It is necessary that we should go back in the details of our story, in order to give our readers the antecedents of the characters which we have so unceremoniously brought upon the stage of action, and that we may show the locality of our history.
The State of Maine, it must be remembered, was permanently settled so early as 1616, and it is most probable in the spring of that year, by Sir Richard Vines, the friend and companion of Sir Ferdinando Gorges, of Raleigh Gilbert, and the unfortunate Sir Walter Raleigh, the half-brother of the latter. We say permanently, because there is no testimony of his having abandoned the colony he had thus founded, and there is abundant record of his movements, his enterprise and his history, till it was finally incorporated into the Plymouth charter.
Sir Richard Vines was a stanch Tory and Episcopalian, and as he was a fearless man, robust and hearty in character, he was not likely to greatly swerve from those principles inherent to his rank; hence, it may be inferred he was not over popular with the no less unflinching Puritan radicals of the Presbyterian order at the Plymouth colony.
The wife of Sir Richard Vines, the Lady Joanna, was sister to the wife of Sir Walter Raleigh. Hence, in removing from the old world, the interests of the family were by no means dissevered from “merry old England,” as they were wont to tenderly call the “Fatherland.”
I must describe somewhat the location chosen by Sir Richard Vines for his habitation, that my readers may the better understand portions of our story.
It stood at the head of what is called the Pool, a sheet of water resembling in shape the Mediterranean sea as seen upon the maps. Indeed, it is a counterpart of the Mediterranean diminished vastly in size. The Pool is separated from the outside waves of the Atlantic by a long ridge or reef of sand, of more than a mile in extent—this reef hemming it in from the ocean, gives place to a beautiful inland basin, which is entered by a narrow strait, as if it were a young Gibraltar. Once in, the waters expand, and spread themselves with complacency at their successful attempt to oceanize upon a small scale.
Nothing can be conceived more daintily picturesque than the scenery surrounding the Pool. There are no marshes—no malaria of fogs; all is fresh, clear white sand—a long ocean reach, and the grand overhanging woods giving a pathway to the resounding Saco, or broken here and there by esplanades of green meadows, where the deer and her young disport themselves, and the beaver constructs his half-human habitation.
At the head of this beautiful sheet of water, as we have said, lived Sir Richard Vines; in a wilderness of thousands of miles, visited occasionally by some adventurous ship from the old world, or from the island of Barbadoes by some trader in fish, which had already become a valuable staple. His little boat rocked securely within the Pool, while his trusty followers joined him in the chase, or went on long fishing and exploring expeditions.