty years ago, an old man by the name of +Peter was alive on Star Island. He was said to +be a hundred years old; and anything more grisly, +in the shape of humanity, it has never been my +lot to behold; so lean and brown and ancient, +he might have been Methuselah, for no one knew +how long he had lived on this rolling planet. +Years before he died he used to paddle across to +our lighthouse, in placid summer days, and, scanning +him with a child’s curiosity, I wondered +how he kept alive. A few white hairs clung to +his yellow crown, and his pale eyes, “where the +very blue had turned to white,” looked vacantly +and wearily out, as if trying faintly to see the end +of the things of this world. Somebody, probably +old Nabbaye, in whose cottage he lived, always +scoured him with soft soap before he started on +his voyage, and in consequence a most preternatural +shine overspread his blank forehead. His +under jaw had a disagreeably suggestive habit of +dropping, he was so feeble and so old, poor wretch!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> +Yet would he brighten with a faint attempt at a +smile when bread and meat were put into his +hands, and say, over and over again, “Ye’re a +Christian, ma’am; thank ye, ma’am, thank ye,” +thrust all that was given him, no matter what, between +his one upper garment—a checked shirt—and +his bare skin, and then, by way of expressing +his gratitude, would strike up a dolorous quaver +of—</p> + +<p class="center"> +“Over the water and over the lea<br> +And over the water to Charlie,”<br> +</p> + +<p>in a voice as querulous as a Scotch bagpipe.</p> + +<p>Old Nabbaye, and Bennaye, her husband, with +whom Peter lived, were a queer old couple. Nabbaye +had a stubbly and unequal growth of sparse +gray hair upon her chin, which gave her a most +grim and terrible aspect, as I remember her, with +the grizzled locks standing out about her head like +one of the Furies. Yet she was a good enough +old woman, kind to Peter and Bennaye, and kept +her bit of a cottage tidy as might be. I well remember +the grit of the shining sand on her scoured +floor beneath my childish footsteps. The family +climbed at night by a ladder up into a loft, which +their little flock of fowls shared with them, to +sleep. Going by the house one evening, some one +heard Nabbaye call aloud to Bennaye up aloft,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span> +“Come, Bennaye, fetch me down them heens’ +aigs!” To which Bennaye made answer, “I can’t +find no aigs! I’ve looked een the bed and een under +the bed, and I can’t find no aigs!”</p> + +<p>Till Bennaye grew very feeble, every summer +night he paddled abroad in his dory to fish for +hake, and lonely he looked, tossing among the +waves, when our boat bore down and passed him +with a hail which he faintly returned, as we +plunged lightly through the track of the moonlight, +young and happy, rejoicing in the beauty of +the night, while poor Bennaye only counted his +gains in the grisly hake he caught, nor considered +the rubies the lighthouse scattered on the waves, +or how the moon sprinkled down silver before him. +He did not mind the touch of the balmy wind +that blew across his weather-beaten face with the +same sweet greeting that so gladdened us, but +fished and fished, watching his line through the +short summer night, and, when a blush of dawn +stole up in the east among the stars, wound up his +tackle, took his oars, and paddled home to Nabbaye +with his booty,—his “fare of fish” as the +natives have it. Hake-fishing after this picturesque +and tedious fashion is done away with now; +the islands are girdled with trawls, which catch +more fish in one night than could be obtained in a +week’s hard labor by hand.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span></p> + +<p>When the dust of Bennaye and Nabbaye was +mingled in the thin earth that scarce can cover +the multitude of the dead on Star Island, a +youthful couple, in whom I took great interest, +occupied their little house. The woman was remarkably +handsome, with a beautiful head and +masses of rich black hair, a face regular as the +face of a Greek statue, with eyes that sparkled +and cheeks that glowed,—a beauty she soon exchanged +for haggard and hollow looks. As their +children were born they asked my advice on the +christening of each, and, being youthful and romantic, +I suggested Frederick as a sounding title +for the first-born boy. Taylor being the reigning +President, his name was instantly added, and the +child was always addressed by his whole name. +Going by the house one day, my ears were assailed +by a sharp outcry: “Frederick Taylor, if you +don’t come into the house this minute, I’ll slat +your head off!” The tender mother borrowed +her expression from the fishermen, who disengage +mackerel and other delicate-gilled fish by “slatting” +them off the hook.</p> + +<p>All this family have gone, and the house in +which they lived has fallen to ruin; only the cellar +remains, just such a rude hollow as those scattered +over Appledore.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span></p> + +<p>The people along the coast rather look down +upon the Shoalers as being beyond the bounds of +civilization. A young islander was expressing his +opinion on some matter to a native of Rye, who +answered him with great scorn: “You don’t know +nothin’ about it! What do <i>you</i> know? <i>You</i> never +see an apple-tree all blowed out.” A Shoaler, +walking with some friends along a road in Rye, +excited inextinguishable laughter by clutching his +companion’s sleeve as a toad hopped innocently +across the way, and crying: “Mr. Berraye, what +kind of a bug do you call that? D—d if I ever +see such a bug as that, Mr. Berraye!” in a comical +terror. There are neither frogs nor toads at +the Shoals. “Set right down and help yourselves,” +said an old fellow at whose door some +guests from the Shoals appeared at dinner-time. +“Eat all you can. I ain’t got no manners; the +girl’s got the manners, and she ain’t to hum.”</p> + +<p>One old Shoaler, long since gone to another +world, was a laughable and curious character. +A man more wonderfully fulfilling the word +“homely” in the Yankee sense, I never saw. He +had the largest, most misshapen cheek-bones ever +constructed, an illimitable upper lip, teeth that +should not be mentioned, and small, watery eyes. +Skin and hair and eyes and mouth were of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> +same pasty yellow, and that grotesque head was +set on a little, thin, and shambling body. He used +to be head singer at the church, and “pitched the +tune” by whistling when the parson had read the +hymn. Then all who could joined in the singing, +which must have been remarkable, to say the least. +So great a power of brag is seldom found in one +human being as that which permeated him from +top to toe, and found vent in stories of personal +prowess and bravery unexampled in history. He +used to tell a story of his encounter with thirteen +“Spanish grandeers” in New Orleans, he having +been a sailor a great part of his life. He was innocently +peering into a theatre, when the “grandeers” +fell upon him out of the exceeding pride of +their hearts. “Wall, sir, I turned, and I laid six +o’ them grandeers to the right and seven to the +left, and then I put her for the old brig, and I +heerd no more on ’em!”</p> + +<p>He considered himself unequalled as a musician, +and would sing you ballad after ballad, sitting +bent forward with his arms on his knees, +and his wrinkled eyelids screwed tight together, +grinding out the tune with a quiet steadiness of +purpose that seemed to betoken no end to his capacities. +Ballads of love and of war he sang,—the +exploits of “Brave Wolf,” or, as he pronounced<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> +it, “Brahn Wolf,” and one famous song of a +naval battle, of which only two lines remain in +my memory;—</p> + +<p class="center"> +“With sixteen brass nineteens the Lion did growl,<br> +With nineteen brass twenties the Tiger did howl.”<br> +</p> + +<p>At the close of each verse he invariably dropped +his voice, and said, instead of sung, the last word, +which had a most abrupt and surprising effect, to +which a listener never could become accustomed. +The immortal ballad of Lord Bateman he had remodelled +with beautiful variations of his own. +The name of the coy maiden, the Turk’s only +daughter, Sophia, was Susan Fryan, according to +his version, and Lord Bateman was metamorphosed +into Lord Bakum. When Susan Fryan crosses +the sea to Lord Bakum’s castle and knocks so loud +that the gates do ring, he makes the bold young +porter, who was so ready for to let her in, go to +his master, who sits feasting with a new bride, and +say:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Seven long years have I tended your gate, sir,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Seven long years out of twenty-three,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But so fair a creetur as now stands waitin’</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Never before with my eyes did see.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“O, she has rings on every finger,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And round her middle if she’s one she has three;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O, I’m sure she’s got more good gold about her</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Than would buy your bride and her companie!”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p> +<p>The enjoyment with which he gave this song was +delightful to witness. Of the many he used to +sing, one was a doleful story of how a youth of +high degree fell in love with his mother’s fair +waiting-woman, Betsy, who was in consequence +immediately transported to foreign lands. But +alas for her lover!—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Then he fell sick and like to have died;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His mother round his sick-bed cried,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But all her crying it was in vain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For Betsy was a-ploughing the raging main!”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The word “main” was brought out with startling +effect. Another song about a miller and his sons +I only half remember:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The miller he called his oldest son,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Saying, ‘Now my glass it is almost run,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">If I to you the mill relate,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What toll do you <i>re</i>sign to take?’</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The son replied: ‘My name is Jack,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And out of a bushel I’ll take a peck.’</div> + <div class="verse indent0">‘Go, go, you fool!’ the old man cried,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And called the next to his bedside.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The second said: ‘My name is Ralph,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And out of a bushel I’ll take a half.’</div> + <div class="verse indent0">‘Go, go, you fool!’ the old man cried,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And called the next to his bedside.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The youngest said: ‘My name is Paul,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And out of a bushel I’ll take it all!’</div> + <div class="verse indent0">‘You are my son!’ the old man cried,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And <i>shot</i> up his eyes and died in peace.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> +<p>The manner in which this last verse was delivered +was inimitable, the “died in peace” being spoken +with great satisfaction. The singer had an ancient +violin, which he used to hug under his wizened +chin, and from which he drew such dismal tones +as never before were heard on sea or land. He +had no more idea of playing than one of the codfish +he daily split and salted, yet he christened +with pride all the shrieks and wails he drew out +of the wretched instrument with various high-sounding +titles. After he had entertained his audience +for a while with these aimless sounds, he +was wont to say, “Wall, now I’ll give yer Prince +Esterhazy’s March,” and forthwith began again +precisely the same intolerable squeak.</p> + +<p>After he died, other stars in the musical world +appeared in the horizon, but none equalled him. +They all seemed to think it necessary to shut +their eyes and squirm like nothing human during +the process of singing a song, and they “pitched +the tune” so high that no human voice ever could +hope to reach it in safety. “Tew high, Bill, tew +high,” one would say to the singer, with slow +solemnity; so Bill tried again. “Tew high again, +Bill, tew high.” “Wull, <i>you</i> strike it, Obed,” Bill +would say in despair; and Obed would “strike,” +and hit exactly the same impossible altitude,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> +whereat Bill would slap his knee, and cry in glad +surprise, “D—d if he ain’t got it!” and forth, +with catch Obed and launch on his perilous flight, +and grow red in the face with the mighty effort +of getting up there, and remaining there through +the intricacies and variations of the melody. One +could but wonder whence these queer tunes came,—how +they were created; some of them reminded +one of the creaking and groaning of windlasses and +masts, the rattling of rowlocks, the whistling of +winds among cordage, yet with less of music in +them than these natural sounds. The songs of the +sailors heaving up the anchor are really beautiful +often, the wild chant that rises sometimes into a +grand chorus, all the strong voices borne out on +the wind in the cry of</p> + +<p class="center"> +“Yo ho, the roaring river!”<br> +</p> + +<p>But these Shoals performances are lacking in any +charm, except that of the broadest fun.</p> + +<p>The process of dunning, which made the Shoals +fish so famous a century ago, is almost a lost art, +though the chief fisherman at Star still “duns” a +few yearly. A real dunfish is handsome, cut in +transparent strips, the color of brown sherry +wine. The process is a tedious one: the fish are +piled in the storehouse and undergo a period of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> +“sweating” after the first drying, then are carried +out into sun and wind, dried again slightly, and +again piled in the warehouse, and so on till the +process is complete. Drying fish in the common +fashion is more difficult than might be imagined: +it is necessary to watch and tend them continually +as they lie on the picturesque “flakes,” and if they +are exposed at too early a stage to a sun too hot +they burn as surely as a loaf of bread in an intemperate +oven, only the burning does not crisp, but +liquefies their substance.</p> + +<p>For the last ten years fish have been caught +about the Shoals by trawl and seine in such quantities +that they are thinning fast, and the trade +bids fair to be much less lucrative before many +years have elapsed. The process of drawing the +trawl is very picturesque and interesting, watched +from the rocks or from the boat itself. The buoy +being drawn in, then follow the baited hooks one +after another. First, perhaps, a rockling shows his +bright head above water; a pull, and in he comes +flapping, with brilliant red fins distended, gaping +mouth, indigo-colored eyes, and richly mottled +skin: a few futile somersets, and he subsides into +slimy dejection. Next, perhaps, a big whelk is +tossed into the boat; then a leaden-gray haddock, +with its dark stripe of color on each side;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> +then, perhaps, follow a few bare hooks; then a +hake, with horrid, cavernous mouth; then a large +purple star-fish, or a clattering crab; then a ling,—a +yellow-brown, wide-mouthed piece of ugliness +never eaten here, but highly esteemed on the +coast of Scotland; then more cod or haddock, or +perhaps a lobster, bristling with indignation at the +novel situation in which he finds himself; then +a cusk, long, smooth, compact, and dark; then a +catfish. Of all fiends commend me to the catfish +as the most fiendish! Black as night, with thick +and hideous skin, which looks a dull, mouldy +green beneath the water, a head shaped as much +like a cat’s as a fish’s head can be, in which the +devil’s own eyes seem to glow with a dull, malicious +gleam,—and such a mouth! What terrible +expressions these cold creatures carry to and fro +in the vast, dim spaces of the sea! All fish have +a more or less imbecile and wobegone aspect; but +this one looks absolutely evil, and Schiller might +well say of him that he “grins through the grate +of his spiky teeth,” and sharp and deadly are they; +every man looks out for his boots when a catfish +comes tumbling in, for they bite through leather, +flesh, and bones. They seize a ballast-stone between +their jaws, and their teeth snap and fly in +all directions. I have seen them bite the long<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span> +blade of a sharp knife so fiercely, that, when it +was lifted and held aloft, they kept their furious +gripe, and dangled, flapping all their clumsy +weight, hanging by their teeth to the blade. +Sculpins abound, and are a nuisance on the +trawls. Ugly and grotesque as are the full-grown +fish, there is nothing among the finny tribe more +dainty, more quaint and delicate, than the baby +sculpin. Sometimes in a pool of crystal water +one comes upon him unawares,—a fairy creature, +the color of a blush-rose, striped and freaked and +pied with silver and gleaming green, hanging in +the almost invisible water as a bird in air, with +broad, transparent fins suffused with a faint pink +color, stretched wide like wings to upbear the +supple form. The curious head is only strange, +not hideous as yet, and one gazes marvelling at +all the beauty lavished on a thing of so little +worth.</p> + +<p>Wolf-fish, first cousins to the catfish, are found +also on the trawls; and dog-fish, with pointed +snouts and sand-paper skins, abound to such an +extent as to drive away everything else sometimes. +Sand-dabs, a kind of flounder, fasten their sluggish +bodies to the hooks, and a few beautiful red +fish, called bream, are occasionally found; also a +few blue-fish and sharks; frequently halibut,—though<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> +these latter are generally caught on trawls +which are made especially for them. Sometimes +is caught on a trawl a monstrous creature of horrible +aspect, called the nurse-fish,—an immense +fish weighing twelve hundred pounds, with a +skin like a nutmeg-grater, and no teeth,—a kind +of sucker, hence its name. I asked a Shoaler +what the nurse-fish looked like, and he answered +promptly, “Like the Devil!” One weighing +twelve hundred pounds has “two barrels of +liver,” as the natives phrase it, which is very +valuable for the oil it contains. One of the fishermen +described a creature which they call mud-eel,—a +foot and a half long, with a mouth like a +rat, and two teeth. The bite of this water-snake +is poisonous, the islanders aver, and tell a story +of a man bitten by one at Mount Desert last +year, “who did not live long enough to get to the +doctor.” They bite at the hooks on the trawl, and +are drawn up in a lump of mud, and the men cut +the ropes and mangle their lines to get rid of +them. Huge sunfish are sometimes harpooned, +lying on the top of the water,—a lump of flesh +like cocoanut meat encased in a skin like rubber +cloth, with a most dim and abject hint of a face, +absurdly disproportionate to the size of the body, +roughly outlined on the edge. Sword-fish are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> +also harpooned, weighing eight hundred pounds +and upward; they are very delicate food. A +sword-fish swimming leaves a wake a mile long +on a calm day, and bewilders the imagination into +a belief in sea-serpents. There’s a legend that a +torpedo was caught here once upon a time; and +the thrasher, fox-shark, or sea-fox occasionally +alarms the fisherman with his tremendous flexible +tail, that reaches “from the gunnel to the +mainmast-top” when the creature comes to the +surface. Also they tell of skip-jacks that sprang +on board their boats at night when they were +hake-fishing,—“little things about as large as +mice, long and slender, with beaks like birds.” +Sometimes a huge horse-mackerel flounders in and +drives ashore on a ledge, for the gulls to scream +over for weeks. Mackerel, herring, porgies, and +shiners used to abound before the seines so thinned +them. Bonito and blue-fish and dog-fish help +drive away the more valuable varieties. It is a +lovely sight to see a herring-net drawn in, especially +by moonlight, when every fish hangs like a +long silver drop from the close-set meshes. Perch +are found in inexhaustible quantities about the +rocks, and lump or butter fish are sometimes +caught; pollock are very plentiful,—smooth, +graceful, slender creatures! It is fascinating to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span> +watch them turning somersets in the water close +to the shore in full tides, or following a boat at +sunset, and breaking the molten gold of the sea’s +surface with silver-sparkling fin and tail. The +rudder-fish is sometimes found, and alewives and +menhaden. Whales are more or less plentiful in +summer, “spouting their foam-fountains in the +sea.” Beautiful is the sparkling column of water +rising suddenly afar off and falling noiselessly +back again. Not long ago a whale twisted his +tail in the cable of the schooner Vesper, lying +to the eastward of the Shoals, and towed the vessel +several miles, at the rate of twenty knots an +hour, with the water boiling all over her from +stem to stern!</p> + +<p>Last winter some of the Shoalers were drawing +a trawl between the Shoals and Boone Island, +fifteen miles to the eastward. As they drew in +the line and relieved each hook of its burden, lo! +a horror was lifted half above the surface,—part +of a human body, which dropped off the hooks +and was gone, while they shuddered, and stared at +each other, aghast at the hideous sight.</p> + +<p>Porpoises are seen at all seasons. I never saw +one near enough to gain a knowledge of its expression, +but it always seemed to me that these +fish led a more hilarious life than the greater part<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> +of their race, and I think they must carry less +dejected countenances than most of the inhabitants +of the sea. They frisk so delightfully on +the surface, and ponderously plunge over and over +with such apparent gayety and satisfaction! I +remember being out one moonless summer night +beyond the lighthouse island, in a little boat filled +with gay young people. The sea was like oil, the +air was thick and warm, no star broke the upper +darkness, only now and then the lighthouse threw +its jewelled track along the water, and through +the dense air its long rays stretched above, turning +solemnly, like the luminous spokes of a gigantic +wheel, as the lamps slowly revolved. There had +been much talk and song and laughter, much playing +with the warm waves (or rather smooth undulations +of the sea, for there wasn’t a breath of +wind to make a ripple), which broke at a touch +into pale-green, phosphorescent fire. Beautiful +arms, made bare to the shoulder, thrust down into +the liquid darkness, shone flaming silver and gold; +from the fingers playing beneath, fire seemed to +stream; emerald sparks clung to the damp draperies; +and a splashing oar-blade half revealed +sweet faces and bright young eyes. Suddenly a +pause came in talk and song and laughter, and in +the unaccustomed silence we seemed to be waiting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> +for something. At once out of the darkness came +a slow, tremendous sigh that made us shiver in +the soft air, as if all the woe and terror of the sea +were condensed in that immense and awful breath; +and we took our oars and pulled homeward, with +the weird fires flashing from our bows and oar-blades. +“Only a porpoise blowing,” said the initiated, +when we told our tale. It may have been +“only a porpoise blowing”; but the leviathan himself +could hardly have made a more prodigious +sound.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Within the lovely limits of summer it is beautiful +to live almost anywhere; most beautiful where +the ocean meets the land; and here particularly, +where all the varying splendor of the sea encompasses +the place, and the ceaseless changing +of the tides brings continual refreshment into +the life of every day. But summer is late and +slow to come; and long after the mainland has +begun to bloom and smile beneath the influence +of spring, the bitter northwest winds still sweep +the cold, green water about these rocks, and tear +its surface into long and glittering waves from +morning till night, and from night till morning, +through many weeks. No leaf breaks the frozen +soil, and no bud swells on the shaggy bushes that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> +clothe the slopes. But if summer is a laggard in +her coming, she makes up for it by the loveliness +of her lingering into autumn; for when the +pride of trees and flowers is despoiled by frost +on shore, the little gardens here are glowing at +their brightest, and day after day of mellow splendor +drops like a benediction from the hand of God. +In the early mornings in September the mists +draw away from the depths of inland valleys, and +rise into the lucid western sky,—tall columns and +towers of cloud, solid, compact, superb; their +pure, white, shining heads uplifted into the ether, +solemn, stately, and still, till some wandering +breeze disturbs their perfect outline, and they melt +about the heavens in scattered fragments as the +day goes on. Then there are mornings when “all +in the blue, unclouded weather” the coast-line +comes out so distinctly that houses, trees, bits of +white beach, are clearly visible, and with a glass, +moving forms of carriages and cattle are distinguishable +nine miles away. In the transparent +air the peaks of Mounts Madison, Washington, +and Jefferson are seen distinctly at a distance of +one hundred miles. In the early light even the +green color of the trees is perceptible on the Rye +shore. All through these quiet days the air is full +of wandering thistle-down, the inland golden-rod<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> +waves its plumes, and close by the water’s edge, +in rocky clefts, its seaside sister blossoms in +gorgeous color; the rose-haws redden, the iris +unlocks its shining caskets, and casts its closely +packed seeds about, gray berries cluster on the +bayberry-bushes, the sweet life-everlasting sends +out its wonderful, delicious fragrance, and the pale +asters spread their flowers in many-tinted sprays. +Through October and into November the fair, +mild weather lasts. At the first breath of October, +the hillside at Appledore fires up with the +living crimson of the huckleberry-bushes, as if a +blazing torch had been applied to it; the slanting +light at sunrise and sunset makes a wonderful glory +across it. The sky deepens its blue; beneath it +the brilliant sea glows into violet, and flashes into +splendid purple where the “tide-rip,” or eddying +winds, make long streaks across its surface (poets +are not wrong who talk of “purple seas,”) the +air is clear and sparkling, the lovely summer haze +withdraws, all things take a crisp and tender +outline, and the cry of the curlew and the plover +is doubly sweet through the pure, cool air. Then +sunsets burn in clear and tranquil skies, or flame +in piled magnificence of clouds. Some night a +long bar lies, like a smouldering brand, along the +horizon, deep carmine where the sun has touched<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> +it; and out of that bar breaks a sudden gale before +morning, and a fine fury and tumult begins to rage. +Then comes the fitful weather,—wild winds and +hurrying waves, low, scudding clouds, tremendous +rains that shut out everything; and the rocks lie +weltering between the sea and sky, with the brief +fire of the leaves quenched and swept away on the +hillside,—only rushing wind and streaming water +everywhere, as if a second deluge were flooding the +world.</p> + +<p>After such a rain comes a gale from the southeast +to sweep the sky clear,—a gale so furious +that it blows the sails straight out of the bolt-ropes, +if any vessel is so unfortunate as to be +caught in it with a rag of canvas aloft; and the +coast is strewn with the wrecks of such craft as +happen to be caught on the lee shore, for</p> + +<p class="center"> +“Anchors drag, and topmasts lap,”<br> +</p> + +<p>and nothing can hold against this terrible, blind +fury. It is appalling to listen to the shriek of +such a wind, even though one is safe upon a rock +that cannot move; and more dreadful is it to see +the destruction one cannot lift a finger to avert.</p> + +<p>As the air grows colder, curious atmospheric +effects become visible. At the first biting cold the +distant mainland has the appearance of being taken +off its feet, as it were,—the line shrunken and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> +distorted, detached from the water at both ends: +it is as if one looked under it and saw the sky beyond. +Then, on bright mornings with a brisk wind, +little wafts of mist rise between the quick, short +waves, and melt away before noon. At some periods +of intense cold these mists, which are never in +banks like fog, rise in irregular, whirling columns +reaching to the clouds,—shadowy phantoms, torn +and wild, that stalk past like Ossian’s ghosts, solemnly +and noiselessly throughout the bitter day. +When the sun drops down behind these weird +processions, with a dark-red, lurid light, it is like a +vast conflagration, wonderful and terrible to see. +The columns, that strike and fall athwart the +island, sweep against the windows with a sound +like sand, and lie on the ground in ridges, like fine, +sharp hail; yet the heavens are clear, the heavily +rolling sea dark-green and white, and, between the +breaking crests, the misty columns stream toward +the sky.</p> + +<p>Sometimes a totally different vapor, like cold, +black smoke, rolls out from the land, and flows +over the sea to an unknown distance, swallowing +up the islands on its way. Its approach is hideous +to witness. “It’s all thick o’ black vapor,” some +islander announces, coming in from out of doors; +just as they say, “It’s all thick o’ white foam,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> +when the sudden squall tears the sea into fringes +of spray.</p> + +<p>In December the colors seem to fade out of the +world, and utter ungraciousness prevails. The +great, cool, whispering, delicious sea, that encircled +us with a thousand caresses the beautiful +summer through, turns slowly our sullen and inveterate +enemy; leaden it lies beneath a sky like +tin, and rolls its “white, cold, heavy-plunging +foam” against a shore of iron. Each island +wears its chalk-white girdle of ice between the +rising and falling tides (edged with black at low-water, +where the lowest-growing seaweed is exposed), +making the stern bare rocks above more +forbidding by their contrast with its stark whiteness,—and +the whiteness of salt-water ice is +ghastly. Nothing stirs abroad, except perhaps</p> + +<p class="center"> +“A lonely sea-bird crosses,<br> +With one waft of wing,”<br> +</p> + +<p>your view, as you gaze from some spray-incrusted +window; or you behold the weather-beaten +schooners creeping along the blurred +coast-line from Cape Elizabeth and the northern +ports of Maine towards Cape Ann, laden with lumber +or lime, and sometimes, rarely, with hay or +provisions.</p> + +<p>After winter has fairly set in, the lonely dwellers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> +at the Isles of Shoals find life quite as much as +they can manage, being so entirely thrown upon +their own resources that it requires all the philosophy +at their disposal to answer the demand. In +the village, where several families make a little +community, there should be various human interests +outside each separate fireside; but of their +mode of life I know little. Upon three of the +islands live isolated families, cut off by the “always +wind-obeying deep” from each other and +from the mainland, sometimes for weeks together, +when the gales are fiercest, with no letters nor +intercourse with any living thing. Some sullen +day in December the snow begins to fall, and the +last touch of desolation is laid upon the scene; +there is nothing any more but white snow and +dark water, hemmed in by a murky horizon; and +nothing moves or sounds within its circle but the +sea harshly assailing the shore, and the chill wind +that sweeps across. Toward night the wind begins +to rise, the snow whirls and drifts, and clings +wherever it can find a resting-place; and though +so much is blown away, yet there is enough left to +smother up the rock and make it almost impossible +to move about on it. The drifts sometimes +are very deep in the hollows; one winter, sixteen +sheep were buried in a drift, in which they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> +remained a week, and, strange to say, only one was +dead when they were discovered. One goes to +sleep in the muffled roar of the storm, and wakes +to find it still raging with senseless fury; all day +it continues; towards night the curtain of falling +flakes withdraws, a faint light shows westward; +slowly the clouds roll together, the lift grows bright +with pale, clear blue over the land, the wind has +hauled to the northwest, and the storm is at an +end. When the clouds are swept away by the +besom of the pitiless northwest, how the stars +glitter in the frosty sky! What wondrous streamers +of northern lights flare through the winter +darkness! I have seen the sky at midnight crimson +and emerald and orange and blue in palpitating +sheets along the whole northern half of the +heavens, or rosy to the zenith, or belted with a +bar of solid yellow light from east to west, as if +the world were a basket, and it the golden handle +thereto. The weather becomes of the first importance +to the dwellers on the rock; the changes of +the sky and sea, the flitting of the coasters to and +fro, the visits of the sea-fowl, sunrise and sunset, +the changing moon, the northern lights, the constellations +that wheel in splendor through the +winter night,—all are noted with a love and +careful scrutiny that is seldom given by people<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> +living in populous places. One grows accustomed +to the aspect of the constellations, and they seem +like the faces of old friends looking down out of +the awful blackness; and when in summer the +great Orion disappears, how it is missed out of +the sky! I remember the delight with which we +caught a glimpse of the planet Mercury, in March, +1868, following close at the heels of the sinking +sun, redly shining in the reddened horizon,—a +stranger mysterious and utterly unknown before.</p> + +<p>For these things make our world: there are no +lectures, operas, concerts, theatres, no music of +any kind, except what the waves may whisper in +rarely gentle moods; no galleries of wonders like +the Natural History rooms, in which it is so fascinating +to wander; no streets, shops, carriages, +no postman, no neighbors, not a door-bell within +the compass of the place! Never was life so exempt +from interruptions. The eight or ten small +schooners that carry on winter fishing, flying to +and fro through foam and squall to set and haul +in their trawls, at rare intervals bring a mail,—an +accumulation of letters, magazines, and newspapers +that it requires a long time to plod through. +This is the greatest excitement of the long winters; +and no one can truly appreciate the delight +of letters till he has lived where he can hear from +his friends only once in a month.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span></p> + +<p>But the best balanced human mind is prone to +lose its elasticity, and stagnate, in this isolation. +One learns immediately the value of work to keep +one’s wits clear, cheerful, and steady; just as much +real work of the body as it can bear without weariness +being always beneficent, but here indispensable. +And in this matter women have the advantage +of men, who are condemned to fold their +hands when their tasks are done. No woman need +ever have a vacant minute,—there are so many +pleasant, useful things which she may, and had +better do. Blessed be the man who invented +knitting! (I never heard that a woman invented +this or any other art.) It is the most charming +and picturesque of quiet occupations, leaving the +knitter free to read aloud, or talk, or think, while +steadily and surely beneath the flying fingers the +comfortable stocking grows.</p> + +<p>No one can dream what a charm there is in +taking care of pets, singing-birds, plants, etc., +with such advantages of solitude; how every leaf +and bud and flower is pored over, and admired, +and loved! A whole conservatory, flushed with +azaleas, and brilliant with forests of camellias and +every precious exotic that blooms, could not impart +so much delight as I have known a single rose +to give, unfolding in the bleak bitterness of a day<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> +in February, when this side of the planet seemed +to have arrived at its culmination of hopelessness, +with the Isles of Shoals the most hopeless speck +upon its surface. One gets close to the heart of +these things; they are almost as precious as Picciola +to the prisoner, and yield a fresh and constant +joy, such as the pleasure-seeking inhabitants +of cities could not find in their whole round of +shifting diversions. With a bright and cheerful +interior, open fires, books, and pictures, windows +full of thrifty blossoming plants and climbing vines, +a family of singing-birds, plenty of work, and a +clear head and quiet conscience, it would go hard +if one could not be happy even in such loneliness. +Books, of course, are inestimable. Nowhere does +one follow a play of Shakespeare’s with greater +zest, for it brings the whole world, which you need, +about you; doubly precious the deep thoughts +wise men have given to help us,—doubly sweet +the songs of all the poets; for nothing comes between +to distract you.</p> + +<p>One realizes how hard it was for Robinson Crusoe +to keep the record of his lonely days; for +even in a family of eight or nine the succession is +kept with difficulty. I recollect that, after an +unusually busy Saturday, when household work +was done, and lessons said, and the family were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> +looking forward to Sunday and merited leisure, at +sunset came a young Star-Islander on some errand +to our door. One said to him, “Well, Jud, how +many fish have they caught to-day at Star?” +Jud looked askance and answered, like one who +did not wish to be trifled with, “We don’t go +a-fishing Sundays!” So we had lost our Sunday, +thinking it was Saturday; and next day began the +usual business, with no break of refreshing rest +between.</p> + +<p>Though the thermometer says that here it is +twelve degrees warmer in winter than on the mainland, +the difference is hardly perceptible,—the +situation is so bleak, while the winds of the north +and west bite like demons, with all the bitter +breath of the snowy continent condensed in their +deadly chill. Easterly and southerly gales are +milder; we have no east winds such as sadden +humanity on shore; they are tempered to gentleness +by some mysterious means. Sometimes there +are periods of cold which, though not intense (the +mercury seldom falling lower than 11° above zero), +are of such long duration that the fish are killed +in the sea. This happens frequently with perch, +the dead bodies of which strew the shores and float +on the water in masses. Sometimes ice forms in +the mouth of the Piscataqua River, which, continually<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> +broken into unequal blocks by the rushing +tide and the immense pressure of the outer ocean, +fills the space between the islands and the shore, +so that it is very difficult to force a boat through. +The few schooners moored about the islands become +so loaded with ice that sometimes they sink; +every plunge into the assailing waves adds a fresh +crust, infinitely thin; but in twenty-four hours +enough accumulates to sink the vessel; and it is +part of the day’s work in the coldest weather to +beat off the ice,—and hard work it is. Every +time the bowsprit dips under, the man who sits +astride it is immersed to his waist in the freezing +water, as he beats at the bow to free the laboring +craft. I cannot imagine a harder life than the +sailors lead in winter in the coasting-vessels that +stream in endless processions to and fro along the +shore; and they seem to be the hardest set of +people under the sun,—so rough and reckless that +they are not pleasant even at a distance. Sometimes +they land here. A crew of thirteen or fourteen +came on shore last winter; they might +have been the ghosts of the men who manned the +picaroons that used to swarm in these seas. A +more piratical-looking set could not well be imagined. +They roamed about, and glared in at the +windows with weather-beaten, brutal faces, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> +eyes that showed traces of whiskey, ugly and unmistakable.</p> + +<p>No other visitors break the solitude of Appledore, +except neighbors from Star once in a while; +if any one is sick, they send, perhaps, for medicine +or milk; or they bring some rare fish; or if any +one dies, and they cannot reach the mainland, +they come to get a coffin made. I never shall forget +one long, dreary, drizzly northeast storm, when +two men rowed across from Star to Appledore on +this errand. A little child had died, and they +could not sail to the mainland, and had no means +to construct a coffin among themselves. All day +I watched the making of that little chrysalis; and +at night the last nail was driven in, and it lay +across a bench in the midst of the litter of the +workshop, and a curious stillness seemed to emanate +from the senseless boards. I went back to +the house and gathered a handful of scarlet geranium, +and returned with it through the rain. +The brilliant blossoms were sprinkled with glittering +drops. I laid them in the little coffin, while +the wind wailed so sorrowfully outside, and the +rain poured against the windows. Two men came +through the mist and storm, and one swung the +light little shell to his shoulder, and they carried +it away, and the gathering darkness shut down and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> +hid them as they tossed among the waves. I +never saw the little girl, but where they buried +her I know: the lighthouse shines close by, and +every night the quiet, constant ray steals to her +grave and softly touches it, as if to say, with a +caress, “Sleep well! Be thankful you are spared +so much that I see humanity endure, fixed here +forever where I stand!”</p> + +<p>It is exhilarating, spite of the intense cold, to +wake to the brightness the northwest gale always +brings, after the hopeless smother of a prolonged +snow-storm. The sea is deep indigo, whitened +with flashing waves all over the surface; the sky +is speckless; no cloud passes across it the whole +day long; and the sun sets red and clear, without +any abatement of the wind. The spray flying on +the western shore for a moment is rosy as the +sinking sun shines through, but for a moment +only,—and again there is nothing but the ghastly +whiteness of the salt-water ice, the cold, gray rock, +the sullen, foaming brine, the unrelenting heavens, +and the sharp wind cutting like a knife. All night +long it roars beneath the hollow sky,—roars still +at sunrise. Again the day passes precisely like +the one gone before; the sun lies in a glare of +quicksilver on the western water, sinks again in +the red west to rise on just such another day;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> +and thus goes on, for weeks sometimes, with an +exasperating pertinacity that would try the most +philosophical patience. There comes a time when +just that glare of quicksilver on the water is not +to be endured a minute longer. During this period +no boat goes to or comes from the mainland, +and the prisoners on the rock are cut off from all +intercourse with their kind. Abroad, only the +cattle move, crowding into the sunniest corners, +and stupidly chewing the cud; and the hens and +ducks, that chatter and cackle and cheerfully crow +in spite of fate and the northwest gale. The +dauntless and graceful gulls soar on their strong +pinions over the drift cast up about the coves. +Sometimes flocks of snow-buntings wheel about +the house and pierce the loud breathing of the +wind with sweet, wild cries. And often the spectral +arctic owl may be seen on a height, sitting +upright, like a column of snow, its large, round +head slowly turning from left to right, ever on the +alert, watching for the rats that plague the settlement +almost as grievously as they did Hamelin +town, in Brunswick, five hundred years ago.</p> + +<p>How the rats came here first is not known; +probably some old ship imported them. They +live partly on mussels, the shells of which lie in +heaps about their holes, as the violet-lined fresh-water<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span> +shells lie about the nests of the muskrats +on the mainland. They burrow among the rocks +close to the shore, in favorable spots, and, somewhat +like the moles, make subterranean galleries, +whence they issue at low tide, and, stealing to the +crevices of seaweed-curtained rocks, they fall upon +and dislodge any unfortunate crabs they may find, +and kill and devour them. Many a rat has caught +a Tartar in this perilous kind of hunting, has been +dragged into the sea and killed,—drowned in the +clutches of the crab he sought to devour; for the +strength of these shell-fish is something astonishing.</p> + +<p>Several snowy owls haunt the islands the whole +winter long. I have never heard them cry like +other owls; when disturbed or angry, they make +a sound like a watchman’s rattle, very loud and +harsh, or they whistle with intense shrillness, like +a human being. Their habitual silence adds to +their ghostliness; and when at noonday they sit, +high up, snow-white above the snow-drifts, blinking +their pale yellow eyes in the sun, they are +weird indeed. One night in March I saw one +perched upon a rock between me and the “last +remains of sunset dimly burning” in the west, his +curious outline drawn black against the redness of +the sky, his large head bent forward, and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> +whole aspect meditative and most human in its +expression. I longed to go out and sit beside him +and talk to him in the twilight, to ask of him the +story of his life, or, if he would have permitted it, +to watch him without a word. The plumage of +this creature is wonderfully beautiful,—white, +with scattered spots like little flecks of tawny +cloud,—and his black beak and talons are powerful +and sharp as iron; he might literally grapple +his friend, or his enemy, with hooks of steel. As +he is clothed in a mass of down, his outlines are +so soft that he is like an enormous snowflake while +flying; and he is a sight worth seeing when he +stretches wide his broad wings, and sweeps down +on his prey, silent and swift, with an unerring aim, +and bears it off to the highest rock he can find, +to devour it. In the summer one finds frequently +upon the heights a little, solid ball of silvery fur +and pure white bones, washed and bleached by +the rain and sun; it is the rat’s skin and skeleton +in a compact bundle, which the owl rejects after +having swallowed it.</p> + +<p>Some quieter day, on the edge of a southerly +wind, perhaps, boats go out over the gray, sad +water after sea-fowl,—the murres that swim in +little companies, keeping just out of reach of +shot, and are so spiteful that they beat the boat<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> +with their beaks, when wounded, in impotent +rage, till they are despatched with an oar or +another shot; or kittiwakes,—exquisite creatures +like living forms of snow and cloud in color, with +beaks and feet of dull gold,—that come when +you wave a white handkerchief, and flutter almost +within reach of your hand; or oldwives, called by +the natives <i>scoldenores</i>, with clean white caps; or +clumsy eider-ducks, or coots, or mergansers, or +whatever they may find. Black ducks, of course, +are often shot. Their jet-black, shining plumage +is splendidly handsome, set off with the broad, +flame-colored beak. Little auks, stormy-petrels, +loons, grebes, lords-and-ladies, sea-pigeons, sea-parrots, +various guillemots, and all sorts of gulls +abound. Sometimes an eagle sweeps over; gannets +pay occasional visits; the great blue heron is +often seen in autumn and spring. One of the +most striking birds is the cormorant, called here +“shag”; from it the rock at Duck Island takes its +name. It used to be an object of almost awful +interest to me when I beheld it perched upon +White Island Head,—a solemn figure, high and +dark against the clouds. Once, while living on +that island, in the thickest of a great storm in +autumn, when we seemed to be set between two +contending armies, deafened by the continuous<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> +cannonading of breakers, and lashed and beaten +by winds and waters till it was almost impossible +to hear ourselves speak, we became aware +of another sound, which pierced to our ears, +bringing a sudden terror lest it should be the +voices of human beings. Opening the window +a little, what a wild combination of sounds +came shrieking in! A large flock of wild geese +had settled for safety upon the rock, and completely +surrounded us,—agitated, clamorous, +weary. We might have secured any number of +them, but it would have been a shameful thing. +We were glad, indeed, that they should share our +little foothold in that chaos, and they flew away +unhurt when the tempest lulled. I was a very +young child when this happened, but I never can +forget that autumn night,—it seemed so wonderful +and pitiful that those storm-beaten birds should +have come crying to our rock; and the strange, +wild chorus that swept in when the window was +pried open a little took so strong a hold upon my +imagination that I shall hear it as long as I live. +The lighthouse, so beneficent to mankind, is the +destroyer of birds,—of land birds particularly, +though in thick weather sea-birds are occasionally +bewildered into breaking their heads against the +glass, plunging forward headlong towards the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span> +light, just as the frail moth of summer evenings +madly seeks its death in the candle’s blaze. Sometimes +in autumn, always in spring, when birds are +migrating, they are destroyed in such quantities by +this means that it is painful to reflect upon. The +keeper living at the island three years ago told me +that he picked up three hundred and seventy-five +in one morning at the foot of the lighthouse, all +dead. They fly with such force against the glass +that their beaks are often splintered. The keeper +said he found the destruction greatest in hazy +weather, and he thought “they struck a ray at a +great distance and followed it up.” Many a May +morning have I wandered about the rock at the +foot of the tower mourning over a little apron brimful +of sparrows, swallows, thrushes, robins, fire-winged +blackbirds, many-colored warblers and fly-catchers, +beautifully clothed yellow-birds, nuthatches, catbirds, +even the purple finch and scarlet tanager +and golden oriole, and many more beside,—enough +to break the heart of a small child to +think of! Once a great eagle flew against the +lantern and shivered the glass. That was before +I lived there; but after we came, two gulls +cracked one of the large, clear panes, one stormy +night.</p> + +<p>The sea-birds are comparatively few and shy at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> +this time; but I remember when they were plentiful +enough, when on Duck Island in summer the +“medrakes,” or tern, made rude nests on the +beach, and the little yellow gulls, just out of the +eggs, ran tumbling about among the stones, hiding +their foolish heads in every crack and cranny, +and, like the ostrich, imagining themselves safe so +long as they could not see the danger. And even +now the sandpipers build in numbers on the +islands, and the young birds, which look like tiny +tufts of fog, run about among the bayberry-bushes, +with sweet, scared piping. They are exquisitely +beautiful and delicate, covered with a +down just like gray mist, with brilliant black eyes, +and slender, graceful legs that make one think of +grass-stems. And here the loons congregate in +spring and autumn. These birds seem to me the +most human and at the same time the most demoniac +of their kind. I learned to imitate their +different cries; they are wonderful! At one time +the loon language was so familiar that I could almost +always summon a considerable flock by +going down to the water and assuming the neighborly +and conversational tone which they generally +use: after calling a few minutes, first a far-off +voice responded, then other voices answered him, +and when this was kept up a while, half a dozen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> +birds would come sailing in. It was the most +delightful little party imaginable; so comical +were they, so entertaining, that it was impossible +not to laugh aloud,—and they could laugh too, +in a way which chilled the marrow of one’s bones. +They always laugh, when shot at, if they are +missed; as the Shoalers say, “They laugh like a +warrior.” But their long, wild, melancholy cry +before a storm is the most awful note I ever heard +from a bird. It is so sad, so hopeless,—a clear, +high shriek, shaken, as it drops into silence, into +broken notes that make you think of the fluttering +of a pennon in the wind,—a shudder of sound. +They invariably utter this cry before a storm.</p> + +<p>Between the gales from all points of the compass, +that</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">“’twixt the green sea and the azured vault</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Set roaring war,”</span><br> +</p> + +<p>some day there falls a dead calm; the whole expanse +of the ocean is like a mirror; there’s not a +whisper of a wave, not a sigh from any wind +about the world,—an awful, breathless pause prevails. +Then if a loon swims into the motionless +little bights about the island, and raises his weird +cry, the silent rocks re-echo the unearthly tone, +and it seems as if the creature were in league with +the mysterious forces that are so soon to turn this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> +deathly stillness into confusion and dismay. All +through the day the ominous quiet lasts; in the +afternoon, while yet the sea is glassy, a curious +undertone of mournful sound can be perceived,—not +fitful,—a steady moan such as the wind +makes over the mouth of an empty jar. Then +the islanders say, “Do you hear Hog Island crying? +Now look out for a storm!” No one +knows how that low moaning is produced, or why +Appledore, of all the islands, should alone lament +before the tempest. Through its gorges, perhaps, +some current of wind sighs with that hollow cry. +Yet the sea could hardly keep its unruffled surface +were a wind abroad sufficient to draw out the +boding sound. Such a calm preceded the storm +which destroyed the Minot’s Ledge Lighthouse in +1849. I never knew such silence. Though the +sun blazed without a cloud, the sky and sea were +utterly wan and colorless, and before sunset the +mysterious tone began to vibrate in the breezeless +air. “Hog Island’s crying!” said the islanders. +One could but think of the Ancient Mariner, as +the angry sun went down in a brassy glare, and +still no ripple broke the calm. But with the twilight +gathered the waiting wind, slowly and steadily; +and before morning the shock of the breakers +was like the incessant thundering of heavy guns;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> +the solid rock perceptibly trembled; windows +shook, and glass and china rattled in the house. +It is impossible to describe the confusion, the tumult, +the rush and roar and thunder of waves +and wind overwhelming those rocks,—the whole +Atlantic rushing headlong to cast itself upon +them. It was very exciting: the most timid +among us lost all sense of fear. Before the next +night the sea had made a breach through the +valley on Appledore, in which the houses stand,—a +thing that never had happened within the +memory of the oldest inhabitant. The waves +piled in from the eastward (where Old Harry was +tossing the breakers sky-high),—a maddened troop +of giants, sweeping everything before them,—and +followed one another, white as milk, through +the valley from east to west, strewing the space +with boulders from a solid wall six feet high and +as many thick, which ran across the top of the +beach, and which one tremendous wave toppled +over like a child’s fence of blocks. Kelp and sea-weed +were piled in banks high up along the shore, +and strewed the doorsteps; and thousands of +the hideous creatures known among the Shoalers +as sea-mice, a holothurian (a livid, shapeless +mass of torpid life), were scattered in all directions. +While the storm was at its height, it was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> +impossible to do anything but watch it through +windows beaten by the blinding spray which burst +in flying clouds all over the island, drenching +every inch of the soil in foaming brine. In the +coves the “yeasty surges” were churned into yellow +masses of foam, that blew across in trembling +flakes, and clung wherever they lit, leaving a +hoary scum of salt when dry, which remained till +sweet, fair water dropped out of the clouds to +wash it all away. It was long before the sea went +down; and, days after the sun began to shine, the +fringe of spray still leaped skyward from the +eastern shore, and Shag and Mingo Rocks at +Duck Island tossed their distant clouds of snow +against the blue.</p> + +<p>After the wind subsided, it was curious to examine +the effects of the breakers on the eastern +shore, where huge masses of rock were struck off +from the cliffs, and flung among the wild heaps of +scattered boulders, to add to the already hopeless +confusion of the gorges. The eastern aspects of +the islands change somewhat every year or two +from this cause; and, indeed, over all their surfaces +continual change goes on from the action of the +weather. Under the hammer and chisel of frost +and heat, masses of stone are detached and fall +from the edges of cliffs, whole ledges become<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> +disintegrated, the rock cracks in smooth, thin sheets, +and, once loosened, the whole mass can be pulled +out, sheet by sheet. Twenty years ago those subtle, +irresistible tools of the weather had cracked off +a large mass of rock from a ledge on the slope +of a gentle declivity. I could just lay my hand in +the space then: now three men can walk abreast +between the ledge and the detached mass; and +nothing has touched it save heat and cold. The +whole aspect of the rocks is infinitely aged. I +never can see the beautiful salutation of sunrise +upon their hoary fronts, without thinking how +many millions of times they have answered to +that delicate touch. On Boone Island,—a low, +dangerous rock fifteen miles east of the Shoals,—the +sea has even greater opportunities of destruction, +the island is so low. Once, after a stormy +night, the lighthouse-keeper told me the family +found a great stone, weighing half a ton, in the +back entry, which Father Neptune had deposited +there,—his card, with his compliments!</p> + +<p>Often tremendous breakers encompass the islands +when the surface of the sea is perfectly calm +and the weather serene and still,—the results of +great storms far out at sea. A “long swell” +swings indolently, and the ponderous waves roll in +as if tired and half asleep, to burst into clouds of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> +splendor against the cliffs. Very different is their +hurried, eager breaking when the shoulder of a +gale compels them. There is no sound more +gentle, more slumberous, than the distant roll of +these billows,—</p> + +<p class="center"> +“The rolling sea resounding soft,”<br> +</p> + +<p>as Spenser has it. The rush of a fully alive and +closely pursued breaker is, at a distance, precisely +like that which a rocket makes, sweeping headlong +upward through the air; but the other is a long +and peaceful sigh, a dreamy, lulling, beautiful +sound, which produces a Lethean forgetfulness of +care and pain, makes all earthly ill seem unreal, +and it is as if one wandered</p> + +<p class="center"> +“In dreamful wastes, where footless fancies dwell.”<br> +</p> + +<p>It requires a strong effort to emerge from this +lotus-eating state of mind. O, lovely it is, on +sunny afternoons to sit high up in a crevice of the +rock and look down on the living magnificence of +breakers such as made music about us after the +Minot’s Ledge storm,—to watch them gather, +one after another,</p> + +<p class="center"> +“Cliffs of emerald topped with snow,<br> +That lift and lift, and then let go<br> +A great white avalanche of thunder,”<br> +</p> + +<p>which makes the solid earth tremble, and you, +clinging to the moist rock, feel like a little cockle-shell!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span> +If you are out of the reach of the heavy +fall of spray, the fine salt mist will still stream +about you, and salute your cheek with the healthful +freshness of the brine, make your hair damp, +and encrust your eyebrows with salt. While +you sit watching the shifting splendor, uprises +at once a higher cloud than usual; and across +it springs a sudden rainbow, like a beautiful +thought beyond the reach of human expression. +High over your head the white gulls soar, +gathering the sunshine in the snowy hollows of +their wings. As you look up to them floating in +the fathomless blue, there is something awful in +the purity of that arch beneath their wings, in +light or shade, as the broad pinions move with +stately grace. There is no bird so white,—nor +swan, nor dove, nor mystic ibis: about the ocean-marges +there is no dust to soil their perfect +snow, and no stormy wind can ruffle their delicate +plumes,—the beautiful, happy creatures! One +never tires of watching them. Again and again +appears the rainbow with lovely colors melting +into each other and vanishing, to appear again at +the next upspringing of the spray. On the horizon +the white sails shine; and far and wide spreads +the blue of the sea, with nothing between you and +the eastern continent across its vast, calm plain.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span></p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i126_120" style="max-width: 126.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i126_120.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption class="caption"><p><span class="smcap">White Island.</span></p></figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>I well remember my first sight of White Island, +where we took up our abode on leaving the mainland. +I was scarcely five years old; but from the +upper windows of our dwelling in Portsmouth, I +had been shown the clustered masts of ships lying +at the wharves along the Piscataqua River, faintly +outlined against the sky, and, baby as I was, even +then I was drawn, with a vague longing, seaward. +How delightful was that long, first sail to the Isles +of Shoals! How pleasant the unaccustomed +sound of the incessant ripple against the boat-side, +the sight of the wide water and limitless sky, the +warmth of the broad sunshine that made us blink +like young sandpipers as we sat in triumph, perched +among the household goods with which the little +craft was laden! It was at sunset in autumn that +we were set ashore on that loneliest, lovely rock, +where the lighthouse looked down on us like some +tall, black-capped giant, and filled me with awe +and wonder. At its base a few goats were grouped +on the rock, standing out dark against the red sky +as I looked up at them. The stars were beginning +to twinkle; the wind blew cold, charged with the +sea’s sweetness; the sound of many waters half +bewildered me. Some one began to light the +lamps in the tower. Rich red and golden, they +swung round in mid-air; everything was strange<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> +and fascinating and new. We entered the quaint +little old stone cottage that was for six years our +home. How curious it seemed, with its low, +whitewashed ceiling and deep window-seats, showing +the great thickness of the walls made to withstand +the breakers, with whose force we soon grew +acquainted! A blissful home the little house became +to the children who entered it that quiet +evening and slept for the first time lulled by the +murmur of the encircling sea. I do not think a +happier triad ever existed than we were, living +in that profound isolation. It takes so little +to make a healthy child happy; and we never +wearied of our few resources. True, the winters +seemed as long as a whole year to our little minds, +but they were pleasant, nevertheless. Into the +deep window-seats we climbed, and with pennies +(for which we had no other use) made round holes +in the thick frost, breathing on them till they +were warm, and peeped out at the bright, fierce, +windy weather, watching the vessels scudding +over the intensely dark blue sea, all “feather-white” +where the short waves broke hissing in the +cold, and the sea-fowl soaring aloft or tossing on +the water; or, in calmer days, we saw how the +stealthy Star-Islander paddled among the ledges, +or lay for hours stretched on the wet sea-weed,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span> +with his gun, watching for wild-fowl. Sometimes +the round head of a seal moved about among the +kelp-covered rocks. A few are seen every winter, +and are occasionally shot; but they are shyer and +more alert even than the birds.</p> + +<p>We were forced to lay in stores of all sorts in +the autumn, as if we were fitting out a ship for an +Arctic expedition. The lower story of the lighthouse +was hung with mutton and beef, and the +store-room packed with provisions.</p> + +<p>In the long, covered walk that bridged the +gorge between the lighthouse and the house, we +played in stormy days; and every evening it was +a fresh excitement to watch the lighting of the +lamps, and think how far the lighthouse sent its +rays, and how many hearts it gladdened with assurance +of safety. As I grew older I was allowed +to kindle the lamps sometimes myself. That was +indeed a pleasure. So little a creature as I might +do that much for the great world! But by the +fireside our best pleasure lay,—with plants and +singing birds and books and playthings and loving +care and kindness the cold and stormy season +wore itself at last away, and died into the summer +calm. We hardly saw a human face beside our +own all winter; but with the spring came manifold +life to our lonely dwelling,—human life<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span> +among other forms. Our neighbors from Star +rowed across; the pilot-boat from Portsmouth +steered over, and brought us letters, newspapers, +magazines, and told us the news of months. The +faint echoes from the far-off world hardly touched +us little ones. We listened to the talk of our +elders. “Winfield Scott and Santa Anna!” “The +war in Mexico!” “The famine in Ireland!” It +all meant nothing to us. We heard the reading +aloud of details of the famine, and saw tears in +the eyes of the reader, and were vaguely sorry; +but the fate of Red Riding-Hood was much more +near and dreadful to us. We waited for the +spring with an eager longing; the advent of the +growing grass, the birds and flowers and insect +life, the soft skies and softer winds, the everlasting +beauty of the thousand tender tints that +clothed the world,—these things brought us unspeakable +bliss. To the heart of Nature one +must needs be drawn in such a life; and very soon +I learned how richly she repays in deep refreshment +the reverent love of her worshipper. With +the first warm days we built our little mountains +of wet gravel on the beach, and danced after the +sandpipers at the edge of the foam, shouted to +the gossiping kittiwakes that fluttered above, or +watched the pranks of the burgomaster gull, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> +cried to the crying loons. The gannet’s long, +white wings stretched overhead, perhaps, or the +dusky shag made a sudden shadow in mid-air, or +we startled on some lonely ledge the great blue +heron that flew off, trailing legs and wings, stork-like, +against the clouds. Or, in the sunshine on +the bare rocks, we cut from the broad, brown +leaves of the slippery, varnished kelps, grotesque +shapes of man and bird and beast that withered +in the wind and blew away; or we fashioned rude +boats from bits of driftwood, manned them with +a weird crew of kelpies, and set them adrift on the +great deep, to float we cared not whither.</p> + +<p>We played with the empty limpet-shells; they +were mottled gray and brown, like the song-sparrow’s +breast. We launched fleets of purple mussel-shells +on the still pools in the rocks, left by +the tide,—pools that were like bits of fallen +rainbow with the wealth of the sea, with tints of +delicate sea-weeds, crimson and green and ruddy +brown and violet; where wandered the pearly eolis +with rosy spines and fairy horns; and the large, +round sea-urchins, like a boss upon a shield, +were fastened here and there on the rock at +the bottom, putting out from their green, prickly +spikes transparent tentacles to seek their invisible +food. Rosy and lilac star-fish clung to the sides;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> +in some dark nook, perhaps, a holothure unfolded +its perfect ferns, a lovely, warm buff color, delicate +as frost-work; little forests of coralline moss grew +up in stillness, gold-colored shells crept about, and +now and then flashed the silver-darting fins of +slender minnows. The dimmest recesses were +haunts of sea-anemones that opened wide their +starry flowers to the flowing tide, or drew themselves +together, and hung in large, half-transparent +drops, like clusters of some strange, amber-colored +fruit, along the crevices as the water ebbed away. +Sometimes we were cruel enough to capture a +female lobster hiding in a deep cleft, with her +millions of mottled eggs; or we laughed to see +the hermit-crabs challenge each other, and come +out and fight a deadly battle till the stronger +overcame, and, turning the weaker topsy-turvy, possessed +himself of his ampler cockle-shell, and scuttled +off with it triumphant. Or, pulling all together, +we dragged up the long kelps, or devil’s-aprons; +their roots were almost always fastened +about large, living mussels; these we unclasped, +carrying the mussels home to be cooked; fried in +crumbs or batter, they were as good as oysters. +We picked out from the kelp-roots a kind of star-fish +which we called sea-spider; the moment we +touched it an extraordinary process began. One<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> +by one it disjointed all its sections,—whether +from fear or anger we knew not; but it threw itself +away, bit by bit, until nothing was left of it +save the little, round body whence the legs had +sprung!</p> + +<p>With crab and limpet, with grasshopper and +cricket, we were friends and neighbors, and we +were never tired of watching the land-spiders that +possessed the place. Their webs covered every +window-pane to the lighthouse top, and they rebuilt +them as fast as they were swept down. One +variety lived among the round gray stones on the +beach, just above high-water mark, and spun no +webs at all. Large and black, they speckled the +light stones, swarming in the hot sun; at the first +footfall they vanished beneath the pebbles.</p> + +<p>All the cracks in the rocks were draped with +swinging veils like the window-panes. How often +have we marvelled at them, after a fog or a heavy +fall of dew, in the early morning, when every +slender thread was strung with glittering drops,—the +whole symmetrical web a wonder of shining +jewels trembling in the breeze! Tennyson’s +lines,</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">“The cobweb woven across the cannon’s throat</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Shall shake its threaded tears in the wind no more,”</span><br> +</p> + +<p>always bring back to my mind the memory of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> +those delicate, spangled draperies, more beautiful +than any mortal loom could weave, that curtained +the rocks at White Island and “shook their +threaded tears” in every wind.</p> + +<p>Sometimes we saw the bats wheel through the +summer dusk, and in profoundly silent evenings +heard, from the lighthouse top, their shrill, small +cries, their voices sharper and finer than needle-points. +One day I found one clinging to the under +side of a shutter,—a soft, dun-colored, downy +lump. I took it in my hand, and in an instant it +changed to a hideous little demon, and its fierce +white teeth met in the palm of my hand. So +much fury in so small a beast I never encountered, +and I was glad enough to give him his liberty +without more ado.</p> + +<p>A kind of sandhopper about an inch long, that +infested the beach, was a great source of amusement. +Lifting the stranded sea-weed that marked +the high-water line, we always startled a gray and +brown cloud of them from beneath it, leaping +away, like tiny kangaroos, out of sight. In +storms these were driven into the house, forcing +their way through every crack and cranny till they +strewed the floors,—the sea so encircled us! Dying +immediately upon leaving the water from +which they fled, they turned from a clear brown,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> +or what Mr. Kingsley would call a “pellucid +gray,” to bright brick-color, like a boiled lobster, +and many a time I have swept them up in ruddy +heaps; they looked like bits of coral.</p> + +<p>I remember in the spring kneeling on the +ground to seek the first blades of grass that +pricked through the soil, and bringing them into +the house to study and wonder over. Better than +a shop full of toys they were to me! Whence +came their color? How did they draw their +sweet, refreshing tint from the brown earth, or the +limpid air, or the white light? Chemistry was +not at hand to answer me, and all her wisdom +would not have dispelled the wonder. Later the +little scarlet pimpernel charmed me. It seemed +more than a flower; it was like a human thing. I +knew it by its homely name of poor-man’s weather-glass. +It was so much wiser than I, for, when the +sky was yet without a cloud, softly it clasped its +small red petals together, folding its golden heart +in safety from the shower that was sure to come! +How could it know so much? Here is a question +science cannot answer. The pimpernel grows +everywhere about the islands, in every cleft and +cranny where a suspicion of sustenance for its +slender root can lodge; and it is one of the most +exquisite of flowers, so rich in color, so quaint and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> +dainty in its method of growth. I never knew +its silent warning fail. I wondered much how +every flower knew what to do and to be; why the +morning-glory didn’t forget sometimes, and bear +a cluster of elder-bloom, or the elder hang out +pennons of gold and purple like the iris, or the +golden-rod suddenly blaze out a scarlet plume, the +color of the pimpernel, was a mystery to my +childish thought. And why did the sweet wild +primrose wait till after sunset to unclose its pale +yellow buds; why did it unlock its treasure of +rich perfume to the night alone? Few flowers +bloomed for me upon the lonesome rock; but I +made the most of all I had, and neither knew of +nor desired more. Ah, how beautiful they were! +Tiny stars of crimson sorrel threaded on their +long brown stems; the blackberry blossoms in +bridal white; the surprise of the blue-eyed grass; +the crowfoot flowers, like drops of yellow gold +spilt about among the short grass and over the +moss; the rich, blue-purple beach-pea, the sweet, +spiked germander, and the homely, delightful yarrow +that grows thickly on all the islands. Sometimes +its broad clusters of dull white bloom are +stained a lovely reddish-purple, as if with the +light of sunset. I never saw it colored so elsewhere. +Quantities of slender, wide-spreading<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> +mustard-bushes grew about the house; their delicate +flowers were like fragrant golden clouds. +Dandelions, buttercups, and clover were not denied +to us; though we had no daisies nor violets +nor wild roses, no asters, but gorgeous spikes of +golden-rod, and wonderful wild morning-glories, +whose long, pale, ivory buds I used to find in the +twilight, glimmering among the dark leaves, waiting +for the touch of dawn to unfold and become +each an exquisite incarnate blush,—the perfect +color of a South Sea shell. They ran wild, knotting +and twisting about the rocks, and smothering +the loose boulders in the gorges with lush green +leaves and pink blossoms.</p> + +<p>Many a summer morning have I crept out of +the still house before any one was awake, and, +wrapping myself closely from the chill wind of +dawn, climbed to the top of the high cliff called +the Head to watch the sunrise. Pale grew the +lighthouse flame before the broadening day as, +nestled in a crevice at the cliff’s edge, I watched +the shadows draw away and morning break. Facing +the east and south, with all the Atlantic before +me, what happiness was mine as the deepening rose-color +flushed the delicate cloudflocks that dappled +the sky, where the gulls soared, rosy too, while the +calm sea blushed beneath. Or perhaps it was a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span> +cloudless sunrise with a sky of orange-red, and the +sea-line silver-blue against it, peaceful as heaven. +Infinite variety of beauty always awaited me, and +filled me with an absorbing, unreasoning joy such +as makes the song-sparrow sing,—a sense of perfect +bliss. Coming back in the sunshine, the morning-glories +would lift up their faces, all awake, to +my adoring gaze. Like countless rosy trumpets +sometimes I thought they were, tossed everywhere +about the rocks, turned up to the sky, or drooping +toward the ground, or looking east, west, +north, south, in silent loveliness. It seemed as +if they had gathered the peace of the golden morning +in their still depths even as my heart had +gathered it.</p> + +<p>In some of those matchless summer mornings +when I went out to milk the little dun cow, it was +hardly possible to go farther than the doorstep, +for pure wonder, as I looked abroad at the sea +lying still, like a vast, round mirror, the tide drawn +away from the rich brown rocks, a sail or two +asleep in the calm, not a sound abroad except a +few bird voices; dew lying like jewel-dust sifted +over everything,—diamond and ruby, sapphire, +topaz, and amethyst, flashing out of the emerald +deeps of the tufted grass or from the bending +tops. Looking over to the mainland, I could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> +dimly discern in the level sunshine the depths of +glowing green woods faintly revealed in the distance, +fold beyond fold of hill and valley thickly +clothed with the summer’s splendor. But my +handful of grass was more precious to me than +miles of green fields, and I was led to consider +every blade where there were so few. Not long +ago I had watched them piercing the ground toward +the light; now, how strong in their slender grace +were these stems, how perfect the poise of the +heavy heads that waved with such harmony of +movement in the faintest breeze! And I noticed +at mid-day when the dew was dry, where the tall, +blossoming spears stood in graceful companies +that, before they grew purple, brown, and ripe, +when they began to blossom, they put out first a +downy ring of pollen in tiny, yellow rays, held by +an almost invisible thread, which stood out like an +aureole from each slow-waving head,—a fairy-like +effect. On Seavey’s Island (united to ours by a +narrow beach covered at high tide with contending +waves) grew one single root of fern, the only one +within the circle of my little world. It was safe +in a deep cleft, but I was in perpetual anxiety lest +my little cow, going there daily to pasture, should +leave her cropping of the grass and eat it up some +day. Poor little cow! One night she did not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span> +come home to be milked as usual, and on going to +seek her we found she had caught one foot in a +crevice and twisted her hoof entirely off! That +was a calamity; for we were forced to summon our +neighbors and have her killed on the spot.</p> + +<p>I had a scrap of garden, literally not more than +a yard square, wherein grew only African marigolds, +rich in color as barbaric gold. I knew nothing +of John Keats at that time,—poor Keats, +“who told Severn that he thought his intensest +pleasure in life had been to watch the growth of +flowers,”—but I am sure he never felt their beauty +more devoutly than the little, half-savage being +who knelt, like a fire-worshipper, to watch the unfolding +of those golden disks. When, later, the +“brave new world” of poets was opened to me, +with what power those glowing lines of his went +straight to my heart,</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">“Open afresh your rounds of starry folds,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Ye ardent marigolds!”</span><br> +</p> + +<p>All flowers had for me such human interest, they +were so dear and precious, I hardly liked to gather +them, and when they were withered, I carried them +all to one place and laid them tenderly together, +and never liked to pass the spot where they were +hidden.</p> + +<p>Once or twice every year came the black,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> +lumbering old “oil-schooner” that brought supplies +for the lighthouse, and the inspector, who gravely +examined everything, to see if all was in order. +He left stacks of clear red and white glass chimneys +for the lamps, and several doe-skins for polishing +the great, silver-lined copper reflectors, large +bundles of wicks, and various pairs of scissors for +trimming them, heavy black casks of ill-perfumed +whale-oil, and other things, which were all stowed in +the round, dimly-lighted rooms of the tower. Very +awe-struck, we children always crept into corners, +and whispered and watched the intruders till they +embarked in their ancient, clumsy vessel, and, +hoisting their dark, weather-stained sails, bore +slowly away again. About ten years ago that old +white lighthouse was taken away, and a new, perpendicular +brick tower built in its place. The +lantern, with its fifteen lamps, ten golden and five +red, gave place to Fresnel’s powerful single burner, +or, rather, three burners in one, enclosed in its case +of prisms. The old lighthouse was by far the most +picturesque; but perhaps the new one is more effective, +the light being, undoubtedly, more powerful.</p> + +<p>Often, in pleasant days, the head of the family +sailed away to visit the other islands, sometimes +taking the children with him, oftener going alone, +frequently not returning till after dark. The landing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> +at White Island is so dangerous that the greatest +care is requisite, if there is any sea running, to +get ashore in safety. Two long and very solid timbers +about three feet apart are laid from the boat-house +to low-water mark, and between those timbers +the boat’s bow must be accurately steered; if +she goes to the right or the left, woe to her crew +unless the sea is calm! Safely lodged in the slip, +as it is called, she is drawn up into the boat-house +by a capstan, and fastened securely. The lighthouse +gave no ray to the dark rock below it; sending +its beams far out to sea, it left us at its foot in +greater darkness for its lofty light. So when the +boat was out late, in soft, moonless summer nights, +I used to light a lantern, and, going down to the +water’s edge, take my station between the timbers +of the slip, and, with the lantern at my feet, sit +waiting in the darkness, quite content, knowing +my little star was watched for, and that the safety +of the boat depended in a great measure upon it. +How sweet the summer wind blew, how softly +plashed the water round me, how refreshing was +the odor of the sparkling brine! High above, the +lighthouse rays streamed out into the humid dark, +and the cottage windows were ruddy from the glow +within. I felt so much a part of the Lord’s +universe, I was no more afraid of the dark than the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> +waves or winds; but I was glad to hear at last the +creaking of the mast and the rattling of the rowlocks +as the boat approached; and, while yet she +was far off, the lighthouse touched her one large +sail into sight, so that I knew she was nearing me, +and shouted, listening for the reply that came so +blithely back to me over the water.</p> + +<p>Unafraid, too, we watched the summer tempests, +and listened to the deep, melodious thunder rolling +away over the rain-calmed ocean. The lightning +played over the iron rods that ran from the +lighthouse-top down into the sea. Where it lay on +the sharp ridgepole of the long, covered walk that +spanned the gorge, the strange fire ran up the +spikes that were set at equal distances, and burnt +like pale flame from their tips. It was fine indeed +from the lighthouse itself to watch the storm come +rushing over the sea and ingulf us in our helplessness. +How the rain weltered down over the +great panes of plate glass,—floods of sweet, fresh +water that poured off the rocks and mingled with +the bitter brine. I wondered why the fresh floods +never made the salt sea any sweeter. Those pale +flames that we beheld burning from the spikes of +the lightning-rod, I suppose were identical with the +St. Elmo’s fire that I have since seen described as +haunting the spars of ships in thunder-storms.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span> +And here I am reminded of a story told by some +gentlemen visiting Appledore sixteen or eighteen +years ago. They started from Portsmouth for the +Shoals in a whaleboat, one evening in summer, +with a native Star-Islander, Richard Randall by +name, to manage the boat. They had sailed about +half the distance, when they were surprised at +seeing a large ball of fire, like a rising moon, rolling +toward them over the sea from the south. +They watched it eagerly as it bore down upon +them, and, veering off, went east of them at some +little distance, and then passed astern, and there, +of course, they expected to lose sight of it; but +while they were marvelling and speculating, it +altered its course, and suddenly began to near +them, coming back upon its track against the +wind and steadily following in their wake. This +was too much for the native Shoaler. He took +off his jacket and turned it inside out to exorcise +the fiend, and lo, the apparition most certainly +disappeared! We heard the excited account of +the strange gentlemen and witnessed the holy horror +of the boatman on the occasion; but no one +could imagine what had set the globe of fire rolling +across the sea. Some one suggested that it +might be an exhalation, a phosphorescent light, +from the decaying body of some dead fish; but in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> +that case it must have been taken in tow by some +living finny creature, else how could it have sailed +straight “into the teeth of the wind”? It was +never satisfactorily accounted for, and must remain +a mystery.</p> + +<p>One autumn at White Island our little boat had +been to Portsmouth for provisions, etc. With the +spy-glass we watched her returning, beating against +the head wind. The day was bright, but there +had been a storm at sea, and the breakers rolled +and roared about us. The process of “beating” +is so tedious that, though the boat had started in +the morning, the sun was sending long yellow light +from the west before it reached the island. There +was no cessation in those resistless billows that +rolled from the Devil’s Rock upon the slip; but +still the little craft sailed on, striving to reach +the landing. The hand at the tiller was firm, but +a huge wave swept suddenly in, swerving the boat +to the left of the slip, and in a moment she was +overturned and flung upon the rocks, and her only +occupant tossed high upon the beach, safe except +for a few bruises; but what a moment of terror it +was for us all, who saw and could not save! All +the freight was lost except a roll of iron wire and +a barrel of walnuts. These were spread on the +floor of an unoccupied eastern chamber in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span> +cottage to dry. And they did dry; but before they +were gathered up came a terrible storm from the +southeast. It raved and tore at lighthouse and +cottage; the sea broke into the windows of that +eastern chamber where the walnuts lay, and washed +them out till they came dancing down the stairs +in briny foam! The sea broke the windows of the +house several times during our stay at the lighthouse. +Everything shook so violently from the +concussion of the breakers, that dishes on the +closet shelves fell to the floor, and one member of +the family was at first always made sea-sick in +storms, by the tremor and deafening confusion. +One night when, from the southeast, the very soul +of chaos seemed to have been let loose upon the +world, the whole ponderous “walk” (the covered +bridge that connected the house and lighthouse) +was carried thundering down the gorge and dragged +out into the raging sea.</p> + +<p>It was a distressing situation for us,—cut off +from the precious light that must be kept alive; +for the breakers were tearing through the gorge +so that no living thing could climb across. But +the tide could not resist the mighty impulse +that drew it down; it was forced to obey the still +voice that bade it ebb; all swollen and raging and +towering as it was, slowly and surely, at the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> +appointed time, it sank away from our rock, so that, +between the billows that still strove to clutch at +the white, silent, golden-crowned tower, one could +creep across, and scale the height, and wind up +the machinery that kept the great clustered light +revolving till the gray daylight broke to extinguish +it.</p> + +<p>I often wondered how it was possible for the sea-birds +to live through such storms as these. But, +when one could see at all, the gulls were always +soaring, in the wildest tumult, and the stormy +petrels half flying, half swimming in the hollows +of the waves.</p> + +<p>Would it were possible to describe the beauty +of the calm that followed such tempests! The +long lines of silver foam that streaked the tranquil +blue, the “tender-curving lines of creamy spray” +along the shore, the clear-washed sky, the peaceful +yellow light, the mellow breakers murmuring +slumberously!</p> + +<p>Of all the storms our childish eyes watched +with delighted awe, one thunder-storm remains +fixed in my memory. Late in an August afternoon +it rolled its awful clouds to the zenith, and, +after the tumult had subsided, spread its lightened +vapors in an under-roof of gray over all the sky. +Presently this solemn gray lid was lifted at its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span> +western edge, and an insufferable splendor streamed +across the world from the sinking sun. The +whole heaven was in a blaze of scarlet, across +which sprang a rainbow unbroken to the topmost +clouds, “with its seven perfect colors chorded in a +triumph” against the flaming background; the +sea answered the sky’s rich blush, and the gray +rocks lay drowned in melancholy purple. I hid +my face from the glory,—it was too much to +bear. Ever I longed to <i>speak</i> these things that +made life so sweet, to speak the wind, the cloud, +the bird’s flight, the sea’s murmur. A vain longing! +I might as well have sighed for the mighty +pencil of Michael Angelo to wield in my impotent +child’s hand. Better to “hush and bless one’s +self with silence”; but ever the wish grew. Facing +the July sunsets, deep red and golden through +and through, or watching the summer northern +lights,—battalions of brilliant streamers advancing +and retreating, shooting upward to the zenith, +and glowing like fiery veils before the stars; or +when the fog-bow spanned the silver mist of +morning, or the earth and sea lay shimmering in a +golden haze of noon; in storm or calm, by day or +night, the manifold aspects of Nature held me +and swayed all my thoughts until it was impossible +to be silent any longer, and I was fain to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> +mingle my voice with her myriad voices, only aspiring +to be in accord with the Infinite harmony, +however feeble and broken the notes might be.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It has been my good fortune to witness but few +wrecks at the Shoals. The disasters of which we +hear faintly from the past were many and dreadful; +but since the building of the lighthouse on +White Island, and also on Boone Island (which +seems like a neighbor, though fifteen miles distant), +the danger of the place is much lessened. +A resident of Star Island told me of a wreck which +took place forty-seven years ago, during a heavy +storm from the eastward. It blew so that all the +doors in the house opened as fast as they shut +them, and in the night a vessel drove against +“Hog Island Head,” which fronts the village on +Star. She went to pieces utterly. In the morning +the islanders perceived the beach at Londoners +heaped with some kind of drift; they could not +make out what it was, but, as soon as the sea subsided, +went to examine and found a mass of +oranges and picture-frames, with which the vessel +had been freighted. Not a soul was saved. “She +struck with such force that she drove a large +spike out of her forefoot” into a crevice in the +rock, which was plainly to be seen till a few years<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> +ago. My informant also told me that she remembered +the wreck of the Sagunto, in 1813; that the +beaches were strewn with “almond-nuts” long after; +and that she picked up curiously embroidered vests +and “work-bags” in all directions along the shores.</p> + +<p>During a storm in 1839, while living at White +Island, we were startled by the heavy booming of +guns through the roar of the tempest,—a sound +that drew nearer and nearer, till at last, through a +sudden break in the mist and spray, we saw the +heavily rolling hull of a large vessel driving by, to +her sure destruction, toward the coast. It was as +if the wind had torn the vapor apart on purpose +to show us this piteous sight; and I well remember +the hand on my shoulder which held me firmly, +shuddering child that I was, and forced me to look +in spite of myself. What a day of pain it was! +how dreadful the sound of those signal-guns, and +how much more dreadful the certainty, when they +ceased, that all was over! We learned afterward +that it was the brig Pocahontas, homeward bound +from Spain, and that the vessel and all her crew +were lost. In later years a few coasters and fishermen +have gone ashore at the islands, generally +upon the hidden ledges at Duck. Many of these +have been loaded with lime,—a most perilous +freight; for as soon as the water touches it there is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> +a double danger; and between fire and water there +is little chance of escape.</p> + +<p>I wish I could recall the graphic language of a +Star Islander who described to me a wreck of this +kind. The islanders saw at sunrise, one bitter +winter day, a schooner ashore among the dreadful +ledges at Duck Island, and, though the wind blew +half a gale, they took their boats and ran down +toward her before the northwester. Smoke and +steam and spray and flame were rising from her +and about her when they reached the spot. Only +one man was found alive. From the davits, hanging +head downward, was the lifeless body of a +fair-haired boy of sixteen or thereabouts. The +breakers swept him to and fro, and, drawing away, +left his long yellow hair dripping with the freezing +brine. The mate’s story was that he had gone +to unfasten the boat which hung at the stern, that +a sea had struck him, and he had fallen headforemost +with his feet entangled in the ropes of the +davits. He was the only son of his mother, who +was a widow. They carried his body home to that +most unhappy mother. The vessel was a total +loss, with all on board, except the mate.</p> + +<p>One winter night at Appledore when it was +blowing very hard northwest, with a clear sky, +we were wakened by a violent knocking at the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> +door. So unaccustomed a sound, at that time of +night too, was enough to startle us all, and very +much amazed we were. The door was opened to +admit four or five shipwrecked men, whose hands, +feet, and ears were all frozen stiff,—pitiable objects +they were indeed. Their vessel had struck +full on York Ledge, a rock lying off the coast +of Maine far east of us, and they had taken to +the boat and strove to make a landing on the +coast; but the wind blew off shore so fiercely +they failed in their attempt, their hands became +useless from the cold, they dropped their oars, and, +half steering with one of the seats of the boat, +managed to reach Appledore, more dead than +alive. They were obliged to remain there several +days before finding an opportunity of going on +shore, the gale was so furious. Next morning, in the +glare of the winter sunshine, we saw their vessel, +still with all sail set, standing upright upon the +ledge,—a white column looming far away. One +of the most hideous experiences I have heard befell +a young Norwegian now living at the Shoals. +He and a young companion came out from Portsmouth +to set their trawl, in the winter fishing, +two years ago. Before they reached the island, +came a sudden squall of wind and snow, chilling +and blinding. In a few moments they knew not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> +where they were, and the wind continued to sweep +them away. Presently they found themselves +under the lee of White Island Head; they threw +out the road-lines of their trawl, in desperate hope +that they might hold the boat till the squall +abated. The keepers at the lighthouse saw the +poor fellows, but were powerless to help them. +Alas! the road-lines soon broke, and the little boat +was swept off again, they knew not whither. +Night came down upon them, tossed on that terrible +black sea; the snow ceased, the clouds flew +before the deadly cold northwest wind, the thermometer +sank below zero. One of the men died +before morning; the other, alone with the dead +man, was still driven on and on before the pitiless +gale. He had no cap nor mittens; had lost both. +He bailed the boat incessantly, for the sea broke +over him the livelong time. He told me the story +himself. He looked down at the awful face of his +dead friend and thought “how soon he should be +like him”; but still he never ceased bailing,—it +was all he could do. Before night he passed Cape +Cod and knew it as he rushed by. Another unspeakably +awful night, and the gale abated no whit. +Next morning he was almost gone from cold, fatigue, +and hunger. His eyes were so swollen he +could hardly see; but afar off, shining whiter than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> +silver in the sun, the sails of a large schooner appeared +at the edge of the fearful wilderness. He +managed to hoist a bit of old canvas on an oar. +He was then not far from Holmes’ Hole, nearly two +hundred miles from the Shoals! The schooner saw +it and bore down for him, but the sea was running +so high that he expected to be swamped every +instant. As she swept past, they threw from the +deck a rope with a loop at the end, tied with a +bow-line knot that would not slip. It caught him +over the head, and clutching it at his throat with +both hands, in an instant he found himself in the +sea among the ice-cold, furious waves, drawn toward +the vessel with all the strength of her crew. Just +before he emerged, he heard the captain shout, +“We’ve lost him!” Ah the bitter moment! +For a horrible fear struck through him that they +might lose their hold an instant on the rope, and +then he knew it would be all over. But they +saved him. The boat with the dead man in it, all +alone, went tossing, heaven knows where.</p> + +<p>The great equinoctial gale of September 8, 1869, +was very severe at the islands. One schooner went +ashore on Cannon Point at Appledore, and was a +complete wreck, though no lives were lost. She +was lying in “The Roads,” between Star and Appledore, +safely moored, her crew supposed; but she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> +dragged moorings, anchors, everything with which +they strove to save her, and crashed on the rocks, +breaking up like an eggshell. Various buildings +were blown down; windows at Appledore were +blown in, in some cases sash and all, in others the +glass was smashed as if the wind had thrust an +arm through.</p> + +<p>At about seven o’clock in the evening a great +copper-colored arch spanned the black sky from +west to east. The gale was then at its height. After +that lurid bow dissolved, flying northward in wild, +scattered fragments, the wind abated, and we began +to take breath again. A man at Star, on the +edge of the storm, rowed out in his dory to make +more secure a larger boat moored at a little distance. +Down came the hurricane and caught him, +and whirled him away like a dead leaf on the surface +of the sea. He gave himself up for lost, of +course; so did his friends. But he fastened himself +with ropes to the inside of the boat, and, tossing +from billow to billow, bailed for dear life the whole +night long. Toward morning, the wind lulling very +considerably, he was carried along the coast of +Maine, and landed in York, a short distance from +his father’s home, and quietly walked into the +house and joined the family at breakfast; then +took the cars for Portsmouth, and astounded the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span> +whole Shoals settlement by appearing in the +steamer Appledore in time for dinner. Everybody +supposed him, without a shadow of doubt, to be at +the bottom of the sea.</p> + +<p>Boone Island is the forlornest place that can be +imagined. The Isles of Shoals, barren as they +are, seem like Gardens of Eden in comparison. I +chanced to hear last summer of a person who had +been born and brought up there; he described +the loneliness as something absolutely fearful, and +declared it had pursued him all through his life. +He lived there till fourteen or fifteen years old, +when his family moved to York. While living +on the island he discovered some human remains +which had lain there thirty years. A carpenter +and his assistants, having finished some building, +were capsized in getting off, and all were drowned, +except the master. One body floated to Plum +Island at the mouth of the Merrimack; the others +the master secured, made a box for them,—all +alone the while,—and buried them in a cleft and +covered them with stones. These stones the sea +washed away, and, thirty years after they were +buried, the boy found the bones, which were removed +to York and there buried again. It was +on board a steamer bound to Bangor, that the man +told his story. Boone Island Light was shining<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span> +in the distance. He spoke with bitterness of his +life in that terrible solitude, and of “the loneliness +which had pursued him ever since.” All his relatives +were dead, he said, and he had no human +tie in the wide world except his wife. He ended +by anathematizing all islands, and, vanishing into +the darkness, was not to be found again; nor did +his name or any trace of him transpire, though +he was sought for in the morning all about the +vessel.</p> + +<p>One of the most shocking stories of shipwreck +I remember to have heard is that of the Nottingham +Galley, wrecked on this island in the year +1710. There is a narrative of this shipwreck existing, +written by “John Deane, then commander +of said Galley, but for many years after his Majesty’s +consul for the ports of Flanders, residing at +Ostend,” printed in 1762. The ship, of one hundred +and twenty tons, carrying ten guns, with a +crew of fourteen men, loaded partly in England and +partly in Ireland, and sailed for Boston on the 25th +of September, 1710. She made land on the 11th +of December, and was wrecked on that fatal rock. +At first the unhappy crew “treated each other +with kindness and condolence, and prayed to God +for relief.” The only things saved from the wreck +were a bit of canvas and half a cheese. The men<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span> +made a triangular tent of the bit of canvas, and +all lay close together beneath it, sideways; none +could turn without the general concurrence: they +turned once in two hours upon public notice. +They had no fire, and lived upon kelp and rockweed, +and mussels, three a day to a man. Starvation +and suffering soon produced a curious loss +of memory. The fourth day the cook died. When +they had been there upwards of a week, they saw +three sails in the southwest, but no boat came +near them. They built a rude boat of such materials +as they could gather from the wreck, but she +was lost in launching. One of the men, a Swede, +is particularly mentioned; he seems to have been +full of energy; with help from the others he built +a raft; in launching this they overset it. Again +they saw a sail, this time coming out from the +Piscataqua River; it was soon out of sight. The +Swede was determined to make an effort to reach +the shore, and persuaded another man to make +the attempt with him. At sunset they were seen +half-way to the land; the raft was found on shore +with the body of one man; the Swede was never +seen more. A hide was thrown on the rocks at +Boone Island by the sea; this the poor sailors ate +raw, minced. About the end of December the +carpenter died, and, driven to madness by hunger,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> +they devoured the flesh of their dead comrade. +The captain, being the strongest of the party, +dragged the body away and hid it, and dealt small +portions of it daily to the men. Immediately +their dispositions underwent a horrible change. +They became fierce and reckless, and were the most +pitiable objects of despair, when, on January 4th, +1711, they were discovered and taken off. It was +evening when they entered the Piscataqua River, +and eight o’clock when they landed. Discovering +a house through the darkness, the master rushed +into it, frightening the gentlewoman and children +desperately, and, making his way to the kitchen, +snatched the pot wherein some food was cooking +off the fire, and began to eat voraciously. This +old record mentions John Plaisted and John Wentworth +as being most “forward in benevolence” to +these poor fellows.</p> + +<p>When visiting the island for the first time, a +few years ago, I was shown the shallow gorge +where the unfortunates tried to shelter themselves. +It was the serenest of summer days; everything +smiled and shone as I stood looking down into that +rocky hollow. Near by the lighthouse sprang—a +splendid piece of masonry—over a hundred +feet into the air, to hold its warning aloft. About +its base some gentle thought had caused morning-glories<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> +to climb and unfold their violet, white, and +rosy bells against the smooth, dark stone. I +thought I had never seen flowers so beautiful. +There was hardly a handful of grass on the island, +hardly soil enough to hold a root; therefore it +seemed the more wonderful to behold this lovely +apparition. With my mind full of the story of +the Nottingham Galley, I looked at the delicate +bells, the cool green leaves, the whole airy grace +of the wandering vines, and it was as if a hand +were stretched out to pluck me away from the +awful questions never to be answered this side the +grave, that pressed so heavily while I thought how +poor humanity had here suffered the utmost misery +that it is possible to endure.</p> + +<p>The aspect of this island from the Shoals is +very striking, so lonely it lies on the eastern horizon, +its tall lighthouse like a slender column against +the sky. It is easily mistaken for the smokestack +of a steamer by unaccustomed eyes, and +sometimes the watcher most familiar with its appearance +can hardly distinguish it from the distant +white sails that steal by it, to and fro. Sometimes +it looms colossal in the mirage of summer; in +winter it lies blurred and ghostly at the edge of +chilly sea and pallid sky. In the sad, strange +light of winter sunsets, its faithful star blazes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> +suddenly from the darkening east, and sends a friendly +ray across to its neighbor at the Shoals, waiting as +it also waits, ice-bound, storm-swept, and solitary, +for gentler days to come. And “winter’s rains +and ruins” have an end at last.</p> + +<p>In the latter part of February, after ten days +perhaps of the northwester, bringing across to the +islands all the chill of the snow-covered hills of +the continent, some happy evening it dies into a +reasonable breeze, and, while the sun sets, you +climb the snowy height, and sweep with your eyes +the whole circle of the horizon, with nothing to +impede the view. Ah! how sad it looks in the +dying light! Star Island close by with its silent +little village and the sails of belated fishing-boats +hurrying in over the dark water to the moorings; +White Island afar off “kindling its great red star”; +on every side the long, bleached points of granite +stretching out into the sea, so cold and bleak; the +line of coast, sad purple; and the few schooners +leaden and gray in the distance. Yet there is a +hopeful glow where the sun went down, suggestive +of the spring; and before the ruddy sweetness of +the western sky the melancholy east is flushed +with violet, and up into the delicious color rolls a +gradual moon, mellow and golden as in harvest-time, +while high above her the great star Jupiter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> +begins to glitter clear. On such an evening some +subtle influence of the coming spring steals to +the heart, and eyes that have watched the winter +skies so patiently grow wistful with the thought +of summer days to come. On shore in these last +weeks of winter one becomes aware, by various +delicate tokens, of the beautiful change at hand,—by +the deepening of the golden willow wands +into a more living color, and by their silvery buds, +which in favored spots burst the brown sheaths; +by the reddening of bare maple-trees, as if with +promise of future crimson flowers; by the sweet +cry of the returning bluebird; by the alders at the +river’s edge. If the season is mild, the catkins +begin to unwind their tawny tresses in the first +weeks of March. But here are no trees, and no +bluebirds come till April. Perhaps some day the +delightful clangor of the wild geese is heard, and +looking upward, lo! the long, floating ribbon +streaming northward across the sky. What joy +they bring to hearts so weary with waiting! +Truly a wondrous content is shaken down with +their wild clamors out of the cloudy heights, and +a courage and vigor lurk in these strong voices +that touch the listener with something better +than gladness, while he traces eagerly the wavering +lines that seek the north with steady, measured +flight.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span></p> + +<p>Gradually the bitter winds abate; early in March +the first flocks of crows arrive, and they soar finely +above the coves, and perch on the flukes of +stranded anchors or the tops of kellock-sticks that +lie about the water’s edge. They are most welcome, +for they are never seen in winter; and +pleasant it is to watch them beating their black, +ragged pinions in the blue, while the gulls swim +on beyond them serenely, shining still whiter for +their sable color. No other birds come till about +the 27th of March, and then all at once the islands +are alive with song-sparrows, and these sing +from morning till night so beautifully that dull +and weary indeed must be the mortal who can resist +the charm of their fresh music. There is a +matchless sweetness and good cheer in this brave +bird. The nightingale singing with its breast +against a thorn may be divine; yet would I turn +away from its tender melody to listen to the +fresh, cheerful, healthy song of this dauntless and +happy little creature. They come in flocks to be +fed every morning the whole summer long, tame +and charming, with their warm brown and gray +feathers, striped and freaked with wood-color, and +little brown knots at each pretty throat! They +build their nests, and remain till the snow falls; frequently +they remain all winter; sometimes they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span> +come into the house for shelter; once one fluttered +in and entered the canaries’ cage voluntarily, and +stayed there singing like a voice from heaven all +winter. Robins and blackbirds appear with the +sparrows; a few blackbirds build and remain; the +robins, finding no trees, flit across to the mainland. +Yellow-birds and kingbirds occasionally build here, +but very rarely. By the first of April the snow is +gone, and our bit of earth is free from that dead +white mask. How lovely then the gentle neutral +tints of tawny intervals of dead grass and brown +bushes and varying stone appear, set in the living +sea! There is hardly a square foot of the bare +rock that isn’t precious for its soft coloring; and +freshly beautiful are the uncovered lichens that +with patient fingering have ornamented the +rough surfaces with their wonderful embroideries. +They flourish with the greatest vigor by the sea; +whole houses at Star used to be covered with the +orange-colored variety, and I have noticed the +same thing in the pretty fishing village of Newcastle +and on some of the old buildings by the +river-side in sleepy Portsmouth city. Through +April the weather softens daily, and by the 20th +come gray, quiet days with mild northeast wind; +in the hollows the grass has greened, and now the +gentle color seems to brim over and spread out<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span> +upon the ground in faint and fainter gradations. +A refreshing odor springs from the moist earth, +from the short, sweet turf which the cattle crop so +gladly,—a musky fragrance unlike that of inland +pastures; and with this is mingled the pure sea-breeze,—a +most reviving combination. The turfy +gorges, boulder-strewn and still, remind one of +Alexander Smith’s descriptions of his summer in +Skye, of those quiet, lonely glens,—just such a +grassy carpet was spread in their hollows. By the +23d of April come the first swallow and flocks of +martins, golden-winged and downy woodpeckers, +the tiny, ruby-crowned wren, and troops of many +other kinds of birds; kingfishers that perch on +stranded kellocks, little nuthatches that peck +among the shingles for hidden spiders, and gladden +the morning with sweet, quaint cries, so busy +and bright and friendly! All these tarry only +awhile in their passage to the mainland.</p> + +<p>But though the birds come and the sky has relented +and grown tender with its melting clouds, +the weather in New England has a fashion of +leaping back into midwinter in the space of an +hour, and all at once comes half a hurricane from +the northwest, charged with the breath of all the +remaining snow-heaps on the far mountain +ranges,—a “white-sea roarin’ wind” that takes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span> +you back to January. In the afternoon, through +the cold, transparent heaven, a pale half-moon +glides slowly over; there is a splendor of wild +clouds at sunset, dusk heaps with scarlet fringes, +scattered flecks of flame in a clear crimson air +above the fallen sun; then cold moonlight over +the black sea, with the flash and gleam of white +waves the whole night long.</p> + +<p>But the potent spirit of the spring triumphs at +last. When the sun in its journey north passes a +certain group of lofty pine-trees standing out distinctly +against the sky on Breakfast Hill in Greenland, +New Hampshire, which lies midway in the +coast line, then the Shoalers are happy in the +conviction that there will be “settled weather”; +and they put no trust in any relenting of the +elements before that time. After this there soon +come days when to be alive is quite enough joy,—days +when it is bliss only to watch and feel how</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">“God renews</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">His ancient rapture,”—</span><br> +</p> + +<p>days when the sea lies, colored like a turquoise, +blue and still, and from the south a band of warm, +gray-purple haze steals down on the horizon like +an encircling arm about the happy world. The +lightest film encroaches upon the sea, only made +perceptible by the shimmering of far-off sails. A<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span> +kind of bloom, inexpressibly lovely, softens over +the white canvas of nearer vessels, like a delicate +veil. There is a fascination in the motion of +these slender schooners, a wondrous grace, as they +glide before a gentle wind, slowly bowing, bending, +turning, with curving canvas just filled with the +breeze, and shadows falling soft from sail to sail. +They are all so picturesque, so suggestive, from +the small, tanned spritsail some young islander +spreads to flit to and fro among the rocks and +ledges, to the stately column of canvas that bears +the great ship round the world. The variety of +their aspects is endless and ever beautiful, whether +you watch them from the lighthouse-top, dreaming +afar on the horizon, or at the water’s edge; +whether they are drowned in the flood of sunshine +on the waves, or glide darkly through the +track of the moonlight, or fly toward you full of +promise, wing and wing, like some magnificent +bird, or steal away reddening in the sunset as if to</p> + +<p class="center"> +“Sink with all you love below the verge.”<br> +</p> + +<p>I know nothing sadder than their aspect in the +light of the winter sunsets, as they vanish in +the cold east, blushing for a fleeting moment, +sweetly, faintly, under the last touch of the dropping +day. To a child’s imagination they are all +full of charm and of mystery, freighted with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> +heavenly dreams. “The thoughts of youth are +long, long thoughts,” and the watching of the +sails filled the lonely, lovely summer days of one +young Shoaler with joy enough and to spare. +How many pictures linger in my mind,—splendid, +stately apparitions of full-rigged, slender schooners, +passing very near early in the breezy mornings +of spring, every inch of canvas in a blaze of white +light, and the whole vessel alive from keel to topmast. +And well I remember on soft May evenings +how they came dropping down from Cape Ann, +while the sunset, streaming through low bars of +cloud, just touched them with pale gold, and made +them half luminous and altogether lovely; and +how the fog clung in silver strips to the dark, +wet sails of vessels lying becalmed when all the +air about was clear and free from mist; how the +mackerel fleet surrounded the islands, five hundred +craft sometimes between the islands and the +coast, so that one might almost walk on shore +from deck to deck. It was wonderful to wake on +some midsummer morning and find the sea gray-green, +like translucent chrysoprase, and the somewhat +stormy sunrise painting the sails bright +flame-color as they flew before the warm, wild wind +that blew strongly from the south. At night, +sometimes, in a glory of moonlight, a vessel passed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span> +close in with all sail set, and only just air enough +to fill the canvas, enough murmur from the full +tide to drown the sound of her movement,—a +beautiful ghost stealing softly by, and passing in +mysterious light beyond the glimmering headland +out of sight. Here was suggestion enough for +a night full of visions! Then the scudding of +sails before a storm,—how they came rushing +in from the far, dim sea-line, racing by to Portsmouth +Harbor, close-reefed, or under darkened +mainsail and jib only, leaping over the long swell, +and plunging their sharp bowsprits into a cloud +of snowy spray at every leap! Then when the +storm had spent itself, how beautiful to see them +stealing tranquilly forth from the river’s mouth, +flocking seaward again, shining white in the peaceful +morning sunshine! Watching them in all +their endless variety, coming and going, dreaming, +drifting, or flying, many a time these quaint old +rhymes occurred to me:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Ships, ships, I will descrie you</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Amidst the main,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I will come and try you</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What you are protecting,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And projecting,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">What’s your end and aim?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Some go abroad for merchandise and trading,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Another stays to keep his country from invading,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A third is coming home with rich and wealthy lading.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Halloo! my fancie, whither wilt thou go?”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span></p> +<p>As the winter is doubly hard, so are the gentler +seasons doubly sweet and delightful, when one is +shut out with them, as it were, and forced to observe +all their changes and peculiarities, with so +few human interests to interrupt one’s intercourse +with nature. The rainy days in May at the Isles +of Shoals have seemed to me more lovely than the +sunshine in Paradise could be, so charming it was +to walk in the warm showers over our island, and +note all the mosses and lichens drenched and +bright with the moisture, thick, sweet buds on the +bayberry bushes, rich green leaves unfolding here +and there among the tangled vines, and bright +anemones growing up between. The lovely eyebright +glimmers everywhere. The rain, if it continues +for several days, bleaches the sea-weed about +the shores to a lighter and more golden brown, +the sea is gray, and the sky lowers; but all these +neutral tints are gentle and refreshing. The +coasters rock lazily on the long swell toward Cape +Ann, dim through low-hanging clouds; clearly the +sandpipers call, and always the song-sparrows +freshly surprise you with their outburst of cheerful +music. In the last weeks of May comes a +period of balmy days, with a gentle, incessant +southwest wind, the sea a wonderful gray-blue, +with the faint, impalpable haze lying over sails,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> +islands, sea, and coast. A brooding warmth is everywhere. +The sky is cloudless, but opaque,—a +kind of milky effect in the atmosphere, through +which the sun is seen as through smoked glass, +and long before it sets one can bear to look at the +crimson ball slow sinking in the rich, red west; +and the moon is like copper, throwing no light on +the water. The islanders call this a “smoky +sou’wester.” Now come delicious twilights, with +silence broken only by mysterious murmurs from +the waves, and sweet, full cries from the sandpipers +fluttering about their nests on the margin +of the beaches,—tender, happy notes that thrill +the balmy air, and echo softly about the silent, +moonlit coves. Sails in this twilight atmosphere +gather the dusk within their folds; if the warm +wind is blowing softly, there is enchantment in +the sound of the lazily-flapping canvas and in the +long creak of the mast. A human voice borne +through this breathing wind comes like a waft of +music faintly heard across the water. The mornings +now are exquisite, the delicate flush of the +sunrise through this beautiful haze is indescribable. +The island is indeed like</p> + +<p class="center"> +“A precious stone set in the silver sea,”<br> +</p> + +<p>so freshly green, so flower-strewn and fragrant, so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> +musical with birds, and with the continual caressing +of summer waves. Now and then a bobolink +pays us a flying visit, and, tilting on a blackberry +spray, pours out his intoxicating song; some +morning is heard the fairy bugling of an oriole; +a scarlet tanager honors the place with half a day’s +sojourn, to be the wonder of all eyes; but commonly +the swallows hold it in undisputed possession. +The air is woven through and through with +the gleam of their burnished wings and their clear, +happy cries. They are so tame, knowing how +well they are beloved, that they gather on the +window-sills, twittering and fluttering, gay and +graceful, turning their heads this way and that, +eying you askance without a trace of fear. All +day they build their nests about the eaves, nor +heed how loving eyes do watch their charming +toil. Walking abroad in these pleasant evenings, +many a little sparrow’s nest one finds low down in +the bayberry-bushes,—smooth, brown cups of woven +grass, wherein lie the five speckled eggs, each +full of silent music, each dumb miracle waiting for +the finger of God to wake, to be alive, to drink the +sunshine and the breeze, to fill the air with blissful +sound. At the water’s edge one finds the +long ledges covered with barnacles, and from each +rough shell a tiny, brown, filmy hand is thrust out,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> +opening and shutting in gladness beneath the +coming tide, feeling the freshness of the flowing +water. The shore teems with life in manifold +forms. As the darkness gathers, the ripples begin +to break in pale flame against the rocks; if the +tide is low enough, it is charming to steal down +in the shadow, and, drawing aside the curtain of +coarse sea-weed that drapes the face of some +smooth rock, to write on the surface beneath: +the strange fire follows your finger; and there is +your name in weird flame, all alive, quivering and +trembling, and finally fading and disappearing. +In a still pool you drop a stone or touch the +water with your hand: instantly a thousand stars +break out and burn and vanish in a moment! It +used to be a pleasant thing to bring a piece of +drift-wood, water-soaked, and shaggy with fine seaweed, +up from the shore, and from some dark +corner suddenly sweep my hand across it: a sheet +of white flame followed, startling the beholder.</p> + +<p>June is of course the most delightful month +here, everything is yet so fresh; later the hot +sun dries and scorches the thin soil, and partially +destroys the little vegetation which finds +room upon the island. But through this month +the ground is beautiful with starry, purple stonewort; +like little suns the blossoms of the lion’s-foot<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> +shine in the thinnest of the soil; herb-robert +blossoms; the slender arenaria steals up among +the bushes, lifting a little white flower to the +sun; here and there the sorrel lies in crimson +stains; in wet places sturdy clumps of fern +unroll their golden green with splendid vigor of +growth; sundew and partridge-berry creep at +their feet; and from the swamp the rushes rise in +ranks, like a faint, green vapor, slowly, day by day. +The few wild-cherry bushes have each its inevitable +caterpillars’ nest; one can but wonder how +caterpillars and canker-worms find their way across +the water. The presence of green snakes on these +rocks may be explained by their having been found +coiled on a piece of drift-wood many miles out at +sea. Bees find their way out from the land in +companies, seeking the white clover-blossoms that +rise in cool, creamy, fragrant globes through the +dark leaves and grass. The clover here is peculiarly +rich. Many varieties of butterflies abound, +the handsome moth of the American silkworm +among them. One night in June, at sunset, we +were kindling the lamps in the lighthouse, and +because it was so mild and still outside, the little +iron door of the lantern was left open. No breeze +came in to stir the flame that quivered in the +centre of each shining reflector, but presently<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> +glided through the door the pale-green, exquisite +Luna moth, with its wonderful crescents, its lines +of velvet brown, and long under wings drawn out +like the tail of a swallow. It sailed slowly round +and round the dome above the lamps at first, but +soon became agitated, and would have dashed itself +against the flames but that I caught it. What a +marvel it was! I never dreamed of the existence +of so beautiful a creature. Titania herself could +not have been more interesting to me.</p> + +<p>In the quiet little coves troops of butterflies are +often seen, anchored for the night, clinging to the +thistle-blossoms to be safe from assailing winds. +Crickets are never heard here till after the 1st of +August. On the mainland they begin, about the +28th of May, a sad and gentle autumnal undertone, +which from that time accompanies the jubilant +chorus of summer in a gradual <i>crescendo</i>, till +finally the days pass on to no other music save +their sweet, melancholy chirrup. In August comes +the ruby-throated humming-bird, and several pairs +flutter about the little gardens for weeks. By the +1st of July the wild roses blossom, and every bit +of swampy ground is alive with the waving flags +of the iris, each flower of which is full of exquisite +variety of tint and shade of gold and violet. All +over the island patches of it diversify the surface,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> +set like amethysts in the rich greens and browns +of turf and mossy spaces. Through the tangle of +leaves and grasses the spikes of golden-rod make +their way upward slowly day by day, to be ready +at the first beckoning of Autumn’s finger to light +their torches and join the fair procession; the +green hollows are filled with blossoming elder, +white as a lake of milk; the pimpernel is awake; +and the heavy, stout stalks of the mulleins uprear +their woolly buds, that soon will break into squares +of pallid gold. The world is at high tide of delight. +Along the coast-line the mirage races in +flowing undulations of heat, changing the hill +ranges into a solid wall, to dissolve them, and again +reunite them into clusters of gigantic towers and +battlements; trees, spires, chimneys, lighthouses +become roofs and minarets and domes of some +stately city of the clouds, and these melt in their +turn, and the whole coast shrinks away to the +merest line on the horizon immeasurably removed. +Each of these changes, and the various aspects of +their little world, are of inestimable value to the +lonely children living always in that solitude. +Nothing is too slight to be precious: the flashing +of an oar-blade in the morning light; the twinkling +of a gull’s wings afar off, like a star in the yellow +sunshine of the drowsy summer afternoon; the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span> +water-spout waltzing away before the wild wind +that cleaves the sea from the advancing thunder-cloud; +the distant showers that march about the +horizon, trailing their dusky fringes of falling rain +over sea and land; every phase of the great thunder-storms +that make glorious the weeks of July +and August, from the first floating film of cloud +that rises in the sky till the scattered fragments +of the storm stream eastward to form a background +for the rainbow,—all these things are of the +utmost importance to dwellers at the Isles of +Shoals. There is something especially delightful +in the perfumes which stream across the sea after +showers, like a heavenly greeting from the land: +scents of hay and of clover, spice of pine woods, +balm of flowers come floating over the cool waves +on the wings of the west wind, and touch one like +a breath from Paradise. Few sounds from the +shore reach the islands; the booming of guns is +audible, and sometimes, when the wind is west, the +air is pierced with distant car-whistles, so very remote, +however, that they are hardly to be recognized +except by a practised ear.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>There is a superstition among the islanders that +Philip Babb, or some evil-minded descendant of his, +still haunts Appledore; and no consideration would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span> +induce the more timid to walk alone after dark +over a certain shingly beach on that island, at the +top of a cove bearing Babb’s name,—for there the +uneasy spirit is oftenest seen. He is supposed to +have been so desperately wicked when alive that +there is no rest for him in his grave. His dress is +a coarse, striped butcher’s frock, with a leather +belt, to which is attached a sheath containing a +ghostly knife, sharp and glittering, which it is his +delight to brandish in the face of terrified humanity. +One of the Shoalers is perfectly certain that +he and Babb have met, and he shudders with real +horror, recalling the meeting. This is his story. +It was after sunset (of course), and he was coming +round the corner of a work-shop, when he saw a +wild and dreadful figure advancing toward him; +his first thought was that some one wished to +make him the victim of a practical joke, and he +called out something to the effect that he “wasn’t +afraid”; but the thing came near with ghastly +face and hollow eyes, and, assuming a fiendish +expression, took out the knife from its belt and +flourished it in the face of the Shoaler, who fled +to the house and entered breathless, calling for +the person who he supposed had tried to frighten +him. That person was quietly eating his supper; +and when the poor fellow saw him he was so much<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span> +agitated that he nearly fainted, and his belief in +Babb was fixed more firmly than ever. One spring +night some one was sitting on the broad piazza at +sunset; it was calm and mild; the sea murmured +a little; birds twittered softly; there was hardly a +waft of wind in the still atmosphere. Glancing +toward Babb’s Cove, he saw a figure slowly crossing +the shingle to the path which led to the house. +After watching it a moment he called to it, but +there was no reply; again he called, still no answer; +but the dark figure came slowly on; and +then he reflected that he had heard no step on the +loose shingle that was wont to give back every footfall, +and, somewhat puzzled, he slowly descended +the steps of the piazza and went to meet it. It +was not so dark but that he could see the face and +recognize the butcher’s frock and leather belt of +Babb, but he was not prepared for the devilish expression +of malice in that hollow face, and, spite of +his prosaic turn of mind, he was chilled to the marrow +at the sight. The white stripes in the frock +gleamed like phosphorescent light, so did the awful +eyes. Again he called aloud, “Who are you? +What do you want?” and still advanced, when +suddenly the shape grew indistinct, first thick and +cloudy, then thin, dissolving quite away, and, much +amazed, he turned and went back to the house,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> +perplexed and thoroughly dissatisfied. These tales I +tell as they were told to me. I never saw Babb, +nor ever could, I think. The whole Babb family +are buried in the valley of Appledore where the +houses stand, and till this year a bowling-alley +stood upon the spot, and all the balls rolled over +the bones of all the Babbs; that may have been +one reason why the head of the family was so restless; +since the last equinoctial gale blew the building +down, perhaps he may rest more peacefully. +Babb’s is, I believe, the only real ghost that haunts +the islands; though in the loft at the parsonage on +Star (a mere creep-hole under the eaves, unattainable +by any steps or ladder) there is, in windy +weather, the most extraordinary combination of +sounds, as if two bluff old fellows were swearing at +each other, gruffly, harshly, continually, with a +perseverance worthy of a better cause. Really, it +is a most disagreeable racket! A lean, brown, hollow-eyed +old woman from Star used to tell how her +daughter-in-law died, in a way that took the color +out of childish cheeks to hear; for the dying woman +thought the ghosts were scratching for her outside, +against the house. “‘Ma’y Hahner’” (Mary +Hannah), “she said to me, a whisperin’, says +she, ‘Who’s that scratching, tearing the house +down underneath the window?’ ‘No, it ain’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span> +nothin’,’ says I; ‘Ma’y Hahner, there ain’t nobody +a tearin’ the house down underneath the winder.’ +‘Yes, yes, there is,’ says she, ‘there is! I hear +’em scratching, scratching, tearing the house down +underneath the winder!’ And then I know’d +Ma’y Hahner was goin’ to die, and so she did afore +mornin’.”</p> + +<p>There is a superstition here and along the coast +to this effect. A man gathering drift-wood or +whatever it may be, sees a spade stuck in the +ground as if inviting him to dig. He isn’t quite +ready, goes and empties his basket first, then +comes back to investigate, and lo! there’s nothing +there, and he is tormented the rest of his life +with the thought that probably untold wealth lay +beneath that spade, which he might have possessed +had he only been wise enough to seize the treasure +when it offered itself. A certain man named +William Mace, living at Star, long, long ago, swore +that he had had this experience; and there’s a dim +tradition that another person, seeing the spade, +passed by about his business, but hastening back, +arrived just in time to see the last of the sinking +tool, and to perceive also a golden flat-iron disappearing +into the earth. This he seized, but no +human power could extricate it from the ground, +and he was forced to let go his hold and see it sink +out of his longing ken.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p> + +<p>Some young people, camping on the south side +of Appledore, one summer, among the ancient +graves, dug up a skeleton; the bones crumbled to +dust, but the skull remained intact, and I kept it +for a long time. The Shoalers shook their heads. +“Hog Island would have no ‘luck’ while that +skull remained above ground.” It had lain so long +in the earth that it was no more repulsive than a +bit of stone, yet a nameless dread invested it. At +last I took it in my hands and pored over it till +the shudder passed away forever, and then I was +never weary of studying it. Sitting by the driftwood +blaze late into the still autumn nights alone +at my desk, it kept me company,—a vase of brilliant +flowers on one side, the skull on the other, +and the shaded lamp between, equally lighting +both. A curious head it was, thick as an Ethiop’s, +with no space above the eyes, high above the ears, +and heavy behind them. But O, those hollows +where the eyes once looked out, beholding the +same sea and sky we see to-day! Those great, +melancholy, empty hollows,—what sort of creature +gazed from them? Cunning and malice, +anger and hate, may have burned within them in +sullen flame; who shall say if any beauty ever +illumined them? If hate smouldered here, did +love ever look out and transfigure the poor, dull<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> +face? did any spark from the far heaven even +brighten it? any touch of lofty thought or aspiration +turn the clay to fire? And when, so many +years ago, this being glided away from behind these +awful windows and left them empty for ever and +ever, did he find what in his life here he could not +have possessed, with this head, which he did not +make, and therefore was not responsible for? Many +and many a question I put silently to the silent +casket which had held a human soul; there was +no sound to answer me save only the great, gentle +whisper of the sea without the windows, and now +and then a sigh from the autumn wind. There +came to me a sense of the pathos of the infinite +patience of humanity, waiting so helplessly and +blindly for the unravelling of the riddle that has +troubled every thoughtful soul since the beginning +of time. Little roots of plants were clasped about +the temples. Behind the right ear were three +indentations, as if made by some sharp instrument, +suggesting foul play. An Indian tomahawk might +have made those marks, or a pirate’s cutlass: who +can say? What matter is it now? I kept the +relic for months, till it crumbled so fast when I +daily dusted it that I feared it would disappear +entirely; so I carried it quietly back and laid it +in the grave from which it had been taken,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span> +wondering, as I drew the shallow earth over it, who +had stood round about when it was buried for the +first time, centuries ago; what manner of people, +and were they afraid or sorry. But there was no +voice to answer me.</p> + +<p>I have before me a weird, romantic legend of +these islands, in a time-stained, battered newspaper +of forty years ago. I regret that it is too long +to be given entire, for the unknown writer tells +his story well. He came to the Shoals for the +benefit of his failing health, and remained there +late into the autumn of 1826, “in the family of +a worthy fisherman.” He dilates upon the pleasure +he found in the loneliness of the place, “the +vast solitude of the sea; no one who has not +known it can imbibe the faintest idea of it.” +“From the hour I learned the truth,” he says, +“that all which lives must die, the thought of +dissolution has haunted me;—the falling of a +leaf, a gray hair, or a faded cheek, has power to +chill me. But here in the recesses of these eternal +rocks, with only a cloudless sky above and an +ocean before me, for the first time in my life have +I shaken off the fear of death and believed myself +immortal.”</p> + +<p>He tells his strange story in this way: “It was +one of those awfully still mornings which cloud-gazeers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> +will remember as characterizing the autumn +months. There was not a single vapor-wreath to +dim the intense blue of the sky, or a breath to +ruffle the almost motionless repose of the great +deep; even the sunlight fell seemingly with stiller +brightness on the surface of it.” He stood on a +low, long point fronting the east, with the cliffs +behind him, gazing out upon the calm, when suddenly +he became aware of a figure standing near +him. It was a woman wrapped closely in a dark +sea-cloak, with a profusion of light hair flowing +loosely over her shoulders. Fair as a lily and as +still, she stood with her eyes fixed on the far distance, +without a motion, without a sound. “Thinking +her one of the inhabitants of a neighboring +island who was watching for the return of a fishing-boat, +or perhaps a lover, I did not immediately +address her; but seeing no appearance of any vessel, +at length accosted her with, ‘Well, my +pretty maiden, do you see anything of him?’ She +turned instantly, and fixing on me the largest and +most melancholy blue eyes I ever beheld, said +quietly, ‘He <i>will</i> come again.’” Then she disappeared +round a jutting rock and left him marvelling, +and though he had come to the island (which +was evidently Appledore) for a forenoon’s stroll, +he was desirous to get back again to Star and his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span> +own quarters after this interruption. Fairly at +home again, he was inclined to look upon his adventure +as a dream, a mere delusion arising from +his illness, but concluded to seek in his surroundings +something to substantiate, or remove the idea. +Finding nothing,—no woman on the island resembling +the one he had met,—and “hearing of no +circumstance which might corroborate the unaccountable +impression,” he resolved to go again to +the same spot. This time it blew half a gale; the +fishermen in vain endeavored to dissuade him. He +was so intensely anxious to be assured of the +truth or fiction of the impression of the day before, +that he could not refrain, and launched his +boat, “which sprang strongly upon the whitened +waters,” and, unfurling his one sail, he rounded a +point and was soon safely sheltered in a small cove +on the leeward side of the island, probably Babb’s +Cove.</p> + +<p>Then he leaped the chasms and made his way to +the scene of his bewilderment. The sea was rolling +over the low point; the spot where he had +stood the day before, “was a chaos of tumult, yet +even then I could have sworn that I heard with +the same deep distinctness, the quiet words of the +maiden, ‘He <i>will</i> come again,’ and then a low, +remotely-ringing laughter. All the latent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> +superstition of my nature rose up over me, overwhelming +as the waves upon the rocks.” After that, +day after day, when the weather would permit, +he visited the desolate place, to find the golden-haired +ghost, and often she stood beside him, +“silent as when I first saw her, except to say, +as then, ‘He <i>will</i> come again,’ and these words +came upon the mind rather than upon the +ear. I was conscious of them rather then heard +them,—it was all like a dream, a mysterious intuition. +I observed that the shells never crashed +beneath her footsteps, nor did her garments rustle. +In the bright, awful calm of noon and in the rush of +the storm there was the same heavy stillness over +her. When the winds were so furious that I could +scarcely stand in their sweep, the light hair lay +upon the forehead of the maiden without lifting a +fibre. Her great blue eyeballs never moved in +their sockets, and always shone with the same +fixed, unearthly gleam. The motion of her person +was imperceptible; I knew that she was here, +and that she was gone.”</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp80" id="i188_180" style="max-width: 126.625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i188_180.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption class="caption"><p><span class="smcap">View from the Southeastern Point of Appledore.</span></p></figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>So sweet a ghost was hardly a salutary influence +in the life of our invalid. She “held him with +her glittering eye” till he grew quite beside himself. +This is so good a description I cannot choose but +quote it: “The last time I stood with her, was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> +just at the evening of a tranquil day. It was a +lovely sunset. A few gold-edged clouds crowned +the hills of the distant continent, and the sun had +gone down behind them. The ocean lay blushing +beneath the blushes of the sky, and even the +ancient rocks seemed smiling in the glance of the +departing day. Peace, deep peace was the pervading +power. The waters, lapsing among the caverns, +spoke of it, and it was visible in the silent motion +of the small boats, which, loosening their white +sails in the cove of Star Island, passed slowly out, +one by one, to the night-fishing.” In the glow +of sunset he fancied the ghost grew rosy and human. +In the mellow light her cold eyes seemed +to soften. But he became suddenly so overpowered +with terror that “kneeling in shuddering +fearfulness, he swore never more to look upon that +spot, and never did again.”</p> + +<p>Going back to Star he met his old fisherman, +who without noticing his agitation, told him quietly +that he knew where he had been and what he had +seen; that he himself had seen her, and proceeded +to furnish him with the following facts. At the +time of the first settlement, the islands were infested +by pirates,—the bold Captain Teach, called +Blackbeard, being one of the most notorious. One +of Teach’s comrades, a Captain Scot, brought this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> +lovely lady hither. They buried immense treasure +on the islands; that of Scot was buried on an +island apart from the rest. Before they departed +on a voyage, “to plunder, slash, and slay,” (in +which, by the way, they were involved in one +awful doom by the blowing up of a powder magazine), +the maiden was carried to the island where +her pirate lover’s treasure was hidden, and made +to swear with horrible rites that until his return, +if it were not till the day of judgment, she would +guard it from the search of all mortals. So there +she paces still, according to our story-teller. +Would I had met this lily-fair ghost! Is it she, I +wonder, who laments like a Banshee before the +tempests, wailing through the gorges at Appledore, +“He will <i>not</i> come again”? Perhaps it was she +who frightened a merry party of people at Duck +Island, whither they had betaken themselves for a +day’s pleasure a few summers ago. In the centre +of the low island stood a deserted shanty which +some strange fishermen had built there several +years before, and left empty, tenanted only by the +mournful winds. It was blown down the September +following. It was a rude hut with two rough +rooms and one square window, or rather opening +for a window, for sash or glass there was none. +One of our party proposed going to look after the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> +boats, as the breeze freshened and blew directly +upon the cove where we had landed. We were +gathered on the eastern end of the island when he +returned, and, kneeling on the withered grass where +we were grouped, he said suddenly, “Do you know +what I have seen? Coming back from the boats, +I faced the fish-house, and as I neared it I saw +some one watching me from the window. Of +course I thought it was one of you, but when I +was near enough to have recognized it, I perceived +it to be the strange countenance of a woman, wan +as death; a face young, yet with a look in it of +infinite age. Old! it was older than the Sphinx +in the desert! It looked as if it had been watching +and waiting for me since the beginning of +time. I walked straight into the hut. There +wasn’t a vestige of a human being there; it was +absolutely empty.” All the warmth and brightness +of the summer day could hardly prevent a +chill from creeping into our veins as we listened to +this calmly delivered statement, and we actually +sent a boat back to Appledore for a large yacht to +take us home, for the wind rose fast and “gurly +grew the sea,” and we half expected the wan +woman would come and carry our companion off +bodily before our eyes.</p> + +<p>Since writing these imperfect sketches of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> +Shoals it has become an historical fact for the records +of the State of New Hampshire that the town +of Gosport has disappeared, is obliterated from the +face of the earth, nearly all the inhabitants having +been bought out, that the place might be converted +into a summer resort. Upon Appledore a large +house of entertainment has been extending its +capabilities for many years, and the future of the +Shoals as a famous watering-place may be considered +certain.</p> + +<p>The slight sprinkling of inhabitants yet remaining +on Smutty-nose and elsewhere, who seem +inclined to make of the place a permanent home, +are principally Swedes and Norwegians; and a +fine, self-respecting race they are, so thrifty, cleanly, +well-mannered, and generally excellent that one +can hardly say enough in their praise. It is to be +hoped that a little rill from the tide of emigration +which yearly sets from those countries toward +America may finally people the unoccupied portions +of the Shoals with a colony that will be a +credit to New England.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i193" style="max-width: 14em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i193.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + + + +<div class="transnote"> +<p class="center"><b>Transcriber’s Notes</b></p> +<p>Perceived typographical errors have been silently corrected.</p> +<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation and compound words have been maintained as printed.</p> + + +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77366 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/77366-h/images/cover.jpg b/77366-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7a5040f --- /dev/null +++ b/77366-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/77366-h/images/i003_frontis.jpg b/77366-h/images/i003_frontis.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b642e3 --- /dev/null +++ b/77366-h/images/i003_frontis.jpg diff --git a/77366-h/images/i004_title.jpg b/77366-h/images/i004_title.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a47d48b --- /dev/null +++ b/77366-h/images/i004_title.jpg diff --git a/77366-h/images/i008_01.jpg b/77366-h/images/i008_01.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..de4d837 --- /dev/null +++ b/77366-h/images/i008_01.jpg diff --git a/77366-h/images/i008_02.jpg b/77366-h/images/i008_02.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c535b21 --- /dev/null +++ b/77366-h/images/i008_02.jpg diff --git a/77366-h/images/i008_03.jpg b/77366-h/images/i008_03.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..39660e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/77366-h/images/i008_03.jpg diff --git a/77366-h/images/i010_01.jpg b/77366-h/images/i010_01.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..217fa94 --- /dev/null +++ b/77366-h/images/i010_01.jpg diff --git a/77366-h/images/i010_02.jpg b/77366-h/images/i010_02.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ac4a5c9 --- /dev/null +++ b/77366-h/images/i010_02.jpg diff --git a/77366-h/images/i022_18.jpg b/77366-h/images/i022_18.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6edae38 --- /dev/null +++ b/77366-h/images/i022_18.jpg diff --git a/77366-h/images/i126_120.jpg b/77366-h/images/i126_120.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f8276d5 --- /dev/null +++ b/77366-h/images/i126_120.jpg diff --git a/77366-h/images/i188_180.jpg b/77366-h/images/i188_180.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b9258b9 --- /dev/null +++ b/77366-h/images/i188_180.jpg diff --git a/77366-h/images/i193.jpg b/77366-h/images/i193.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ae7b95a --- /dev/null +++ b/77366-h/images/i193.jpg |
