The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1894-03-04

E4VAk lLAC LdL l4Nel Af4Al.At hbaSNs NllN - z
constantly rests upon wild and dreary
line of shore. For scores of miles not a
hamlet and scarcely a lonely habitation
can be discerued. Here and there at long
intervals a phostly lighthouse, pcrched
upon some drear, storm beaten. sea cir
died rock or Erewsoue promontory. may
be seen; but this only serves to hint Of
ever present danger or to intensity the
shudderinE consciousness Of unusual des-
olation.
The havoc and terror along these Win
ter shores almost reach malgnancy. once
driven in behind these foam-mantled
granite headlands for shelter, quie,er
waters may be reached, backed by beet
ling mountainous crags; but few friendly
folk, cabins or hamlets are found TO sue
cor or welcome the mariner in distress.
From the sea all seems as if the spirit Of
desolation had retired here. impatient Of
its own maddeuine power, for winters
fury. and, wild and distraught, had chal-
lenged the sea to mortal combat.
Awful are these struggles between
ocean and shore. There is scarcely Ces-
sation of battle Mountain waves, as if
led by fierce and plume tossed hosts,
CudIEt anu Charge tuNuhtIOuSlA blIOuAtl
bitter day and wilder night upon black
faced ledge and headland, hayed bycuttiug
winds and swathed in gbosuy fog while
the hoarse mutterinEs Of battle are end
less wailiug undertones to the shrieks of
storm beaten sea fowl, whlrling and
skirling ABOVE, as if mad in sympathy
with the tremendous elemental conflicts
But when the winters rigors have
passed ana the fury of the tempests is
spent, what magical change has come.
MurmUrOus sea pulses on welcoming
shore Sayagery has given place to
genllest peace. keIp and sea-urchins
grow and nestle at the foot of every
ledge. lnnumerabc 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
tUresonIe quest, aud safe for shallOp,
dOry, S. Oop or even li-htest canoe
In far hooks, behind emerald-crowned
crags, lovingly nestle low-built homes;
and here and there circling landward,
ln-shoro and on outlying beaches, groups
OF fishers huts piCturesquely touch the
very waters edge Barefoot women are
drying and meudiuC seiues; a thousand
brown weIrs line the shores like hosts of
russell spears.
Steamer and sail and balmy winds,
everywhere at sea beauty and interest
anu hGllEA NACl y w iltlt lONNlu lut
mighty land of pines ana for scores and
scores of miles along shore, to Arcardiau
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 Ofland
and water fowl. homing in the headand
hooks or island crags with sunny days,
star-lit nights and the coaselCss whisper
incs of fayoriug gales and songs of the
joyous sea.
At the furthermost reach of this shore
inside the American boundary, lies the
ancient city of PASSPORT, girdled by the
noble Passamaqu Bay Beside it, to
the west, a long arm Of the sea, the Cobs-
cook Bay, cuts through crags and isles
for nearly score of miles to the north,
breaking at last INTO two tiny estUaries
fed by mCrmurous rivulets from the pine
clad hills beyond,
On one side Of these streams. beneath
centuries-old elms and native pines stray
giles long, winding half-country road
and village street, one side of which,
where the sea-arm stops, breaking away
TO the waters edge in grassy curves, in
little out. uttlug riffs of notified black
and gray stone, or again in shingly,
shelving beach
Seines and tishinE-Eear hang from outer
cottage walls. or are stretched like dry
ing sea moss upon the fences and the
rocks. Dismantled 'Cuoddy boats lie
half drawn upon the shore A crumbling
and ghost!y old mill sands at one stream
mouth, and a tumbledown rockery. where
the cleaning sardineS are sometimes
packed, leans against the friendly bank
Of the other The uPturned hull of an
ancient schooner, CRAVING and bIstering
IN storm and shine, in dark silhouette
between. IL is now q boat members hut,
where the children come and play. and
the ancient Of hn ,.1a ,-l- 10,
the sun and spin their yarns while look
ing out upon the waters of the seldom
sail-hecked silent bay
This hamlet is sleepy old Penn broke
town. The head OF the tide il is called
by sea-wlse Pembroke folk a folk savored
and favored less by the lives and WAYS OF
the old-tash ouad farm folk among the
hills behind. than by all the lore and
WltChery OF the sea. altered through gen
erations into their lives and thought and
speech, from the dozens OF sea captains
retired here, sailing shippers bold, who
have Cruised in all known and unknown
waters. who sill prefer salt beef and
coos tongues 20 the most savory Of shore
viaHds who have taught their brazilian
parrots IN husky voices 10 call their
gardenmaklng uclClbOTs "land-lub-
hers" vino now and then veil
10 their mumbllng old wives, Bake
NE pan 0 biscuit, th1tll crack an snap
like gan top san sheet blocks ~ who keep
their old ship chronometers beside their
hunks, and never suddenly awaken from
an afternoon doze without believing,
Mate, how's she headu'}" and who,
providing you can demonstrate becoming
reverence, though they are always sus-
picious OF your deCorum. will spin such
yarns as will make you know that the
ocean Of to-day is but a mean millpond
beside the majestic ocean of their day and
time, while YOU long for the amazing fer
tility of their genius.
Rare old shippers and brave are thew
sailing over and over with the log of
memory the old courses, querulous and
rheumatic, raspy-yoiced and childish in
likes and breads, yet ever snug and tidy
in their home harbor at the head of the
tide, in olden Pembroke town; though a
trife hesitant and unsteady in their reck-
oning toward the sailors snug harbor CT
the infinite Beyond.
On this early September day. of not so
many years ago, three little. grizzled old
sea captains were clOseted in the boat
members hut on the shore in front of Penn
broke hamlet. A raksh little single
masted schooner Happy Thought"
rocked saucily in the o1ing above the in
coming tide, as if impatient Of her moor
ings while old and young women, chill
dren, few old, old men leaning on