Delaware gazette and state journal. (Wilmington, Del.) 1883-1902, 1894-03-08
nee CRUISE OF
THE HAPPY THOUGHT.
ny Edgar L. wakeman.

Travelling perforce by sea in winter
nlong the farthcst Maine coast, the eye
constantly rests upon wild and dreary
iine of shore. For scores of miles not n
hamlet and scarcely lonely habitatlon
Ban be discerned. Here and there at
1ong intervals ghostly lighthouse,
perched upon some drear, orm-beaten,
eea-girdled rock or grewsome promon-
Tory may be seen; but this only serves TO
&'hint of ever present danger or to intensity
the shuddering consciousness of unusual
desolation.
III The havoc and terror along these
fwinter shores, almost reach malignancy.
Once driven in behind these foam
mantled, granite headlands for shelter,
quieter,waters may be reached, backed
by beetling mountainous crags; but few
friendly folk, cabins or hamlets are
found to succor or welcome the mariner
in distress. From the sea all seems as if
the spirit of desolation had retired here,
impatient of its own maddening power,
for winters fury, and, wild and dis
traught, had challenged the sea to mortal
combat.
M Awful arc these struggles between
ocean and shore. There is scarcely ces-
satiun of battle Mountain waves, as if
charge and charge thunderously through
bitter day and wilder night upon black
faced ledge and headand, flayed by cut
ting winds and swathed in ghostly fog;
while the hoarse mutterings Of battle are
endless wailing undertones to the
shrieks of storm beaten sea fowl, whirl-
ing and skirling above, as if mad in
sympathy with the tremendous elemen-
tai conflicts.
IA But when the winters rlgors have
passed and the fury of the tempests is
spent, what magical change has comet
M Murmurous sea pulses on welcoming
shore. Savagery has given place to
gentlest peace. Kelp and sea urchins
grow and nestle at the foot of every
ledge. Innumerable islands, bathed in
balmy, sea-spent airs, bloom with shrub
and fern and flower. Countless coves
rest between islets and crags, mirroring
only radiant skies, inviting to most ven
turesome quest, and safe for shallop,
+ dory, sloop or even lightest canoe.
In far hooks, behind emerald-crowned
crags, lovingly nestle low-built homes
and here and there, circling landward,
inshore and on outlying beaches, groups
= of fishers huts picturesquely touch the
very waters edge. Barefoot women are
drying and mending the seines; and a
thousand brown weirs line the shores
like hosts of russell spears.
IA Steamer and sail and balmy winds,
everywhere at sea; beauty, interest and
delight, everywhere toward the mighty
# land of pines; and for scores and scores
81 of miles aiongsbore, to Acadian land
+ where flies the red cross of st. George,
CLINT of fishers sail, sound of fishers
~ song, voices of fishers wife and little
ones, mingled with glad calls of land
and water foul, homing in the headland
< hooks or island crags; with sunny days
Y star-lt nights and the ceaseless whisper
ings of fayoring gales and songs of the
joyous sea.
AT the furthermost reach of this shore
n inside the American boundary, lies the
ancient city of Eastport, girdled by the
noble Passaniaquoddy Bay. Beside it, to
the west, long arm OF the sea, the
"A Cobscook Bay, cuts. through crags and
islets for nearly a score OF miles 10 the
north, breaking at last into two tiny
estdaries, fed by murmurous riyulets
n from the pine.clad hills beyond.
On one side of these streams, beneath
centuries-old elms and native pines,
struggles long, winding, half-country
road and village street, one side of
which, where the sea-arm stops, break
Il ing away to the waters edge in grassy
curves, in little out-jutting riffs Of
mottled black and gray stone, or again
in shingly, shelving beach.
Seines and iishing-gear hang from
outer cottage walls, or are stretched like
drying sea moss upon the fences and
the rocks. Dismantled 'Quoddy boats
lie half drawn upon the shore. A
crumbling and ghostly old mill stands
at one stream mouth, and tumble
down rookery, where the cleaning sar-
dimes are sometimes packed leans
against the friendly bank of the other.
The upturned hull of an ancient
schooner, grazing and blistering in
storm and shine, is a dark silhouette
between. IL is now a boat members
hut, where the children come and play,
and the ancient mariners of the place
bask in the sun and spin their yarns
while looking out upon the waters OF
the seldom ail.fecked, silent bay.
This hamlet is sleepy old Pembroke
town. "The head of the tide" 1t is
called by seawise Pembroke folk; a folk
sayored and favored less by the lives
and ways Of the old.fashioned farm
folk among the hills behind, than by all
the lore and witchery of the sea, filtered
through generations into'their lives and
thought and speech, from the dozens OF
sea captains retired here; sailing skip.
pers bold, who have cruised in all
known and unknown waters; who still
prefer salt beef and Gods tongues to the
most savory of shore yiands; who have
taught their Brazilian parrots in husky
voices to call their garden-mal1ing
neighbors 'land-lubbers;" who now and
then yell to their mumbling old wives
"Bake me apan o biscuits, that'll crack
an snap like gaff top-sa'l sheet blocks 7!
who keep their old ship thermometers be-
side their hunks, and never suddenly
awaken from an afternoon doze without
believing, "Mate, how's She headin'?
and who, providing you can demon
strate becoming reverence, though they
are always suspicious of your decorum
will spin such yarns as will make you
know that the ocean CT to-day is but &
mean mill-pond beside the majestic
ocean of their day and time, while yor
long for the amazing fertility of theil
genius.
Rare old shippers and brave arc they
sailing over and over with the log ol
memory the old courses, querulous anG
rheumatic, raspy-yoiced and childish il
likes and breads, yet ever snug and tidy
in their home harbor at the head of the
tide, in olden Pembroke town; though
trihe hesitant and unsteady in theiI
reckoning toward the sailors snug
harbor of the infinite Beyond.
On this earlv Sentemher dov IF mi