The Artists’ Cruise.
About the first of August, 1840, an excursion was set on foot, by five young men of Boston, for recreation and amusement—one full of interest and excitement, conducive equally to health and pleasure. The plan was this—to embark in a small pleasure-boat called the Phantom, built and owned by one of the company, who was also well skilled in nautical affairs, and proceed by easy distances along the coast as far “down East” as time or inclination would admit—letting the events and adventures of the day determine the movements of the next.
The company consisted of young artists—lovers of nature—ready to appreciate all the new and beautiful points that might meet the eye. The boat was hauled up at Phillip’s beach, Lynn, to which place the party proceeded, and fitted her out with all the conveniences and comforts proper for the cruise. Everything being ready, they sailed on the first of the week, with a fair southwest wind, passed Marblehead and Salem gaily, and stretched onward for Cape Ann. As night came on they were becalmed, but it was very clear, and the moon shone gloriously, as they moved, creeping lazily along, catching a slight puff at intervals. The musical portion of the company contrived to make the time pass pleasantly away in singing certain old airs which chimed in with the feeling and situation of the company. At last the breeze came again, and about ten at night they found themselves in the little cove before the quiet town of Gloucester. Here they cast anchor; and so much pleased were they, that they stayed the next day and enjoyed the pleasure of a ramble along the rocky shores, fishing for perch, &c. They found an excellent host at the Gloucester hotel, where they passed the next night. I cannot do better than to tell the rest of the story in the words of these adventurers.
“With a bright sun, a fresh breeze, and a calm sea, we left Gloucester and shaped our course around Cape Ann for the Isles of Shoals, a group which lie at the farther extremity of Ipswich bay, across which we merrily steered, embracing the opportunity of initiating the inexperienced in the duties of amateur seamanship. In a few hours we ran in between the rocky isles, which, as we gradually neared them, seemed to rise from out the waves. Anchoring in the midst of a fleet of fishing boats, we prepared our supper, which was soon despatched with much mirth, owing to the primitive simplicity of our arrangements. We passed the night at our anchorage, after witnessing the effect of a magnificent thunder-storm, and spent the morning in strolling among the rocks along the shore, and amusing ourselves with the characteristic traits of the islanders whom we met; their isolated position, and constant devotion to the single occupation of catching and curing fish, appearing to interpose a bar to their advancement in any other qualification. From the Isles of Shoals we had the next day a fair run to Wood Island, and anchored in Winter harbor, near the mouth of Saco river—a place of considerable importance at the time of the last war, owing to the exertions of an enterprising merchant by the name of Cutts. During the war the British entered the harbor and wantonly sawed through the keel of three of the largest class of merchant vessels, then in progress of building, and whose remains are still to be seen. We had plenty of fowling, fishing, and sporting apparatus, and we here had ample opportunity for exercising our skill as sportsmen—plover, curlew, sand-birds, &c. being abundant. In this manner we passed the time until the afternoon of the next day, when we left for Portland.
“Favored with a fine breeze, we dashed merrily over the waves, which had now begun to be tipped with foam, and, under the influence of the freshening wind, had assumed a size that, in comparison with our miniature bark, might have been termed mountain-high; but there was no danger, for our craft was as buoyant on the sea as one of its own bubbles. The weather had gradually been growing “dirty,” as seamen call it, and we raced into the harbor of Portland with a small squadron of coasting vessels, all crowding for shelter. The wind during the night blew a gale from the southeast, which however did not prevent us from sleeping soundly. Our appetites having assumed a remarkable punctuality since leaving Boston, reminded us early of breakfast, and, in spite of wind and rain, we resolved upon cooking a quantity of birds shot the day previous. Having formed an imperfect shelter by means of a spare sail, a fire was kindled, coffee made, birds broiled, and our meal concluded amid a rain so drenching as to be quite a curiosity in its way. Each person bent over his dish to prevent the food being fairly washed away, and covered his mug of coffee to avoid excessive dilution, and used many other notable expedients suited to the occasion, which will certainly not be forgotten if never again practised. It was most emphatically a washing-day with us, though not accompanied with the ill-humor generally reputed to exist upon those occasions.
“The storm and its effects being over, we received a visit from the proprietors of the elegant pleasure-boat, Water Lily, who very kindly invited us to accompany them to Diamond cove, a romantic spot in one of the many beautiful islands that so thickly stud Casco bay—a place much frequented by parties of pleasure from the city of Portland. We left the harbor with a fine breeze, our pennants streaming gallantly. We were soon upon the fishing-grounds, anchored, and for a moment all was bustle and excitement, each hoping to be the first to pull a ‘mammoth’ from the deep. Success crowned our efforts, and a boat was despatched with the treasure to the cove, to be there converted into a savory chowder; while we again anchored near the rocks of one of the smaller islands, where fortune favored us, and we soon had a goodly store of perch for the fry.
“The sun was just sinking as we entered the cove, and the gray shadows of twilight were fast gathering under the grove of fine old oaks that crowned the shore. Soon the woods resounded with the shouts and merry laughter of the party. Misty twilight yielded to the brilliant rays of the full moon, which, streaming through the openings of the forest, touched here and there, lighting up the picturesque and moss-grown trunks with almost magical effect. The word was given, and each one searched for his armful of brush to light us at our feast, and soon it crackled and blazed away, lighting up a scene almost beyond description. The party numbered about fifteen or twenty, including the Phantom’s crew, and were scattered about in all the various groups and postures that inclination or fancy might suggest, each with his plate and spoon, or for the want of them a clam-shell and box-cover, doing such justice to the feast as an appetite sharpened by fasting, salubrious sea-breeze and wholesome exercise would induce. Not the least important feature of the scene was the picturesque costume assumed by our “Phantoms;” it consisting of white pants, Guernsey frocks, belts, knives, and small Greek caps tight to the head. Above us hung the blest canopy of glowing foliage thrown out from those old oaks; each mass, each leaf was touched and pencilled with a vivid line of light, whose brightness might compare with that of sparkling gems. The more distant groups were relieved from the dim and shadowy background by a subdued and broad half-light. Fainter and fainter grew the light, till all was lost in the deep and gloomy shadows of the forest.
“Amid this fairy-like scenery all was mirth, jollity, fun, and frolic; not a moment passed unenjoyed. At ten o’clock our party broke up, and we returned to our boats. We here parted with our kind friends, who were soon on their way to Portland. We seized our flutes, and breathed forth a farewell with all the pathos we were masters of. This was soon answered by a smart salute from a cannon, which awoke the echoes of the cove. Three cheers were given and returned, and all was still.
“The next was a beautiful day, and it being Sunday, we remained at anchor in the cove, enjoying the silence and repose of nature in that lovely and sequestered spot. The succeeding morning being fine, we started with a light southerly wind, which carried us slowly along among the islands of Casco, and gave us a fine opportunity to observe all their beauties. The scene was continually changing—new islands opening upon us almost every moment. Before evening we had made the little harbor called Small Point, where we remained that night. The succeeding day we doubled cape Small Point and made the mouth of the Kennebec, which we entered with a fine breeze, that carried us briskly up to Bath, where we spent the remainder of the day. Having taken a pilot, we continued up the river with a fair wind and tide, which took us as far as Hallowell. Considerable curiosity was here excited, in consequence of our having come so far in so small a boat, it being thought a rather hazardous enterprise. In the morning a council was held, and we determined to return; accordingly this and the succeeding day were spent in getting back to Bath. We did but little more than float with the tide, in consequence of its being so calm. The scenery of the Kennebec has been so often and minutely described, that it is best to pass over it without comment.
At Bath we were treated with all the attention and kindness we could wish for. The succeeding day we beat down the river, and doubled the point, encountering a head sea, which tossed us about, to the great detriment of our culinary apparatus. We again anchored and passed the night at Small Point. We proceeded the next day, by a difficult and somewhat dangerous channel, between ledges and islands as far as Haskell’s Island, and anchored in the cove. Continuing our course the next day, we stopped at Portland, saw our friends of the Water Lily, and proceeded as far as Winter harbor, where we arrived at twelve o’clock at night. We continued here a day to take advantage of the fine shooting, and had very good luck. We went as far the next day as York, where we anchored, cooked our birds, and, with the help of good appetites, made a glorious supper.
“Leaving the town of Old York, we rowed slowly out of the small river which forms its harbor, accompanied by numerous fishing-boats, which came in the evening previous. It was a dead calm, and continued so about two hours. The time passed however without the usual tedium attendant upon the want of wind, it being employed in the preparation and discussion of a hearty breakfast. The wind came at last, a light breeze and ahead, and we soon exchanged the swinging and rolling motion of the glassy ground-swell for the regular rise and fall and cheerful dash of the ripple against the bow, and the music of the breaking bubbles as they whirled away in the wake. With all our canvass set, we stretched slowly along the narrow coast of New Hampshire.
“Passing the harbor of Portsmouth, with its lighthouse built upon a ledge so low that the tide sweeps over its foundation, as is the case with the famous Eddystone, at nightfall we were off the mouth of Merrimac river, yet some fifteen or twenty miles from our destined port. A few clouds that had collected about dark now dispersed, and the stars shone clear and beautiful from the heavens, while the beacon lights blazed in rival brightness from the shore. About two in the morning we approached the entrance of our port, which is situated near the mouth of a small river which intersects Cape Ann, and which, like most rivers, has a bar at its mouth. After passing the lighthouse, being within half a mile of our anchorage, the wind fell suddenly, and the rapid current swept us aground upon the highest part of the bar, where the receding tide soon left us high and dry upon the sand. Being stopped thus abruptly, we gazed about in search of some means to ‘define our position,’ which measure was presently vetoed by the rolling in of so thick a fog that in ten minutes everything in sight could have been touched with a boat-hook. Finding sight unavailing at this juncture, we resorted to sound, and commenced firing signal guns, which were heard and answered from the shore, and in a short time assistance arrived in the person of the keeper of the lighthouse, who informed us that we should not float again for six hours. Day broke upon us in this position, and having plenty of time, we despatched two ashore for provisions in the pilot’s skiff, and in a short time the sand-bar presented a singular appearance, our baggage of all kinds being strewed about upon the sand, and in close fellowship with cooking utensils, loose sails, spare baskets, boxes, rigging, &c. &c.; for we had entirely unladed the boat, for the purpose of washing and cleansing the inside from the effects of an unlucky basket of charcoal, which had been upset in the confusion consequent upon our endeavors to get into deeper water. Upon the return of our purveyors all hands displayed great activity in providing and eating breakfast. The fog still encompassed us, so that we enjoyed all the uproar and fun of the meal in our own way, as our apparent horizon was hardly more extensive than a common room. It was a memorable breakfast, that seemed much like a day’s eating condensed into a single meal, the whole being much enlivened by the cheerfulness and local anecdotes of our old friend from the lighthouse, to whom we were indebted for sundry excellent hints touching the best method of extricating vessels in difficult and dangerous situations. The tide rose very rapidly, and all the temporary embarrassments of our situation vanished with our footprints in the sand. The mounting sun soon burned up the fog, which in dispersing produced its usual singular and fantastic effects upon the rugged and precipitous shores that lay on each side; and retaining the services of our old friend as pilot, we ran through the river, which is about four miles long, and connected with the harbor of Gloucester by a short canal, through which we passed, and spent another pleasant day in that town previous to starting for Boston; which place we had left just three weeks before. We arrived there the next day, meeting with nothing worthy of particular notice in the course of it.
Our vessel ashore on Squam Bar.
“Such is a brief outline of our excursion, from which we returned much invigorated in mind and body. A thousand little incidents occurred, serving to enhance the pleasure of the trip, which it would be impossible to condense into so small a space as is here allotted us. We had finer opportunities of obtaining picturesque sketches of our New England coast scenery, than could be obtained by any other method. One of our company made a sketch of our mischance upon the bar, and an engraving of it is presented to the reader. We had a good opportunity of observing the peculiar traits that characterize the hardy race that inhabit our rough and rock-bound coast, and always found them a freehearted, hospitable people, ever ready to yield any assistance we might need. We were obliged to submit to many little inconveniences, it is true, which, had they not been voluntary, or had they come under other than the then existing circumstances, would have been deemed hardships; but there was so much excitement, so much novelty, such an endless variety of new objects from day to day to attract and interest us, that we were a thousand times repaid for all our petty privations.”
Proverb.—A person who is suspicious, ought to be suspected.