The Portland daily press., 1877-08-02

"Ef we could only see the Old Man I'd get
underweigh," soliloquized Sam, the pilot
Now the Old Man was not our earthly father,
nor anyone who stood ''in loco parentis;" it was
nothing but spruce-crowned rock of the sea,
but between the yacht and the islet were many
sunken reefs, monsters of the deep, that with
open jaws and rocky teeth frothing with surf,
lay in walt to devour the beautiful Princess,
aud we needed the sight if not the counsel of
the Old Man to steer clear of these dangers.
But the Old Man had wrapped the drapery of
the fog about him, and had not yet awakened
from pleasant dreams.
Late in the forenoon the fog scales, rock after
rock appears to seaward, and at last the Old
Man filings off the drapery of the night and
stands erect and clear against the sea and sky.
"All hands on the hawser!" Up comes the
anchor; many hands make light work. 'Lug
out there on the halliards." Up go the sails,
and the Princess gets underweigh right merrily.
We tack slowly eastward against light e.
S. E. air. Sailing by the Old Man we notice
remarkable cleft in the rock at least eighty feet
deep, so narrow that one could with difficulty
force his way through, yet splitting the island
from side to side. We drift across Little Ma
chias Bay, with its rocky headlauds, and fertile
farms far inland; then from the yacht that
hath not wind is taken that which she hath and
the Princess floats
Gas idly as painted ship
Upon painted ocean,
Low the fog rolls over the coast line again,
but this time it comes not in from the sea but
is rolled out from over the land. Long suffer-
ing Zephyrus has at last marshalled the armies
of the western air, and is driving the legions of
the fog in utter route before him.
The spilits of the West tumble the hosts of
King Fog over the rocky battlements of the
coast into the sea, sweep them from the face of
the deep and bear the few survivors aoft as
prisoners into cloud-land in the sky. The
western gale rippes the gray sea into the deep
est blae, waits to us the sweet cdors of mead
yacht and gladly speeds the Princess on her
way. We sail by the rocky promontory, paint
ed with huge white circles as a beacon, past
the iron light house on the island and at twenty
minutes past four on the afternoon of Friday,
July 18th, drop anchor in the safe, picturesque
harbor of Little River, close by the British
brig Rothsay of st. John, which had been living
here for week fog-bound
Little River is the last harbor sailing east un-
til you make QuOddy Head. 1t is much resort
ed to as a harbor of refuge and is the head
quarters of the st. Jonn Pilot boats, one of
which, No 4, sailed out of the haven as we en-
tered. Little River is in the town of Cutler,
Washington County. Maine. There we quick
ly take IN 800 pounds of ice for our refrigerator
replenish our larder, send kilograms by a spe-
cla! messenger to the nearest telegraph station
at Machiasport, discharge our pilot Sam Senior
to await on the rocks the advent of Sam Junior
in the brig" and at half past five in the after
noon, after stop of but an hour and ten min
fr0n hot tuua fha r,la lie
Of Little River before gentle westerly wind
and steer for Grand Menan.
The mirage raised the yellow pine deck-loads
OF coasters to the height of great barns, on top
OF which the sails looked like little tents; next
it pulled the coasters jibs out into immense,
deformeI Roman noses, and again raising the
whole surface of the sea it cast the level ocean
In giant sheets OF surf against the entire coast
The sun sets behind golden bars, the evening
air is clear as bell, not trace remains of TIE
vanquished fog the moon shows her crescent,
one Dy one the stars peep out, from rocky
headland Quoddy waves her golden torch, be-
| yond the red eye of the Wolves glares over the
tranquil sea- As the moon sinks and the dark
ness deepens, we sail close under the giant
| rock wall of Grand Manan that rises 400 feet
sheer from the deep. We round Bishops Head
| surging through the rips Of three knot tide,
| impelled swiftly on by squalls from the dark
cliffs The camp fires from Indian tents CLEAN
from little plateau in shore Speeding on we
ooou uAoP aueuor III w male Cove at midnight.
Saturday morning, July IA, we double Swal-
Iow-tail Light and come to an anchorage in
Flagg Cove, Grand Menan. Here is a fine
grand harbor, fertile fields slopiDg to the bay
scattered settlement, white church with
square towers, two or three stores and two
small hotels on a sloping hill. The cross of ST.
George waves from the flag staff on shore, for
this isiBrtish soil. A Yankee fisherman at
| anchor ran up the stars and stripes however. as
soon as he saw the American yacht flag fiyipg
from the peak of the Princess, and replied to
our gun by dscharging musket. We had no
sooner dropped anchor than we were boarded
by a 'bummer'' in dory who with refreshing
''cheek" remarked, 81 heard your gun and so
accepted the initiation and came on board.''
We soon disposed of Mr.. Bummer, and going
ashore at once bought British postal cards and
sent messages home, from foreign strand"
Then we procured a really fine spsn of horses
and drove around Flagg Cove to Grand Esrbor,
the next village to the southwest, distant about
SIX miles. The road is a good macsdamized
turnpike the whole way; for five miles it curves
along the broad sweep of this noble bay, mis-
named cove, giving at every step beautiful
view over bay and ocean to the sail dotted hor-