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Pigeon Cove and Vicinity 


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Pigeon Cove 





nS Washington Strj i 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 


In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 




press of john wilson and son. 

The author makes acknowledgment of indebtedness 
to John J.Babson's "History of Gloucester" for pas- 
sages of Local history; to the "Encyclopaedia Ameri- 
cana" for the extract from its sketch of Capt. John 
Smith; to "Youngs Chronicles" for u Anthony Thatch- 
er's Narrative," and a few quotations from relations 
of other writers ; and to the " Atlantic Monthly " and 
several volumes of the poets from Osgood A: Co.'s pub- 
lications for much valuable matter. II-' also renders 
thanks to Ebi \ bzbb I'ool, of Rockport, for the help of 
interesting records, ami for the aid of other neighbors, 

whose names are given in connection with their con- 
tributions. Moreover, lie would add that he is con- 
fident that the artist, Thomas Lee Bi lson, of Albany, 
N.Y^and the engraver, John Andrew, of Boston, will 
have the praise which is their due for fittingly adorn- 
ing these beautifully printed pages, 

C O N T E N T S. 

— ♦ — 

Topography of Cafe Ann 1 

Captain .J<>h\ Smith, the Discoverer 'J 

Ancient Trees 15 

Origin of the Name Cape Ann 17 

Sandy Bat 18 

First Si [tlers op Sandy Bat 10 

First Settlers op Pigeon Cove 'J<> 

Ancient I [odses L'l 

The Gate 23 

Events op mi; Revolutionary War 24 

Apteb ihi; Revolutionary \\'\k 28 

Pigeon < Iovb II irbob 29 

Shore from Skv 30 

Events of im: Last War nun England 32 

Sea prom Shore 86 

First Scmmi b Visitors 40 

The First Pigeom Cove Bouse 4t 

The Ni.w Pigeon Cove House 4f) 

The Ocean View House 47 

The Wat to Pigeon Cove: Railroad 48 

The Old Stage and Carriage Road 60 

Walk- \m> RAMBLES 65 


Carriage-rides, Legends and Ballads 69 

Ride to Little Good Harbor Beach and Eastern 

Point 84 

Ride to Rafe's Chasm and Norman's Woe 85 

Ride to Annisquam 92 

Ride to Pebble Stone Beach and Long Beach . . . 100 

Fishing and Yachting 104 

By Yacht to Annisquam, Gloucester, Grape Island, 

Newburyport 106 

The Sail to the Isles op Shoals 107 

The Sail to Straitsmouth and Thatcher's Islands . 114 

Bathing and Swimming 135 

Trees and Flowers of Cape Ann 140 

Animals and Birds of Cape Ann 157 

Minerals of Cape Ann 176 

Chalybeate Mineral Water 179 

Sea-Animals, Sea- Weeds, and Sea-Mosses 180 

The Conclusion 191 




r*HE promontory called Cape Ann is the wall 
between Massachusetts Bay and Ipswich 
Bay. The old common road, extending from Sa- 
lem, north-eastwardly along the south shore of the 
Cape, through Beverly, Pride's Crossing, Beverly 
Farms, W< 31 Manchester, Manchester, Magnolia, 
Gloucester Wesl Parish, and Gloucester Harbor, to 


Rockport, the terminal town, is sixteen miles. 
The road parallel with the north shore of the 
Cape, extending from Essex or the Chebacco River 
to the mouth of Squam River, and from Annis- 
quam Village, on the opposite side of the river, 
through Bay View, Lanesville, and Folly Cove, to 
Pigeon Cove, the north village of Rockport, is 
nine miles. Gloucester, including Magnolia, the 
West Parish, Riverdale, Annisquam, Bay View, 
Lanesville, and Folly Cove, is the principal Cape 
town. It is bounded by Manchester and Essex on 
the west, by Ipswich Bay on the north, Rockport 
on the east, and Massachusetts Bay on the south. 
Rockport, including Pigeon Cove, being at the end 
of the Cape, except on the west is sea-girt. 
Squam River, mainly an inlet from Ipswich Bay, 
with its many branches and coves, and the addi- 
tion of a short canal on the Massachusetts Bay 
side, known as the Cut, separates from Magnolia 
and the West Parish all the rest of the Cape. So 
the more populous villages of Gloucester, and 
together with these the villages of Rockport and 
Pigeon Cove, have their seats on an island. They 
are reached from the main land by crossing the 
railway bridge in the cars, and the bridge span- 
ning the Cut, in the ordinary ways of journeying. 

The general aspect of the Cape is rugged. West 
of Squam River, granite hills and ledges occupy 
the entire territory. Many of the elevations of 
Magnolia and the West Parish are craggy and 


bald, but a large portion of them are covered with 
forest. Tompson's Mountain is the highest eleva- 
tion of the Cape. Climbing to its dome-like top 
on a fair day, the curious, without field or opera- 
glasses, easily discern Bunker Hill Monument, 
Wachusett, Monadnock, Gunstock, and Agamen- 
ticus. Among the hills of Magnolia and the West 
Parish, there are swamps fragrant with magnolias 
and water-lilies, tangled dales and sinuous brooks, 
cultivated meadows, apple orchards, and patches 
of vegetables and grain. The small neighborhoods 
here and there, and the sequestered homes scat- 
tered throughout the rugged precinct, complete the 
unplanned but picturesque and charming disposi- 
tion of things. 

Squam River, with its branches and coves, is 
bordered partly by salt marshes, and partly by 
rocky points, necks and islands. It is also dotted 
with a few rocks and small islands. From its 
mouth, or connection with Ipswich Bay, westward 
to the Chebacco River, stretches Coffin's Beach, 
with its hillocks of white sand, thinly tufted 
with coarse, innutritious grasses. The hills near- 
est to Coffin's Beach and Ipswich Bay are largely 
stripped of their once dense covering of wood ; yet, 
to the stranger, they present the unique adornings 
of granite boulders, clumps of barberry bushes, and 
thickets of blueberry and bayberry shrubs. 

Eastward from Squam River, to Gap Head and 
Andrews' Point, the southern and northern outer- 


most projections of the Cape, the features do not 
differ from those of the district which has been 
described. From Gloucester Harbor on the south 
side of the Cape, to Annisquam and Bay View 
on the north side, extends irregularly a range of 
hills, some with broad slopes, and others with steep 
sides. The highway from Gloucester Harbor to 
Annisquam, through Riverdale, runs between 
these hills and Squam River. These highlands are 
chiefly bare of trees, but warted all over with 
boulders of granite, from the size of a lap-stone 
to that of a one-story dwelling. They are deeply 
gashed across too, at several points, by dells and 
ravines, which drain a few bogs and swamps, and 
afford shelter and nourishment to willows, alders, 
woodbine, clematis, and wild roses. 

Eastward from this range of hills, to the end of 
the Cape, the same interchange of hill and valley 
continues. Moreover, a great part of this back- 
ground of Lanesville, Folly Cove, Pigeon Cove, 
and Rockport, extending across the Cape from 
Ipswich Bay to Massachusetts Bay, is overgrown 
with wood. A spur projecting from the south 
side of the Cape, between Little Good Harbor 
Beach and the head of the harbor, at Gloucester, 
far into Massachusetts Bay, bearing the name of 
Eastern Point, is the chief protection of the harbor 
of Gloucester. Between Gloucester Harbor and 
the Rockport line, there are several hills command- 
ing broad views of towns, harbors, bays, and 


diversified regions of inland. One of the highest 
of these is Lookout Hill. On the south side of the 
Cape, near the Rockport line, is Little Good Har- 
bor Beach. It is walled in on the Gloucester side 
by the Bass Rocks, and on the Rockport side by 
Salt Island. From Little Good Harbor Beach over 
a rocky point, within the Rockport line, Long 
Beach is reached ; and next, after fording a stream 
and passing a crag, Pebble Stone Beach. From 
these beaches, and from the coves and points 
farther toward Gap Head, there is a fine prospect 
of Milk Island, flat and low, and without trees ; 
Thatcher's Island, with its tall light-houses ; and a 
wide sweep of Massachusetts Bay, and of the 
Atlantic outside. From Gap Head, the southern 
extreme point of the Cape, across the Gut to 
Straitsmouth Island, it is but a few minutes' toil 
with the oars. 

The road leading from Gloucester Harbor to 
Rockport, after crossing the line, passes through a 
farm called Beaver Dam. The cultivated part of 
Beaver Dam is in a basin, which may have once 
been a lake. In the woods bounding this basin 
on the south, and shielded from the sea by the 
densely wooded hills near Long Beach, is a lakelet 
distinguished as Cape Pond. Being the larger of 
the only two considerable bodies of fresh water on 
the Cape, this plain name is appropriate. It has a J 
rim of pebbles and rushes, and high, precijDitous 
surroundings of ledge and wildwood. Near its 


eastern end is a bog of alders and cedars, in which 
the herons rear their young. A short distance 
from this heronry, on the south-eastern slope of 
Great Hill, our artist made his sketch of Cape 

Great Hill rises from the basin of Beaver Dam, 
and from Cape Pond, abruptly. The road passing 
through Beaver Dam, which has been alluded to, 
runs over its top. The slope of this height east- 
ward, the distance of a mile or more to the shore 
of Sandy Bay, is gradual. From the top of this 
elevation, the traveller's eye is not only turned 
backward and downward into the basin of Beaver 
Dam, a charming Sleepy Hollow, pent in by encirc- 
ling rocky and woody ridges, and into the deep 
and shady hiding-place of Cape Pond, to catch a 
gleam of the diamond in its rough but beautiful 
setting, but it is uplifted from the hollow and the 
shadows, and the glint of the almost hidden gem, 
to overlook the hills of rock and forest between 
Cape Pond and Massachusetts Bay, and a large 
extent of the Bay, besides, dotted with white sails. 
Then it sweeps eastward to Rockport village, on 
the south-east shore of Sandy Bay, and thence 
stretches over Sandy Bay, lying between the south 
and the north extreme points of the Cape, and far, 
far over the wide sea to the horizon. 

Northward from Great Hill is Poole's Hill. 
Through the valley between these hills, the Glouces- 
ter and Rockport Branch of the Eastern Railway 


runs. Poole's Hill being higher than Great Hill, 
the lover of magnificent landscapes and seascapes, 
ascending towards its top, is certain of ample re- 
ward for his toil. 

Northward and eastward of Poole's Hill are 
some of the most extensive granite quarries on the 
Cape. And between these quarries and Pigeon 
Cove Harbor looms the broad, round, smooth form 
of Pigeon Hill. This elevation, belonging to the 
grade next below Tompson's Mountain, originally 
rough with boulders and shaggy with oaks, pines, 
bushes, and brakes, is mainly under the hand of 
culture. It would be difficult to find richer fields 
of grass and grain than Mr. Rowe's and Mr. Eames's 
on this hill. The ascent from the south side of 
this height is long and easy ; from the east, more 
steep and difficult, but in a grassy lane leading 
from Mr. Eames's residence ; from the north, still 
more abrupt, and part of the way by foot-paths 
through wood and pasture. An observatory sev- 
enty-five or a hundred feet high on this elevation 
would afford a grander view, and perhaps a more 
interesting one in minor particulars, than the one 
gained by climbing Tompson's Mountain ; for even 
now, without the aid of an observatory, the pros- 
pect from Pigeon Hill is excelled nowhere on the 
New England coast. On this height, the eye takes 
in a portion of Massachusetts Bay ; Sandy Bay, 
between the horns of the Cape ; the broad offing of 
the ocean ; Ipswich Bay, and the long coast of hills, 


headlands, and beaches from the Chebacco River to 
Agamenticus ; and the Buttercups, dark blue hills 
near the ancient town of York, in Maine. Other 
objects belong to this prospect : on the right hand, 
the village of Rockport ; farther toward Gap Head, 
Norwood's Head ; Gap Head and Straitsmouth 
Island ; and southward from these points, That- 
cher's Island and Milk Island ; in front, three 
miles from the base of the hill, the Salvages, bare, 
savage rocks, with heads just lifted above the 
water, wearing a fitting name, albeit as it was 
anciently spelled and written ; around the foot of 
the hill, the beginning of the village of Pigeon 
Cove as it is approached from Rockport ; on the 
left hand, close to the foot of the hill, Pigeon Cove 
Harbor, with its breakwater, wharves and shipping, 
and its collection of buildings ; the post-office, 
several stores, a few stone-workers' sheds, groups 
of fish-houses, and a score of dwellings ; farther 
northward, on ascending ground, the continuation 
of the village, comprising the comely church and 
the spacious and pleasant summer hotels and 
boarding-houses ; farther still, northward, Andrews' 
Point, the northern termination of the Cape, partly 
clad with hardy oaks, walnuts and pines, and laid 
out with winding avenues and gravelled walks, 
like a park ; besides, more than a score of miles 
from Andrews' Point, the Isles of Shoals ; then far 
away on the main land, the villages of Essex and 
Ipswich; Indian Hill, in Newbury; Powow Hill, 


in Amesbury ; and Newburyport, on the Merri- 
mack. Thus are pointed out some of the grander 
general outlines, and some of the finer marks and 
dots of the prospect from Pigeon Hill, as seen by 
the observer on this height in the present day. 


What this prospect was more than two hundred 
and fifty years ago may be conjectured in part from 
Captain John Smith's report of his survey of the land 
and coast, which he named New England. In 1614, 
after passing through manifold trials and perils in 
different parts of the world, the strangest of which 
were those of service in the armies of Austria, and 
those of life with the early colonists of Virginia, 
this great adventurer, in command of two ships 
sent from England on a voyage of trading, fishing, 
and discovery, came to the island of Monhegan, off 
the coast of Maine. Leaving most of the men of 
the two vessels to fulfil one purpose of the voyage, 
— namely, that of catching and curing cod, then 
plentiful thereabout, — with a few men in an open 
boat, as in former years on the Virginia waters had 
been his wont, he started on the hazardous pur- 
pose of discovery. He followed the coast from 
Penobscot Bay to Cape Cod. Both by his narra- 



tive, and the chart which he made, the extent of 
his survey is shown. He sounded and learned the 
depth of many harbors. Two of his tarrying 
places for brief seasons were Ipswich and Salem, 
then known by their Indian names, Agawam and 
Naumkeag. While at Ipswich, his eye scanned 
the north shore of our Cape from Coffin's Beach, 
or the mouth of Squam River, to Andrews' Point. 
He does not say in his report that he landed at any 
point on the Cape, but it may be believed that he 
touched the shore now and then for a moment's 
rest while doubling the great headland ; for, though 
he traversed a wide bay, and shaped his course to 
pass craggy islands and irregular shores of rock 
and sand, favored by calm and mild weather, he 
had not many or great difficulties to overcome in 
order to land. Besides, there were attractions 
presented to his mind, influencing him to so name 
the Cape and the three islands near its southern 
extreme point as to commemorate the kindness of 
a Turkish lady, and also certain of his own roman- 
tic achievements. Tragabigzanda was the lady's 
name, which he gave to the Cape. The three 
islands, Straitsmouth, Thatcher's, and Milk, he 
called the Three Turks' Heads. A concise chapter 
of his life, so written as to help the reader to see 
by what memories he was affected while he made 
his way around our " fair headland" from Ipswich 
River and Plum Island to Salem, should here be 


In this way it runs : " The Emperor " (of Aus- 
tria) " being at war with the Turks, Smith entered 
his service as a volunteer. A well conducted and 
successful exploit obtained for the youthful adven- 
turer the command of a company of two hundred 
and fifty horse, in the regiment of Count Melclrick, 
a nobleman of Transylvania. In this new situa- 
tion, Smith distinguished himself by his talents and 
bravery ; and his commander passing from the 
imperial into the Transylvanian army, he accom- 
panied him. At the siege of Regal, the Ottomans 
sent a challenge, purporting that the Lord Turbisha, 
for the diversion of the ladies, would fight any sin- 
gle captain of the Christian troops. The honor of 
meeting the barbarian was decided by lot among 
the Christians, and fell upon Smith, who accord- 
ingly fought and overcame him, within sight of the 
ladies, and bore his head in triumph to his general. 
A friend of the infidel, upon this, sent a particular 
challenge to Smith, who accepted it, and engaging 
with him in the presence of the ladies, as before, 
slew him in like manner, and sent a message into 
the town to inform the ladies, if they wished for 
further sport, they were welcome to his head, pro- 
vided their third champion could take it. Bona- 
malgro appeared as his antagonist, and having 
unhorsed him was near gaining the victory ; but 
Smith remounted in a fortunate moment, and with 
a stroke of his falchion brought the Turk to the 
earth, and added his head to the former trophies of 


his prowess. On his return to the Christian army, 
he was received in the most distinguished, manner ; 
was honored with a military procession of six 
thousand men ; was presented with a horse, ele- 
gantly caparisoned, a cimeter worth three hundred 
ducats, and a commission as a major. When the 
place was captured, the prince of Transylvania 
gave Smith his picture set in gold, with a pension 
of three hundred ducats per annum, and a coat of 
arms bearing three Turks' heads in a shield. After 
this, the army in which he served was defeated by 
the enemy, on which occasion he was wounded, and 
lay among the dead. The victors, discovering him 
to be a person of consequence, used him well till 
his wounds were healed, and then sold him to a 
pacha, who made a present of him to his mistress 
at Constantinople. Smith conducted himself in so 
pleasing a manner as to gain the affections of the 
lady, who, to prevent his being ill-used, sent him to 
her brother, a pacha on the borders of the Sea of 
Azoph, upon the pretence that he should there 
learn the manners, religion, &c, of the natives. By 
the terms of the letter the brother suspected the 
true state of the case ; and in an hour after his 
arrival, Smith was stripped, had his head and beard 
shaven, and was driven to labor with the Christian 
slaves. An opportunity presented itself for his 
escape, which he took advantage of with his usual 
courage. Being employed in threshing, about a 
league from the house of his tyrant, who visited 


him daily, and treated him in the most abusive 
and cruel manner. Smith watched his opportunity 
while the}^ were together, and despatched him by 
a stroke of his threshing instrument. He secreted 
the body in the straw, and securing a bag of grain 
mounted the pacha's horse, and betook himself to 
the desert, where he wandered for two or three 
days, until he came to a post, by the marks on 
which he made his way into Muscovy, and in six- 
teen days arrived at a place on the river Don, 
occupied by a Russian garrison. Here he was 
kindly received." 

Referring in his description of New England to 
the locality now known as Salem, Captain Smith 
says : " From hence doth stretch into the sea the 
fair headland Tragabigzanda, fronted with three 
isles, called the Three Turks' Heads." This lan- 
guage gives the impression that the discoverer 
took pleasure in thinking that he had found a fit- 
ting point on the coast to bear the name of his 
benefactress. Whittier, our genuine New England 
poet, referring to Cape Ann, in his loving tribute 
to the Merrimack, presumes that Captain Smith 
gave the Turkish name with as much ceremony as 
with his little company he could attempt. Thus 
he sings : — 

" On yonder rocky Cape which braves 
The stormy challenge of the waves, 
Midst tangled vine and dwarfish wood 
The hardy Anglo-Saxon stood, 


Planting upon the topmost crag 
The staff of England's battle-flag; 
And, while from out its heavy fold 
St. George's crimson cross unrolled, 
Midst roll of drum and trumpet blare, 
And weapons brandishing in air, 
He gave to that lone promontory 
The sweetest name in all his story ; — 
Of her — the flower of Islam's daughters, 
Whose harems look on Stamboul's waters — 
Who, when the chance of war had bound 
The Moslem chain his limbs around, 
Wreathed o'er with silk that iron chain, 
Soothed with her smiles his hours of pain, 
And fondly to her youthful slave 
A dearer gift than freedom gave." 

Proceeding from his reference to the " fair head- 
land," and to the " three isles " fronting it, Cap- 
tain Smith further says : " To the north of this " 
(the fair headland) " cloth enter a great bay, where 
we found some habitations and cornfields." Clearly, 
in the beginning of this sentence, Ipswich Bay is 
meant ; but, as to the meaning of the words follow- 
ing, nothing can be positively said. It may be 
considered probable, however, that the "habita- 
tions and cornfields " were found somewhere on the 
north side of the Cape. Tools and weapons of 
Indian manufacture, lately found on Folly Point, 
on the northern slope of Pigeon Hill, and near 
Pigeon Cove, as well as others like them dug in 
recent and in former days from the sands of Cof- 
fin's Beach, are silent but admissible witnesses 
which strengthen the probability. 





Moreover, let it not be supposed that there 
were no fertile, sunny places for corn on the north 
side of the Cape in the long ago time in review. 
There were here then giant oaks and lofty pines, 
which both attested the strength of the soil and 
shielded the cornfields from wind and storm. 
Many of these majestic trees stood on Andrews' 
Point, and were felled and made into keels and 
ribs for ships, within the memory of persons still 
living. A few of these trees stand to-day to tell 
of the ancient forest grandeur of the " fair head- 
land." A dozen or more of them are in the Bab- 
son pasture, inside the highway passing Halibut 
Point. One old oak near Pigeon Cove Harbor, 
occupying scant ground between ruts made by 
wheels carrying granite to the breakwater, and 
Mr. Merchant's coal-yard, if it were like Tenny- 
son's " Talking Oak," would no doubt rehearse 
the incidents of three hundred years. Still in the 


spring-time it puts forth leaves on its shrivelling 
branches, and in the autumn wears its coronal of 
richest hue. A red cedar, without question as 


ancient as this " Old Oak," and showing but a 
hint of its former beauty in its top, fashioned now 
somewhat like a crow's nest, leans landward over 
a wall, near Hoop Pole Cove, seeming to say : " I 
have braved and resisted the tempests of three 
centuries, of more years than the white men have 
been familiar with my surroundings ; } T et now I 
must die and give place to the group of hardy 
children at my side. May not their life be short- 
ened as mine has been by the axe and knife of 
irreverent and careless hands." On high ground, 
overlooking this tree and Hoop Pole Cove, the 
villager sees a thousand objects on land and ocean, 
instructive to his thought, striking to his wonder, 
and pleasing to his fancy ; but none of these 
objects touch his heart more certainly, as with a 
human voice of grave and tender tone, than the 


" Old Cedar," the age and endurance of which 
have been the subject of fireside converse through 
generation after generation of his kindred before 


In " Hubbard's Narrative," as given in " Young's 
Chronicles," Cape Ann and the Three Islands 
near its head are alluded to as having easily set 
aside the Turkish names which from 1614 they 
had borne. " Neither of them glorying in these 
Mahometan titles," says the narrator, Rev. Wil- 
liam Hubbard, of Ipswich, " the promontory 
willingly exchanged its name for that of Cape 
Anne, imposed, as is said, by Captain Mason, and 
which it retaineth to this clay, in honor of our 
famous Queen Anne, the royal consort of King 
James ; and the three islands are now known by 
other names." As to the relation of the origin 
of the new name, Dr. Young says : " This is a 
mistake. The name was altered by Prince Charles, 
in honor of his mother, Anne of Denmark. See 
Mass. Hist. Coll., xxvi. 97, 99, and xxiii. 20." 
Mr. Hubbard died in Ipswich, Sept. 14, 1704, 
aged eighty-three. 



The part of the ocean at the end of the Cape 
lying between Gap Head and Straitsmouth Island 
on the south, and Andrews' Point on the north, in 
the first chapter of this book alluded to as Sandy 
Bay, has borne this name since the da}^ of the first 
settlers around it. It is a semi-circular bay, bor- 
dered by a shore notched with little indentations 
called Coves. The seaward granite borders of 
these coves have been massively and solidly built 
upon with stone to a great height, so that safe 
harbors for stone-sloops, coasters, and fishing-craft 
have been made. The harbor at Rockport, on the 
south side of Sandy Bay, is a double one with two 
entrances. The harbor at Pigeon Cove, on the 
north side, is a single basin with one entrance, and 
that is close to the shore, approached from the 
south. Two or three smaller harbors between 
these two are occupied exclusively by stone ves- 
sels. Between the harbor of Rockport and the 
harbor of the Granite Company, — the latter, half- 
way to Pigeon Cove, — there are three beaches, 
separated from each other by narrow, jagged necks 
and points of granite. From these beaches arose 
the name borne by the Bay. 

Across Sandy Bay, from Andrews' Point to Gap 
Head and Straitsmouth Island, the distance is 


about four miles. From Rockport or from Pigeon 
Cove eastward to the Salvages, or the Savage 
Rocks, it is three miles. The Salvages unfold their 
harsh and cruel character when vessels are tossed 
upon them by the storm, or when they encounter 
them in thick, bewildering fog. 


Prior to 1700, the inhabitants around Sandy Bay 
were few. There remains to day on Gap Head the 
cellar of a house which was probably occupied by 
John Babson in 1695. The land which he held at 
that point was granted to him to use as a fishing- 
station. The wildness of his surroundings may be 
imagined from the circumstance that one day he 
encountered a bear, which he killed with a knife, 
since he had no other weapon with which to deal a 
deadly blow, and so free himself from the fierce 
animal. Taking off the skin of the bear, and 
spreading it upon a rock to dry, at the end of the 
neck which is the middle ground between the two 
parts of the harbor at Rockport, he gave occasion 
to the Chebacco or Ipswich fishermen, passing in 
their boats and catching sight of the bloody thing, 
to call the neck the name it is known by to-day, — 
"Bearskin Neck." 


Babson did not permanently fix himself at his 
fishing-station. In 1721 he sold the property and 
moved away. 

Richard Tarr was the first permanent settler near 
Sandy Bay. It is nearly certain that he located 
on the south side of Davison's Run before Babson 
began his fishing enterprise on Gap Head. 

John Poole soon followed Tarr, and built a 
house on the north side of Davison's Run. 

Several years rolled by before other settlers 
joined these two. 


In the beginning of the seventeenth century a 
few persons took up their abode near Halibut 
Point, Andrews' Point, and Pigeon Cove ; namely, 
Samuel Gott, William Andrews, Joshua Norwood, 
Jethro AVheeler, Jethro Wheeler, Jr., and Thomas 
Harris. These, and two or three others who 
settled near Pebble Stone Beach, were the only 
and not very near neighbors of Tarr and Poole. 





A gambrel-roofed house near Halibut Point was 
the home of Samuel Gott. Being on high ground, 
its inmates of the departed years were favored, as 
are those who occupy it to day, with a broad view 
of land and sea. 

Another habitation known as the " Old Castle," 
on the ledge overlooking the harbor of Pigeon Cove, 
now surrounded by other dwellings, was the abode 
of one of the Wheelers. Architecturally, the 
"Old Castle" is unlike the "Gott House," its 
front roof being of the ordinary slope, its back roof 
descending to within a few feet of the ground, and 
its upper story jutting over the lower, in the man- 
ner of a block-house. Its craggy site, once wild 
and unshorn, no doubt suggested the name by 
which it is now called. 

Still another house, more ancient perhaps than 
these dwellings just described, the residence now of 
Joseph Babson, is honored with the distinction of 


being the " Old House." It stands in a field, a 
short distance from the Pigeon Cove House. But 
a part of this edifice is more ancient than its ven- 
erable neighbors. The tradition is, that this part 
was erected in 1692 by two young men, as a safe 
retreat for their mother, who had been proclaimed 
a witch. So far from the settlements of Salem, 
hidden in the deep woods, the misunderstood and 
persecuted woman was beyond the reach of the 
hangman. Joshua Norwood enlarged and improved 
this house, and for some time made it his home. 
In 1740 he left it, and moved to Gap Head. 
Since then the " Old House " has been several 
times modified by additions and adornings, so that 
it is admired for its comely modern as well as its 
venerable features. Its thick oaken walls, low 
rooms, great corner-posts and cross-beams, ample 
chimneys, and small window-panes, make a pleasing 
contrast with the showy but less substantial dwell- 
ings built in the present day. Its extensions 
and verandas, overrun with woodbine and flower- 
ing vines, and its dark paint, like weather-stain, 
are in harmony with its older parts and its 
picturesque surroundings. 



From the beginning of the Pigeon Cove settle- 
ment to the Revolutionary War, the gain in popu- 
lation was small. The few persons who occupied 
the farms between Pigeon Hill and Folly Cove 
had communication with one another for many 
years only by a rough cart-road and by narrow 
foot-paths. Near Pigeon Cove Harbor, where the 
good road of to-day begins to ascend toward 
the Pigeon Cove House, a gate crossed the way. 
Among the records of the town of Gloucester, 
there is one item referring to this gate which was 
written January 4th, 1722, and signed by three 
commissioners and Jethro Wheeler. It is suf- 
ficiently interesting to have place here : " Granted 
to J. Wheeler about four acres of land joining his 
own : And is in consideration of, and full satisfac- 
tion for, the way going through his land, and for 
his tending and maintaining a good and sufficient 
gate or gates for cart or sled to pass through for- 
ever, whenever any have occasion to pass over 
said way." 



During the eventful period of the Revolutionary 
War, some of the sea-fights, and occasional visits 
of British men-of-war in search of forage or on 
murderous intent, attracted the attention of this 
isolated neighborhood. 

Many of the Cape men, being fishermen and 
sailors, and thrown out of employment, engaged in 
privateering. And, inasmuch as their first ven- 
tures in this new business were made in their own 
fishing-craft, and within sight and hearing of their 
own homes, the people on shore, especially on the 
outermost points, sometimes witnessed the taking 
of British vessels. Some of these vessels came 
from England, and some from Nova Scotia and 
other British Provinces, with supplies for the 
British troops stationed in Boston. One Provin- 
cial brig, having in her hold coal and iron, and on 
her deck live-stock, slowly feeling her way along 
in dense fog, and hearing at length the roar of 
breakers, dropped anchor off Flat Point. Nothing 
being visible for the fog, and the surf at the right 
beating against Straitsmouth Island, and the surf 
at the left beating against Thatcher's Island, and 
the surf directly forward beating against Flat 
Point, raved so threateningly, that there was for 
the brig but the chance to wait for the fog to clear 
away. The fog lifted, but only to give a man on 


shore a glimpse of the brig, and to settle down as 
before. There was no time lost in making known 
at the point where Rockport Harbor now is the 
character and situation of the stranger. A fishing- 
vessel soon hailed her, and was allowed to make 
fast to her side. Then a strong crew, enlisted for 
the purpose, too strong for the men of the brig to 
resist, broke out from the hold of the little craft 
and took possession of the rich prize. The cattle 
were landed immediately, and put in the hill-side 
pasture overlooking the middle beach of Sandy 
Bay. The brig was then taken to Wheeler's Point, 
in Squam Harbor. After her coal and iron had 
been mostly secured, she slid from her bed near 
the shore into the channel and sank. 

An ordnance ship from England, bringing to 
the British troops in Boston valuable war material, 
such as small arms and cannon, and a monster mor- 
tar, was captured and brought into Gloucester 
Harbor. The ordnance, much needed by the 
Americans, was hauled over land to Cambridge, 
where it was gladly received by Washington. 

But all the sea-conflicts near the Cape were not 
successful for the privateers. This is shown by 
Mr. Babson in the " History of Gloucester " in his 
account of the capture of the " Yankee Hero." 
This vessel had been built for privateering at 
Newburyport. On a fine June day she started for 
Gloucester to " complete her armament and crew.' , 
" On the same day a large ship appeared off the 



Cape, which seemed to be clumsily worked, and 
to have but few men on board. Supposing she 
could be easily taken, the people of Sandy Bay," 
then grown to the number of three or four hun- 
dred, "made preparations to board her. They 
were urged on by Lieutenant Poole, who on this 
occasion showed more valor than discretion. He 
persuaded Captain Rowe, against his own better 
judgment, to join in the enterprise ; for the latter 
had some suspicions that the vessel was a ship-of- 
war in disguise. Every mechanic, fisherman, and 
farmer, that could be found, was enlisted, to the 
number of twenty ; and, having procured three 
fishing-boats, they proceeded fearlessly to the at- 
tack. They had scarcely left their moorings, 
when the 4 Yankee Hero ' hove in sight, coming 
round Halibut Point. The boats steered directly 
for her ; and, upon getting alongside, the men 
were received on board by Captain Tracy," the 
commander, " who eagerly declared his readiness 
to attack the British ship. The boats were sent 
back, and the brig made all sail and stood towards 
the ship; into which, as she got within cannon- 
shot, she let off a broadside. The ship immedi- 
ately opened two tiers of ports, and sent such a 
broadside in return as satisfied our Cape men of 
their mistake. Poole wished to board the ship, 
and carry her sword in hand, or die in the attempt ; 
but his advice of this reckless measure was un- 
heeded, and a fight commenced almost under the 


ship's guns. The brig maintained the contest about 
an hour ; at the end of which, having spent her 
ammunition, she struck to the British frigate ' Mil- 
ford,' of thirty-six guns. The brig's last gun was 
filled with pieces of iron, spikes, and a crowbar. 
The latter, being the only missile left on board, 
was thrust into the gun by Poole, who when he 
went on board the frigate as a prisoner discovered 
this new implement of Avar sticking through the 
bits of her windlass. It was called by the British 
sailors the ' Yankee belaying pin.' ' 

Early in August, after the Bunker Hill battle of 
the 17th of June, 1775, a British sloop-of-war, the 
" Falcon," several days hovered round the north 
shore of the Cape. She spent her time while in 
Ipswich Bay impressing men from vessels and 
boats, and sending barges to the shore here and 
there to take cattle and sheep. One day she sent 
a barge to Coffin's Beach to get sheep from Major 
Coffin's farm. The sturdy major, and five or six 
of his neighbors whom he had mustered, from be- 
hind sand-hills fired well-aimed rifles so rapidly at 
the approaching enemy, that the latter, believing 
that a much greater force withstood them, beat 
a retreat. Afterwards the same barge went into 
Squam Harbor to cut out a vessel, supposed to be a 
West Indiaman, deep in the water with a valuable 
cargo ; but the vessel was found to be heavily 
laden with sand. Subsequently the "Falcon" 
sailed into Massachusetts Bay, and entered Glouces- 


ter Harbor, holding in hand a West Indiaman, 
which she had captured, as a prize, and pursuing 
another, to double her success. But she was so 
hotly opposed by the brave men on shore, that 
she fled to sea, leaving the two Indiarnen, several 
barges, and thirty-five men as the cost of her 


Forward from the close of the Revolutionary 
War, the population at the end of the Cape, within 
the limits of the territory known since 1840 as 
Rockport, increased rapidly. Mr. Babson, the 
careful and thorough historian of the Cape, records 
the " striking fact " that this " latest settled por- 
tion " of the Cape " had, up to 1840, outstripped all 
the older localities in a proportionate increase of 
population." " This growth," he says, "is attrib- 
uted to the success of the shore-fishing for most of 
this period, to persevering industry in agriculture, 
and the quarrying of stone ; to all of which the 
economy and other good habits of the people have 
been important auxiliaries." 



Since the shore-fishing could be carried on only 
in small boats, and the people became ambitious 
to engage in larger business, the artificial harbors 
which have been mentioned were built to afford 
anchorage and shelter to vessels of heavy tonnage. 
These harbors of Rockport and Pigeon Cove were 
badly damaged by the great storm of 1841. At 
Pigeon Cove, the wall which received the brunt of 
the storm gave way and fell, and the vessels in 
the harbor were destroyed. A higher, firmer, and 
more extended barrier now occupies the place of 
the one demolished, and one would not suppose the 
sea would ever rise to such a pitch in wrath as to 
make this great work of thirty years in building, 
and still in building, a ruin. But some idea of 
the force of the sea in the time of wind and tem- 
pest may be got, by visiting at the end of Andrews' 
Point an immense block of granite, of a hundred 
and fifty tons' weight, which, in the disastrous day 
for the harbor, was wrenched from its solid bed, 
and whirled over twenty yards to the spot where 
it lies. The huge block would seem more ex- 
posed in its new place than where it had been 
packed thousands and thousands of years, but there 
it rests during the toughest gales, warding like a 
giant the blows of the waves, or, unaffected, tak- 
ing all their poundings till their rage is spent. 





The town of Rockport to day, the town of two 
villages, which are almost united by a chain of 
habitations stretching from one to the other on 
a single road, as seen from vessels crossing Sandy 
Bay, or from the Salvages, three miles from shore, 
or from the steamers and other craft, large and 
small, passing the outermost points of the Cape, is 
one of the prettiest of the sea-board towns. Seven 
churches and chapels, representing different forms 
of Christian belief; the town-house, ample and 
convenient for the purposes of the building ; the 
school-houses, erected and used to answer the ends 
of education ; the extensive steam cotton-mill, built 


of granite, and made imposing with two massive 
towers ; the isinglass and glue factories ; the hide 
factory ; the granite quarries on the woody middle 
and northern background, advertising themselves 
to the eye through scores of lofty derricks, and to 
the ear through powder-blasts loud as reports of 
heavy ordnance ; and the hotels for summer visitors, 
on the high grounds north of Pigeon Cove Harbor, 
— all these prominent objects, together with the 
more numerous and less marked, belonging to the 
plan of the town, indicate the achievements of a long 
series of peaceful years. How great have been 
the victories of peace ! A charming picture to the 
vision of the passing mariners from every commer- 
cial land ; especially to that of the increasing 
thousands, who, every midsummer, while resting 
from the toil of hand and brain, and avoiding the 
fervors and pestilences of the crowded cities, not 
only resort to the places of pure air and grateful, 
cooling breezes for comfort and health, but also 
indulge the inclination for yachting, and for enjoy- 
ing from point to point, as they sail, the fine views 
of the shore from the sea : views to be kept in 
memory as better than wealth, or all that one 
might gather and hoard in a lifetime of unbroken, 
avaricious toil. 

The sketches of the sea-fights of the Revolu- 
tionary War will not be forgotten. Such bloody 
encounters are exceptional and startling, and strain 
the nerves ; but if, for right and justice, they 


must take place, they take on and wear the dignity 
and glory of lofty endeavor, of generous and noble 
self-sacrifice. Stories of such conflicts will be 
written in books and repeated among the tales of 
the fireside from year to year for centuries. 


It has been seen what the old seafaring men of 
the Cape did, scarcely more than a cannon-shot 
from the abodes of their wives and children, in the 
first war with Great Britain. So something should 
be related here of the similar action of their sons 
on our waters in the last war with the same 

" In August, 1813," (Mr. Babson's History is 
again quoted), "the British ship ' Nymph,' then 
cruising off the coast, commenced depredations 
upon the fishermen and coasters, and occasioned 
considerable alarm among the inhabitants. She 
made several captures ; but her captain released his 
prizes upon the payment of a ransom, for the pur- 
pose of raising which the masters of three coasters 
and six fishing-boats were ashore at one time. The 
amount then required was two hundred dollars for 
each vessel. Resistance in all these cases was, of 
course, useless ; but in one, in which the force of 


the enemy was less formidable, our people de- 
fended their property successfully. Some time in 
August, one of the enemy's cruisers, of about sixty 
tons, called the ' Commodore Broke,' stood into 
Sandy Bay, with the intention of taking one or 
more loaded coasters then lying at anchor there. 
Having neared the shore, and wishing, perhaps, 
first to try the courage of the people, she fired sev- 
eral large and grape shot into the village ; upon 
which the men of the place assembled on the 
Neck, and from the north-easterly part of the old 
wharf, where they had a small cannon, began to 
fire upon the enemy with that, and also with their 
small arms. At this time the captain of the 
cruiser had commenced to sweep out of the bay ; 
but the Cape men did not let him escape without 
showing him a token of their spirit and skill, for 
the first cannon-ball they fired at him entered the 
schooner under her transom, and passing under 
deck came out near her stern above water. The 
firing upon the vessel was kept up from Bear- 
skin Neck, and the men at Pigeon Cove gave her 
several musket-shot as she passed their shore, but 
she got off without further damage ; and our 
people, by their bravery, preserved a considerable 
amount of property. 

" A more important affair occurred in September 
at Sandy Bay. The people at that place had, in 
the spring of this 3 T ear, erected at their own ex- 
pense a fort on the point of Bearskin Neck, and 
2* c 


procured for it three carriage-guns, which were 
placed in charge of a corporal, with a detachment 
from one of the companies at the Harbor " 
(Gloucester). " On the 8th of September, the 
British frigate ' Nymph ' took one of the fishing- 
boats belonging to the place ; and her skipper 
(Captain David Elwell) was compelled to act as 
pilot for two barges, full of men, which the captain 
of the frigate determined to send in to get posses- 
sion of the fort. These barges started from the 
frigate about midnight, and, hidden from sight by a 
dense fog, were rowed with muffled oars towards 
the Neck; and, having reached it, one of the 
barges proceeded into Long Cove, and landed her 
men at what is called the 4 Eastern Gutter.' The 
enemy then marched to the fort ; took the sentinel 
by surprise ; made prisoners of the soldiers, four- 
teen in number ; spiked the guns, which they threw 
out of the fort. The other barge went into the 
old dock on the western side of the Neck ; where 
her men soon encountered some of the people of 
the village, who had been roused by an alarm given 
by a sentinel stationed on the Neck, not far from 
the houses. It was now daybreak, and a clear 
morning. Several musket-balls were fired at this 
barge by three of the Cape men, who got in return 
cannon and grape shot, but received no injury 
from them. To silence the alarm-bell, which was 
now ringing, several shot were fired at the belfry 
of the meeting-house, one of which struck one of 


the posts of the steeple. But this attempt had 
a disastrous and nearly fatal termination for the 
enemy ; for the firing of their large gun caused a 
butt to start in the bow of the barge, which soon 
began to fill with water, and finally sank just as 
the men got her in near the rocks back of the pier. 
The officer in command, and a few of his men, ran 
across the Neck, and seizing a boat made their 
escape. The rest, a dozen or more, were made 
prisoners. In the mean time, the men who took 
the fort had, with all their prisoners, or a part of 
them, got into then barge, and were on their way 
back to the frigate." 

Soon after, an exchange of prisoners was effected ; 
and the British captain gave his word that 
through the rest of the autumn the fishermen toil- 
ing on their fishing-grounds should not be molested. 
He will be remembered as having honorably kept 
his promise. 

These are some of the few instances of attack 
from the sea, and of resistance from the land, at 
the end of the Cape, in the last struggle of our 
nation with the mother country. 





But what now is the sea-view from the shore, 
unfolding the magnificent results of many years of 
peace, corresponding with the shore-view from the 
sea, which has been described ? 

The commerce of the world is largely represented 
on our offing and in Massachusetts Bay. Outward 
bound and inward bound ships, barques and brigs, 
belonging to all sea-bordering lands, are almost 
daily seen from our own windows. Some are 
gfoingf to or coming from the distant East Indies 


and Japan ; some to or from Eastern or Western 
Africa, or the Cape of Good Hope ; some to or 
from Asia Minor, or Egypt, or Southern Europe, 
or Northern Europe, or Great Britain ; some to or 
from Brazil, Chili, Peru, California, the Sandwich 
Islands, Australia ; and some to Borneo and other 
spicy islands of the Pacific sea. Often within 
view, added to these larger craft bearing rich 
cargoes and scented with foreign odors, are the 
countless smaller vessels of the Canadian Dominion 
and of our own coasting and fishing fleets ; and, 
together with these, the steamships and steam- 
boats that plough the Atlantic between Boston and 
Liverpool and other European ports ; between 
Boston and the principal cities of Maine ; and Bos- 
ton and St. John's ; and Boston and Halifax. Now 
and then comes a rare day for the display of white 
sails, when the pomp of peace on the sea is sur- 
veyed as excelling the grandest exhibition of naval 
warfare the world ever saw. There has been a 
week of storm, and all the harbors of Massachu- 
setts Bay are crowded with vessels waiting for fair 
weather. At length the sky is clear, and the 
morning sun shines upon a thousand steaming 
decks. The wind blows steadily from the west. 
Presently the whole bay is covered with sails 
driving toward the open sea. After gaining the 
wide space of our offing, they disperse in splendid 
style, in all directions. Or the mackerel-fleets are 
busy with lines and nets in Ipswich Bay, and near 


the Salvages. The observer on shore, sitting in his 
veranda, and sweeping with his vision from right 
to left the interesting spectacle, counts five or six 
hundred schooners. 

One having a home by the sea is continually 
reminded of broad relationship and boundless 
society. While strengthened and deepened in 
local attachments, he is made more and more a 
cosmopolitan. If he travels far into the country 
and sojourns among the mountains, being a lover of 
Nature in all her forms and moods, and quick to 
discover and appreciate her grander or more beauti- 
ful arrangements, her wonderful though common 
lights and shadows, he readily, now and then, 
indulges the fancy that a house on some slope he 
sees, shielded from the north and east winds by 
lofty peaks, fronted by meadows through which 
there is a stretch of river into the distant southern 
horizon, and glorified at the close of every fair day 
by the rays of the descending sun, would be a 
delightful home ; and he does not wonder that so 
many persons of abundant means retire from the 
artificial life of the closely packed towns, to enjoy 
the quiet pleasures of a place like this. And his 
fancy is not so wild as many would deem it ; but 
he is not led away by it so far, that he loses the 
thought of the superlative advantages of his sea- 
side habitation. He returns to the shore of the 
heaving main, thinking that here he can have lone- 
liness or society according to his wish. If, in the 


ordinary sense lie have no connection with neigh- 
borhood, he yet, in looking day by day upon the 
sea, will feel that he is in communication with the 
ends of the earth, that the pulse of the most distant 
lands give answer to his questioning touch, that he 
exchanges thought with a great brotherhood, not 
only in the gay fleets that so often pass his eye, 
and in the "sister commonwealths" of the conti- 
nent behind him, and in the proud realms of 
Europe, but in far-away Hindostan, Sumatra, 
China, and Japan. Living by the sea, he is at 
once apart from the haunts of men, and a cit- 
izen of the world. At the " ocean's edge," he 
may, and does perhaps, go farther and see more 
than many who sail abroad. Thoreau reports 
him as singing this charming strain : — 

" My life is like a stroll upon the beach, 
As near the ocean's edge as I can go ; 
My tardy steps its waves sometimes o'er-reach, 
Sometimes I stay to let them overflow. 

My sole employment 'tis, and scrupulous care, 
To set my gains beyond the reach of tides, 

Each smoother pebble and each shell more rare, 
Which ocean kindly to my hand confides. 

I have but few companions on the shore, 

They scorn the strand who sail upon the sea ; 

Yet oft I think the ocean they've sailed o'er 
Is deeper known upon the strand to me. 

The middle sea contains no crimson dulse, 
Its deeper waves cast up no pearls to view : 

Along the shore my hand is on its pulse, 

And I converse with many a shipwrecked crew." 



About the time when Sandy Bay and Pigeon 
Cove were set off from Gloucester, and became 
the town of Rockport (1840), Richard H. Dana, 
Senior, looking for a pleasant summer retreat, found 
Pigeon Cove, and took up his abode here for 
the season. In 1842 William Cullen Bryant here 
joined his venerable friend, and spent the summer 
with him in delightful rambles on the shore, in the 
pastures, and in the woods. Mr. Brackett, the 
sculptor, also came, and moulded a bust of Mr. 
Bryant. That was a summer to be remembered by 
the village people ; for men with seeing vision and 
acutest faculties and clearest utterance made a 
survey of their little seaside hamlet and its envi- 
rons, interpreted the marvels all about them, and 
shed the light of their presence upon the common 
things of sea and land always within sight. Since 
then our woods have a charm which they did not 
seem to contain before : our ledges, crags, and 
boulders, mottled with moss ; our hills and pastures, 
adorned with groves of pine and oak, and with 
patches of huckleberry and bayberry bushes ; our 
bold and sloping granite shores, perpetually kept 
clean by the washings of the sea, — have meaning 
and value far above the usual estimate which men 
set upon such possessions. 


Mr. Dana and Mr. Brackett had rooms in the old 
tavern on the south side of Pigeon Cove Harbor, 
then kept by William Norwood, Jr. Mr. Bryant 
sojourned in the " Old House " with John Wheeler, 
at that time its owner. In later summers Mr. 
Dana chose the " Old House " as his tarrying 
place, the seaside inn having been discovered and 
occupied by families from one neighborhood in Bos- 
ton. Mr. Bryant soon bought a seashore home, 
near Flushing, on Long Island, and did not again 
visit Pigeon Cove. Mr. Dana continued his visits 
a few seasons, and then built a summer house for 
himself on the south shore of our Cape, within the 
limits of Manchester. Though both were in man- 
ner reserved and retiring, they yet crossed the 
thresholds of some of the homes in the village, and 
of others sequestered in the woods near the village, 
and so discoursed with the inmates of these abodes 
that their words are still recalled and repeated with 
pride and pleasure. A chance meeting with Mr. 
Dana on a fair day in the shade of the pines, or on 
a stormy day on the shore of the sea, was a benedic- 
tion ; for, in either case, in choice words and pleas- 
ant tones he interpreted the look and voice of 
Nature. Listening to his talk of Washington 
Allston, after the going down of the sun till into 
the morning hours of one and two, was an experi- 
ence of deepest and most enchanting entertainment. 
A starry summer night with a poet whose " temples, 
wan and gray," had long worn a glorious crown, 


with a sage of song, telling the rare story of the 
great artist, cannot pass from the memory into 
the realm of things forgotten. The low room in 
the " Old House," dimly lighted by a wick soon to 
flicker in the socket and go out, was illumined in 
such wise that there was no need of lamp or taper 
to lend it radiance. 

One selection from Mr. Dana's poems will not 
be here out of place. It shall be 


" Come, hoist the sail, the fast let go ! 
They're seated side by side ; 
Wave chases wave in pleasant flow : 
The bay is fair and wide. 

The ripples lightly tap the boat. 

Loose ! — Give her to the wind ! 
She shoots ahead, — they're all afloat : 

The strand is far behind. 

No danger reach so fair a crew ; 

Thou goddess of the foam, 
I'll ever pay thee worship due, 

If thou wilt bring them home. 

Fair ladies, fairer than the spray 

The prow is dashing wide, 
Soft breezes take you on your way, 

Soft flow the blessed tide ! 

Oh, might I like those breezes be, 

And touch that arching brow, 
I'd toil for ever on the sea 

Where ye are floating now ! 


The boat goes tilting on the waves ; 

The waves go tilting by ; 
There dips the duck, — her back she laves ; 

O'erhead the sea-gulls fly. 

Now, like the gulls that dart for prey, 

The little vessel stoops ; 
Now rising shoots along her way, 

Like them, in easy swoops. 

The sun-light falling on her sheet, 

It glitters like the drift 
Sparkling in scorn of summer's heat, 

High up some mountain rift. 

The winds are fresh ; she's driving fast 

Upon the bending tide, 
The crinkling sail and crinkling mast 

Go with her side by side. 

Why dies the breeze away so soon 1 

Why hangs the pennant down ? 
The sea is glass ; the sun at noon. 

— Nay, lady, do not frown ; 

For, see, the winged fisher's plume 

Is painted on the sea : 
Below, a cheek of lovely bloom, 

Whose eyes look up at thee. 

She smiles ; thou need'st must smile on her; 

And, see, beside her face 
A rich, white cloud that doth not stir. 

What beauty and what grace ! 

And pictured beach of yellow sand, 

And peaked rock and hill, 
Change the smooth sea to fairy land. 

How lovely and how still ! 


From that far isle the thresher's flail 
Strikes close upon the ear ; 

The leaping fish, the swinging sail 
Of yonder sloop sound near. 

The parting sun sends out a glow 

Across the placid bay, 
Touching with glory all the show. — 

A breeze ! — Up helm ! — Away ! 

Careening to the wind, they reach, 
With laugh and call, the shore. 

They've left their foot-prints on the beach ; 
But them I hear no more. 

Goddess of Beauty, must I now 
Vowed worship to thee pay *? 
Dear goddess, I grow old, I trow : 
My head is growing gray." 


The number of summer visitors so increased, 
that Mr. Norwood left the tavern on the south side 
of the Cove, and opened a house in a pleasanter situ- 
ation, six hundred yards up the ascent, on the 
north side. At first he and his accomplished wife 
had rooms for a few families only ; for their house 
was but of the common style in New England, fifty 
and sixty years ago : square, with large chimney- 
stack in the centre, roof front and rear sloping 


from the chimney to the eaves equally, and the 
front entrance between the two front rooms. But 
this house was enlarged to accommodate new- 
comers with the old, till it became the building of 
many gables which we see in our artist's represen- 
tation. After Mr. Norwood's death, Mrs. Norwood 
remained in it many years as the hostess still, 
successfully fulfilling the duties of her place, and 
winning the respect and commendation of the 
large number from all quarters of the land who 
tried the comfort and entertainment of her home- 
like abode. 

Several other homes of the neighborhood also 
entertained strangers ; so that Pigeon Cove, though 
not departing from simple, unfashionable ways, 
donned a habit somewhat new, and became widely 
known as a watering-place. 

Gentlemen, whether with or without families, 
came to Pigeon Cove, not to waste their substance 
and wear their life out in excesses and follies, but 
for rest and quiet and healthful pastimes ; for 
ocean-view and seaside ramble ; for good air from 
over the brine, and healing whiffs from the bal- 
samic pines ; and for all the pure and sweet 
pleasures which can be had where rural and ma- 
rine attractions and charms are so singularly and 
happily brought together. Clergymen and many 
of their intimate friends were accustomed to spend 
their summer vacations here. They came from 
all the Chiistian communions ; but to dwell to- 


gether here as children and brethren of one fam- 
ily. The remembrance of them is nndimmed, 
and their names are repeated without recourse to 
leaves of record. A list of shining names : Drs. 
E. S. Gannett, Cyrus Bartol, J. F. Clarke, T. B. 
Thayer, Kirk and Stone, of Boston ; Drs. Chapin 
and Bellows, of New York ; President Wayland 
and Bishop Clark, of Providence ; Dr. Hill, of 
"Worcester ; Dr. Allen, of Northampton ; and Revs. 
Thomas Starr King, Charles H. Leonard, J. G. 
Adams, C. H. Fay, and A. D. Mayo. Of the 
literary men, are readily recalled Richard Froth- 
ingham, Jr., Edwin P. Whipple, James T. Fields, 
T. W. Higginson, and the brothers Durivage. 
Also come to mind, with these, a host of bank- 
ers, merchants, lawyers, school-teachers, inventors, 
and others of every occupation from many of the 
principal cities and villages in the nation : from 
Boston and vicinity, Salem, Lowell, Worcester, 
Springfield, Cincinnati, Dayton, Chicago, St. Louis, 
Peoria, Alton, New Orleans, Augusta, Ga., Castle- 
ton, St. Albans, Troy, Nashua, Manchester, Port- 
land, Hallowell, and Calais. 


In 1866 Mrs. Norwood retired from the Pigeon 
Cove House. Mrs. E. S. Robinson took her place 


as owner and hostess. In the spring of '71 Mrs. 
Robinson moved from its site the many-gabled 
edifice, and bnilt on the same spot a larger and 
more attractive house. This new house was fin- 
ished and opened for visitors the next July. It 
is a spacious and convenient building, and hand- 
some withal, wearing proudly the old, familiar 
name, — Pigeon Cove House. 


In the same spring, too, the Ocean View House 
was erected, and immediately opened for visitors. 
It is but three hundred yards from the Pigeon Cove 
House ; a comely building, commanding a broad 
view of the ocean. Its proprietors are Frank B. 
Babson and Co. 

Including with these hotels Mr. Swett's cosey and 
comfortable home, with accommodation for twenty- 
five or thirty persons, and several other dwellings, 
with room for four, or six, or ten, or twelve, and 
keeping in mind the fact that all these homes, large 
and small, are filled in midsummer with sojourners, 
and the reader will judge that the little parties 
of thirty years ago have grown to be a great and 
goodly company. 




Being in Boston, the tourist takes the Gloucester 
and Rockport train at the station of the Eastern 
Railway. In the brief time of an hour and 
thirty minutes, he is drawn by the locomotive 
away from the heat, dust, and noisomeness of the 
city, to the pure, cool air of the ocean ; to the 
breezy points jutting into the sea from the end 
of Cape Ann ; to the grateful repose and un cor- 
rupting fascinations of Pigeon Cove. Though the 
train rolls on the track at a rapid rate, the jour- 
ney is enjoyable for fine landscapes and bright 
glimpses of the sea ; for interchange of town and 
field, tilth and orchard, marsh and upland, hill and 
valley, pasture and forest. Charlestown, Somer- 
ville, Everett, Chelsea, Winthrop and Revere, one 
after another, are recognized by a glance. The 
hills of Saugus, bordering the marsh which is 
traversed, and one of the villages of Saugus look- 


ing down from its elevated site, on the left ; Chelsea 
Beach flanking the marsh, and like a parapet de- 
fending it against the assaults of the sea, on the 
right ; serpentine creeks, bright as silver, dividing 
the marsh into many sections, and, with the grass 
and reeds swept and shaken by the wind, present- 
ing pleasing contrasts of light and shade ; island- 
like acres covered with wood, dotting the sea of 
grass ; isolated but memorable Nahant, across the 
water from Chelsea Beach; Lynn, with outspread 
wings broad and white, and sparkling as if 
sprinkled with crystals ; Swampscott on the 
heights toward Massachusetts Bay, and, nearer, 
presenting Mr. Stetson's place with its beautiful 
elm ; the rugged pastures, wearing, with the com- 
mon robe of grass and clover, shreds of heather, 
and plumed with slender, dark-green savins, and 
holding stubbornly against innovation the space 
between their southern bounds at Lynn and 
Swampscott, and their northern at Peabody and 
Salem ; and the ancient towns of Salem and Bev- 
erly, connected by bridges across the mouth of a 
river, — all, as the cars rush along on the iron 
way, come to the vision with the silence and 
rapidity of thought, but with distinct outlines, and 
unconfused objects within the outlines, touched 
by gleam and shadow under the sky of sun and 

At Beverly the train is switched off from the 
Eastern Road upon the Gloucester and Rockport 



Branch. From this point to the terminus of the 
Branch, the diversity of point, crag, beach, bay, and 
islands, offset by hill, valley, rock, and forest, is 
sufficiently interesting to please the most discern- 
ing: observer. Nowhere is there a ride of sixteen 
miles by rail more picturesque than this from 
Beverly to Rockport and Pigeon Cove. 



The railway ride is only excelled by that of the 
old-fashioned stage, or of the private vehicle, on 
the old common road stretching along the same 
scalloped shore. Unlike the railway, this road 
conforms to the indentations of the shore, and 
winds over little elevations and through the val- 
leys separating them. For room, comfort, and 
expedition, whatever the weather, the cars are 


preferred ; but some fine and delightful things have 
been given up. On fair days in June, July, or 
August, or in September or October, the memory 
goes back to the stage-times of Addison Center, 
Jacob B. Winchester and Edward H. Shaw. They 
had strong, well-upholstered stages, and good 
horses ; and they were careful, skilful drivers. Mr. 
Center and Mr. Winchester drove between Salem 
and Gloucester; Mr. Shaw, between Gloucester and 
the end of the Cape. It was a favor to have a 
seat on the box with either of these gentlemen 
of the whip. Going to Gloucester from Salem, 
the stage started from the Essex Coffee House. 
Leaving the staid and quiet city by the way of 
Washington Square and Beverly Bridge, such 
names came to mind as Derby, Higginson, Salton- 
stall, Bowclitch, Peabody, and Hawthorne. Derby 
Wharf, ships from Sumatra and Canton, the East 
India Marine Hall, the Custom House, the " Scarlet 
Letter," followed, in recollection, a reverie of the 
olden times, of the witches and Gallows Hill. 
Passing through the sombre, quiet old street of 
Beverly, a thought was given to Dane, and another 
to the younger Rantoul. Onward through Beverly 
Farms and Manchester, the eye wandered in every 
direction, while Jacob B. Winchester related quaint 
stories in a quaint way. Islands and lighthouses ; 
some of the steeples and roofs of Marblehead; 
new summer residences here and there, peejDing 
through the loop-holes of woody hill-tops, or the 


avenues of trees connecting them with the high- 
way ; brooks and little inlets spanned by stone 
bridges ; small, half-moon beaches ; coves, bordered 
with rocks and kelp ; a pond within a few rods 
of the salt waves, its whole surface starred with 
water-lilies ; grove after grove of oaks and pines, 
barberry and bayberry bushes, on the roadsides 
and in the pastures, — these were some of the 
objects of the route which made it pleasant and 
even enchanting. Proceeding from Manchester 
with a steady trot, the enchantment became almost 
bewildering, because of the wildness and variety 
at every turn. Besides, in the very heart of 
the most picturesque section of the route, where 
sea and shore vie with each other to produce mar- 
vellous and charming effects, it was known that 
through the tangle of woodbine and wild roses on 
the roadside, and then over the thickly wooded 
ridge, hidden in the swamps among the hills on 
hills toward the north, the magnolias were wast- 
ing their " sweetness on the desert air." Approach- 
ing Gloucester by Fresh Water Cove, and over 
the great elevation at Steep Bank, at once came to 
view Stage Rocks, Squam River, the town, the 
harbor, and Beacon Pole or Governor's Hill, behind 
the west end of the town ; and then Eastern Point, 
across the harbor, stretching southward into Massa- 
chusetts Bay. If the Cut was crossed at sunset, 
some of the gleams which Epes Sargent's vision 
caught in the gloaming at the close of a summer's 



day came to the traveller's eye. Thus this son of 
Cape Ann sings : — 

" Look ! All the lighthouses 
Flash greeting to the night. There, Eastern Point 
Flames out ! Lo, little Ten Pound Island follows ! 
See Baker's Island kindling ! Marblehead 
Ablaze ! Egg Rock, too, off Nahant, on fire ! 
And Boston Light winking at Minot's Ledge ! 
Like the wise virgins, all, with ready lamps ! " 


From Gloucester to Rockport and Pigeon Cove 
in the twilight or early evening, fanned by the 
sea-breeze, and smiled on by the stars, was a natu- 
ral and agreeable ending of the journey. The 
waves advancing and retreating on Little Good 
Harbor Beach broke the stillness with laughter. 
The great rocks, looming in the darkness, grew to 
awful proportions; the hollow of Beaver Dam 
rang with peepings of countless frogs. On the 
summit of Great Hill the lights of Straitsmouth 
Island and Thatcher's Island welled out their 
liquid rays upon the sea. At the base of the hill 
the village lights were a sign of welcome ; lan- 
terns, swung in the rigging of vessels on the ocean, 


rose and sank with the rising and sinking billows. 
Around the base of Pigeon Hill, the straggling 
houses were torch-bearers showing the way; and 
the restless waves, at hand, whispered now softly 
and now harshly, and anon lifted their voices 
angrily, as if in dispute with the crags and the 
pebbles confronting them along the shore. Pigeon 
Cove Harbor was smooth and silent, reflecting the 
stars and holding a fleet of vessels and dories within 
its thick and lofty wall. The stage ascended the 
hill, passing the few dwellings with lighted halls 
and parlors, and stopped at the gate of the Pigeon 
Cove House. From the door of the inn came forth 
the earlier comers to welcome the later. From the 
inside and from the outside of the stage, these 
latter alighted and exchanged greetings with the 
former. So ended fittingly the rare ride of a late 
afternoon and an early evening in the stages, on 
the old stage road from Salem to Pigeon Cove. 





The walks and rambles near Pigeon Cove are as 
charming for variety and for answering the ends 
of out-door exercise as the clearest seeing and 
most wisely discriminating pedestrian would desire. 
Naturally the nearest are the first to try. These 
are made easy to those who are not accustomed 
to the rough paths of pasture and wood. Since 
the purchase of Andrews' Pasture and the exten- 
sive adjacent grounds, by Eben B. Phillips and 
George Babson, these proprietors have improved 
their tract by laying it out with broad avenues 
and winding walks. These avenues and walks arc 
nicely graded and gravelled. From the hotels into 
the principal avenue, — that is, Phillips Avenue, 
— it is but a step. The mile's walk of this wide 
and smooth road is circuitous, partly through 
groves of oaks and pines, and partly over open 



grounds, fragrant with sweet ferns, bay berry shrubs, 
and wild roses, and affording fine views of the sea 
from Thatcher's Island to A^amenticus, and a view 


of the long coast to this mountain in Maine, from 
Ipswich Beach and Plum Island. 

It is an easy and pleasant walk to the Break- 
water. On this outer wall of Pigeon Cove Harbor, 
the near scene of fishermen at the wharves, and of 
stone-sloops loading with granite to take to Boston 
and other cities, is entertaining to those who have 
not often looked upon it, and even to those to 
whom it has been a long time familiar. Turning 
about and looking in the opposite direction, the 
never uninteresting ocean, the always-the-same 
and yet the ever-changing expanse of waves, glori- 
ous in the sun and gay with sailing craft of every 
description, is surveyed admiringly. From the 
Breakwater the marginal path is followed along 
the shore to Singers' Bluff, which overlooks the 
sea but a few hundred yards from the hotels. 



Thence the walk is continued by the Bath, where 
the bathers in picturesque costumes are cheerfully 
plunging into the sea or dancing in the surf ; by 
the Blue Streaks, veins of trap, some a few inches, 
others several feet through, which cross the granite 
Cape from north to south ; by Chapin's Rock and 

Gully, the former at low tide half in the water, 
the latter a great notch cut into the shore of solid 
granite where it is highest and boldest ; by Ocean 
Bluff, the outermost footing of Andrews' Point, 
the farthest Cape Ann projection toward England ; 
thence around Hoop Pole Cove to the Old Cedar ; 
and so by Cedar Avenue, Phillips Avenue, and 
Ocean Avenue — where the Salvages are seen as 
a brooch on the bosom of the sea — back to the 
place of setting out. 

At the going down of the sun many walk the 


little distance on the old road of the village to Sun- 
set Rock in the Babson pasture. Here the specta- 
cle of the setting sun, and of the colors that slowly 
fade while the evening's shades are falling, is the 
more than reward for strollingj; a few rods. Re- 
turning, Strawberry Hill is climbed. Here Straits- 
mouth and Thatcher's lights on the right, and 
Ipswich and Newburyport lights on the left, are 
almost equally distinctly seen ; and far over the 
waves the eye catches the gleam, appearing regu- 
larly every few minutes, of the Isles of Shoals 
revolving light. Those who are vigorous enough 
for the ramble go to Halibut Point, following the 
shore from Andrews' Point around Hoop Pole 
Cove, or by the way of the village road and Cap- 
tain Gott's Lane ; or go to Folly Cove, and Folly 
Point, and the Willows , and thence return by 
Jumper's Lane, and by a footpath through the 
woods to Edmunds and Lane's quarry, and then 
by a quarry-road leading to the village in the rear 
of Overlook, the Old House, and Edmunds's Hall ; 
or go to the top of Pigeon Hill by the lane ascend- 
ing from Mr. Eames's house, or through the woods 
in a footpath on the northern side of this elevation ; 
or go to the wood-sheltered home of the Knutsfords 
by the carriage way of the Old House, and by 
grass-covered cart-paths and footpaths the rest of 
the distance ; or go to the quarries on the west 
and on the south side of Pigeon Hill, by quarry- 
roads, in the shade of a young and thrifty forest 


all the way ; or go to the Moving Rock in the rear 
of Lanesville, half way to Annisquam, through the 
woods. This curiosity is a boulder of perhaps 
eighty tons, — so poised on a ledge just appear- 
ing above the sward that when pushed against by 
the shoulders of a man, or pressed by a man's 
weight upon it, first on one side and then on the 
other, as one would rock a boat, it will perceptibly 
vibrate. Under extraordinary pressure its oscilla- 
tions are seen many yards off. Leaving the Moving 
Rock, the ramble is continued to Annisquam. or to 
the head of Goose Cove, an inlet of Squam River ; 
and thence by an old wood-road to Rockport, and 
thus again to Pigeon Cove. Sometimes ramblers, 
who know the highest and purest enjoyment of 
rambling, spend day after day in the woods, pur- 
posely losing themselves in the complexity of inter- 
secting paths to get the surprises here and there 
of new views of the sea, and of old views too, 
frequently not recognized as familiar till the 
maze of the forest is left behind. In a sunny 
opening they pick berries, while the pigeons prate 
on the limbs of the nearest pines, and the " che- 
wink " and scratching of the ground-robin come 
to their ear from the dry leaves beneath the sur- 
rounding underbrush. Ascending a knoll where 
the golden dust of the sun is sifting through the 
tops of the beeches, they see the ruffed grouse 
stepping lightly in the path, and hear the sudden 
whirr of his wings as he flies into the hemlocks 


across a swale thick with alders and brambles. 
Sitting upon a rock in the shade of a group of oaks 
to rest, they listen to the singing of a score of red- 
eyed vireos in the clumps of 3 r oung maples and 
birches at hand. Climbing a towering ledge and 
overlooking the tops of the trees around its base, 
they see the silver of a lakelet walled in by hills ; 
and from a higher point, looking farther, they dis- 
cern miles on miles of rocky pasture, and sheep 
and cattle scattered grazing, or in the shade of 
boulders chewing the cud. Approaching the low- 
lands, where the blueberries are found, or the 
rarely explored mysteries of Brier Swamp, they see 
the forms of children moving in the thickets, and 
hear voices rising upon the air, indicative of care- 
less mirth and freedom from restraint and fear. 
At length, unknowingly nearing home, their at- 
tention is attracted by the clinking of a thousand 
drills and the sounding blows of a thousand ham- 
mers. Soon they see the derricks above the low 
trees, the sparkle of the sea through the network 
of the foliage, the busy workmen themselves in pit 
and shed, and finally the whole fair prospect of 
village and ocean and scores of sails. 

T. TV. Higginson pays a fine compliment to 
the foot-paths of our Cape in one of his " Atlantic 
Monthly " papers. " What can Hawthorne mean," 
he says, " by saying in his English diary that an 
American would never understand the passage in 
Bunyan about Christian and Hopeful going astray 


along a by-path into the grounds of Giant Despair, 
from there being no stiles and by-paths in our 
country ? So much of the charm of American 
pedestrianism lies in the by-paths ! For instance, 
the whole interior of Cape Ann, beyond Glouces- 
ter, is a continuous woodland, with granite ledges 
everywhere cropping out, around which the high- 
road winds, following the curving and indented 
line of the sea, and dotted here and there with 
fishing hamlets. This whole interior is traversed 
by a network of foot-paths, rarely passable for 
any wagon, and not always for a horse, but ena- 
bling the pedestrian to go from any one of these 
villages to any other, in a line almost direct, and 
always under an agreeable shade. By the longest 
of these hidden ways one may go from Pigeon 
Cove to Gloucester without seeing a public road. 
In the little inn of the former village there used to 
hang an old map of this whole forest region, giv- 
ing a chart of some of these paths which were said 
to date back to the first settlement of the coun- 
try. One of them, for instance, was called ' Old 
Road from Sandy Bay to Squam Meeting-house 
through the Woods ; ' but the road is now scarcely 
even a bridle-path, and the most faithful worship- 
per could not seek Squam Meeting-house in the 
family chaise. Those woods are at last being dev- 
astated, but when I first knew that region it was 
as good as any German forest. Often we stepped 
almost from the edge of the sea into some gap in 


the woods ; there seemed hardly more than a 
rabbit-track, but presently we met some wayfarer 
who had crossed the Cape by it. A piny dell gave 
some vista of the broad sea we were leaving, and 
an opening in the woods displayed another blue 
sea-line before ; the encountering breezes inter- 
changed odors of berry-bushes and scent of brine ; 
penetrating farther among oaks and walnuts, we 
came upon some little cottage, quaint and shel- 
tered as any Spenser drew ; it was built on no 
high-road, and turned its vine-clad gable aw^ay 
from even the foot-path. Then the ground rose 
and other breezes came ; perhaps we climbed trees 
to look for landmarks, and saw only, still farther 
in the woods, some great cliff of granite or the 
derrick of an unseen, quarry. Three miles inland, 
as I remember, we found the hearth-stones of a 
vanished settlement ; then we passed a swamp 
with cardinal flowers ; then a cathedral of noble 
pines, topped with crows' nests. If we had not 
gone astray, by this time we presently emerged on 
Dogtown Common, an elevated table-land over- 
spread with great boulders as with houses, and 
encircled with a girdle of green woods and an outer 
girdle of blue sea. I know of nothing like that 
gray waste of boulders ; it is a natural Salisbury 
Plain, of which icebergs and ocean currents were 
the Druidic builders ; the multitude of couchant 
monsters give one a sense of suspended life ; you 
feel that they must speak and answer each other 


in the silent nights ; bnt by day only the wander- 
ing sea-birds seek them on their way across the 
Cape, and the sweet-bay and green fern imbed 
them in a softer and deeper setting as the years go 
by. This is the " height of ground " of that wild 
foot-path; but, as you recede farther from the 
outer ocean and approach Gloucester, you come 
upon still wilder ledges, unsafe without a guide; 
and you find in one place a cluster of deserted 
houses, too difficult of access to remove even their 
materials, so that they are left to moulder alone. 
I used to wander in those woods summer after 
summer, till I had made my own chart of their de- 
vious tracks, and now when I close my eyes in this 
Oldport mid-summer, the soft Italian air takes on 
something of a Scandinavian vigor ; for the inces- 
sant roll of carriages, I hear the tinkle of the 
quarryman's hammer, and the veerj^s song, and 
I long for those perfumed and breezy pastures, 
and for those promontories of granite where the 
fresh water is nectar and the salt sea has a regal 

Before dropping the subject in hand, a few images 
in the memory should be presented. Reverting to 
the walks and rambles of the summers long since 
departed, royal companions reappear to the vision. 
One of these was Thomas Starr King. Who of 
the compan} r that used to ramble with him will 
ever set foot on our shore, or hear the stir of leaves 
and the twitter of birds in our woods, without a 


thought of him ? Sometimes the ramblers rested 
an hour in the shade of the pines where the sleep- 
ing sea, whispering as if in dreams, just made itself 
heard. Then he of youthful but regal presence, 
and of marvellously musical tongue, read the poe- 
try of Wordsworth or the prose of Ruskin, making 
more vital and glowing the thoughts of either. 
Once, after a stroll, and a refreshing bath, the 
same audience gave ear to the same orator and 
interpreter, in the amphitheatre-like pit of Cha- 
pin's Gully. None of the company so favored then 
will ever forget the spell of the moments while he 
recited the stirring, musical lines, then new to all, 
of Tennyson's " Bugle Song." These woods, rocks 
and waves, these men with swelling hearts and 
tearful eyes, will never again see the like of him 
who is now among the translated. 

: Break, break, break, 

On thy cold gray stones, Sea ! 
And I would that my tongue could utter 

The thoughts that arise in me. 

Oh well for the fisherman's boy, 

That he shouts with his sister at play ! 

Oh well for the sailor lad, 

That he sings in his boat on the bay ! 

And the stately ships go on 
To their haven under the hill ; 

But oh for the touch of a vanish'd hand, 
And the sound of a voice that is still 1 


Break, break, break, 

At the foot of thy crags, Sea ! 
But the tender grace of a day that is dead 

Will never come back to me." 

Magician of the sea as well as of the mountains, 
Starr King found means for enchantment in cliff 
and wave, in storm and calm. No change of mo- 
tion or color on the ocean's face escaped his sight. 
He observed every shape and hue of mist on the 
headlands, or of cloud in the sky. He marked, 
too, the characteristics of seafaring men and of 
old dwellers on the storm-beaten shore. The old 
English words, not obsolete here, and the uncon- 
ventional frankness of these children of the Cape, 
afforded him material for both grave reflection and 
keen amusement. " When did you come into the 
cove with these hake? " inquired he of one stand- 
ing knee-deep in the water, taking these fish from 
his dory, as the result of his industry through the 
night. "About dawning," was the ready reply ; 
and a pleasing one to the questioner, though given 
in the style of pronunciation not authorized by 
Worcester or Webster. His humor, always sunny, 
never sombre, always kindly, never unfriendly, 
quickly caught and had its fun with quaintness. 
He named one, whom he often met, the " Poet of 
the Cove ; " another, the " Socrates of Cape Ann." 
The Poet's " Lines to a Blue Jay in the Winter " 
brought out the inimitable smile of his face and 


eye, and the merry tones of his laughter. These 
were the first four : — 

" The jay, he came with his blue back, 
And his long forked bill, 
And to a granary he hied, 
All for to get his fill." 

The blunt observations of the Philosopher often 
won his applause. Sometimes this man of Socratic 
plainness made a single verb solve a matter not yet 
explained. For example, when asked to account 
for the fact that the days of summer are longer 
than the days of winter, in agreement with the 
theory that the earth revolves around the sun, he 
promptly answered, " Fool, don't you know that 
the earth wabbles?" At another time, describ- 
ing the eloquence of Rufus Choate, and with 
what ease for effect this pleader could use the 
muscles of his face, he said, " The cant of his 
countenance drew tears from everybody's eyes." 
Encounters with this sage, who was in no degree 
bound by the conventionalities of polite society, 
but who withal had a kind heart, and was often 
benevolent in deed, frequently to the witty and 
brilliant young clergyman was something more 
and better than a pleasant pastime. The latter 
engaged in talk with the self-taught Philosopher 
with unusual zest, liking him because he was kin 
to Bryant's " genial optimist," — the " white-haired 
ancient," who was not only " pithy of speech," 
but " merry when he would." 


Another image, — the venerable Dr. Gannett, 
strong, positive, earnest, often vehement, but in 
the drift of his life sweet and winning. However 
severe he may have seemed to some when he was 
called to do the grave and honest work of preach- 
ing God's uncompromising word, he was one of 
the wisest, gentlest, and kindest of the many who 
came summer after summer to sojourn here, — the 
presiding joy-evoking, mirth-inspiring genius of 
social gatherings and simple pastimes. 

Others, still of the living on the earth, are not 
forgotten ; nor are the occasions on which they 
were prominent actors. Kev. J. F. Clarke, on a 
fine Sunday morning, beneath the broad canopy of 
an ancient oak, preaching, in the most eloquent 
because in the most simple and natural manner, to 
a circle of attentive and deeply moved men and 
women seated around him on the sward ; and Dr. 
E. II. Chapin and Rev. J. G. Adams, one after 
the other, addressing a gathering of hundreds at 
even-tide on the rocks bordering the sea. These 
living shapes stay near our woods and on our 
shores. Their voices for ever blend with the 
breathings of the forest and with the utterances 
of the sea. 

The following lines, entitled " Sabbath Even- 
ing by the Sea," were written at the closing 
hour of the "day of days," on one of the great 
rocks of our shore, in July, 1851, by Rev. J. G. 


" Alone, my God, alone with thee, 

At this bright Sabbath evening hour, 
Where the strong voices of the sea 

Declare thy greatness and thy power ! 
I have been in thy courts to-day, 

Where mortals meet, thy name to bless, 
And where with one accord they pay 

Their homage to thy holiness. 
Now to these outer courts I come, 

Alone at this rock-altar, Lord, 
Beneath this ample evening dome, 

To hear thee speak thy wondrous word. 
That word the waves are uttering clear, 

In their full accents at my feet, 
While notes of woodland warblers near 

Are with thy glorious name replete. 
On sunlit spire, and roof, and shore, 

And sail that stains the dark, blue sea, 
And red horizon spread out o'er 

That emblem of eternity, — 
I read thy brightness, God of love, 

And in this matchless temple raise 
Anew my feeble thought above, 

In silent evening prayer and praise : 

Thy mercies to my soul extend, 

Whose strength is nought without thy power 
Loved ones and dear from ill defend, 

And draw to thee, at this blest hour. 
To friend and foe thy peace be given ; 

The weak make strong, the simple wise, 
Be to the poorest wealth of heaven, 

To lameness strength, to blindness eyes. 
As sheds the sun its rays divine 

O'er hill and shore and widening sea, 
So may thy truth in mercy shine, 

Wherever man on earth may be. 
As flow these everlasting waves, 

Bearers of life from shore to shore, 


So may that grace which seeks and saves 

Flow full and free the wide world o'er ; 
Till in this temple, all thine own, 

No soul shall false or faithless be ; 
But man's heart-worship at thy throne 

Complete the world's great harmony ! " 



The large division of our Cape east of Squam 
River being an island, " the ride round the Cape," 
as the fifteen mile circuit of the high-road here is 
called, whether by the way of Folly Cove, Lanes- 
ville, Bay View, and Annisquam, or, in the opposite 
direction, by the way of Rockport, Great Hill, and 
Beaver Dam, commands water- views almost the 
whole distance. If the choice be to ride in the lat- 
ter direction, the water-views are on the left hand, 
and, till the top of Great Hill is reached are 


mainly those which are within sight of every home 
at Pigeon Cove. From the top of Great Hill the 
blue line of Massachusetts Bay is seen stretching 
southward beyond where the forest-covered ridges, 
toward Little Good Harbor Beach, seem to meet 
the horizon. On the right of this hill-top point of 
observation are the steeps and hollows near, and 
the valley and elevations beyond, thickly strewn 
with the boulders which occasioned the conversa- 
tion many years ago between the astonished visitor 
from the country, and the stage-driver then on the 
road. " Where did they get the stones of which 
these walls were built ? " asked the stranger. 
" Why, don't you see stones enough everywhere 
about here ? " responded the awakened native. 
" Yes," rejoined the stranger, " but who has ever 
missed any?" Descending the steep southern 
slope of the hill, and passing the farm buildings 
and the fields of Beaver Dam, encircled by stony 
and woody ridges, and the old road to Dogtown on 
the southern border of the cultivated acres, the 
meadow where the beavers in the olden time built 
their dam, and lived unmolested in their curious 
habitations, is seen as the site of new industrial 
works erected by the hands of man. Continuing 
southward in the shade of trees over the line 
between Rockport and Gloucester, and then over a 
little ascent, farm-houses toward the coast appear ; 
and down a narrow carriage-way, leading from 
the main road and these scattered dwellings to 


the sea-sicle, Little Good Harbor Beach, Salt 
Island, and Bass Rocks are disclosed. Ascending 
another elevation, the roof of John J. Babson's 
pleasant home, on the slope descending to the 
beach, shows itself above the fruit-trees of culti- 
vated, and the dense growth of trees and shrubs 
of uncultivated grounds. On the summit of this 
ascent a huge, dark rock rises from a broad base in 
the earth to a great height, making a grand object 
on Mr. Babson's background, or for the study or 
the wonder of the traveller on the road winding 
round it. Moving onward, the habitations scattered 
along denote the nearness of Gloucester Harbor. 
Toward the great Bay, near Bass Rocks, there is a 
cluster of new abodes. From the elevated point 
of this pretty neighborhood, a rocky ridge extends 
to Eastern Point light. On the right of the road, 
higher and more rugged than this ridge of Eastern 
Point, rises the ridge of which Lookout Hill is a 
noticeable feature. Entering the village, the head 
of the harbor is almost touched by the carriage 
wheels. Then it is a long, winding way through 
the unique village of buildings above buildings, 
overtopped by school-houses and churches, on one 
side ; and dwellings, stores, store-houses, wharves, 
and fishing-vessels, on the other; and across the 
harbor, on Eastern Point, the growing counterpart 
of fishing-vessels, wharves, store-houses, stores, and 
houses above houses on the ridofe. 

Whether the ride continue from the Custom 


House and Post-office building through Front 
Street, the principal street of business, or Middle 
Street, the fine street of churches, and off from 
which but a few yards the Town House stands, 
the inference of the observer, from objects attract- 
ing his attention on either hand, will be that the 
old town has kept pace with the other towns 
on the Massachusetts coast in maritime enter- 
prise, and in intellectual and religious progress. 
Though, like Salem, Gloucester has lost her old 
importance in commerce, she also, like Salem, 
has made amends for her loss in new ways of 
effort on sea and on land. And as to her advance- 
ment and leadership in the march of spiritual 
freedom, her distinction is honorable and univer- 
sally acknowledged. It is not surprising that, 
in the past days of superstition and fear, she 
was affected, as were other places not far distant, 
by dark beliefs and bewildering or harrowing fan- 
cies. She was not alone in her dread of super- 
natural foes, as none of the places of the earth 
to-day are alone in error and wandering. 

In his History of the Cape, Mr. Babson refers to 
the period of "the Salem tragedy." He says that 
although then "our people were drawn into no 
very intimate connection " with it, yet " they were 
not saved from great excitement and alarm." 
" About midsummer, 1692," he adds, " Ebenezer 
Babson and others of his family, almost every 
night, heard a noise as if persons were going and 


running about his house. One night, on his return 
home at a late hour, he saw two men come out of 
the house and go into the corn. He also heard 
them say, 4 The man of the house is come now, else 
we might have taken the house.' The whole 
family went immediately to the garrison, which 
was near, whither the two men followed. They 
were heard and seen about the garrison several 
nights. One day Babson saw two men who looked 
like Frenchmen ; and at another time six men 
were near the garrison, whereupon several went 
in pursuit. Babson overtook two, and tried to 
shoot at them ; but his gun missed fire. Soon 
after, he saw three men together, one of whom had 
on a white waistcoat. He fired, and they all fell ; 
but, as soon as he came close to them, they all rose 
up and ran away, one of them discharging a gun 
as he went. One of these strange beings was at 
last surrounded by his pursuers, and all means of 
escape were cut off. He approached Babson, who 
shot at him as he was getting over the fence, and 
saw him fall from it to the ground ; but, when 
Babson came to the spot where he fell, the man 
could not be found. Afterwards several were 
seen lurking about the garrison, and great dis- 
coursing in an unknown tongue was heard in a 
swamp near. After this, men were seen, who 
were supposed to be French and Indians. Babson 
was fired upon on his way to the harbor to carry 
news ; and finally, after enduring these disturbers 


of the peace of the town for a fortnight, the people 
sent abroad for help. July 18, sixty men arrived 
from Ipswich to assist in the protection of the 
town, and the deliverance of it from these myste- 
rious invaders ; but it does not appear that any 
of the latter were taken, which can scarcely be a 
matter of surprise considering that they were too 
ethereal to leave a footprint upon the soft and 
miry places over which they were pursued." 

" All these occurrences," says Mr. Babson, " and 
many others, were reported by the minister of 
the town to Rev. Cotton Mather, and were pub- 
lished in his ' Magnalia.' " The poet Whittier, 
having also read the strange story in the " Mag- 
nalia," sings it in the following ballad : — 

"From the hills of home forth looking, far beneath the tent-like 

Of the sky, I see the white gleam of the headland of Cape Ann. 
Well I know its coves and beaches to the ebb-tide glimmering 

And the white-walled hamlet children of its ancient fishing-town. 

Long has passed the summer morning, and its memory waxes old, 
When along yon breezy headlands with a pleasant friend I strolled. 
Ah ! the autumn sun is shining, and the ocean wind blows cool, 
And the golden-rod and aster bloom around thy grave, Rantoul ! 

With the memory of that morning by the summer sea, I blend 

A wild and wondrous story by the younger Mather penned, 

In that quaint Magnalia Christi, with all strange and marvellous 

Heaped up huge and undigested, like the chaos Ovid sings. 


Where the sea-waves back and forward, hoarse with rolling pebbles, 

The garrison-house stood watching on the gray rocks of Cape Ann ; 
On its windy site uplifting gabled roof and palisade, 
And rough walls of unhewn timber with the moonlight overlaid. 

On his slow round walked the sentry, south and eastward looking 

O'er the rude and broken coast-line, white with breakers stretching 

north, — 
Wood and rock and gleaming sand-drift, jagged capes, with bush 

and tree 
Leaning inland from the smiting of the wild and gusty sea. 

Before the deep-mouthed chimney, dimly lit by dying brands, 
Twenty soldiers sat and waited, with their muskets in their hands ; 
On the rough-hewn oaken table the venison haunch was shared, 
And the pewter tankard circled slowly round from beard to beard. 

Long they sat and talked together, — talked of wizards Satan- 
sold ; 
Of all ghostly sights and noises, — signs and wonders manifold; 
Of the spectre-ship of Salem, with the dead men in her shrouds, 
Sailing sheer above the water, in the loom of morning clouds ; 

Of the marvellous valley hidden in the depths of Gloucester 

Full of plants that love the summer, — blooms of warmer lati- 
tudes ; 

Where the Arctic birch is braided by the Tropic's flowery vines, 

And the white magnolia-blossoms star the twilight of the pines ! 

But their voices sank yet lower, sank to husky tones of fear, 
As they spoke of present tokens of the powers of evil near ; 
Of a spectral host, defying stroke of steel and aim of gun ; 
Never yet was ball to slay them in the mould of mortals run ! 


Thrice, with plumes and flowing scalp-locks, from the midnight 
wood they came, — 

Thrice around the block-house marching, met unharmed its vol- 
leyed flame. 

Then with mocking laugh and gesture, sunk in earth or lost in air, 

All the ghostly wonder vanished, and the moonlit sands lay bare. 

Midnight came ; from out the forest moved a dusky mass, that 

Grew to warriors plumed and painted, grimly marching in the 

' Ghosts of witches/ said the captain, ' thus I foil the Evil One ! ' 
And he rammed a silver button from his doublet down his gun. 

Once again the spectral horror moved the guarded wall about ; 
Once again the levelled muskets through the palisades flashed out, 
With that deadly aim the squirrel on his tree-top might not shun, 
Nor the beach-bird seaward flying with his slant wing to the sun. 

Like the idle rain of summer sped the harmless shower of lead. 
With a laugh of fierce derision, once again the phantoms fled; 
Once again without a shadow on the sands the moonlight lay, 
And the white smoke curling through it drifted slowly down the 
bay ! 

' God preserve us ! ' said the captain, ' never mortal foes were 

there ; 
They have vanished with their leader, Prince and Power of the 

Lay aside your useless weapons ; skill and prowess naught avail ; 
They who do the Devil's service wear their master's coat-of-mail ! ' 

So the night grew near to cock-crow, when again a warning call 
Roused the score of weary soldiers watching round the dusky hall : 
And they looked to flint and priming, and they longed for break 

of day ; 
But the captain closed his Bible : ' Let us cease from man, and 

pray ! ' 


To the men who went before us all the unseen powers seemed 

And their steadfast strength and courage struck its roots in holy 

Every hand forsook the musket, every head was bowed and bare, 
Every stout knee pressed the flagstones as the captain led in 


Ceased thereat the mystic marching of the spectres round the 

But a sound abhorred, unearthly, smote the ears and hearts of 

Howls of rage and shrieks of anguish ! Never after mortal man 
Saw the ghostly leaguers marching round the block-house of 

Cape Ann." 

Another Gloucester story of marvel, which from 
a later date (1745, the year of the expedition 
against Louisburg) has been repeated to the pres- 
ent time, is thus related by Mr. Babson : — 

"No account of the part borne by Gloucester 
in the expedition to Louisburg would be complete 
without the story of Peg Wesson. The popular 
belief in witchcraft had not then ceased, and Peg 
was reputed a witch. She lived in or near an old 
building on Back Street, called the Garrison ; and 
there, just before the departure of the Gloucester 
soldiers for Cape Breton, she was visited by some 
of them, who, by their conduct towards her, 
aroused her indignation to such a pitch, that, on 
their departure, she threatened them with ven- 
geance at Louisburg. While in camp there, these 
men had then: attention arrested by the singular 


movements of a crow that kept hovering near 
them. After many attempts had been made in the 
usual way to kill the bird, it occurred to one of 
them that it must be Peg Wesson ; and, if so, that 
no baser metal than silver would bring her to the 
ground. He accordingly took his silver sleeve- 
buttons from his wrist and discharged them at the 
bird, which fell wounded in the leg and was soon 
killed. Upon their return to Gloucester, they 
learned that, at the exact moment when the crow 
was killed. Peg Wesson fell down near the Garri- 
son House with a broken leg ; and that, when the 
fractured limb was examined, the identical sleeve- 
buttons fired at the crow under the walls of Louis- 
burg were found, and extracted from the wound ! 
Such is the story of Peg Wesson. And, incredible 
as it may seem that it ever was received as truth, 
some now living can testify to the apparent belief 
in it with which it was related by many persons 
not more than fifty years ago." 

Leaving the fine old town, and winding or zig- 
zagging homeward on the Squam River side of 
the circuit, the river soon shows its mirror-like 
surface or its innumerable sparkling waves. Near 
the Green where once the Meeting-house of the 
old Town Parish stood is the ancient house, with 
rear roof descending lower than the front, which 
was built and occupied by the minister of the 
parish, Rev. John White, soon after his settlement, 
in 1702. The road leads through Riverdale, near- 


ing the brook from Cape Pond which flows through 
a lovely meadow into Tide-Mill Pond, and thence 
into Mill River, an inlet from Squam River. Farm- 
houses and green fields please the eye. Con- 
spicuous among the farms is the Pearce Farm, 
lying between the road and the brook and mill- 
pond. The frame of the smaller of the two barns 
near the house is that of the church which was 
erected for Rev. John Murray by the people 
to whom he ministered. The frame was taken 
from the old site at the harbor, corner of Spring 
and Water Streets, in 1805. Pole's Hill — a steep 
hill of stone, overlooking road, farm-houses, fields, 
meadow, and brook at its base, and a wide area 
of land, river, and sea around — is a sufficiently 
novel form among the thousands of ledges and 
cliffs on our granite promontory to tarry by and 
examine awhile. Proceeding from Pole's Hill 
across Tide-Mill Bridge, and then up from the 
valley through the village, passing a church, to an 
altitude at which most of the smaller branches as 
well as the main tides of Squam River are com- 
prehended by the eye, one of the most charming 
prospects of the Cape is surveyed. The white 
caps of Ipswich Bay are nodding like the plumes 
of a mighty host in the northern distance. The 
hoar sand of Coffin's Beach, and the blue, green, 
and amber of Squam River, near its mouth, shim- 
mer in the sun's burning rays. The village of 
Annisquam nestles on its narrow strip of earth 


between Lobster Cove in front and the high steep 
ridge behind, screening it from the storms of the 
Ba}r. Approaching this cosey and qniet village, 
the eye turns southward, attracted by the splendor 
of the river, with its many coves and creeks ; the 
glowing red of the crags, jutting from island and 
point; and the chocolate and emerald of reedy 
shore and grass-covered marsh. " All these coves 
and inlets," as one not long since remarked, in a 
metropolitan sheet, " make the scenery bewilder- 
ing in beauty ; and the six-mile drive over the neck 
of the Cape, from Gloucester to General Butler's 
house, which stands on a lofty bluff where its every 
window commands a perfect sea-picture, is across 
a rocky road which lies so high, and with such a 
wilderness of meadows in every shade of vivid 
greens and rusty reds, interspersed with glittering 
arms of the sea, and still, silver lagoons of salt 
water, reflecting and repeating the sky, that one 
almost feels in a land of sorcery, travelling a road 
that hangs midway between earth and heaven." 
A little onward, and a tide-mill and the bridge 
crossing Goose Cove are passed. Still further, and 
the choice is presented to drive over the bridge 
spanning Lobster Cove to the village of Annis- 
quam, or more directly toward home, on the pine- 
bordered way, on the east side of this long, 
river-like inlet, to the church at its head. Near 
the church, the view down the Cove and across the 
river to the marsh, and then to the gray hills, and 


to the dark woods beyond, in the West Parish, is 
worthy of many minutes' delay. There should be 
no haste on a tour of pleasure. Moving again, the 
next point of interest is Bay View, and is presently 
gained. On the bluff off the road, just as it 
descends into the hollow of Hogkins's Cove, are 
the handsome residences of General Butler and 
Colonel French. In the hollow of the Cove are 
the buildings, wharves and vessels of the Cape 
Ann Granite Company. From this point to Plum 
Cove (so named for the beach plums once in 
abundance growing near it, but now seldom found), 
the distance is but over one broad-backed ridge. 
Here is a pretty beach, and a stretch for the 
vision across Ipswich Bay to the main-land coast. 
Another elevation ascended, and the dwellings of 
Lanesville, which are strung along on the winding 
way nearly a mile, are passed. Here there is an 
artificial harbor for small vessels, and extensive 
granite quarries. Moreover, from half the length 
of the village, the grounds, chiefly cultivated, grad- 
ually descend to the shore of the bay ; and so for 
this distance the view of the water is unbroken. 
Some of the quarries are at the roadside. Back 
of the quarries are dark woods. From Lanesville 
to Folly Cove the road shears the edge of a little 
meadow, cuts a belt of woods, which from the 
forest of the Cape's interior extends to the ocean's 
strand, and at the same point passes through a 
long and beautiful arch of willows. This arch is 

4* F 


the admiration and joy of the hundreds who every 
midsummer pass through it and enjoy its shade. 
From the Willows into the sheltered and shady 
dale of Folly Cove, it is but a few rods by a group 
of houses veiled in part by fruit-trees, ancient wil- 
lows, and shrubbery. This dale, which is the centre- 
ground of the little village, since dwellings straggle 
over the ascents hemming it in, is the loveliest se- 
questered nest of the whole route. A fine grove 
on its background fills the space from ridge to 
ridge. A brooklet flows through the mowing 
between the grove and the road, and under the 
road, and then through another field of grass and 
clover into the Cove. The tidy and comfortable 
houses stand embowered with apple-trees and 
lilacs. The vista to the sea is first narrow, and 
then wider between rocl^y headlands. Through 
it the villagers see the play and the terror of the 
waves, the awful force of the storm, and the peace 
and beauty of the calm. Ascending from this spot 
of quiet and repose, where tree and ocean, and 
waves and roses, all but touch each other, the eye 
sees before it another and higher elevation. The 
road with many curves leads over it, separating 
Halibut Point from inland meadow, pasture, and 
wood. Climbing the road, the " Old Oaks " of 
the pasture, the " Meadow " below them, and 
" Sunset Rock " above them, give their silent but 
eloquent salutations as the kindliest of friends. 
The farm-house and barns on the opposite side of 


the way, with their surroundings of field, garden, 
and orchard, and their adornings of elms and of 
flowering vines, are a grouping of things in accord 
with each other, within a rare region of land and 

ocean, which no artist would wish to change. 
Finally, from the "Farm" to Pigeon Cove is the 
last and pleasantest stage of " the ride round 
the Cape." Sometimes it is on the old road, to 
the grand sea views and to the merry welcome of 
home. Sometimes a detour, near Strawberry Hill, 
determines the last step homeward shall be over 
Phillips Avenue, with the unequalled ocean view 
on one side, and the varied beauty of oaks and 
pines, climbing brambles, pasture-lilies, and wild 
roses on the other. Either way is a fine and 
cheerful ending of a circuit which, for various 
and unique scenery, and the blending of rural and 
marine characteristics, cannot be paralleled. 



Not unfrequently the ride of the circle is 
branched by digressions. One of these is to Little 
Good Harbor Beach ; and thence, if the tide be 
low, over the Eastern Point road to Eastern 
Point lighthouse. Epes Sargent says the name 
of the beach was given by an Indian, whose col- 
lection of English words was small. By " little 
good " he meant bad. But the beach is wide and 
clean, being exposed to the long lines of charg- 
ing waves : is good from the same causes that 
made the anchorage, in periods of rough weather, 
bad. The Eastern Point road being; on hi oh 
ground, it commands at the same time a fine view 
of Gloucester and its excellent harbor, and a 



splendid prospect of Massachusetts Bay, its vessels, 
rocks, islands, and portions of its distant South 
Shore. At the lighthouse the vision adds other 
views to its new list, taking in Norman's Woe, 
Baker's Island, Lowell Island, the promontory of 
Marblehead, and far up the bay, between the 
north shore of this headland and the south shore 
of Cape Ann, the city of Salem. 



Another digression from the ride round the 
Cape is from Gloucester by the way of the Cut, 
Stage Rocks, and Steep Bank, to Rafe's Chasm 
and Norman's Woe. From the Cut is followed a 
little way the old road to Salem. A long hill is 
climbed. Near the top dense woods allow but 
glimpses of cottages and mansions wrapped in 
shade. Descending the western side of the hill, 


and at its base curving to easily pass a spur of the 
wood-clad ridge on the right, the road traverses 
the romantic region of Fresh Water Cove and 
Magnolia. Here an old path, running from the 
main road diagonally, leads to a high shore of 
pitch-pine shrubs. At this point are seen the won- 
drous Chasm, the bold, craggy shore of Norman's 
Woe, and a little off from shore the rock island of 
Norman's Woe. 


Rafe's Chasm extends into the ledge from the 
bay more than two hundred feet. Near the bay 
it is ten feet wide. Toward its termination it is 
irregular in width. From the highest part of its 
walls to the lowest spot left bare when the tide is 
out, its depth is about sixty feet. On a calm clay 
this fissure in the jagged ledge gives an impression 
of irresistible force, — of the Power that rules the 
ocean, and that makes the earth to be at peace or 
to toss and shake with mighty throes. On the day 
of tempest, rushing into it violently, spouting spray 


many feet into the air, like hugest monsters of 
the deep, and making a noise like the thunder 
of the clouds, the waves reveal somewhat of the 
might and terror which are hidden in the earth, 
the air, and the sea, and incite the beholder and 
listener to say : — 

O Father ! — " who forgets not, at the sight 
Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, 
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by ? 
Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face 
Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath 
Of the mad unchained elements to teach 
Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate 1 

In these calm shades thy milder majesty, 
And to the beautiful order of thy works 
Learn to conform the order of our lives." 

Alluding to Norman's Woe, Mr. Babson says : 
" It is a large rock lying a few rods from the shore, 
and connected with it by a reef of rocks which the 
sea leaves bare at low water. The tradition, that 
a man named Norman was shipwrecked and lost 
there, has no other confirmation than that derived 
from the name itself. A William Norman was an 
early settler of Manchester ; and a Richard Norman 
is shown by the probate records of Essex County 
to have sailed on a voyage from which he never 
returned home, some time before 1682. The dole- 
ful name applied to this spot may commemorate a 
misfortune to one of these individuals." With less 
hesitancy as to the credence to be given to the 
tradition about this rock, Mr. Sargent says : — 


" From the main shore cut off, and isolated 
By the invading, the circumfluent waves, 
A rock which time had made an island, spread 
With a small patch of brine-defying herbage, 
Is known as Norman's Woe ; for, on this rock, 
Two hundred years ago, was Captain Norman, 
In his good ship from England, driven and wrecked 
In a wild storm, and every life was lost." 

Having first the tradition, and next, connected 
with the rock, the name, and finally the probate 
record, there is something to apprehend. That the 
probate record tells its story without detail may 
not be regretted, since now there is scope for infer- 
ence and conjecture ; or for the genius of the poet 
to put in song all the particulars of an event not 
alone in kind, in reasonable and pleasing order. 
The carefulness of the historian is praiseworthy ; 
but the vision of the poet often finds the essential 
which is hidden in mystery. This the poet sings 
in an ode or in a ballad ; and thus he makes a long- 
ago and almost mythical event a grand or touching 
lesson for his own generation, and the generations 
to follow it. So Longfellow's " Wreck of the 
Hesperus " may here have space, as a fitting sequel 
of what others have said and sung of the Rock of 
Norman's Woe : — 

" It was the schooner Hesperus, 
That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 
To bear him company. 


Blue were her eyes as the fairy -flax, 

Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 

That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm 

With his pipe in his mouth, 
And watched how the veering flaw did blow 

The smoke, now west, now south. 

Then up and spoke an old sailor 
Had sailed the Spanish main, 
; I pray thee, put into yonder port, 
For I fear a hurricane. 

Last night the moon had a golden ring, 

And to-night no moon we see ! ' 
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, 

And a scornful laugh laughed he. 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the north-east ; 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength; 
She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

r Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, 

And do not tremble so ; 
For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow.' 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, 

Against the stinging blast; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

And bound her to the mast. 


' father ! 1 hear the church-bells ring : 

Oh, say, what may it be ? ' 
4 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! ' — 

And he steered for the open sea. 

' father ! I hear the sound of guns : 

Oh, say, what may it be 1 ' 
' Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea! ' 

' father ! I see a gleaming light : 

Oh, say, what may it be 1 ' 
But the father answered never a word, 
A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 

With his face to the skies, 
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 

On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed, 

That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, 

On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept, 
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 

And ever the fitful gusts between 

A sound came from the land ; 
It was the sound of the trampling surf, 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows, 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 


She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side, 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 

With the masts went by the board ; 
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank : — 

Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 

At day-break, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair, 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 

In the midnight and the snow ! 
Christ save us all from a death like this, 

On the reef of Norman's Woe '. " 




The ride to Annisquam, five miles of the already 
described tour round the Cape, reversed, on any 
fair day, is delightful. Beside the pleasure on the 
road from Pigeon Cove to the resting-place for the 
horses at Squam Point, there may be the additional 
pleasure of crossing Squam River in a dory, and 
then of a stroll on Coffin's Beach and among 
the clumps of barberry bushes and savins on the 
ascending adjoining grounds. On the beach, the 
roving may extend more than a mile to Two 
Penny Loaf, a white hillock of rock and sand near 
the mouth of Chebacco River. Across the Che- 
bacco glisten the sands and shells of Ipswich 
Beach. In this river, not far from the Loaf, is 
the island where Rufus Choate was born. At the 
head of the marsh, through which the river flows 
with many turns, the village of Essex rises to 
view, with a front of half-built fishing-schooners on 


the stocks, and others launched and afloat, being 
equipped with masts, spars, rigging, and sails. Off 
from the beach, the ramble may continue into an 
old, shady, uneven road, seldom travelled, which 
follows the northern base of Meeting-house Hill 
toward a highway leading to Essex. In this out-of- 
the-way locality, in an ancient farm-house, once 
lived Master Tappan. In his early manhood he 
was Daniel Webster's school-master. In the sum- 
mer of 1841, though advanced in years, his tall form 
was erect, and his strength equal to walking up the 
hill to worship on Sunday. On a warm day of 
that season, he sat in his door facing the road and 
the hill, enjoying the cool shade of the overhanging 
trees and the breath of brine wafted from the sea. 
He responded with dignity and urbanity to the 
salutation of a rambler passing, and then pressed 
him to stop for rest and refreshment. His dis- 
course was chiefly of the past ; but he was not 
unmindful of current events, nor was he unaffected 
by the picturesque surroundings of his secluded 
abode. An hour with this gentleman of the old 
school, in retirement deepened and shadowed by 
hill, cliff, rock, tree, shrub, and vine, and sweet- 
ened by the mingling odors of marsh and upland, 
was a pleasant episode of an afternoon's excursion. 
The meeting-house on the hill — now, alas * 
among the things that were — was a substantial 
edifice of oaken frame, without steeple or any 
other ornament outside ; with plain galleries, 



square, high-partitioned pews, and a high pulpit, 
fronted by the deacons' seat, and overtopped by a 
sounding-board within. On the sounding-board 


was the date "1713." Formerly the now grass- 
grown road over the spot where this ancient house 
of worship stood was much travelled, and the 
people of the West Parish ascended it from both 
the east and west sides of the hill. In the past 
time, which has been recalled, there being no 
dwelling-house near, the worshippers from the 
scattered abodes and the little neighborhoods 
around the hill seemed, to one sitting on the door- 
step of the church waiting for them, to rise out of 
the ground, or singly and in groups to come forth, 
as if rocks, shrubs, and thickets had suddenly 
turned into human beings in every form and guise, 
from blooming childhood to hoary age. Literally, 
the swallow, as a swallow, unchanged, had found 
a place in God's house where she might rear her 
young ; for in service-time the twitterings of the 
swallows, flying through the broken windows to 


and from their nests on the lofty plates, mingled 
with the prayers and hymns of the gathered assem- 
bly. Even the shy golden-winged woodpeckers 
had cut holes from the outside into the gables 
above the cross-beams ; and so was heard through 
the ceiling, as an accompaniment of the sounds of 
devotion, the clamor of their young for food. 

In 1846 F. A. Durivage thus wrote of this 
venerable fane : " The old church stands in a 
clearing on a small plateau of considerable eleva- 
tion, commanding an extensive prospect in every 
direction. It was formerly surrounded, we were 
told, by a clump of beautiful oak-trees ; but every 
vestige of these has disappeared, and it is now 
guarded only by one tall Lombardy poplar, that 
stands like a sentinel near a corner of the edifice. 
The building is almost square, with a single pitch 
roof, unpainted and somewhat decayed, but built 
throughout with strong oak timbers. The win- 
dows, with one exception, are square, and distrib- 
uted rather irregularly. The glass is more than 
half gone, many panes having been dashed in by 
the pebbles of profane, vagrant boys, who ramble 
hither on sunshiny afternoons, with small thought 
of the sanctity which should hedge about the place. 
There stood, for it was incapable of change, the 
horse-block, a natural step of granite, whence in 
olden time many a goodly dame stepped lightly 
into her seat on the pillion strapped behind the 
saddle of the sturdy horseman, who escorted her to 


meeting. We entered the church through an 
aperture in the door which had been caused by 
the demolition of a panel, and found ourselves 
standing opposite the pulpit, above which hung a 
sounding-board of considerable pretension, bearing 
the date of the erection of the building, and 
among some queer old pews with very high sides, 
causing them to look like little wells in which the 
piety of the olden time was sunk, the same little 
wells being fenced round with pegs screwed into 
the heavy top-rails that surrounded them. We 
saw the old chair where the old deacon had sat 
under the droppings of the sanctuary, and whence 
he rose to c deacon ' out the psalm, reciting two 
lines at a time, which were then sung, and fol- 
lowed by two more from the deacon until the 
whole stent had been accomplished. . . . We heard 
a pleasant chirping voice in the middle aisle, and 
there we beheld one of the humblest of God's 
creatures, a little squirrel sitting in the centre of 
the building and looking round him with his bright 
and fearless eyes. He was not long stationary, 
but scurried away through the church as if he had 
a perfect right there, and perhaps a better one than 
ours. A merry little sexton he is for the old 
deserted church which he held and holds as his 
citadel, even though the jays and pigeon-wood- 
peckers have beleaguered him, and driven their 
sharp bills quite through the plastering, and 
though sometimes the north-east blast must roar 


outside the building, and whistle through its 
crevices, and tear the gray, moss-grown shingles 
from the roof, and shake the old crazy walls in the 
winter season with a fury that must make his little 
heart beat dreadfully. But no ! such guiltless 
creatures have no fear of Nature in her darkest 
moods ; and the deadly tube of the roving gun- 
ner has more terrors for them than the wildest 
storm that ever swept the shore and sea. ... As 
we leisurely turned our steps homeward through 
the forest, we thought, as we looked upon the scene 
around us, of Bryant's beautiful lines : — 

' Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy 
Existence, than the winged plunderer 
That sucks its sweets : the mossy rocks themselves, 
And the old ponderous trunks of prostrate trees, 
That lead from knoll to knoll, a causeway rude, 
Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots 
With all their earth upon them, twisting high, 
Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet 
Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bed 
Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks, 
Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice 
In its own being. Softly tread the marge, 
Lest from her midway perch thou scar'st the wren 
That dips her bill in water. The cool wind, 
That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee 
Like one that loves thee, nor will let thee pass 
Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.' " 

Returning from Meeting-house Hill toward 
Squam River, overlooking Ipswich Bay and the 
estuary where river and bay unite, the lighthouse 

6 G 


and the cove and beach close by, and the river's 
channel leading by cove, beach, and point into 
the sheltered harbor, the whole scene is so fair 
and peaceful to our company of explorers that it 
hardly seems to them credible that there were days 
in the past when the villagers across the tide were 
thrown into deepest distress and sorrow by tales 
of the capture or murder of their absent friends on 
the sea by pirates, and sometimes were uplifted to 
the highest rejoicing by the arrival of their fathers, 
brothers, and sons alive and well, who had been 
supposed among the dead lying upon the bottom 
of the deep. The story of Captain Andrew Hara- 
den and his crew illustrates both the hardness 
and the courage of those days. 

They sailed from Annisquam, in the sloop " Squir- 
rel," in the spring of 1724. Near the middle of 
April they were captured by John Phillips, who, 
as a pirate, had become a terror in our waters. 
Captain Haraden's vessel being new, Phillips de- 
cided to remain on board of her with his prisoners, 
and ordered his men to remove every thing from 
his own craft, and leave her to the winds and 
waves. The sloop not having been wholly finished, 
and there being carpenters' tools on board, the 
pirate set Captain Haraclen to the task of complet- 
ing the work left undone. Thus there were instru- 
ments in the captives' hands with which to regain 
possession of the sloop and their own liberty. A 
plan was devised to accomplish this end, and 


immediately executed. One of the pirates was 
thrown overboard by an athletic sailor as the sig- 
nal for action. Then Captain Haraden with an 
adze struck down Phillips, another with a broadaxe 
killed Phillips's boatswain, and others threw over- 
board the pirate's gunner. At this point of the 
struggle, the rest of the pirates gave themselves 
up as prisoners. Soon after, the " Squirrel " sailed 
into Squam River, steered by the steady hand of 
Captain Haraden, having the prisoners and the 
heads of Phillips and his boatswain on board. 
Subsequently two of the pirates were hung at 
Charlestown Ferry. Two others were sentenced 
to death, but were withheld from the gallows for 
a time, to be recommended to the king's mercy. 
The rest were set at liberty as men who had been 
forced to assist in evil work. 

Recrossing the river to take seats again in the 
waiting carriage, no stain of blood is seen on 
wave or rock ; and among the honest, kind-hearted, 
cheerful folk of the village, more is heard of the 
words and acts of the good pastor — who many 
years, till he died, led his flock by the still waters 
and in the green pastures of love and peace — than 
of the sanguinary conflicts which the sturdy fore- 
fathers of the long-ago, ruder days could not 

At home again, and the day being nearly done, 
W. H. Hurlbut shall sing an evening song : — 


" On the tall cliffs the dying sunlight glows, 

And stains with dolphin hues the waveless bay ; 

And stars peep forth that lead the night's array, 

Where in mid-heaven the deep'ning purple grows. 

How cool an eve attends this burning day ! 

How sweet a peace the troubled wave subdues ! 

O troubled, burning heart ! canst thou refuse 
To be as calmly hushed to rest as they 1 " 




The ride to Pebble Stone Beach and Long Beach 
is also five miles. A great part of the way is over- 
looked from Pigeon Cove, since it is the road to 
Rockport around the seaside base of Pigeon Hill, 
and along the shore ; passing, with other dwellings, 
the old Rowe House, the quarries of the Rockport 
Granite Company, the high, wood-covered ledges 
extending from the base of Poole's Hill to the 
ocean, and the beaches beyond, lying between 
storm-defying crags ; and then onward from Rock- 


port over Cove Hill, meandering across the high 
and, but for the orchards, the bare region of farms, 
to a flat ledge, overlaid with green turf, close to 
the sea. 

Here the horses remain, while the excursionists 
ramble over the beaches. Several yards to the 
left from this spot is Emerson's Point. From this 
point south-westward to Brier Neck is the good 
mile length of Pebble Stone Beach and Long 
Beach. They are separated midway by a brook, 
and by a jagged pile of granite called Cape Hedge. 
From the turf-clad ledge, where the horses wait, to 
Cape Hedge, the beach is a marvel. The pebbles, 
smooth and oval, from the size of canister-balls to 
the size of hundred-pounder shells, above the hard 
sand exposed at low tide, have been thrown up by 
the waves into three high and wide terraces, one 
upon another. At high tide, when the waves 
driven by the storm roll in upon them, the pebbles 
are set in motion from end to end of the beach. 
When the waves charge up the terraces, the peb- 
bles are pushed upward, and some of them are 
thrown over the crest of the highest terrace. 
When the waves retreat, the pebbles turn and 
follow them till again met by another charge, 
making a noise on the whole line like the rattle of 
musketry when the firing of an army, after the 
discharge of the one volley beginning an engage- 
ment, is continued briskly but irregularly. While 
the thumps of the breakers on Cape Hedge strike 


the ear like the thunder of a battery, the contin- 
uous clatter of the thousands of pebbles all astir 
complete the imitation of the din of battle. 

Between Cape Hedge and Brier Neck, the half 
mile of Long Beach is of sand, and wide and 
smooth; but behind the sand, hardened by the 
tramping waves, are sand-knolls thrown up by 
the winds. Long Beach is backed by a marsh. 
On rising ground behind the marsh, and spread- 
ing over hundreds of acres receding to Cape Pond 
and Beaver Dam, is a grand wood but slightly 
damaged by the ruthless axe. 

Cape Hedge and Emerson's Point command a 
view of Milk Island and Thatcher's Island. Fol- 
lowing the shore from Emerson's point northward, 
the ramblers next gain Loblolly Point and Lob- 
lolly Cove. Here Straitsmouth Island and the 
Salvages strike the vision. The next advance is 
to Flat Point and Whale Cove. Often excursion- 
ists resort to the former for its magnificent pros- 
pect. One event connected with the latter took 
place in March, 1798. A great whale, seventy-six 
feet long, was driven upon the beach in this cove. 
While the oil of this monster was being secured, 
many persons, attracted by the novelty, visited the 
cove ; several from Gloucester, there being snow 
then, by means of sleighs. Since then the place 
has been Whale Cove. 

Onward again, and Gap Cove and Gap Head are 
reached. This is the southern extreme point of 


the Cape. Across the channel called the Gut is 
Straitsmouth Island. It is said by elderly persons 
hereabout that in 1772, in a gully near this point, 
a pot of gold nuggets was found. As the value of 
the nuggets was some thousands of dollars, the 
place where the pot was found may be marked by 
some writer of imaginary stories as one scene in 
the history of some bold buccaneer who ended his 
career on the gallows, or by going to the bottom 
of the sea with his ship under the broadside of a 

From Gap Head is the finest view of Pigeon 
Hill to be attained anywhere on shore. The hill, 
rising from the bay, is a beautiful background for 
the houses on the road curving around its eastern 
base ; and, together with these abodes and their 
foreground of ledges, crags, and boulder-strewn 
beaches, and with the village north of it, from the 
little artificial harbor beginning to overrun the 
broad area of Andrews' Point, presents a view to 
the eye across the bay so truly splendid that one 
might consider himself as not in a frivolous pursuit 
for seeking with pains the point commanding it. 

The way back to Pebble Stone Beach is so long, 
the ramblers prefer a shorter path to the high-road, 
where the carriage will meet them, according to an 
arrangement with the driver. 

Homeward returning, they see a steamer from 
Boston passing the Salvages ; and another, off 
Straitsmouth, following in her wake ; also a fleet 



of yachts with all sails set, bound for the Isles of 
Shoals. A dark cloud rises in the west. The ear 
catches the rumbling of distant thunder. The 
horses trot more briskly. The yachts this after- 
noon will make Pigeon Cove, and there lie in 
safety through the night. The ramblers, enriched 
and invigorated from what they have seen and 
done, are presently at home recounting the scenes 
and adventures of the afternoon's jaunt. 



These diversions are as often enjoyed on our 
waters as they are wished for. The kinds of fish 


near the shore, and off in deep water, are sufficiently 
numerous to satisfy the amateur in the art of fish- 
ing, however fond he may be of variety. One 
almost anywhere on the shore, with a rod of the 
usual length, easily draws from the sea such fry as 
perch or cunners, and not unfrequently the golden 
rock-cod. At several points, also, tautog are 
caught in like manner. Near Dick's Dream and 
Ocean Bluff, even deep-water cod, weighing ten 
and fifteen pounds, have been taken with a strong 
line thrown out from the shore. Here the descent 
from the shore is abrupt and deep, so that this 
chief of the fish sought for the table approaches 
much nearer the unsubmerged rocks than it is 
accustomed to do. Sometimes schools of mackerel 
come so near to the shore that, by rowing upon 
them in a dory, the exciting sport of catching a 
large number of these most beautiful of the finny 
inhabitants of the sea is enjoyed. Going in a sail- 
boat or yacht a little way from shore, and dropping 
anchor where cod and haddock abound, are the 
simple necessary preliminaries before pulling from 
the depths of the bay a good fare of these favorite 
species. Occasionally blue-fish appear in the bay. 
The yacht makes swift headway before the stiff 
breeze, and the spoon at the end of a long line fol- 
lows over the surface of waves, imitating the 
silver-sided herring darting from wave to wave 
from its pursuer. The artifice is successful : the 
voracious fish is hooked, and soon, by hand over 



hand, strong, and skilful exertion, is drawn over the 
rail and secured. Sometimes, in the vicinity of 
the Salvages, a halibut takes a hook baited for cod, 
and is caught. Then follow the struggle of this 
immense flat fish to escape, and the counter-effort 
of vigorous arms to haul the fish to the sea's sur- 
face and the vessel's side. Presently the captive 
rises to sight and within reach ; and, gaff and 
tackle being promptly used, is soon on deck. 


Half-day or all-day voyaging in pleasure-boats 
and yachts is one of the delightful diversions of 
the summer sojourn at Pigeon Cove. One enjoy- 
able sail is around Andrews' Point into Ipswich 
Bay, passing the indented north shore to Annis- 
quam and Gloucester, by the way of Squam River. 
Beating into the bay, and then into the river, 
against the wind, and returning with sails filled 
before the wind, illustrate common alternations in 
human life. Another sail is across the bay to the 
mouth of Ipswich River and Grape Island, or into 
the Merrimack up to the fair city of Newbury- 



Another is a sail of twenty-one miles to the 
Isles of Shoals. This voyage, if accomplished in a 
single clay, affords but a brief time for a survey of 
the cluster of islands, now greatened and glorified 
by the pen of one who in childhood became familiar 
with their bold hard features, and also with their 
warmth and beauty in hollows and nooks ; their 
delicate though unpretentious tokens of tenderness 
toward hearts needing the sunshine and blessing of 
smiles, in fragrant shrubs and bright-hued flowers, 
in mosses of colors unattained by the painter's art, 
in violets and pimpernels of blue and scarlet sheen 
unknown to their genera away from the pure 
atmosphere of the enfolding sea. How much of 
wonder and enchantment one intelligent and lov- 
ing mind discerns, where whole generations have 
overpassed, seeing only barrenness and desolation ! 
How to the vision unveiled uprise and glisten the 
dew-besprinkled grass-blades and gold-bedecked 
mullein-stalks, amid the waste of rough, unshapely 
rocks and moss-bound mould ! And to the same 
vision how through the darkness and terror of the 
storm come revealings foretelling the advent of 
a fair, sweet day, when the whole sky shall be 
bright ; and the earth and the sea, no longer in 
shadow, shall rejoice for the end of doubt, the 


establishment of reverent confidence and faith in 
the Father ! Of course Mrs. Thaxter's " Wreck 
of the Pocahontas," which appeared in the " Atlan- 
tic Monthly," April, 1868, should follow these 
reflections : — 

"I lit the lamps in the lighthouse tower, 

For the sun dropped down and the day was dead ; 
They shone like a glorious clustered flower, 
Ten golden and five red. 

Looking across, where the line of coast 

Stretched darkly, shrinking away from the sea, 

The lights sprang out at its edge, — almost 
They seemed to answer me ! 

O warning lights, burn bright and clear, 
Hither the storm comes ! Leagues away 

It moans and thunders low and drear, — 
Burn till the break of day ! 

Good night ! I called to the gulls that sailed 
Slow past me through the evening sky ; 

And my comrades, answering shrilly, hailed 
Me back with boding cry. 

A mournful breeze began to blow, 

Weird music it drew through the iron bars, 

The sullen billows boiled below, 
And dimly peered the stars ; 

The sails that flecked the ocean floor 
From east to west leaned low and fled ; 

They knew what came in the distant roar 
That filled the air with dread ! 

Flung by the fitful gust, there beat 

Against the window a dash of rain: 
Steady as tramp of marching feet 

Strode on the hurricane. 


It smote the waves for a moment still, 

Level and deadly white for fear; 
The hare rock shuddered, — an awful thrill 

Shook even my tower of cheer. 

Like all the demons loosed at last, 

Whistling and shrieking, wild and wide, 

The mad wind raged, and strong and fast 
Rolled in the rising tide. 

And soon in ponderous showers the spray, 
Struek from the granite, reared and sprung, 

And clutched at tower and cottage gray, 
Where overwhelmed they clung 

Half drowning to the naked rock; 

But still burned on the faithful light, 
Nor faltered at the tempest's shock, 

Through all the fearful night. 

Was it in vain ? That knew not we. 

We seemed in that confusion vast, 
Of rushing wind and roaring sea, 

One point whereon was cast 

The whole Atlantic's weight of hrine. 

Heaven help the ship should drift our way ! 
No matter how the light might shine 

Far on into the day. 

When morning dawned, above the din 

Of gale and breaker boomed a gun! 
Another! We, who sat within, 

Answered with cries each one. 

Into each other's eyes with fear 

We looked through helpless tears, as still 

One after one, near and more near, 
The signals pealed, until 


The thick storm seemed to break apart, 
To show us, staggering to her grave, 

The fated brig. We had no heart 
To look, for naught could save. 

One glimpse of black hull heaving slow, 
Then closed the mists o'er canvas torn 

And tangled ropes, swept to and fro 
From masts that raked forlorn. 

Weeks after, yet ringed round with spray, 
Our island lay, and none might land ; 

Though blue the waters of the bay 
Stretched calm on either hand. 

And when at last from the distant shore 
A little boat stole out, to reach 

Our loneliness, and bring once more 
Fresh human thought and speech, 

We told our tale, and the boatmen cried, - 
' 'Twas the Pocahontas, — all were lost ! 

For miles along the coast the tide 
Her shattered timbers tost.' 

Then I looked the whole horizon round, — 
So beautiful the ocean spread 

About us, o'er those sailors drowned ! 
' Father in heaven,' I said, 

A child's grief struggling in my breast, 
' Do purposeless thy creatures meet 

Such bitter death 1 How was it best 
These hearts should cease to beat 1 

wherefore ! Are we naught to Thee ? 

Like senseless weeds that rise and fall 
Upon thine awful sea, are we 

No more then, after all ? ' 


And I shut the beauty from ray sight, 
For I thought of the dead that lay below. 

From tbe bright air faded the warmth and light, 
There came a chill like snow. 

Then I heard the far-off rote resound, 

Where the breakers slow and slumberous rolled, 

And a subtle sense of Thought profound 
Touched me with power untold. 

And like a voice eternal spake 

That wondrous rhythm, and 'Peace, be still ! * 
It murmured, 'bow thy head, and take 

Life's rapture and life's ill, 

And wait. At last all shall be clear.' 

The long, low, mellow music rose 
And fell, and soothed my dreaming ear 

With infinite repose. 

Sighing, I climbed the lighthouse stair, 

Half forgetting my grief and pain ; 
And while the day died sweet and fair, 

I lit the lamps again." 

Homeward bound from the group of islands, the 
talk of the voyagers so runs on matters connected 
with the history of the group, that for some time 
the swift progress of the yacht is not noticed. 
One questions if Captain John Smith, on his way 
along the coast in 1614, erected the pile of stones 
on Appledore. Another refers to the day when 
the population of the islands was much larger than 
at the present time ; and the inhabitants, who were 
then engaged in the fishing business, were suffi- 
ciently enterprising to be connected with ships 


from Spain and other foreign countries in commer- 
cial relations. Still another tells a tale of the 
wreck of a Spanish ship on one of the reefs of the 
Shoals : which is followed by a fellow for his story 
from a companion at his elbow, — namely, that a 
ship from Spain, many years ago, was wrecked on 
Andrews' Point, between Dick's Dream and Cha- 
pin's Gully ; that before she wholly went to pieces 
one of her masts fell over her bow upon the shore, 
so that all her crew were saved from the waves by 
passing over it to dry and substantial footing ; and 
that, at intervals, since the ship was wrecked, vil- 
lagers visiting the place of the disaster have there 
picked up Spanish silver dollars, which were very 
much worn from long tossing to and fro on the 
ledge beneath the furious breakers. Then is re- 
lated by one, who never omits on fit occasions to 
mix the humorous with the grave, the story of the 
preacher who, in the olden time, once discoursing 
to the Isles of Shoals congregation, so aroused one 
of his hearers through the force of nautical speech, 
as to get from him such a response as he would 
have given a skipper on board a fisherman. The 
preacher was representing the case of the sinners 
before him as that of sailors on board a vessel 
in a storm. The picture was drawn with a bold 
hand. Torrents poured, and whirlwinds churned 
the sea. There seemed no space between the next 
ascent upon a billow and destruction upon an un- 
yielding and merciless reef. At this point of 


imminent ruin, " What shall we do ? what shall we 
do ? " cried the minister. Jack, who had weathered 
many a storm, and had not so long been an Isles of 
Shoals man without learning what would be the 
chance for life in the stress and strait so powerfully 
brought home to him, promptly answered, " Histe 
for's'il and jib, and scud for Squam, sir." 

The moon rises, and the " multitudinous " waves 
turn to silver before her luminous disk ; and the 
headland, toward which the yacht advances uner- 
ringly, lifts itself more and more above the sea, 
presenting its line of points and coves to the impar- 
tial ray spreading over sea and land from the 
earth's serene and constant satellite. At midnight, 
her precious freight being fanned by cool breezes, 
and cheered by the welcome of waves tapping the 
wharves and the hulls of sloops and schooners in 
the harbor, the stanch little craft arrives at her 
buoy, there to lie through the night in repose. 
The voyagers, too, thankful for the pleasures of 
the day without alloy, are soon in their places of 
rest. " All good is from above." 





The distance to Straitsmouth Island being but 
three miles, and, after doubling Straitsmouth, to 
Thatcher's Island but two miles more, the whole 
course is under the eye of the village. Gliding 
out of the harbor, the yacht careens to the wind 
pressing her sails, and then onward shoots over the 
waves toward Straitsmouth lighthouse, as an arrow 
goes to its mark. The swift sailing is exhilarating. 
A few rods from the landing place in the Gut the 
sails are lowered and the anchor dropped. Then 
the shore is reached in a dory ; and the lighthouse 
at the other and outer end of the island, by a third 
of a mile walk. The view from the lantern, and 
the ramble from point to point, though mainly not 
differing from views and rambles on the bare heads 
and bluffs of the Cape across the narrow channel, 
are yet curious and strange in a degree, for being 
connected with an insulated spot. The island is 
so small that on any part of it, and which ever way 
the observer turns, the waves of the great sea are 


present in awful upheavings and clashing^, or in 
gentle swirls among the rocks covered with kelp 
and moss, and in the stealthy creeping of the rising, 
and in the almost silent stealing away, of the falling 
tide. Here with the cleanness of rock and turf, 
with the wholesomeness of the air, and with the 
sense of boundless relationship, and of life without 
end, the heart sings under standingly " The Spell 
of the Sea:" — 

"With moon and stars, at morn and eve, 

In sunny wind or shower, 
How often hath it worked in me, — 
That m} r stery of the kingly sea, 

With joyous spells of power ! 

Oh, it is well sick men should go 

Unto the royal sea ; 
For on their souls, as on a glass, 
From its bright fields the breath doth pass 

Of its infinity. 

My mother taught me how to love 

The mystery of the sea ; 
She sported with my childish wonder 
At its white waves and gentle thunder 

Like a man's deep voice to me. 

Then in my soul dim thoughts awoke, 

She helped to set them free ; 
I learned from ocean's murmurings 
How infinite eternal things, 

Though viewless, yet could be. 

In gentle moods I love the hills, 

Because they bound my spirit; 
But to the broad blue sea I fly 
When I would feel the destiny 

Immortal souls inherit." 


Whether by doubling Straitsmouth, or passing 
through the Gut separating this island from Gap 
Head, the short extension of the sail to Thatcher's 
is not a less interesting division of it. On this 
course, the track of coasters between the Cape and 
Thatcher's is traversed ; and it is but a navigable 
river's width to the parallel track of steamers and 
ships passing into and out of Massachusetts Bay by 
the guidance of Thatcher's tall twin towers. Low 
in the bay, like a great raft, south-westward from 
Thatcher's is Milk Island. Sometimes a few cat- 
tle and sheep are ferried over to the latter from the 
Cape, for the scant herbage growing on it among 
the rocks. The shore of the former, all round, rises 
from the sea like a massive wall such as no might 
or skill of man ever reared. Near the one slope 
where small boats may land, the yacht is left to 
ride at anchor, while the voyagers see and learn all 
they may within the jagged rim which through all 
the years withstands the fury of tempest and wave. 

In 1635, nineteen years after Captain John 
Smith named Straitsmouth, Thatcher's, and Milk 
Islands, the Three Turks' Heads, Thatcher's, the 
middle and largest of the three, became the object 
of the early colonists' sorrowful attention, because 
of an event the like of which had not before hap- 
pened in New England. In Dr. Alexander Young's 
" Chronicles of the First Planters of the Colony 
of Massachusetts Bay," is a narrative of this 
event, which was written by Anthony Thatcher, 


whose name the island now bears. It is entitled 
" Thatcher's Narrative of his Shipwreck." A 
large part of it should be repeated to our excur- 
sionists, for nothing can be better or more touching 
to their minds than the sufferer's own manner of 
telling the sad tale. 

" There was a league of perpetual friendship 
between " Mr. Thatcher and his " Cousin Avery " 
(who " was," said Increase Mather, "a precious 
holy minister") "never to forsake each other 
to the death, but to be partakers of each other's 
misery or welfare, as also of habitation, in the 
same place." They with their families came from 
England together. Upon their arrival in New 
England, they tarried awhile in Ipswich, but 
finally took up their abode in Newbury, notwith- 
standing Mr. Avery had been " invited to Marble- 
head." There was no church " planted there as 
yet, but a town appointed to set up the trade of 
fishing." Though the promise was held out that 
Mr. Avery should become in due time the pastor 
of the Marblehead church, he was not inclined to 
leave Newbury. The good man shrank from what 
he believed would be a difficult work. For a time 
he did not rise to the heroic purpose to spend his 
strength where the need for it seemed the greatest. 
" But " (in the language of Mr. Thatcher) " being 
solicited so often by the men of the place, and by 
the magistrates, and by Mr. Cotton, and most of 
the ministers, who alleged what a benefit we might 


be to the people there, and also to the country and 
commonwealth at length, ... we thither consented 
to go. They of Marblehead forthwith sent a pin- 
nace for us and our goods." 

The pinnace went to the then best known port 
near Newbury for the minister and his friend, and 
their wives and children. Mr. Thatcher's words 
are: " We embarked at Ipswich, August 11, 1635, 
with our families and substance, bound for Marble- 
head, we being in all twenty-three souls ; viz., 
eleven in my cousin's family, seven in mine, and 
one Mr. William Eliot, sometimes of New Sarum, 
and four mariners. The next morning, having 
commended ourselves to God, with cheerful hearts 
we hoisted sail. But the Lord suddenly turned 
our cheerfulness into mourning and lamentations. 
For on the 14th of this August, 1635, about ten at 
night, having a fresh gale of wind, our sails being 
old and done were split. The mariners, because 
that it was night, would not put to new sails, but 
resolved to cast anchor till morning. But before 
daylight it pleased the Lord to send so mighty a 
storm as the like was never known in New Eng- 
land since the English came, nor in the memory of 
any of the Indians. It was so furious that our 
anchor came home. Whereupon the mariners let 
out more cable, which at last slipped away. Then 
our sailors knew not what to do; but we were 
driven before the wind and waves. 

" My cousin and I perceived our danger, and 


solemnly recommended ourselves to God, the Lord 
both of earth and seas, expecting with every wave 
to be swallowed np and drenched in the deeps. 
And as my cousin, his wife, and my tender babes 
sat comforting and cheering one the other in the 
Lord against ghastly death, which every moment 
stared us in the face and sat triumphing upon each 
one's forehead, we were by the violence and fury 
of the winds (by the Lord's permission) lifted 
up upon a rock between two high rocks, yet all 
was one rock. But it raged with the stroke, 
which came into the pinnace, so that we were 
presently up to our middles in water, as we sat. 
The waves came furiously and violently over us, 
and against us, but, by reason of the rock's pro- 
portion, could not lift us off, but beat her all to 
pieces. Now look with me upon our distress and 
consider of my misery, who beheld the ship broken, 
the water in her and violently overwhelming us, 
my goods and provisions swimming in the seas, my 
friends almost drowned, and mine own poor chil- 
dren so untimely (if I may so term it without 
offence) before mine eyes drowned, and ready to 
be swallowed up and dashed to pieces against the 
rocks by the merciless waves, and myself ready to 
accompany them. But I must go on to an end of 
this woful relation. 

" In the same room whereas he sat, the master of 
the pinnace, not knowing what to do, our foremast, 
was cut down, our mainmast broken in three 


pieces, the forepart of the pinnace beat away, our 
goods swimming about the seas, my children be- 
wailing me as not pitying themselves, and myself 
bemoaning them, poor souls, whom I had occa- 
sioned to such an end in their tender years, when 
as they scarce could be sensible of death. And so 
likewise my cousin, his wife, and his children ; and 
both of us bewailing each other in our Lord and 
only Saviour Jesus Christ, in whom only we had 
comfort and cheerfulness ; insomuch that, from the 
greatest to the least of us, there was not one 
screech or outcry made ; but all, as silent sheep, 
were contentedly resolved to die together lovingly, 
as since our acquaintance we had lived together 

44 Now as I was sitting in the cabin-room door, 
with my body in the room, when lo ! one of the 
sailors, by a wave being washed out of the pinnace, 
was gotten in again, and coming into the cabin 
room over my back cried out : 4 We are all cast 
away. The Lord have mercy upon us ! I have 
been washed overboard into the sea, and am got- 
ten in again.' His speeches made me look forth. 
And looking towards and seeing how we were, I 
turned myself to my cousin and the rest, and 
spake these words : ' O cousin, it hath pleased 
God to cast us here between two rocks, the shore 
not far from us, for I saw the tops of trees 
when I looked forth.' Whereupon the master of 
the pinnace, looking up at the scuttle-hole of the 


quarter-deck, went out at it ; but I never saw 
him afterwards. Then he that had been in the 
sea went out again by me, and leaped overboard 
towards the rocks, whom afterwards also I could 
not see. 

" Now none were left in the bark, that I knew or 
saw, but my cousin, his wife and children, myself 
and mine, and his maid-servant. But my cousin 
thought that I would have fled from him, and said 
unto me, 4 O cousin ! leave us not, let us die 
together,' and reached forth his hand unto me. 
Then I, letting go my son Peter's hand, took him 
by the hand, and said, ' Cousin, I purpose it not. 
Whither shall I go ? I am willing and ready here 
to die with you and my poor children. God be 
merciful to us and receive us to himself ; ' adding 
these words, ' The Lord is able to help and deliver 
us.' He replied, saying : 4 Truth, cousin ; but 
what his pleasure is we know not. I fear we have 
been too unthankful for former deliverances. But 
he hath promised to deliver us from sin and con- 
demnation, and to bring us safe to heaven through 
the all-sufficient satisfaction of Jesus Christ. This 
therefore we may challenge of him.' To which I 
replying said, c That is all the deliverance I now 
desire and expect.' 

" Which words I had no sooner spoken but by 
a mighty wave I was, with the piece of the bark, 
washed out upon part of the rock, where the 
wave left me almost drowned ; but, recovering my 


feet, I saw above me on the rock my daughter 
Mary, to whom I had no sooner gotten but my 
cousin Avery and his eldest son came to us, being 
all four of us washed out by one and the same 
wave. We went all into a small hole on the top 
of the rock, whence we called to those in the pin- 
nace to come unto us, supposing we were in more 
safety than they were in. My wife, seeing us there, 
was crept up into the scuttle of the quarter-deck 
to come unto us. But presently came another 
wave, and, dashing the pinnace all to pieces, carried 
my wife away in the scuttle, as she was, with the 
greater part of the quarter-deck, unto the shore ; 
where she was cast safely, but her legs were some- 
thing bruised. And much timber of the vessel 
being there also cast, she was some time before 
she could get away, being washed by the waves. 
All the rest that were in the bark were drowned 
in the merciless seas. We four by that wave were 
clean swept away from off the rock, also, into the 
sea ; the Lord, in one instant of time, disposing of 
fifteen souls of us, according to his good pleasure 
and will. 

" His pleasure and wonderful great mercy to me 
was thus. Standing on the rock, as before you 
heard, with my eldest daughter, my cousin, and 
his eldest son, looking upon and talking to them in 
the bark, when as we were by that merciless wave 
washed off the rock* as before you heard, God, in 
his mercy, caused me to fall, by the stroke of the 


wave, flat on my face ; for my face was toward the 
sea. Insomuch that, as I was sliding off the rock 
into the sea, the Lord directed my toes into a joint 
in the rock's side, as also the tops of some of my 
fingers, with my right hand, by means whereof, 
the wave leaving me, I remained so, hanging on the 
rock, only my head above the water ; when on the 
left hand I espied a board or plank of the pinnace. 
And as I was reaching out my left hand to lay 
hold on it, by another coming over the top of the 
rock I was washed away from the rock, and by 
the violence of the waves was driven hither and 
thither in the seas a great while, and had many 
dashes against the rocks. At length, past hopes 
of life, and wearied in body and spirits, I even 
gave over to nature ; and, being ready to receive in 
the waters of death, I lifted up both my heart and 
hands to the God of heaven — for note, I had my 
senses remaining perfect with me all the time I was 
in the water — who at that instant lifted my head 
above the top of the water, that so I might breathe 
without any hindrance by the waters. I stood bolt 
upright as if I had stood upon my feet ; but I felt no 
bottom, nor had any footing for to stand upon but 

" While I was thus above the water, I saw by me 
a piece of the mast, as I suppose, about three foot 
long, which I labored to catch into my arms. But 
suddenly I was overwhelmed with water, and 
driven to and fro again, and at last I felt the 


ground with my right foot. When immediately, 
whilst I was thus grovelling on my face, I, presently 
recovering my feet, was in the water up to my 
breast, and through God's great mercy had my 
face unto the shore, and not to the sea. I made 
haste to get out, but was thrown on my hands with 
the waves, and so with safety crept to the dry 
shore. Where, blessing God, I turned about to 
look for my children and friends, but saw neither, 
nor any part of the pinnace, where I left them, 
as I supposed. But I saw my wife about a butt 
length from me, getting herself forth from amongst 
the timber of the broken bark ; but before I could 
get unto her, she was gotten to the shore. I was in 
the water, after I was washed from the rock, before 
I came to the shore, a quarter of an hour at least. 
" I will proceed on in the relation of God's good- 
ness unto me in that desolate island on which I 
was cast. I and my wife were almost naked, both 
of us, and wet and cold even unto death. I found 
a snapsack cast on the shore, in which I had a 
steel and flint and powder-horn. Going further, 
I found a drowned goat ; then I found a hat, and 
my son William's coat, both which I put on. My 
wife found one of her petticoats, which she put on. 
I found also two cheeses and some butter driven 
ashore. Thus the Lord sent us some clothes to 
put on, and food to sustain our new lives, which 
we had lately given unto us, and means also to 
make fire ; for in a horn I had some gunpowder, 


which to mine own, and since to other men's 
admiration, was dry. So taking a piece of my wife's 
neckcloth, which I dried in the sun, I struck fire, 
and so dried and warmed our wet bodies ; and then 
skinned the goat, and having found a small brass 
pot we boiled some of her. Bread we had none. 

" There we remained until the Monday following; 
when about three of the clock in the afternoon, in 
a boat that came that way, we went of! that deso- 
late island, which I named after my name, Thatch- 
er's Woe, and the rock, Avery his Fall, to the end 
that their fall and loss, and mine own, might be had 
in perpetual remembrance. In the isle lieth buried 
the body of my cousin's eldest daughter, whom I 
found dead on the shore. On the Tuesday follow- 
ing, in the afternoon, we arrived at Marblehead." 

In some way, which cannot be explained here, a 
rock, a mile inside the Salvages toward Rockport, 
and more than two miles from Thatcher's Island, 
has become known as " Avery's Rock." Being 
always under water, its locality is only revealed at 
low tide by the breaking and foaming of the waves 
which pass over it. But the true Avery's Rock, 
or " Avery's Fall," according to Mr. Thatcher's 
narrative, is very near the south shore of Thatcher's 
Island, or " Thatcher's Woe," as the sorrowful 
man felt inclined to name it. One of the interest- 
ing quests of visitors on the island is for this rock 
with features corresponding to the description in 
the narrative. And, while looking down upon it 


from one of the bold cliffs of the island, one is 
moved to read to his companions who are already 
seated around him this " Swan Song of Parson 
Avery," by Whittier : — 

" When the reaper's task was ended, and the summer wearing 

Parson Avery sailed from Newbury, with his wife and children 

Dropping down the river harbor in the shallop ' Watch and Wait.' 

Pleasantly lay the clearings in the mellow summer morn, 

With the newly planted orchards dropping their fruits first-born, 

And the homesteads like green islands amid a sea of corn. 

Broad meadows reached out seaward the tided creeks between, 
And hills rolled wavelike inland, with oaks and walnuts green : 
A fairer home, a goodlier land, his eyes had never seen. 

Yet away sailed Parson Avery, away where duty led, 

And the voice of God seemed calling, to break the living bread 

To the souls of fishers starving on the rocks of Marblehead. 

All day they sailed : at nightfall the pleasant land-breeze died, 
The blackening sky at midnight its starry lights denied, 
And far and low the thunder of tempest prophesied ! 

Blotted out were all the coast lines, gone were rock and wood and 

sand : 
Grimly anxious stood the skipper, with the rudder in his hand, 
And questioned of the darkness what was sea and what was land. 

And the preacher heard his dear ones, nestled round him, weeping 

sore : 
' Never heed, my little children ! Christ is walking on before 
To the pleasant land of heaven, where the sea shall be no more.' 

All at once the great cloud parted, like a curtain drawn aside, 
To let down the torch of lightning on the terror far and wide ; 
And the thunder and the whirlwind together smote the tide. 


There was wailing in the shallop : woman's wail and man's despair, 
A crash of breaking timbers on the rocks so sharp and bare, 
And through it all the murmur of Father Avery's prayer. 

From his struggle in the darkness with the wild waves and the 

On a rock, where every billow broke above him as it passed, 
Alone, of all his household, the man of God was cast. 

There a comrade heard him praying, in the pause of wave and 

wind : 
'All my own have gone before me, and I linger just behind • 
Not for life I ask, but only for the rest thy ransomed find ! 

' In this night of death I challenge the promise of thy Word ! 
Let me see the great salvation of which mine ears have heard ! 
Let me pass from hence forgiven, through the grace of Christ, our 

' In the baptism of these waters wash white my every sin, 
And let me follow up to thee my household and my kin ! 
Open the sea-gate of thy heaven, and let me enter in ! ' 

When the Christian sings his death-song, all the listening heavens 

draw near; 
And the angels, leaning over the walls of crystal, hear 
How the notes, so faint and broken, swell to music in God's ear. 

The ear of God was open to his servant's last request : 

As the strong wave swept him downward, the sweet hymn upward 

And the soul of Father Avery went singing to its rest. 

There was wailing on the mainland, from the rocks of Marblehead ; 
In the stricken church of Newbury the notes of prayer were read; 
And long by board and hearthstone the living mourned the dead. 

And still the fishers outbound, or scudding from the squall, 
With grave and reverent faces the ancient tale recall, 
When they see the white waves breaking on the Rock of Avery's 
Fall ! " 


With reference to Thatcher's Island, Mr. Bab- 
son says : "It is estimated to contain about eighty 
acres, most of which have patches of good soil, 
affording rich pasturage for a few cattle. In 1714 
it was purchased by Rev. John White for a hun- 
dred pounds. He sold it in 1727, to Joseph Allen, 
for a hundred and seventy-five pounds. In 1771 
the Colonial Government became its owner at a 
cost of five hundred pounds, and proceeded in the 
same year to erect two lighthouses and a dwelling- 
house on it. The lights were lighted for the first 
time Dec. 21, 1771. At the commencement of 
the Revolutionary War, the keeper of the lights 
(Kirkwood) was forcibly removed from the island 
by Captain Rogers's company of minute-men, as 
a person inimical to the patriotic sentiments gen- 
erally held by the people of the town. After a 
lapse of time the lights were relighted, and have 
ever since thrown forth their friendly beams to 
greet the anxious mariner, and in the darkness of 
night direct his way over the pathless sea." 

A few years since, the ancient lighthouses were 
taken down, and new ones erected in their places. 
Together with these two unusually tall towers of 
stone, there are substantial and comfortable dwell- 
ings for the keepers and tenders of the lights, and 
a building for the steam-engine, which, through 
the hours and days of thick vapor or fog, sounds 
the fog-horn to apprise approaching vessels of their 
situation and danger. 


The lighthouses are round towers, and so the 
ascent to their lanterns of necessity is spiral. 
From the balconies around the lanterns the views 
are magnificent. But these costly shafts, uplifted 
so high from their solid foundations toward the 
heavens, are not chiefly noticeable for enabling the 
vision of man to overlook so much of land and 
sea, but for the power and splendor of their lights. 
Far over the sea these lights are descried by ships 
homeward bound from foreign ports, by fishing- 
craft from the Gulf of Labrador or from the 
Banks of Newfoundland, and by coasters follow- 
ing the long and irregular shore from the British 
Provinces and the ports of Maine to Massachusetts 
Bay. Nearer, from the windows of hundreds of 
dwellings, they are beheld night after night through 
the years, almost as having the thought and care 
of human forms, and as taking into themselves the 
watchfulness of anxious thousands on shore, and 
holding it far out over the waves in flames which 
never become dim. The sea-birds, attracted by 
the splendor of these quenchless flames, fly with 
such force against the plates of glass which pro- 
tect the flames from wind and storm, that they fall 
dead upon the rocks around the towers. As moths 
and millers are drawn to the lamp in the parlor, 
so the wild goose, the brant, the black duck, the 
loon, and the coot are drawn to the glowing lan- 
tern on the lighthouse tower. But how much of 
the world's interest, of man's concern, is blended 
6* i 


with the rays which stream from the lofty tower 
on the ocean's edge of rock and sand ! Longfellow 
has not in too glowing numbers told his story of 
the Lighthouse : — 


' The rocky ledge runs far into the sea, 

And on its outer point, some miles away, 
The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry, 
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day. 

Even at this distance I can see the tides, 
Upheaving, break unheard along its base, 

A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides 
In the white lip and tremor of the face. 

And, as the evening darkens, lo ! how bright, 
Through the deep purple of the twilight air, 

Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light, 
With strange, unearthly splendor in its glare. 

Nor one alone : from each projecting cape 
And perilous reef along the ocean's verge, 

Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape, 
Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge. 

Like the great giant Christopher it stands 
Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave, 

Wading far out among the rocks and sands, 
The night-o'ertaken mariner to save. 

And the great ships sail outward and return, 
Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells, 

And ever joyful, as they see it burn, 

They wave their silent welcomes and farewells. 

They come forth from the darkness, and their sails 
Gleam for a moment only in the blaze, 

And eager faces, as the light unveils, 

Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze. 


The mariner remembers when a child, 

On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink ; 

And when, returning from adventures wild, 
He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink. 

Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same 
Year after year, through all the silent night, 

Burns on for evermore that quenchless flame, 
Shines on that inextinguishable light ! 

It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp 

The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace ; 

It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp, 
And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece. 

The startled waves leap over it ; the storm 
Smites it with all the scourges of the rain, 

And steadily against its solid form 
Press the great shoulders of the hurricane. 

The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din 

Of wings, and winds, and solitary cries, 
Blinded and maddened by the light within, 

Dashes himself against the glare, and dies. 

A new Prometheus, chained upon the rock, 
Still grasping in his hand the fire of Jove, 

It does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock, 
But hails the mariner with words of love. 

' Sail on ! ' it says, ' sail on, ye stately ships ! 

And with your floating bridge the ocean span ; 
Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse ; 
Be yours to bring man nearer unto man.' " 

Having spent a few hours rambling over the 
island, — now indulging grave reflections, and now 
bright and cheerful fancies ; now musing over a 


broken spar lodged among the rocks where the 
tide ebbs and flows ; and now observing the bril- 
liant hue of the pimpernel, unfolded in the sun- 
shine, and giving no hint of cloud or rain, — the 
voyagers return to the yacht ; and, after running 
westward by Pebble Stone Beach and Long Beach, 
and then tacking and making a sweep around Milk 
Island, sail homeward, passing the true " Avery's 
Fall," as well as the south and east shore of 
Thatcher's Island, and following the shore of the 
Cape to Gap Head, and thence on a straight course, 
crossing Sandy Bay, to the harbor of Pigeon Cove. 
This ending of the little voyage is sometimes 
unusually interesting and exciting for the appear- 
ance of whales, — now and then a school of six or 
eight, — spouting and playing hide-and-seek but 
two or three hundred yards from the yacht. One 
fair September day, in 1870, a party of Philadel- 
phians, in a pleasure-boat, just departing from 
Thatcher's Island, began to converse playfully of 
the hidden monsters that might come to sight ; 
perhaps too near the boat for the comfort of the 
passengers. A gentleman on board with them, who 
had been a long time familiar with the sea around 
our headland, said that he had seen almost every 
summer the kind of whales called blackfish, between 
Thatcher's and Straitsmouth Islands, and in Sandy 
and Ipswich Bays. Some of the company doubted, 
or affected to doubt, his word, and gently asked, 
" Have you not been telling a fish-story ? " But 


scarcely had this question escaped from their lips 
before a noise came to the hearing of the persons 
in the boat like the rushing of a wave up the 
ascending floor of a beach, but more sudden and 
not at all prolonged. Looking for the occasion 
of the noise, and seeing two whales passing Flat 
Point on their way to deeper water, " There are 
two of the monsters now," said he ; " and, as luck 
would have it, you have a fine chance to see with 
your own eyes these immense creatures of the ocean, 
now diving to the bottom of the sea, and now rising 
to its surface, expelling water through the holes in 
their heads from their closed capacious mouths." 
A long while the excursionists watched the gam- 
bols of the huge pair ; and when the whales had 
gone a mile away, distinctly came to the hearing 
of the curious gazers the sound of the spray which 
they threw into the air with great force. 

When Massachusetts Bay and Ipswich Bay are 
thronged with menhaden, herring, or mackerel, 
moving within sight of the shore from point to 
point in schools, the extent of which is denoted 
by the darker shade and bubbling of large spaces 
of the ocean's surface, then the whales are likely 
to appear in the same waters, devouring these 
smaller inhabitants of the sea by hundreds in every 
onset. But the whales in turn become game, and 
are pursued also ; and the menhaden, herring, and 
mackerel are no longer with fright shooting in 
every direction from their wide-open jaws. The 


fishermen, in boats quietly following them, with 
dexterous aim and thrust harpoon them. Some- 
times, not having the whaler's instrument and line 
at hand, with aid of rifles, fowling-pieces, and lusty 
shouting, they drive them into some shallow bay 
or cove, where the terrified monsters run aground, 
and so are easily captured. Not many years since 
five or six whales were in this manner driven 
ashore near Bay View. When the tide went down, 
they were left "high and dry," like stranded ships. 
The large quantity of oil obtained amply repaid 
the fishermen for their exercise of energy and dar- 
ing. While the chase was progressing, since it had 
not been engaged in out of mere wantonness, but 
for honorable profit, the witnesses of it on the shore 
were not unwilling lookers-on, and would not have 
called Mr. Bergh to stop it, had he been at the 
time within hailing distance. The sailing and 
rowing were quite as skilful as horsemanship on the 
race-course, and certainly, in the judgment of the 
humane, ended in results not less noble. 

Here ending discourse about whales, a few 
words from Rev. Francis Higginson's Journal, 
written in 1629, after he had crossed the ocean 
from England to Salem, will not be inapposite. 
Said the brave and enthusiastic minister to his 
countrymen at home : " Our passage was both 
pleasurable and profitable ; for we received instruc- 
tion and delight in beholding the wonders of the 
Lord in the deep waters, and sometimes seeing the 



sea round us appearing with a terrible countenance 
and, as it were, full of high hills and deep valleys ; 
and sometimes it appeared as a most plain and 
even meadow. And ever and anon we saw divers 
kinds of fishes sporting in the great waters, great 
grampuses and huge whales, going by companies 
and puffing up water streams. Those that love 
their own chimney-corner, and dare not go far 
beyond their own town's end, shall never have 
the honor to see these wonderful works of 
Almighty God." 



The facilities on the shore of Pigeon Cove for 
bathing and swimming should not be overlooked. 
It is but a short walk from the hotels and the vil- 


lage homes to the Bath. Here the granite shore is 
as clean as the pure water of the ocean can wash 
it ; and there are hollows and basins in the rocks, 
and, over a barrier of stones outside of them, a 
smooth granite floor across which are stretched 
strong ropes made fast at each end to iron bolts 
driven into holes drilled deep into a ledge or boul- 
der. Every incoming tide brings to the granite 
floor and to the hollows and basins a new supply 
of cool, pure brine for the bathers. Every out- 
going tide takes away the last water dashed over 
them by the waves, leaving them clean and to 
be wholly supplied again, on the return of the 
untainted, wholesome sea. Ascending from the 
bathing floor and basins to the clothing rooms of 
the bath-house, at the brink of the high ground 
above them, there is no need of a second bath to be 
rid of clinging sea-weed and sand. And as to the 
safety of still-bathing or surf -bathing here : the 
first case of drowning has not yet occurred. After 
fair trials on the beaches, as well as here on the 
rocks, the majority of bathers prefer the clear, pure 
water, and the clean, firm footing of the Bath at 
Pigeon Cove. 

The Gentlemen's Bath is at Hoop Pole Cove, 
near the cove-end of Dawn Avenue. The descent 
from the avenue to the water is easy. The 
slightly sloping granite under water being thickly 
carpeted with Iceland moss, the footing for bathers 
who cannot swim is soft and agreeable. The boul- 


ders out in deep water, shaggy and maned with 
sea-weed, are admirable seats for tired swimmers, 
and immovable piers for the use of divers. Here, 
so near the outermost point of the Cape, may be 
enjoyed the full benefit of bathing and swimming. 
There is no spot on the globe more apart from 
unpleasant aspects or from disagreeable odors. 
Fanned by sea-breezes, inhaling pure air, catch- 
ing the healing perfumes which steal from the 
pastures to the shore and become one with the 
breath of the sea, bathers and swimmers here 
attain the utmost enjoyment, the very ecstasy of 
their recreation. It is surprising how many living 
within sight of the sea know nothing of this rapt- 
ure. How few of the millions of men on the earth 
could sing from their own hearts these lines ! — 

"And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy 
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
Borne, like bubbles, onward : from a boy 
I wanton'd with thy breakers, — they to me 
"Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror, 'twas a pleasing fear. 
For I was, as it were, a child of thee, 
And trusted to thy billows far and near, 
And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here." 

Writing of the Bath at Pigeon Cove, Mrs. N. T. 
Munroe says : " One of the principal businesses as 
'well as pleasures of the sea-shore is bathing. To 
come to the sea-shore and not bathe would be the 
play of Hamlet, with Hamlet left out. And here 
they come tripping down with bathing-dresses on 
arm and bathing-hats on head. A few moments 


suffice for change of dress, and then they come 
forth from the bathing-houses a merry company. 

" Some bathe from a sense of duty, others for 
pleasure and excitement. You can tell the dif- 
ferent motives of the bathers at a glance. The 
former go into the water as they would into a 
dentist's chair. They nerve themselves up to it. 
They stoop down, take off the hat, which they fill 
with water and pour over head and shoulders, 
then catching the rope they venture three or four 
plunges, and the thing is done, the duty is per- 
formed : they come out, and go dripping back to the 
bathing-house, ' a damp, moist body.' Now none are 
left but those who bathe for the love of it. It is 
pleasant to watch them. After the first plunge and 
its accompanying screeching and catching of breath 
and shivering, then comes the pleasure of the thing. 
Sit down on the wet rock, and let that great wave 
come tumbling in over you, and the fine spray 
sprinkle you. It is exhilarating. How cold the 
water when it first dashed over you ! What a 
glow now pervades your whole system ! How 
strong are the waves, and yet they are compara- 
tively nothing on this fine summer day. Think of 
their power in storm and tempest. Think of your- 
self, a poor, shipwrecked mortal, clinging to this 
cold, hard rock while the great waves are thunder- 
ing in upon you, and the surf smothering you, — no 
foot-hold, your hands torn and bleeding, and not able 
to clutch the cruel rock ; — don't you feel a pity for 


yourself? Or what if you were on one of these 
rocks, surprised by the tide, and seeing no way 
to get off? You see the water rising slowly and 
surely ; you calculate how long before it reach 
your waist, your arms, your neck, your mouth ; — 
and you are smothered — dead ! Ah ! a fearful 
grave is this of the cold, cold sea. Prometheus 
chained to his rock, 4 the vulture at his vitals ; ' 
Andromeda, ' bound on the sea-girt rock which is 
washed by the surges for ever,' waiting for 4 the 
mystical fish of the seas' to come and devour her; 
Simeon Stylites standing on his pillar, ' a sign 
betwixt the meadow and the cloud, that he might 
have the meed of the saint's " white robe and the 
palm," ' — might, to be sure, beseech the cold, surg- 
ing waves to cover them, and end their horror and 
their agony. But all this bounding, beating life of 
ours cries out against being thus swallowed up 
by the waters. It was a most distressful cry, that 
of David: 'All thy waves and thy billows are 
gone over me ! ' 

" But here the water is pleasant and agreeable : 
we stretch out our arms and embrace it ; we catch 
the crystal drops as they come showering down, 
and we have breath enough to say with Byron, 

' And I do love thee, Ocean ! ' 

" But even bathing must have an end, and at last 
we come forth from the surf, ' dripping and very 
wet ; ' and this business — pleasure — of the day is 




The trees and flowers of our Cape attract the 
especial notice of visitors. Coming to a region 
of ledges and boulders swept by ocean winds 
from almost every quarter, expecting to roam 
over a gra} r waste and to survey from every point 
of view only barrenness hemmed in by the blue 
sea, they marvel on beholding extensive tracts of 
woodland, making so beautiful a contrast both 
with the gray, mossy stones, and the blue or the 


white-crested waves. Even the pastures, which 
have been a long time shorn of their ancient syl- 
van beauty, are not naked. They have put on a 
mottled garment of sumac-trees, barberry-bushes, 
bayberry-shrubs, sweet-ferns, huckleberry patches, 
high and low blackberries in braid and tangle, and 
white clover, and the common upland grasses in 
broad folds and spangled scarfs. At some points 
close to the sea, the woods are majestic. Else- 
where the stunted yellow-pines, in connection with 
the rocks and the sea, seem just as admirably in 
place, and remind one of what Ruskin observes 
in admiration of the stone-pines of Italy. In the 
more extensive woods, the oaks, maples, birches, 
and pines, common in other parts of New England, 
are found. The hickory grows in every woodland 
tract, the butternut in a few places ; but the 
chestnut is nowhere seen. Some divisions of the 
forest are almost entirely covered with beeches. 
There is a thrifty grove of oaks in the Lanesville 
woods, — the result of the attempt of one man to 
raise a grove from the sowing of acorns. He lived 
to walk in the shade of these trees. There are 
white-pines here and there, in groups, which over- 
top all other trees of the forest. And on many 
knolls and slopes there are groves of young white- 
pines, so thickly planted that the ground which 
they cover is but sparsely flecked with sunlight. 
Walking on the dry, red needles, beneath their 
dense green roofs, one tries in vain to get a glimpse 


of the sky. In these groves there is the stillness 
of far-off woods, where no man passes by, — the 
stillness which is only broken by the note of a tiny 
flycatcher, or the soft, sweet song of the hermit 
thrush. The tupelo, or crab-tree, — in the Middle 
States called the sour-gum tree, — grows both in 
moist places and on high grounds. It is a beauti- 
ful tree, both for the fashion of its branches, and 
the gloss of its dark-green leaves. Its limbs stretch 
out from the trunk all round, horizontally, the 
topmost farthest ; and all, from the trunk to the 
outermost twigs, with angles, giving a gnarled 
effect : so that the tree is wide and flat on the top, 
and gnarled throughout. It is the first of the 
trees of the forest to show, amid the general green 
and shade, the flame of ripened leaves. Before 
the white-birch exhibits a single leaf of orange, 
before the maple of the swamp holds out to our 
sight its earliest spray of scarlet, the tupelo is a 
beacon in full blaze, lighting up the sylvan shad- 
ows as the pillar of fire lighted up the gloom 
of night. The elm towers gracefully from the 
deep soil of our meadows and ravines, but most 
of the elms of our streets and homesteads were 
brought from abroad ; many from Ipswich, and 
some from far-off valleys of New Hampshire and 
Maine. The ash is a common tree in our woods; 
and when the various colors of the autumn leaves 
are brightest, its delicate amber is presented in the 
gorgeous display. The hemlock, justly praised by 


Downing as one of the more beautiful of the ever- 
greens, is as much at home on our rocky slopes and 
ridges as on the banks of the Mattawamkeag, or 
the hills and promontories around Umbagog or 
Moosehead Lake. The red-cedars, or savins, are 
thickly scattered over many of the pastures. Their 
dark-hued, taper shapes, rigid and erect, alike 
through calm and storm, through summer's heat 
and winter's cold, scarcely showing from year to 
year a change from growth, are the Stoics of the 
realm of trees. To them it is all the same, if the 
air be bland and sweet, or rigorous and bitter with 
tempest and hail. Of all heights, from the tiny 
ones of two feet to the full-grown of fifteen and 
twenty, they stand on hill-tops, ledges, and slopes ; 
on the edges of precipices ; here and there clinging 
to the perpendicular front of a precipice, their 
foothold but a crevice or crack midway from the 
ground or brink ; singly and in groups over acres 
on acres of granite steeps and rugged undulations. 
They are ever inflexible, Avithout perceptible muta- 
tion, whether the sward is green and sprinkled 
with white-clover blossoms, or wearing a hoary 
covering of frost and snow ; whether the purple 
finches come in the fervid season to dwell and sin^ 
on their fragrant, evergreen branches, or the quails 
in the frigid months to cuddle on the ground 
beneath them. And there are flowering trees and 
shrubs which fulfil charmingly a part of the be- 
neficent appointment of God, that the hard and 


rough places of the earth should be clothed and 
adorned. Conspicuous among these are the locusts. 
When in blossom, these trees, in groups near many- 
dwellings, and in rows by the roadside, are as 
snowy clouds, hanging low, and touching roof and 
wall, and trailing along the ground. Far around 
them the air is laden with their perfume. The wild 
red-cherry, the shad-bush, the alders, the sumacs, 
the barberry-bush, the elders, the wild-roses, and 
the laurels, all present their show of beauty in 
their appointed seasons. The mountain-laurels in 
our woods, as thrifty and rank a short distance 
southward from Cape Pond as anywhere in Mary- 
land or Virginia, in their midsummer time of put- 
ting forth flowers, crowd upon the rambler in the 
widest forest path with their splendid display. 
In the swamps of the West Parish of Gloucester, 
they vie with the magnolias in giving the wildest 
and most neglected nooks the magnificence of an 

It is delightful to read in Parson Higginson's 
Journal of his voyage across the Atlantic, bearing 
the far-back date of 1629, his account of the trees 
and flowers near and upon our Cape. " On Fri- 
day, the 26th of June : The sea was abundantly 
stored with rockweed and yellow flowers, like 
gilliflowers. By noon we were within three leagues 
of Cape Ann ; and, as we sailed along the coasts, 
we saw every hill and dale and every island full 
of gay woods and high trees. The nearer we 


came to the shore, the more flowers in abundance, 
sometimes scattered abroad, sometimes joined in 
sheets nine or ten yards long, which we supposed 
to be brought from the low meadows by the tide. 
Now what with fine woods and green trees by 
land, and these yellow flowers painting the sea, 
made us all desirous to see our new paradise of 
New England, whence we saw such forerunning 
signals of fertility afar off." After describing the 
slow progress of the following day, and much 
trouble late in the afternoon, because of " a fearful 
gust of wind and rain and thunder and lightning," 
" We had a westerly wind, which brought us, 
between five and six o'clock, to a fine, sweet 
harbor, seven miles from the headpoint of Cape 
Ann ; . . . where there was an island, whither 
four of our men with a boat went, and brought 
back again ripe strawberries and gooseberries, and 
sweet single roses." When the Sabbath and its 
rest and worship had passed, and the ship pro- 
ceeded toward Salem, " It was wonderful to be- 
hold so many islands, replenished with thick woods 
and high trees, and many fair green pastures." 

The good parson's particular notice of the 
" sweet single roses," which were brought to the 
ship from Ten Pound Island in Gloucester Har- 
bor, as well as his previous observation of the but- 
tercups that floated to the ship's side from Ipswich 
Bay, was but a hint to his friends in England of 
the profusion of floral gifts from the Creator's hand 
7 j 


on every rood of our rocky Cape ; for the same 
lavishment of flowers on this " fair headland " is 
witnessed to-day. In whatever direction the florist 
strays, the wild-flowers hear his step, and wave 
to him their showy and bold, or timid and 
modest signals of recognition and welcome. The 
rich may withhold from him such favor and en- 
couragement as they might bestow; for the flowers 
will come to him with their silver and golden cups, 
and make him opulent. The holders of place, 
and dispensers of position and honor, may deny 
his ability to take upon himself responsibility and 
trust, and refuse to clothe him with the robes of 
power ; for the flowers will lead him into paths 
traversing fields of the noblest and most delightful 
employment, and will bring to him, as the best and 
most glorious symbols of eminence, their own royal 
blue and purple and scarlet. The door-keepers 
and guardians of refined and polished society may 
fail to perceive his intellectual and spiritual fitness 
for the order of life to which he would be admitted ; 
for the flowers will open to him their own wide 
gates, arched with vines and decorated with leaves 
and blossoms ; grant him admission to companion- 
ship which cannot be lowered by the dross of envy 
and jealousy, or the alloy of vanity ; receive him 
with acclamations which, though silent, are heard 
by his inward ear ; pass by him in gay processions, 
waving flags of every hue, and swinging censers 
filled with the sweetest incense. With them he 


will have the wealth, place, distinction, employ- 
ment, society, pomp, and aroma, which no change 
or revolution in the world of human life can affect. 
The trailing arbutus in the Magnolia Woods 
comes in the spring with its sweet benediction ; 
the hepatica, in the same locality and almost every- 
where. The white flowers of the blood-root deck a 
few sunny slopes. The dog's-tooth violets swing 
their golden bells. The delicate wind-flowers 
tremble to the lightest breeze. The yellow cow- 
slips star the swamps. The blue violets tuft the 
fields, pastures, and roadsides. The dandelions 
smile on the lawn, in the edge of the wood, in the 
mowing, on the shore of the sea, on the border of 
every path, and in the very track of passing feet. 
The innocents, or quaker-girls, come in swarms, 
whitening the sward. The saxifrage holds up to 
be seen its modest little cyme. The yellow violets 
show themselves cautiously on a few sunny slopes. 
The columbines adorn the ledges and cliffs, grow- 
ing where the soil is gravelly and thin, and from 
cracks and crevices in the steep fronts of granite 
piles of every height. The white violets spread in 
squads over many moist or springy places. They are 
precious though tiny flowers, both for delicacy and 
exquisite fragrance. The nodding wake-robins, 
coming with the warmth and glory of summer, hang 
their heads in thickets by the wall, or in the shade of 
the woods, as if ashamed of their own unpleasant 
atmosphere. The smiling wake-robins spring up 


in the pines, a cheerful crowd with white, pink- 
tinted faces, rejoicing in the certainty of gladden- 
ing the eye and the heart of the rambler seeking 
them. The sweet-brier rose, or eglantine, here and 
there charily, and the more common wild-rose, 
everywhere generously, unfold their charms while 
the fervors of summer increase. The crimson past- 
ure-lilies, with flecks of black within their cups, 
burn as so many thousand torches, not to consume 
or destroy all surrounding life, but to illuminate 
the broad and sober areas of close-cropped grass, 
ledges and boulders, interspersed with extensive 
divisions of densely growing huckleberry-shrubs 
and blackberry-vines. The pitcher-plant, in the 
wildest swamps, brings forth its superb gift, — a 
beautifully fashioned pitcher, filled with water, in 
one hand, and a curiously constructed, splendid 
flower in the other. The cardinal lobelias, arrayed 
in scarlet, stand in line like red-coated soldiers 
on the brink of a brook, overtopped by a rear line 
of black alders. The contrast as seen across the 
brook is striking. But the eye is not always seek- 
ing such contrasts. It often turns from the scarlet- 
clad cardinals, though they exhibit their splendor 
all along the marge of a lakelet or stream, to ex- 
amine the shy little blossoms which hide in the 
grass, or are content to share a lowly, unattractive 
spot with gravel and sand. The pimpernel, in a 
bare place by the sea, often overswept by the spra}^ 
never crowded by the flowers that love and cling 


to fertile spots, that enjoy taking part in grand 
displays, lives to be useful as well as to adorn its 
sterile home. It is " the poor man's weather-glass," 
telling him when to close his doors and windows 
against the storm, and when to open them again for 
the free ingress of the beneficent sunshine, and of- 
the breeze from the sea, redolent with brine. The 
modest bellworts of the wood, the simple blue-e} T ed 
grass of the swale, the humble primrose of the 
pasture, and many other common, lowly flowers, 
scattered over our sea-girdled territory, keep the 
florist busy in his charming pursuit, throughout 
the summer, and richly reward him for all his 
painstaking and study. The twin-flowers, both 
beautiful and sweet, are not the least attractive of 
the manifold wonders in the South Woods. Lin- 
ncea borealis, — the union of the great botanist's love 
with the fairest hue of the northern sky, — how 
suitable a name for these flowers so charmingly dis- 
posed on the slender, creeping, trailing branches of 
an evergreen plant, which cover the roots of decay- 
ing stumps and little mossy mounds ! The orchis, 
the iris, the water-lilies, as well as the earlier yel- 
low lady's-slipper of June, and the taller, queenlier 
lady's-slipper of July, are soon followed by the 
autumnal flowers. Before the days of autumn 
come, or the reign of the dog-star ceases, the gold- 
en-rods begin to change from green into yellow, 
and earth and sea and sky to show premonishing 
signs of the nearness of September and October. 


Group by group the autumnal flowers appear : the 
golden-rod with full and showy plumes in every 
part of the landscape ; the asters, in their style as 
conspicuous and as abounding ; the fall dandelions, 
sprinkled over all the acres from the hill-tops to 
the sea ; — all uniting with the ripening apples and 
pears of the orchards, the painted tupelo, ash, oak, 
walnut, birch, maple, and beech of the forest, the 
sumac, ivy, bramble, and. woodbine of the less 
covered grounds ; the barberry-bushes in clumps, 
on the knolls and slopes of the pastures and along 
by the walls, with depending clusters of blood-red 
berries ; the sky and clouds, gorgeous with all the 
colors of the rainbow at every going-down of the 
sun, — all uniting with these objects to give the last 
days of the harvest-season, ere they pass away, a 
sober but rich and befitting splendor. But even 
when the autumnal magnificence is with the past ; 
when the November frosts have done on the hills 
and in the meadows their blighting and numbing 
work, and the sky is dun, and the earth is cold, 
now and then come days of golden sun and golden 
haze, when the rambler, beginning to climb through 
the beeches the northern slope of Pigeon Hill, sees 
the herb-robert still green and adorned with flow- 
ers just blown, on rough rocks deeply embedded in 
dead leaves ; and making his way, afterwards, to 
the sea, he discovers on a low bush a "sweet sin- 
gle rose," and farther, on the " ocean's edge," a 
pimpernel of brightest dye. 


Here is annexed a list of the Trees, Shrubs, and 
Plants of our Cape, which have come under the 
notice of Mr. Calvin W. Pool, of Rockport, during 
the last ten or twelve years. Having promptly 
responded to a note asking for it, Mr. Pool says : — 

" The list is, I think, quite accurate as far as it 
goes ; but it does not include perhaps more than a 
quarter part of the plants which may be found 

" It shows how far I have gone in the analysis of 
the plants of this town, — a work which I take up 
as leisure and inclination prompt me. 

" I have given first the scientific name (according 
to Gray) and then the common or popular name of 
each specimen. 

" Probably, had I more time, I could enlarge the 
list very considerably ; but, as it is, it gives a very 
good idea of the Flora of the town." 


Acer Pennsylvanicum Striped Maple. 

„ spicatum Mountain „ 

,, saccharinum Sugar ,, 

,, rubrum . . , Bed ,, 

Robinia Pseudacaeia Locust. 

Prunus Pennsylvania Wild Eed Cherry. 

,, Virginiana Choke Cherry. 

,, serotina Black Cherry. 

Nyssa multiflora Tupelo Tree. 

Fraxinua Americana White Ash. 

,, sambncifblia Black ,, 

Ulmus Americana American Elm. 

Carya alba Shellbark. 


Quercus alba White Oak. 

,, ilicifolia Scrub ,, 

,, rubra Red „ 

Fagus ferrugiuea American Beech. 

Carpinus Americana Hornbeam. 

Betula alba White Birch. 

„ excelsa Yellow „ 

,, lenta Black „ 

,, pumila Low „ 

Populus tremuloides American Aspen. 

., balsamifera Balsam Poplar. 

Pinus rigida Pitch Pine. 

„ strobus White „ 

Abies Canadensis Hemlock Spruce. 

„ alba White „ 

Juniperus Virginiana Bed Cedar. 


Sassafras officinale Sassafras. 

Myrica cerifera Bayberry. 

Comptonia asplenifolia Sweet Fern. 

Juniperus communis Juniper. 

Clematis Virginiana Virgin's Bower. 

Berberis communis Barberry. 

Rhus typhina Staghorn Sumac. 

,, venenata Poison ,, 

,, Toxicodendron ,, Ivy. 

Ampelopsis quinquefolia Virginian Creeper. 

Rhamnus catharticus Buckthorn. 

Spiraea tomentosa Hardhack. 

Rosa lucida Dwarf Wild Rose. 

„ Carolina Swamp Rose. 

Pyrus arbutifolia Choke Berry. 

Amelanchier Canadensis Shad Bush. 

Var. botryapium 

Hamamelis Virginica Witch Hazel. 

Cornus altemifolia Dogwood. 

Lonicera ciliata Fly Honeysuckle. 

Diervilla trifida Bush „ 

Sambucus Canadensis Common Elder. 

„ pubens Red-berried Elder. 


Viburnum nudum Withe Rod. 

„ dentatum Arrow Wood. 

„ acerifolium Maple-leaved Arrow Wood. 

,, lantanoides Wayfaring Tree. 

Cephalanthus occidentalis Button Bush. 

Gaylussacia resinosa Black Huckleberry. 

Vaccinium vacillans Low Blueberry. 

„ corymbosum Swamp „ 

Cassandra calyculata Leather Leaf. 

Andromeda ligustrina 

Clethra alnifolia White Alder. 

Kalmia latifolia Mountain Laurel. 

„ angustifolia Sheep Laurel. 

Rhodora Canadensis 

Ilex verticillata Black Alder. 

„ glabra Inkberry. 

Nemopanthes Canadensis Mountain Holly. 


Anemone nemorosa Wind Flower. 

Hepatica triloba Liver Leaf. 

Thalictrum divicum Early Meadow Rue. 

,, Cornuti Meadow Rue. 

Ranunculus bulbosus Buttercup. 

„ acris Tall Buttercup. 

Caltha palustris Marsh Marigold. 

Coptis trifolia Gold Thread. 

Aquilegia Canadensis Wild Columbine. 

Nymphsea odorata Water Lily. 

Nuphar advena Yellow Pond Lily. 

Sarracenia purpurea Side-saddle Flower. 

Dicentra cucullaria Dutchman's Breeches. 

Corydalis glauca Pale Corydalis. 

Capsella Bursa-pastoris Shepherd's Purse. 

Cakile Americana Sea Rocket. 

Viola rotundifolia Round -leaved Violet. 

„ lanceolata Lance-leaved ,, 

,, primulaefolia Primrose „ 

„ cucullata Common Blue ,, 

„ pubescens, Downy Yellow ,, 

., tricolor Heart' s-ease, Pansy. 



Helianthemum Canadense Frost Weed. 

Drosera rotundifolia Sun Dew. 

Hypericum perfoliatum Saint John's Wort. 

Arenaria peploides Sea Sand Wort. 

„ serpyllifolia Thyme-leaved Sand Wort. 

Cerastium nutans Chiekweed. 

„ arvcnse Field Chiekweed. 

Spergularia rubra Spurrey Sand Wort. 

Malva rotundifolia Common Mallow. 

Oxalis stricta Wood Sorrel. 

Geranium maculatum Wild Cranesbill. 

Geranium Robertianum Herb-Robert. 

Impatiens fulva Jewel Weed. 

Trifolium arvense Stone Clover. 

„ pra tense Red ,, 

„ repens White ,, 

Plantago major Plantain. 

„ maritimus Seaside Plantain. 

Lathyrus maritimus Beach Pea. 

Apios tuberosa Wild Bean. 

Agrimonia eupatoria Common Agrimony. 

Potentilla argentea Silvery Cinque-foil. 

„ Canadensis Common Cinque-foil. 

,, anserina Silver Weed. 

Fragaria Yirginiana Strawberry. 

Rubus strigosus Wild Red Raspberry. 

„ villosus High Blackberry. 

„ Canadensis Low ,, 

Epilobium angustifolium Great Willow-Herb. 

„ coloratum 

(Enothera biennis Evening Primrose. 

„ pumila Smooth „ 

Circsea Lutetiana 

„ alpina 

Saxifraga Virginensis Early Saxifrage. 

Cicuta maculata Spotted Cowbane. 

Aralia nudicaulis Wild Sarsaparilla. 

Cornus Canadensis Bunch Berry. 

Linnsea borealis Twin Flower. 

Mitchella repens Partridge Berry. 

Oldenlandia casrulea Bluets. 

Eupatorium perfoliatum Boneset. 


Achillea millefolium Yarrow. 

Leucanthemum vulgaiv. Ox-eye Daisy. 

Artemisia Absinthium Wormwood. 

Lappa major Burdock. 

Ciehorium intybus Succory. 

Krigia Virginica Dwarf Dandelion 

Taraxacum Dens-leonis Common Dandelion. 

Lobelia cardinalis Cardinal Flower. 

Specularia perfoliata Venus's Looking-glass. 

Vaccinium oxycoccus Small Cranberry. 

Gaultberia procumbens Creeping Wintergreen. 

Pyrola rotundifolia Round-leaved Pyrola. 

Chimaphila umbellata Prince's Pine. 

Monotropa unitlora Corpse Plant. 

„ hypopitys False Beech Drops. 

Statice Caroliniana Marsh Rosemary. 

Trientalis Americana Star Flower. 

Lysimachia stricta Loosestrife. 

,, quadrifolia 

Anagallis arvensis Pimpernel. 

Ctricularia cornuta Bladderwort. 

Verbascum thapsus Common Mullein. 

Linaria Canadensis Wild Toad-flax. 

,, vulgaris Butter and Eggs. 

Chelone glabra Snake Head. 

Mimulus ringens Monkey-Flower. 

Veronica peregrina Purselane Speedwell. 

Gerardia purpurea Purple Gerardia. 

,, flava Downy False Foxglove. 

Pedicularis Canadensis Wood Betony. 

Melampyrum Americauum Cow Wheat. 

Verbena hastata Blue Vervain. 

Mentha viridis Spearmint. 

„ piperita Peppermint. 

Nepeta Cataria Catnip. 

„ Glechoma Ground Ivy. 

Brunella vulgaris Fleal-AU. 

Leonurus Cardiaca Motherwort. 

Calystegia sepium Hedge Bindweed. 

Cuscuta Gronovii Dodder. 

Solanum Dulcamara Bittersweet. 

Kicandra physaloides Apple of Peru. 


Apocynum androssemifolium Spreading Dogbane. 

Asclepias Cornuti Milkweed. 

„ obtusifolia Wavy-leaved Milkweed. 

Phytolacca decandra Pigeon Berry. 

Urtica urens Stinging Nettle. 

Arissema triphyllum Indian Turnip. 

Symplocarpus foetidus Skunk Cabbage. 

Zostera marina Grass Wrack. 

Orchis blephariglottis Yellow-fringed Orchis. 

Spiranthes cernua Ladies 1 Tresses. 

Arethusa bulbosa 

Pogonia ophioglossoides 

Calopogon pulchellus 

Corallorhiza multiflora Coral Root. 

Cypripedium acaule Lady's Slipper. 

Iris versicolor Blue Flag. 

Sisyrinchium Burmudiana Blue-eyed Grass. 

Smilax rotundifolia Greenbrier. 

,, herbacea Carrion Flower. 

Polygonatum biflorum Solomon's Seal. 

Smilacina racemosa Soikenard. 

„ stellata .... 

„ trifolia 

,, bifolia 

Convallaria majalis Lily of the Valley. 

Clintonia borealis 

Ornithogalum umbellatum Star of Bethlehem. 

Lilium Philadelphicum Orange-red Lily. 

„ Canadense Yellow Lily. 

Erythronium Americanum Dog's-tooth Violet. 

Uvularia perfoliata Bellwort. 

,, sessilitblia 

Streptopus roseus Twisted Stalk. 

Pontederia cordata Pickerel Weed. 

Goodyera repens Rattlesnake Plantain. 


Adiantum pedatum Maidenhair. 

Asplenium Filix-foemina 

Aspidium marginale 

Osmunda regalis Flowering Fern. 

„ cinnamomea Cinnamon ,, 

Polypodium vulgare 




Something again from Rev. Mr. Higginson. In 
a narrative following the journal of his voyage, 
from which some selections have been made, he 
wrote for the information of his friends in England 
concerning the " earth of New England, and all the 
appurtenances thereof." The paragraphs contain- 
ing what he had learned of the animals and birds 
of this region are interesting. 

" For beasts, there are some bears, and they say 
some lions ; for they have been seen at Cape Ann." 
(As to the lions, they were put in the woods of the 
Cape by the imagination of some timid persons. The 
writer had been misled by hearsay.) " Also here 
are several sorts of deer, some whereof bring three 
or four young ones at once, which is not ordinary in 


England ; also wolves, foxes, beavers, otters, mar- 
tens, great wild-cats, and a great beast called a 
molke, as big as an ox." (" Molke " is probably a 
mistake of the printer for moose.') " I have seen 
the skins of all these beasts since I came to this 
Plantation excepting lions. Also here are great 
store of squirrels, some greater, and some smaller 
and lesser ; there are some of the lesser sort, they 
tell me, that by a certain skin will fly from tree to 
tree, though they stand far distant." 

" Fowls of the air are plentiful here, and of all 
sorts as we have in England, as far I can learn, and 
a great many of strange fowls, which we know not. 
Whilst I was writing these things, one of our men 
brought home an eaole which he had killed in the 
wood : they say they are good meat. Also here are 
many kinds of excellent hawks, both sea-hawks 
and land-hawks ; and myself, walking in the woods 
with another in company, sprung a partridge so big 
that through the heaviness of his body could fly but 
a little way : they that have killed them say that 
they are as big as our hens. Here are likewise 
abundance of turkeys, and exceeding fat, sweet, and 
fleshy ; for here they have abundance of feeding 
all the year long, as strawberries (in summer all 
places are full of them) and all manner of berries 
and fruits. In the winter time I have seen flocks 
of pigeons, and have eaten of them. They do fly 
from tree to tree as other birds do, which pigeons 
will not do in England. They are of all colors, as 


ours are, but their wings and tails are longer; and 
therefore it is likely the}' fly swifter to escape the 
terrible hawks in this country. In winter time 
this country doth abound with wild geese, wild 
ducks, and other sea-fowl, that the great part of 
winter the planters have eaten nothing but roast 
meat of divers fowls which they have killed." 

Of the animals mentioned by this clergyman of 
the olden time, only the red foxes, stone-martens, 
and some of the squirrels remain on the Cape. 
Long ago, the bears, moose, red deer, beavers, 
otters, wolves, and wild-cats were exterminated, or 
they retired from the increasing and spreading 
towns into the distant wilds of the north and north- 
east, where the White Hills keep ward over their 
w T oody retreats, or the upper rivulets of the Andros- 
coggin, Kennebec, and Penobscot, reflecting the 
smile of heaven, meander through their dark range 
of shelter and subsistence. The foxes in our woods, 
being so few, are scarcely a terror to the ruffed 
grouse setting on her nest of eggs, or luring her 
chickens from under-brush and shade into sunny 
spots where the footpaths intersect. The stone- 
martens, though hunted and trapped every winter 
for their valuable fur, are still numerous on the 
sea-shore, where they have safe recesses, inaccessi- 
ble hiding-places, and sinuous passages beneath the 
rocks, and where daily the constant tides bring to 
them fishes and crabs, and now and then small lob- 
sters. The red and striped squirrels in the forest, 


and near the cornfields, suddenly apprise the ram- 
bler that his coming is observed. The gray and 
flying squirrels are seldom seen. Beside these 
foxes, stone-martens, and squirrels, are two species 
of rabbits, more numerous, perhaps, than the stone- 
martens ; the larger having their burrows in rocky 
and bush-covered steeps, around morasses thickly 
overgrown with alders ; the smaller having theirs 
in the pastures, nearer the habitations of men, 
under the low branches of the dwarf white-oaks 
and the stunted yellow-pines. There are also, in 
different localities, musk-rats, weasels, moles, and 
other little quadrupeds, but not in numbers to 
occasion special remark. 

But of the birds, or of their kinds, there is no 
diminution. Mr. Higginson did not write to his 
friends in England of the birds in the new land, 
serving in use and song instead of the sky-lark, 
nightingale, robin, starling, and linnet. But his 
oversight is not more remarkable than that of 
thousands to-day. It is not certain that every sec- 
ond or fourth or eighth person, meeting and con- 
versing with his neighbor in the present time, in 
attempting to enumerate the different classes of 
land and water birds, would accomplish more than 
Mr. Higginson did. Even Dr. Palfrey, in his 
" History of New England," gives a surprisingly 
small list of birds. Hundreds of persons in every 
village or town, who know the robin, oriole, blue- 
bird, cat-bird, blue-jay, wren, song-sparrow, chip- 


ping-sparrow, crow, blackbird, and barn and chim- 
ney swallows, do not dream that these are but a small 
beginning of the list that might be made on any 
summer's day within a mile of their own homes. 
The red-eyed and the warbling vireos build their 
nests and sing their songs in the maples which 
shade their own lawns and door-steps ; but they do 
not distinguish them from other birds. They have 
not been accustomed to separating the birds into 
families, and observing the near relationship of 
some, and the wide differences of others. They 
have had no experience of the pleasure of telling a 
bird, near or distant, by his flight or his song. If 
the golden-winged woodpecker on the aged oak 
or tupelo, beyond the garden wall, makes the air 
of the spring morning ring with his many times 
quickly repeated note, they only think indiffer- 
ently, "It is the noise of some bird ; " though 
the ornithologist is lifted up from sleep or despon- 
dency by the happy sound, exclaiming delightedly, 
" It is the laughter of the golden-winged wood- 
pecker ! " and looks forth from his window eagerly 
to catch sight of his gold and scarlet adorning, and 
the crescent of jet across his breast. The Balti- 
more oriole in the elm, sounding his call like a 
gay trumpeter ; the bobolink, showering his notes 
ecstatically over field and meadow ; the wood- 
thrush, from a swelling throat pouring flute-notes 
in the shady seclusion of the hemlocks and pines ; 
and the brown thrasher, singing royally on a 


branch overstretching a thicket of aiders and bram- 
bles, — an inimitable composition, — are not in their 
minds connected with pleasant memories, and do 
not seem to them as so many friends with marked 
bnt pleasing differences, each reminding them in 
his own way of the landscapes and the joys which 
cannot be forgotten ; though the true friend and 
lover of these songsters calls over their names as 
a mother would the names of her children, in each 
name seeing an image unlike any other, in each 
name hearing a voice unlike any other, and seeing 
and hearing in all the names together a choir 
bringing to him all the pleasant summers of his by- 
gone years, and bringing to him, too, a cheering 
promise of the fairer and sweeter years, when the 
last winter shall be forever over and gone, and 
" all the worlds shall summer " in the smile of the 
Universal Father. 

The pleasure and profit of rambling on foot, of 
journeying in a carriage, or of sailing in a yacht, 
are augmented by a view of every form and aspect 
of the region traversed or compassed. Animation 
and vigor come into the mind from the landscapes 
and the skies at every point of the progress. Hill, 
wood, rock, tree, shrub, and flower on the earth, 
and fleecy clouds, clear spaces of blue, and broad 
stripes and scattered stains of gold and crimson in 
the heavens, impart something which locomotion 
solely, or journeying or voyaging as with bandages 
over the eyes, would not bring. This something is 



supplemented by the beauty and music of the birds ; 
for they are everywhere around, — in the trees, in 
the thickets, on wall, roof, rock, beach, wave, — 
in the air with motionless wings making circles, or 
with vigorous plying of wings darting from tree to 
tree, or swiftly passing from point to point. One 
is more agreeably affected in March by the glance 
of the first bluebird's wing, or by his earliest sim- 
ple notes, than he can employ words to tell. 
Later, his heart is touched by the conversation of 
the social, excited swallows on the eaves. The 
robin's song comes to his ear as freighted with a 


message from a land of perpetual summer. The 
blackbirds in the elm's lofty top, on a breezy day, 
rising and sinking with the branches, and whistling 
like the wind sweeping through the rigging of 
ships, stir him to new effort, to brave and cheerful 


renewal of exertion to fulfil the ends of life. The 
chickadees, never idle, always singing their brief, 
happy song, teach him the lesson of confidence and 
persistency. As he passes the brook's fringe of 
alders, the redstart springs from the shade, and 
alighting on a twig, unwittingly winning admi- 
ration, illustrates the success of the overtaken 
wayfarer's unexpected brilliant thought. The 
song-sparrow, near the wayside cottage on the 
top of the gate-post, or by the sea on the peak 
of a boulder, with head uplifted, and breast 
adorned with a single black spot, trembling with 
joy, sprinkles the air with clearest and brightest 
drops of melody. The titmouse, busy among the 
leaves of the maple in the wood ; the wren, guard- 
ing his little domicile in the pear-tree of the gar- 
den ; and the ruby-throated humming-bird, darting 
from flower to flower on the vines climbing the 
cottage-wall, — are minute marvels of beauty and 
activity, turning the thoughts to Him who made 
them as ever mindful of his wee and slender 
creatures, observing the least one's mishap or fall. 
The goldfinches on the thistles as truly find pro- 
vision from God's kind hand as the red-winged 
blackbirds among the reeds and flags of the 
meadow. The call of the quails in the mowing, 
in the grain, and in the pasture-cover, is associated 
with the leafy months of June and July, and with 
the ripening grasses and perfected berries of 
August ; with the perfume of red-clover blossoms, 


yellow barberry tassels, brilliantly dyed honey- 
suckles, and new-mown hay ; and with the flavor 
of strawberries, blueberries, huckleberries, rasp- 
berries, and high and low blackberries. " More 
wet ! " here and there thrown forth with force from 
their beaks, is often, during the midsummer heat, a 
fitting prayer both for themselves and human kind. 
In the period of berries, the wild pigeons visit 
our Cape in flocks. They are less numerous than 
in former years, but may be seen sometimes in con- 
siderable numbers in several of their old haunts ; 
particularly in the pines and the pasture south of 
them, between Pigeon Cove and Lanesville, within 
and around Brier Swamp, and in the wood between 
Folly Point and Lanesville one way, and tire Wil- 
lows and the Ipswich Bay shore the other. But a 
few summers ago there was, one day, a gathering 
of two thousand people in this last-named locality, 
listening to a speech concerning the political affairs 
of our nation. The speaker, General Butler, stood 
on a slight elevation in the shade of a wild cherry- 
tree. It seemed that the tree had been previously 
visited by pigeons, for its top was thickly studded 
with black cherries, and in the usual afternoon feed- 
ing time of these birds a large flock of them 
alighted in every part of the tree ; and, although 
evidently surprised to find so great a company of 
men and women on the ground beneath them, and 
to hear the general's husky voice sending forth 
sentences like rattling shot, they made no haste to 


fly away. Many minutes passed before they 
returned to their roosts in the tall white-pines of 
Brier Swamp. The picture of the quiet crowd 
listening to the orator, the many-colored costumes, 
the surrounding tall trees and the thick under- 
brush, the shining waves of Ipswich Bay discerned 
through a rift of the wood, and the wild pigeons, 
some with reddish, and some with pale-blue breasts, 
distributed throughout the cherry-tree's top, is a 
novel and exceedingly pleasant one in the memory. 
On the day following that of the gathering, from a 
cover of oaks and pines near the cherry-tree, a young 
sportsman shot fifteen of this flock of pigeons. 

Most of those who learn that in the early times the 
wild pigeons were numerous in our woods suppose 
that the name of our Hill and Cove thus naturally 
and easily enough came into use : that the former, 
when covered with wood, was first called Pigeon 
Hill ; and that then the latter, being at the foot of 
this elevation, got the name of Pigeon Cove. But 
there is a tradition which sets this supposition 
aside ; namely, that in the long ago time, when the 
Cove had no name, immense flocks of pigeons, 
coming over the sea from New Hampshire and 
Maine toward the Cape, were enveloped and over- 
whelmed by a storm, and becoming exhausted 
fell into the waves ; so that after the storm had 
ceased, large numbers of the dead birds were 
brought by the waves into the Cove, and thrown 
upon the rocks and beach. Hence the little inclen- 


tation became Pigeon Cove ; and then the height 
ascending from it Pigeon Hill. 

There is no season here without the companion- 
ship of birds. The " many-wintered crow," the 
blue-jay, the quail, the golden- winged woodpecker, 
the chickadee, the snow-bunting, the snow-bird, 
and the lesser red-poll, come into our orchards and 
about our dwellings almost every day of the se- 
verest winter. Also in the winter often appear in 
the yellow pines of Andrews' Point, and of other 
similar localities, the pine grosbeaks and the rose- 
breasted cross-bills, vigorously tearing to pieces the 
cones of the pines to get their food, and as happily 
loquacious as the English sparrows on Boston 
Common. Some of the robins stay on the Cape in 
the winter, retiring in times of extreme rigor to 
warm places in swamps and fens ; on days of bland 
airs and melting snow, coming out on the bare spots 
of ground near the village homes, seeming de- 
lighted for the few spring-like hours on the sward 
and tilth. The ruffed grouse in winter seeks the 
shelter of the cedars or hemlocks, content with his 
perch and his evergreen roof, since he is free to 
go forth to fill his crop with the buds of the black- 
birch whenever wanting them. Sometimes, after 
the snow has been falling for hours, wishing for a 
warmer place than the evergreen's top, he dives 
from his lofty branch into a hillock of light snow, 
making, in this single plunge, a hole two or three 
feet deep, in which he is as comfortable as an 


Esquimau wrapped in furs. He is seldom seen 
till in May, when the forest leaves begin to unfold, 
and " the shad-bush, white with flowers, to brighten 
the glens." In that time of returning warmth and 
expanding beauty, he attracts attention with proud 
airs and bright display of russet and mottled plu- 
mage. If the rambler is in doubt as to his where- 
abouts, his vigorous drumming in a sunny nook 
soon makes it known. This noise from his beat- 
ing wings is 

" A sound like distant thunder : slow the strokes 
At first, then fast and faster, till at length 
They pass into a murmur and are still." 

Not only the woods, pastures, orchards, gardens, 
lanes, and roadsides are haunts of birds, but also 
the marshes, beaches, islands, rocks, coves, and 
bays. The sand-peeps in flocks on the wing skim 
the shallow pools of the beach, and, rising from the 
beach for a distant flight, suddenly turn and glance 
to the sun like the leaves of a poplar when struck 
by a gust of wind. The plovers and curlews, utter- 
ing plaintive calls, fly from creek to lagoon over 
the marsh, and from the marsh to the beach. 
They follow with rapid feet the retreating waves 
down the slight descent of hard, smooth sand, and 
then returning scarcely keep out of the ripple and 
froth of the upward advancing brine. The gulls, 
some sitting lightly on the undulations of the sea, 
and others wheeling and soaring in the air, in calm 
and storm are equally out of danger. They laugh 


while the tempest blows. Their peace and safety 
are the same, whether they sail with the wind, 
or make way against it ; settle to the still water 
within the wall of the harbor, or to the white- 
capped waves of the troubled sea. Hundreds of 
the smaller gulls, or sea-swallows, fly about the 
islands and the lonely rocks off the Cape, filling 
the air with their piercing screams. They gather 
on the cliffs, which rise bare and gray out of the 
ocean, like parti-colored doves on the roofs of 
barns. On the coming of a boat toward their sea- 
girt retreat, they rise like a cloud, making vehement 
protestations against the intrusion. Though they 
have lofty battlements and bartizans, their best 
and most powerful resistance is their anxious and 
mournful cry, their confession of weakness and 

In the spring flying northward, and in the 
autumn southward, the water-fowls pass our Cape 
by thousands, — some by the way of Squam River, 
the larger number around the whole distance of 
the indented shore. Stopping to rest and feed 
awhile in Ipswich Bay, large numbers of gray coots, 
white- winged coots, sheldrakes, black- clucks, and 
brant, near Ipswich Beach and Plum Island, gather 
into one mass, covering a broad expanse of waves. 
Yachters and fowlers sailing toward the raft of 
birds, seeing their lively motions, and hearing 
their quacking and whistling, like the wild noises 
of a storm, grow eager and excited. As the yacht 


approaches the birds, they begin to rise into the 
air by scores and fifties and hundreds. The sports- 
men, then, with double-barrelled guns, bring many 
of them down, and with dip-nets secure them, 
while sailing on to repeat over and over the same 

When a breeze freshens, or the north-west or 
east wind sweeps the Bay, small and large flocks 
one by one break off from the great mass, continu- 
ing their long journey. In September and October, 
passing Halibut Point, Andrews' Point, the Sal- 
vages, Gap Head, and Straitsmouth Island, the 
birds are shot by fowlers waiting for them in dories, 
and behind cliffs and boulders. 

One golden autumnal day, Dick, the Welshman, 
on a cliff waiting for birds, had had no luck, and 
so under the shelter of a rock fell asleep. And 
sleeping he dreamed of his excellent position, and 
yet of watching for birds hour by hour in vain ; 
of seeing them either too high overhead, or too far 
out from shore. At length there came a change. 
He saw flock after flock just above the waves, com- 
ing directly to pass his resting-place. This was too 
much for deep repose. He grasped his gun, which 
lay by his side, and springing upon his feet dis- 
charged it ; but at random, and only to arouse him- 
self from his dream, and to discover how near to the 
edge of the cliff above the roaring sea he stood ; 
and to behold the swift flight of a flock of white- 
winged coots from immediately under his astonished 


Upon the verge of winter, southward, and in 
early spring, northward, flocks of wild geese, 
slowly beating their wings and making a great 
din, pass over our Cape. In most instances they 
are high in air. Sometimes, however, they are so 
weary and borne down with weight of ice and 
snow on their wings, as to seek shelter and rest in 
Squam River or Cape Pond. Once a flock of wild 
geese, thus tired and heavily burdened, having 
dropped at night into this latter water, by morning 
were held fast by the rapidly forming ice, and so 
were easily captured by some sportsmen who had 
witnessed their descent. 

" The migration of birds," . . . one says with 
becoming reverence and modesty, ... "I know not 
how to give an account of it, it is so strange and 
admirable." Who else of all the thousands of 
thinking men could speak of this thing so hidden 
in mystery more wisely ? William Cullen Bry- 
ant's lines " To a Water-fowl" reveal how much 
nearer the poet gets toward it than any one de- 
pending solely on the guidance of what is called 
positive science : — 

"Whither, midst falling dew, 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
Ear through their rosy depths dost thou pursue 
Thy solitary way 1 

Vainly the fowler's eye 
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, 

Thy figure floats along. 


Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 
Or where the rocking bidows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean side ? 

There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — 
The desert and illimitable air, — 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned, 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end ; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, 
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend, 

Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet on my heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 

And shall not soon depart. 

He who, from zone to zone, 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 
In the long way that I must tread alone, 

Will lead my steps aright." 

This discursive talk of the birds of our Cape 
should be followed by a list of birds, and a list of 
birds' eggs, kindly furnished by Mr. G. P. Whit- 
man, of Rockport. In intervals of relief from 
business, this gentleman attains the highest and 
happiest end of diversion. His collection is the 
result of but two years' occasional searching, and 


is numbered according to the list of the Smith- 
sonian Institution : — 


Duck Hawk. 

Snowy Owl. 

Golden-winged Woodpecker. 


Yellow Warbler. 


Scarlet Tanager. 


Common Crow. 

Semi-palmated Plover. 

Piping Plover. 

Black-bellied Plover. 


Red-breasted Snipe. 


Purple Sandpiper. 

Least Sandpiper. 

Semi-palmated Sandpiper. 



Stone Snipe. 

Spotted Sandpiper. 

Long-billed Curlew. 

Canada Goose. 



Black Duck. 


Blue-winged Teal. 



Harlequin Duck. 


Velvet Duck. 

Surf Duck. 

Eider Duck. 

King Eider. 


Red-breasted Merganser. 

Loon, or Great Northern Diver. 

Red-throated Diver. 


Foolish Guillemot. 

Herring Gull. 

Kittiwake Gull. 

Arctic Tern, or Sea-swallow. 

Razor-billed Auk. 

Sea Dove. 

Loggerheaded Shrike. 

Lesser Red-poll. 


Pigeon Hawk. 
Sparrow Hawk. 
Cooper's Hawk. 
Sharp-shinned Hawk. 
Red-shouldered Hawk. 
Broad-winged Hawk. 
Rough-legged Hawk. 

Black Hawk. 
Marsh Hawk. 
Golden Eagle. 
Bald Eagle. 
Fish Hawk. 
Great Horned Owl. 
Mottled Owl. 



Saw-whet Owl. 

Downy Woodpecker. 

Red-headed Woodpecker. 

Ruby-throated Humming-bird. 

Chimney Swallow. 


Belted Kingfisher. 

King Bird. 

Wood Thrush. 



Ruby-crowned Wren. 

Maryland Yellow-throat. 

Golden-winged Warbler. 

Pine-creeping Warbler. 

Yellow-throated Warbler. 

Green Black-cap Flycatcher. 

Barn Swallow. 

Cliff Swallow. 

White-bellied Swallow. 

Bank Swallow. 

Great Northern Shrike. 

Warbling Flycatcher. 


Brown Thrush. 

Long billed Marsh Wren. 

Winter Wren. 

Red-bellied Nuthatch. 

Black-capped Titmouse. 

Shore Lark. 

Purple Finch. 

Black- throated Bunting. 

Rose-breasted Grosbeak. 


Swamp Blackbird. 

Orchard Oriole. 

Crow Blackbird. 

Blue Jay. 

W T ild Pigeon. 

Ruffed Grouse. 

Great Blue Heron. 


Blue Heron. 

Night Heron. 

Golden Plover. 



Summer Duck. 


Surf Duck. 

Yellow -bird. 

Pine Finch. 

Red Cross-bill. 

Snow Bunting 

Grass Finch. 

Seaside Finch. 


Field Sparrow. 

Chipping Sparrow. 

Song Sparrow. 


Wilson's Phalarope. 

Red Phalarope. 


English Snipe. 

Red-backed Sandpiper. 

Jack Snipe. 


Hudsonian Curlew. 

Esquimau Curlew. 

Common Rail. 

White-fronted Goose. 

Green-winged Teal. 



Hooded Merganser. 

Common Gannet. 

Double-crested Cormorant. 

Wilson's Stormy Petrel. 

Leach's Petrel. 

Sooty Shearwater. 

Puffin, or Labrador Auk. 


Glaucous Gull. Laughing Gull. 

Great Black-backed Gull. Pomarine Skua. 

Arctic Skua. 


Cooper's Hawk. Field Sparrow. 

Yellow-billed Cuckoo. Indigo-bird. 

Black-billed Cuckoo. Bobolink. 

Golden-winged Woodpecker. Cow-bird. 

Chimney Swallow. Orchard Oriole. 

King-bird. Baltimore Oriole. 

Pewee. Crow Blackbird. 

Least Flycatcher. Common Crow. 

Wilson's Thrush. Blue Jay. 

Maryland Yellow-throat. Quail. 

Golden-winged Warbler. Night Heron. 

Redstart. Semi-palmated Plover. 

Barn Swallow. Piping Plover. 

Cedar-bird. Least Sandpiper. 

Cat-bird. Least Tern. 

Brown Thrash. Arctic Tern. 

Purple Finch. Roseate Tern. 

Iii remarks, Mr. Whitman says : " Dr. Samuels 
speaks of the turnstone as seldom seen in number 
more than two or three. But Mr. H. W. Woods 
and myself have seen flocks of twenty-five and 
thirty on Milk Island and elsewhere. They are 
very common here in the spring and in the fall." 
Referring to the list of eggs : " This is my list of 
eggs found on Cape Ann. There are many birds, 
beside, accustomed to breeding here. I have in 
my collection of eggs, obtained both here and else- 
where, one hundred and thirty-two kinds." 




Since the whole Cape is composed of granite 
hills and ledges, streaked with trap, blotched with 
porphyry and quartz, and overstrewn with boul- 
ders, the mineralogists have here a rare field. 
They pierce and rive the huge and grand forms, to 
obtain the more precious minute ones within them. 
They get the purest quartz crystals from the solid 
heart of the quarry, and moon-stones from narrow 
crevices downward thirty feet from the top of the 
ledge. They have found on the Cape specimens 
of more than thirty classes of minerals, three of 
which have been discovered nowhere else. Incited 


by the ever visible hints of the various substances 
which are secreted in the ledges, blocks of granite, 
and boulders and pebbles around them, they 
advance from the first steps of their study and 
search, until by means of correspondence and 
exchange they bring together specimens of min- 
erals from all parts of the earth. 

There are two valuable private cabinets of min- 
erals in our own town. One of these, containing 
over two thousand specimens, belongs to Dr. 
Edward Barden, son of the late Rev. Stillman Bar- 
den ; the other, containing thirteen hundred speci- 
mens, is the property of Mr. William J. Knowlton. 

Mr. Barden, while faithful in the sphere of cleri- 
cal duty, added to his fund of inward wealth, and 
extended the range of his usefulness, by walking 
forth frequently in close companionship with Na- 
ture, finding sermons of deep meaning and brilliant 
expression in her stones. 

Young men looking for employment and pleasure 
above the plane of idleness and frivolity, following 
the lessons and example of this enthusiastic clergy- 
man, rising every year in the ascending road of 
science, soon ascertained such employment and 
pleasure to have been always nearer to them than 
they had supposed. 

Mr. Knowlton has been to the pains of furnishing, 
for the gratification of such as are interested in 
mineralogy, the following 





White Feldspar Crystals. 

Green Feldspar Crystals (supe- 
rior to any found in this coun- 

Albite Crystals. 



Smoky Quartz Crystals (very 
black, and closely resembling 
the St. Cothard specimens). 

Blue Quartz. 



Green and Purple Chlorophane. 

Zinc Blende. 

Spathic Iron. 

Granular Magnetic Iron. 


_ ^ .', > In boulders. 
Staurotide. ) 

Spinel Ruby. 







New to science, 
and found only 
in this locality/ 









These remind 
us of the min- 
erals of Nor- 
way and Swe- 




A spring of Chalybeate Water was discovered 
near the termination of Andrews' Point in the sum- 
mer of 1872. The following is the State Assayer's 
testimony as to its composition and qualities : — 

State Assayer's Office, 
Boston, Sept. 5, 1872. 
I have made a chemical analysis of the water from the Springs 
at Ocean View, Pigeon Cove, Mass., and find that one imperial 
gallon (ten pounds of it) yields one hundred and twenty-eight grains 
of solid matters, of which the most important is Oxide of Iron, 
which exists as a Carbonate, and Sulphate of Iron. 

The Oxide of Iron in a gallon of water weighs twenty-four 
grains. The other matters are Sulphate of Soda, Chlorides of 
Sodium and Caicium. The water is a true Chalybeate Mineral 
Water, having decided tonic properties. 

C. T. Jackson, M.D., 
State Assatjer. 





The wonders of the sea are beyond computation. 
At whatever point approached, they more and 
more unveil to the vision. Though the curious, 
searching for them, never look farther over the 
lowest tide-line than they can see, they walk to 
and fro on the granite stairs slanting into the 
ocean as on the border of a broad demesne 
of forest, pasture, field, and garden, adorned 
with all manner of vegetation, from minute and 
delicate plants, rivalling the most frail and tender 
flowers on the land, to the rankest and tallest 
growths, swayed by the tides, as are the trees and 
shrubs on the hillsides by the winds ; and stocked 
with creatures innumerable, some of which roam 
about in quest of food, selecting from time to time 
new places of rest, others abiding throughout their 
lifetime on the same spots, thousands of them 
clinging to the sides of rocks, thousands dwelling 
within shallow basins on the shore, thousands 
inhabiting deep and shadowy dens a little removed 
from the shore. 


A few seals occasionally show themselves near 
the terminal points of the Cape, but oftener near 
the mouth of Squam River. Their round heads 
just appearing above the waves, and, on attract- 
ing attention, suddenly sinking out of sight, are 
almost the only signs of the presence of these inter- 
esting animals. 

The Crustacea upon and near our coast are 
various and numerous. The lobsters, generally, 
are two or three hundred yards from low-water 
mark. At this distance from the shore the traps 
for catching them are set. Some of them come so 
near to the shore as to be occasionally caught by 
persons fishing for cunners with hook and line. 
Frequently very small lobsters find their way, or 
are thrown by the waves, into the hollows of the 
shelving shore. These cavities are filled with 
water, and cushioned and lined with mosses. The 
diminutive lobsters, together with crabs, blue- 
shelled clams, innumerable mussels and barnacles, 
in these superbly furnished and painted places 
of abode, make a happy or an amusing family. 
Often the rambler is arrested by the beautiful 
exhibition of a natural aquarium. On him is not 
put the care of keejring it in good condition, or of 
bringing it daily new supplies of water : the un- 
failing and unvarying tides fulfil the need. The 
hollow in the sloping granite, more ancient than 
any habitation of man, with appointments and 
decorations which the hand of man but poorly 


imitates, is the palace of these mailed and blazoned 
little creatures. And the rambler peers into it, — 
into every apartment of it, into every corner of it, 
— while with hand or cane he parts the gold and 
amber curtains, or lifts the green and purple screens, 
to favor his curiosity to the utmost : all this he 
does without encountering opposition, or the frown 
and " Begone ! " of offended exclusiveness. " Don't 
destroy us, don't molest us with rude hands," say 
the innocent inmates of the many-roomed and 
gorgeously adorned abode ; " but look upon and 
learn of us to your heart's satisfaction and con- 
tent. Occupy all the time you desire in attaining 
a knowledge of our forms and our modes of life, 
our employments and pleasures, our customs and 

Many persons on the Cape have for years added 
largely to the pleasure and profit of life in the 
common employments, by studying and gathering 
specimens of the plants and mosses of the sea. 
Most of these persons are ladies. They have 
visited repeatedly every point, cove, and beach of 
the Cape, and every island and sea-girt rock near 
its shore, to obtain for their books the surprising 
variety of mosses which in every storm the waves 
cast upon rock and sand within their reach. This 
brief allusion to their diversion and study is scarcely 
a hint of the greatness of their work. Looking 
over, from the beginning to the end of their books, 
their splendid collections, the dullest person would 


catch something of the inspiration rendered in 
these lines "On a Book of Sea-mosses," by James 
T. Fields : — 

" These many-colored, variegated forms 
Sail to our rougher shores, and rise and fall 
To the deep music of the Atlantic wave. 
Such spoils we capture where the rainbows drop, 
Melting in Ocean. Here are broideries strange, 
Wrought by the sea nymphs from their golden hair, 
And wove by moonlight. Gently turn the leaf. 
From narrow cells, scooped in the rocks, we take 
These fairy textures lightly moored at morn. 
Down sunny slopes outstretching to the deep, 
We roam at noon, and gather shapes like these. 
Note now the painted webs from verdurous isles, 
Festooned and spangled in sea-caves, and say 
What hues of land can rival tints like those 
Torn from the scarfs and gonfalons of kings 
Who dwell beneath the waters ? " 

Mrs. Maria H. Bray, of West Gloucester, cheer- 
fully responding to an invitation to do so, fur- 
nishes the following paragraphs concerning the 
sea-animals and the sea-mosses which have at- 
tracted her attention from time to time. 

" The shores of Pigeon Cove, Rockport, and 
Thatcher's Island, offer to the seaside naturalist 
many curious and interesting forms of plant and 
animal life, — among which are to be found a large 
variety of algae, a vast order of plants known as 
flowerless ; 4 but only so,' says Prof. J. L. Russell, 
4 because the organs, which are large and promi- 
nent in most other plants, are in these rudimentary 


and minute, requiring the most patient research 
with the microscope to detect them.' 

" Yet notwithstanding the difficulty of finding 
the floral parts of these so-called flowerless plants, 
there are portions of the sea-weeds which have, at 
certain seasons of the year, little bodies containing 
definitely formed granules which answer for seed ; 
and on these characters, varying in each genus, the 
study and the arrangement of the several species 
to a great degree depend. 

" The sea-weeds have no roots. Many float upon 
the surface of the ocean ; and others, firmly affixed 
to the bottom, or to stones and shells, are only 
anchored for security ; their nourishment being 
derived from the atmosphere and from the water 
in which they are periodically or continually im- 

" Once these plants, the number of kinds it would 
be impossible to definitely state, were considered 
of no value ; but, in later days, intelligent inquiry 
and patient scientific research have unfolded their 
great value. They have both medicinal and fer- 
tilizing properties. 

" Growing in great luxuriance in all the tide-pools, 
and upon all the rocks that are submerged by 
every incoming tide, is the Cliondrus erispus;ov the 
Carrageen moss. Its tough, forked fronds are of a 
dark brown, some of them a lovely crimson ; others, 
especially under water, iridescent. It is sometimes 
called Irish, and sometimes Iceland, Moss. It is 


highly esteemed for its edible and nutritious prop- 
erties. The name Carrageen arises from the fact 
that these properties were first demonstrated in 
Carrageen, Ireland. During the months of July 
and August a large amount of this moss is thrown 
upon the shore, where in rain and sun it becomes 
bleached and fit for use. 

" In the tide-pools — many of them, particularly 
about Thatcher's Island, curious natural aquariums 
— the botanist can study and admire a great many 
species of algae. After one of the north-east 
storms, so frequent on this coast during the spring 
and autumn, he will be well repaid for clambering 
over rocks and wacling through pools along the 
shore searching for them. In this way choice col- 
lections of sea-mosses have been secured. Some- 
times one finds among our own northern mosses 
a southern habitat, brought hither by winds and 

" A common alga, and one of the most beautiful, 
is the Ptilota serrata. It is found in every season. 
It is usually of a deep reel. Its strong, tough 
fronds make it a desirable variety to arrange in 
baskets or in shells. It is easily raised from the 
paper on which it has been floated out. 

" Another attractive alga, much sought after for 
the herbarium, the Callithamnion Amcricanum, is 
found here. 

" The Desmarestia aculeata is abundant at Lob- 
lolly Cove. The name is from Desmarest, the 


French botanist. It is a pretty alga. In the young 
state its branches are covered with very delicate 
green filaments. Older branches lose these, and 
become spiny and hard. The finest specimens are 
obtained during the late winter months and in the 
early spring. 

" The Desmarestia beridis is also found in the 
same locality. This has all the branches ar- 
ranged in pairs, and lacks the fine, soft filaments 
of the Desmarestia aculeata. 

" Beautiful specimens of Ptilota elegans are ob- 
tained at Thatcher's Island. It grows upon some 
of the large rocks. It is generally concealed from 
view by a heavy growth of Fuci. The deep chasm 
near the North Tower is one of the best places for 
collectors searching for this alga particularly. 

" Another curious and interesting specimen, al- 
ways found after a storm among the huge Lami- 
7iaria, is the Sea Colonder (Agarum Turner i). Its 
fronds are thin and tender, and pierced with 
numerous holes. ' It grows when undisturbed,' 
says Prof. J. L. Russell, 4 at the depth of ten 
fathoms of water. To find its seeds, one must 
select the old and battered specimens cast up in 
early winter, in the thickened portions of which 
they form dark-colored patches.' 

" In the Delesseria order, named for Benjamin 
Delessert, the French naturalist, a favorite variety 
is the D. sinuosa. Its fronds are often varied in 
color. Perfect specimens of this alga are found in 


almost any of the tide-pools. It is found also in 
spring and autumn on the beaches. ' The fruit,' 
says Prof. Eaton, ' is not very common. Like 
all other red algae, the fruit is of two kinds and 
always on separate plants.' 

" The Cladophora areta and the Ulva latissima 
are two fine varieties. The latter is a bright 
green, growing plentifully on the rocks of Straits- 
mouth and Thatcher's Islands. Lightfoot says that 
in the Scottish Highlands it is bound about the 
temples in fevers, and is thought to induce sleep ; 
and in the Western Isles it is stewed with pepper, 
vinegar, and onions as a dish for dinner. 

" The large family of Polysiphonia, of many forms 
and sizes, is well represented along the coast. 
The Greek name signifies ' many tubes.' Several 
varieties of this family, and also the Rhodomela 
subfusca, Euthora cristata, Ceramium rubrum, 
Rhodymenia palmata, together with many other 
named and unnamed algae, have their habitat in 
some of the natural aquariums and tide-pools, or 
after a storm they drift to the shore from their 
homes beneath the billows to reward the naturalist 
for his labors. 

" Several forms of zoophytes are found at Thatch- 
er's Island, and in some localities near Rockport 
and Pigeon Cove. The name implies animal and 
plant in one. Some of the varieties partake so 
largely of the plant life in structure and growth 
that they are often classed with the algae. 


" The polyps known as the sea-anemones are of 
the most beautiful of the zoophyte family. Fine 
specimens are found on the water-side of or under 
the large boulders over which the tide daily rises 
near the Western Head of Thatcher's Island. They 
are also found in some of the crevices of Loblolly 
Cove. They are of various colors : some are pale- 
yellow, and others dark-brown, orange, and pure 

" Prof. Verrill, in the ' Sea-Side ' number of ' The 
American Naturalist ' for 1868, writes thus of the 
sea-anemone : ' It makes a very pleasing pet in 
confinement, and, if allowed plenty of room and 
fresh sea-water, will expand almost constantly. It 
feeds readily upon the flesh of all sorts of shell- 
fish, and will not refuse bits of raw beef. And, if 
necessity compels, it will live for months or even a 
year without food ; but, curiously enough, it will 
continually grow smaller and smaller, so that a 
specimen at first five or six inches high, and two in 
diameter, may thus be reduced to the height of an 
inch and the diameter of less than half an inch, the 
number of tentacles and chambers being proportion- 
ately reduced. In the confinement of an aquarium, 
or even in a jar or bowl of sea-water, one of these 
marvels will soon make itself at home, and, fixing 
itself on one side of the vessel by its base, will 
expand its feathery plume of tentacles day after 
day in search of tiny prey ; and woe to the unlucky 
creature, be it animalcule, shell-fish, shrimp, or fish, 


that comes in contact with its crown of gorgon 
tentacles armed with myriads of poison-darts, 
deadly to all creatures destined to be its prey. 
When fully expanded, this species has a very 
graceful form, which cannot fail to please any one 
who has a taste for the symmetry and beauty of 
natural objects.' 

" Jelly-fishes, star-fishes, sea-urchins, and snails 
are on the shores without number. The last 
named (Littorina pallata) are alwaj^s found on 
the wet rocks and moist sea-weed, about the size 
of large peas, of color dark-brown, and sometimes 
yellow. The cockle (Purpura capilus) is much 
larger than the snail. Its shell is thick and strong. 
The colors are white, yellow, and brown ; and some 
of the shells are beautiful, banded with all these 
hues. The cockle is said to be the species from 
which the celebrated Tyrian purple was obtained. 
In using it for bait when fishing for dinners, the 
fingers become stained with purple. 

" Several of the Mytilidce, or Mussel family, have 
their home among the sea-rocks. The large variety, 
called the horse-mussel, is always an object of 
interest to the naturalist. 

" Razor-clams, lobsters, several species of crabs, 
are natives of our shores. The most remarkable 
member of the crab family is the hermit or soldier 
crab. It is called the soldier-crab because of its 
pugnacious and belligerent characteristics. Prof. 
E. S. Morse gives the following description of 
this animal: — 


' The hermit-crab, like other members of the 
class Crustacea, increases in size through a process 
called "moulting." The hardened crust outside 
does not grow : it is only a hardened skin, as it 
were. Now as the body within increases in size, 
the outside shell must be thrown off. This throw- 
ing off of the outside crust is called "moulting," 
and takes place at certain times. 

4 Our hermit-crab has still another stage to go 
through after moulting ; for, when this process has 
taken place, it finds its coiled shell too small for it, 
and must go back on that tiresome search called 
" house-hunting." Back and forth it travels on the 
beach. Here it meets one altogether too large ; 
and an amusing sight it is to see it drag its soft 
and helpless tail from the shell to try another to 
see if it fits. Sometimes it meets with a shell that 
is apparently just the thing, but unluckily it is 
already occupied by a brother hermit ; and so, 
without any apologies, it proceeds by force to eject 
its tenant. A fight ensues, and oftentimes ends in 
the ejectment and mutilation of the occupant.' 

" In this brief sketch of the marine forms of plant 
and animal life, I have omitted to mention many 
other interesting species, which the naturalist will 
do well to look for, and so secure a large variety 
of specimens, both for the cabinet and the aqua- 



Thus the regions of land and sea around Pigeon 
Cove have been partly surveyed. Readers at a 
distance, unused to the peculiar aspects and changes 
of these regions, need not think they have been 
described in the strain of exaggeration. Those 
who have lived longest on our promontory bear 
within their minds the most numerous and the deep- 
est impressions of the marvels connected with it. 
The far-away-inland dwellers, among the moun- 
tains and on the prairies, would find here the most 
glowing and enthusiastic descriptions more than 
confirmed. " It is salt," said the Indian preacher 
who had come from the north side of Lake Erie to 
see his brethren in Christian faith near the Atlan- 
tic, and to see the Atlantic too. He had not 
doubted what he had heard and read of the salt- 
ness of the sea, but he wanted the certainty of a 
taste of it. Standing on the rocks and looking 
into the sea, he expressed surprise and admiration, 
the water was so clear. Scooping a little of it 
with his hollowed hand, and tasting it, " It is salt," 
he said ; and his countenance brightened. As to 
this one thing he had not been deceived. Nor had 
he been deceived as to many, many wonders of the 
ocean. For every curious and marvellous tale ; for 
every Indian tradition, legend, and myth which he 
had to tell, he soon learned that he could get in 


return many a pleasing surprise, many a mysterious, 
impressive lesson. At Overlook, on an evening in 
autumn, to a group of listeners seated before a 
glowing grate, he sang some of the hymns of the 
Delawares, playing on the piano his own accom- 
paniments. He also repeated a series of myths. 
These were alive with the spirit of poetry, and 
brilliant with the colors of the imagination. So 
well did he relate his Pagan fictions, that to those 
who heard them the high-wrought recitals of Long- 
fellow's Indian epic will no longer seem overdone. 
Afterwards, at the seaside, it was his turn to be 
entertained. Here, indeed, he was .drawn by the 
new flavor and odor of brine, the splendor of 
countless waves, and the ceaseless rote of the 
beating surf, into a boundless realm of wonder and 

The Indian visitor's word often comes to mind. 
The sea is salt. Moreover, it never loses its savor. 
It is the same year after year, — a conservator of 
the world's life and vigor; and, through innum- 
erable forms and mutations, a minister of blessing 
to the minds and hearts of men. 

" The world is too much with us ; late and soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers : 
Little we see in Nature that is ours ; 
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! 
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon ; 
The winds that will be howling at all hours, 
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers : 
For this, for every thing, we are out of tune ; 


It moves us not. Great God ! I'd rather be 
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn ; 
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn." 

Jrnm* ... 

Cambridge: Press of John Wilson and Son.