roam along the shore of the island, and to sit under the piazza, talking
with Mr. Laighton or some of his half-dozen guests; and about an hour
before dinner I came up to my room, and took a brief nap. Since dinner I
have been writing the foregoing journal. I observe that the Fanny
Ellsler, our passenger and mail boat, has arrived from Portsmouth, and
now lies in a little cove, moored to the rocky shore, with a flag flying
at her main-mast. We have been watching her for some hours, but she
stopped to fish, and then went to some other island, before putting in
here. I must go and see what news she has brought.
"What did you fire at?" asked one of the Yankees just now of a boy who
had been firing a gun. "Nothing," said the boy. "Did you hit it?"
rejoined the Yankee.
The farmer is of a much ruder and rougher mould than his brother,--
heavier in frame and mind, and far less cultivated. It was on this
account, probably, that he labored as a farmer, instead of setting up a
shop. When it is warm, as yesterday, he takes off his coat, and, not
minding whether or no his shirt-sleeves be soiled, goes in this guise to
meals or wherever else,---not resuming his coat as long as he is more
comfortable without it. His shoulders have a stoop, and altogether his
air is that of a farmer in repose. His brother is handsome, and might
have quite the aspect of a smart, comely young man, if well dressed.
This island is said to be haunted by a spectre called "Old Bab." He was
one of Captain Kidd's men, and was slain for the protection of the
treasure. Mr. Laighton said that, before he built his house, nothing
would have induced the inhabitant of another island to come to this after
nightfall. The ghost especially haunts the space between the hotel and
the cove in front. There has, in times past, been great search for the
treasure.
Mr. Thaxter tells me that the women on the island are very timid as to
venturing on the sea,--more so than the women of the mainland,--and that
they are easily frightened about their husbands. Very few accidents
happen to the boats or men,--none, I think, since Mr. Thaxter has been
here. They are not an enterprising set of people, never liking to make
long voyages. Sometimes one of them will ship on a voyage to the West
Indies, but generally only on coastwise trips, or fishing or mackerel
voyages. They have a very strong local attachment, and return to die.
They are now generally temperate, formerly very much the contrary.
September 5th.--A large part of the guests took their departure after an
early breakfast this morning, including Mr. Titcomb, Mr. Weiss, the two
Yankees, and Mr. Thaxter,--who, however, went as skipper or supercargo,
and will return with the boat. I have been fishing for cunners off the
rocks, but with intolerably poor success. There is nothing so
dispiriting as poor fishing, and I spend most of the time with my head on
my hands, looking at the sea breaking against the rocks, shagged around
the bases with sea-weed. It is a sunny forenoon, with a cool breeze from
the southwest. The mackerel craft are in the offing. Mr. Laighton says
that the Spy (the boat which went to the mainland this morning) is now on
her return with all her colors set; and he thinks that Pierce is on
board, he having sent Mr. Thaxter to invite him to come in this boat.
Pierce arrived before dinner in the Spy, accompanied by Judge Upham and
his brother and their wives, his own wife, Mr. Furness, and three young
ladies. After dinner some of the gentlemen crossed over to Gosport,
where we visited the old graveyard, in which were monuments to Rev. Mr.
Tucke (died 1773, after forty years' settlement) and to another and later
minister of the island. They were of red freestone, lying horizontally
on piles of the granite fragments, such as are scattered all about.
There were other graves, marked by the rudest shapes of stones at head
and foot. And so many stones protruded from the ground, that it was
wonderful how space and depth enough was found between them to cover the
dead. We went to the house of the town clerk of Gosport (a drunken
fisherman, Joe Caswell by name) and there found the town records,
commencing in 1732 in a beautiful style of penmanship. They are
imperfect, the township having been broken up, probably at the time of
the Revolution. Caswell, being very drunk, immediately put in a petition
to Pierce to build a sea-mole for the protection of the navigation of the
island when he should be President. He was dressed in the ordinary
fisherman's style,--red-baize shirt, trousers tucked into large boots,
which, as he had just come ashore, were wet with salt water.
He led us down to the shore of the island, towards the east, and showed
us Betty Moody's Hole. This Betty Moody was a woman of the island in old
times. The Indians came off on a depredating excursion, and she fled
from them with a child, and hid herself in this hole, which is formed by
several great rocks being lodged so as to cover one of the fissures which
are common along these shores. I crept into the hole, which is somewhat
difficult of access, long, low, and narrow, and might well enough be a
hiding-place. The child, or children, began to cry; and Betty, fearful
of discovery, murdered them to save herself. Joe Caswell did not tell
the latter part of the story, but Mr. Thaxter did.
Not far from the spot there is a point of rocks extending out farther
into the ocean than the rest of the island. Some four or five years ago
there was a young woman residing at Gosport in the capacity of
schoolteacher. She was of a romantic turn, and used to go and sit on
this point of rock to view the waves. One day, when the wind was high,
and the surf raging against the rocks, a great wave struck her, as she
sat on the edge, and seemed to deprive her of sense; another wave, or the
reflex of the same one, carried her off into the sea, and she was seen no
more. This happened, I think, in 1846.
Passing a rock near the centre of the island, which rose from the soil
about breast-high, and appeared to have been split asunder, with an
incalculably aged and moss-grown fissure, the surfaces of which, however,
precisely suited each other; Mr. Hatch mentioned that there was an idea
among the people, with regard to rocks thus split, that they were rent
asunder at the time of the Crucifixion. Judge Upham observed that this
superstition was common in all parts of the country.
Mr. Hatch said that he was professionally consulted, the other day, by a
man who had been digging for buried treasure at Dover Point; up the
Piscataqua River; and, while he and his companions were thus engaged, the
owner of the land came upon them, and compelled Hatch's client to give
him a note for a sum of money. The object was to inquire whether this
note was obligatory. Hatch says that there are a hundred people now
resident in Portsmouth, who, at one time or another, have dug for
treasure. The process is, in the first place, to find out the site of
the treasure by the divining-rod. A circle is then described with the
steel rod about the spot, and a man walks around within its verge,
reading the Bible to keep off the evil spirit while his companions dig.
If a word is spoken, the whole business is a failure. Once the person
who told him the story reached the lid of the chest, so that the spades
plainly scraped upon it, when one of the men spoke, and the chest
immediately moved sideways into the earth. Another time, when he was
reading the Bible within the circle, a creature like a white horse, but
immoderately large, came from a distance towards the circle, looked at
him, and then began to graze about the spot. He saw the motion of the
jaws, but heard no sound of champing. His companions saw the gigantic
horse precisely as he did, only to them it appeared bay instead of white.
The islanders stared with great curiosity at Pierce. One pretty young
woman appeared inclined to engross him entirely to herself.
There is a bowling-alley on the island, at which some of the young
fishermen were rolling.
September 7th.--. . . . I have made no exploration to-day, except a walk
with the guests in the morning, but have lounged about the piazza and
veranda. It has been a calm, warm, sunny day, the sea slumbering against
the shores, and now and then breaking into white foam.
The surface of the island is plentifully overgrown with whortleberry and
bayberry bushes. The sheep cut down the former, so that few berries are
produced; the latter gives a pleasant fragrance when pressed in the hand.
The island is one great ledge of rock, four hundred acres in extent, with
a little soil thrown scantily over it; but the bare rock everywhere
emerging, not only in points, but still more in flat surfaces. The only
trees, I think, are two that Mr. Laighton has been trying to raise in
front of the hotel, the taller of which looks scarcely so much as ten
feet high. It is now about sunset, and the Fanny, with the mail, is just
arrived at the moorings. So still is it, that the sounds on board (as of
throwing oars into a small boat) are distinctly heard, though a quarter
of a mile off. She has the Stars and Stripes flying at the main-mast.
There appear to be no passengers.
The only reptile on the island is a very vivid and beautiful green snake,
which is exceedingly abundant. Yesterday, while catching grasshoppers
for fish-bait, I nearly griped one in my hand; indeed, I rather think I
did gripe it. The snake was as much startled as myself, and, in its
fright, stood an instant on its tail, before it recovered presence of
mind to glide away. These snakes are quite harmless.
September 8th.--Last evening we could hear the roaring of the beaches at
Hampton and Rye, nine miles off. The surf likewise swelled against the
rocky shores of the island, though there was little or no wind, and,
except for the swell, the surface was smooth. The sheep bleated loudly;
and all these tokens, according to Mr. Laighton, foreboded a storm to
windward. This morning, nevertheless, there were no further signs of it;
it is sunny and calm, or only the slightest breeze from the westward; a
haze sleeping along the shore, betokening a warm day; the surface of the
sea streaked with smoothness, and gentle ruffles of wind. It has been
the hottest day that I have known here, and probably one of the hottest
of the season ashore; and the land is now imperceptible in the haze.
Smith's monument is about seven feet high, and probably ten or twelve in
diameter at its base. It is a cairn or mere heap of stones, thrown
together as they came to hand, though with some selection of large and
flat ones, towards the base, and with smaller ones thrown in. At the
foundation, there are large rocks, naturally imbedded in the earth. I
see no reason to disbelieve that a part of this monument may have been
erected by Captain Smith, although subsequent visitors may have added to
it. Laighton says it is known to have stood upwards of a hundred years.
It is a work of considerable labor, and would more likely have been
erected by one who supposed himself the first discoverer of the island
than by anybody afterwards for mere amusement. I observed in some
places, towards the base, that the lichens had grown from one stone to
another; and there is nothing in the appearance of the monument that
controverts the supposition of its antiquity. It is an irregular circle,
somewhat decreasing towards the top. Few of the stones, except at the
base, are bigger than a man could easily lift,--many of them are not more
than a foot across. It stands towards the southern part of the island;
and all the other islands are visible from it,--Smutty Nose, Star Island,
and White Island,--on which is the lighthouse,--much of Laighton's island
(the proper name of which is Hog, though latterly called Appledore), and
Duck Island, which looks like a mere reef of rocks, and about a mile
farther into the ocean, easterly of Hog Island.
Laighton's Hotel, together with the house in which his son-in-law
resides, which was likewise built by Laighton, and stands about fifty
yards from the hotel, occupies the middle of a shallow valley, which
passes through the island from east to west. Looking from the veranda,
you have the ocean opening towards the east, and the bay towards Rye
Beach and Portsmouth on the west. In the same storm that overthrew
Minot's Light, a year or two ago, a great wave passed entirely through
this valley; and Laighton describes it, when it came in from the sea, as
toppling over to the height of the cupola of his hotel. It roared and
whitened through, from sea to sea, twenty feet abreast, rolling along
huge rocks in its passage. It passed beneath his veranda, which stands
on posts, and probably filled the valley completely. Would I had been
here to see!
The day has been exceedingly hot. Since dinner, the Spy has arrived from
Portsmouth, with a party of half a dozen or more men and women and
children, apparently from the interior of New Hampshire. I am rather
sorry to receive these strangers into the quiet life that we are leading
here; for we had grown quite to feel ourselves at home, and the two young
ladies, Mr. Thaxter, his wife and sister, and myself, met at meal-times
like one family. The young ladies gathered shells, arranged them,
laughed gently, sang, and did other pretty things in a young-ladylike
way. These new-comers are people of uncouth voices and loud laughter,
and behave themselves as if they were trying to turn their expedition to
as much account as possible in the way of enjoyment.
John's boat, the regular passenger-boat, is now coming in, and probably
brings the mail.
In the afternoon, while some of the new-comers were fishing off the
rocks, west of the hotel, a shark came close in shore. Hearing their
outcries, I looked out of my chamber window, and saw the dorsal fin and
the fluke of his tail stuck up out of the water, as he moved to and fro.
He must have been eight or ten feet long. He had probably followed the
small fish into the bay, and got bewildered, and, at one time, he was
almost aground.
Oscar, Mr. Laighton's son, ran down with a gun, and fired at the shark,
which was then not more than ten yards from the shore. He aimed,
according to his father's directions, just below the junction of the
dorsal fin with the body; but the gun was loaded only with shot, and
seemed to produce no effect. Oscar had another shot at him afterwards;
the shark floundered a little in the water, but finally got off and
disappeared, probably without very serious damage. He came so near the
shore that he might have been touched with a boat-hook.
September 9th.--Mr. Thaxter rowed me this morning, in his dory, to White
Island, on which is the lighthouse. There was scarcely a breath of air,
and a perfectly calm sea; an intensely hot sunshine, with a little haze,
so that the horizon was indistinct. Here and there sail-boats sleeping
on the water, or moving almost imperceptibly over it. The lighthouse
island would be difficult of access in a rough sea, the shore being so
rocky. On landing, we found the keeper peeling his harvest of onions,
which he had gathered prematurely, because the insects were eating them.
His little patch of garden seemed to be a strange kind of soil, as like
marine mud as anything; but he had a fair crop of marrow squashes, though
injured, as he said, by the last storm; and there were cabbages and a few
turnips. I recollect no other garden vegetables. The grass grows pretty
luxuriantly, and looked very green where there was any soil; but he kept
no cow, nor even a pig nor a hen. His house stands close by the garden,
--a small stone building, with peaked roof, and whitewashed. The
lighthouse stands on a ledge of rock, with a galley between, and there is
a long covered way, triangular in shape, connecting his residence with
it. We ascended into the lantern, which is eighty-seven feet high. It
is a revolving light, with several great illuminators of copper silvered,
and colored lamp-glasses. Looking downward, we had the island displayed
as on a chart, with its little bays, its isthmus of shingly beach
connecting two parts of the island, and overflowed at high tide; its
sunken rocks about it, indicated by the swell, or slightly breaking surf.
The keeper of the lighthouse was formerly a writing-master. He has a
sneaking kind of look, and does not bear a very high character among his
neighbors. Since he kept the light, he has lost two wives,--the first a
young creature whom he used to leave alone upon this desolate rock, and
the gloom and terror of the situation were probably the cause of her
death. The second wife, experiencing the same kind of treatment, ran
away from him, and returned to her friends. He pretends to be religious,
but drinks. About a year ago he attempted to row out alone from
Portsmouth. There was a head wind and head tide, and he would have
inevitably drifted out to sea, if Mr. Thaxter had not saved him.
While we were standing in his garden-patch, I heard a woman's voice
inside the dwelling, but know not whose it was. A lighthouse nine miles
from shore would be a delightful place for a new-married couple to spend
their honeymoon, or their whole first year.
On our way back we landed at another island called Londoner's Rock, or
some such name. It has but little soil. As we approached it, a large
bird flew away. Mr. Thaxter took it to be a gannet; and, while walking
over the island, an owl started up from among the rocks near us, and flew
away, apparently uncertain of its course. It was a brown owl, but Mr.
Thaxter says that there are beautiful white owls, which spend the winter
here, and feed upon rats. These are very abundant, and live amidst the
rocks,--probably having been brought hither by vessels.
The water to-day was not so transparent as sometimes, but had a slight
haze diffused through it, somewhat like that of the atmosphere.
The passengers brought by the Spy, yesterday, still remain with us. They
consist of country traders, a country doctor, and such sorts of people,
rude, shrewd, and simple, and well-behaved enough; wondering at sharks,
and equally at lobsters; sitting down to table with their coats off;
helping themselves out of the dish with their own forks; taking pudding
on the plates off which they have eaten meat. People at just this stage
of manners are more disagreeable than at any other stage. They are aware
of some decencies, but not so deeply aware as to make them a matter of
conscience. They may be heard talking of the financial affairs of the
expedition, reckoning what money each has paid. One offers to pay
another three or four cents, which the latter has overpaid. "It's of no
consequence, sir," says his friend, with a tone of conscious liberality,
"that's near enough." This is a most tremendously hot day.
There is a young lady staying at the hotel, afflicted with what her
friends call erysipelas, but which is probably scrofula. She seems
unable to walk, or sit up; but every pleasant day, about the middle of
the forenoon, she is dragged out beneath the veranda, on a sofa. To-day
she has been there until late in the decline of the afternoon. It is a
delightful place, where the breezes stir, if any are in motion. The
young girls, her sisters or cousins, and Mr. Thaxter's sister, sat round
her, babbling cheerfully, and singing; and they were so merry that it did
not seem as if there could be an incurably sick one in the midst of them.
The Spy came to-day, with more passengers of no particular character.
She still remains off the landing, moored, with her sails in the wind.
The mail arrived to-day, but nothing for me.
Close by the veranda, at the end of the hotel, is drawn up a large boat,
of ten or twelve tons, which got injured in some gale, and probably will
remain there for years to decay, and be a picturesque and characteristic
object.
The Spy has been lying in the broad track of golden light, thrown by the
sun, far down towards the horizon, over the rippling water, her sails
throwing distinct, dark shadows over the brightness. She has now got
under way, and set sail on a northwest course for Portsmouth; carrying
off, I believe, all the passengers she brought to-day.
September 10th.--Here is another beautiful morning, with the sun dimpling
in the early sunshine. Four sailboats are in sight, motionless on the
sea, with the whiteness of their sails reflected in it. The heat-haze
sleeps along the shore, though not so as quite to hide it, and there is
the promise of another very warm day. As yet, however, the air is cool
and refreshing. Around the island, there is the little ruffle of a
breeze; but where the sail-boats are, a mile or more off, the sea is
perfectly calm. The crickets sing, and I hear the chirping of birds
besides.
At the base of the lighthouse yesterday, we saw the wings and feathers of
a decayed little bird, and Mr. Thaxter said they often flew against the
lantern with such force as to kill themselves, and that large quantities
of them might be picked up. How came these little birds out of their
nests at night? Why should they meet destruction from the radiance that
proves the salvation of other beings?
Mr. Thaxter had once a man living with him who had seen "Old Bab," the
ghost. He met him between the hotel and the sea, and describes him as
dressed in a sort of frock, and with a very dreadful countenance.
Two or three years ago, the crew of a wrecked vessel, a brigantine,
wrecked near Boon Island, landed on Hog Island of a winter night, and
found shelter in the hotel. It was from the eastward. There were six or
seven men, with the mate and captain. It was midnight when they got
ashore. The common sailors, as soon as they were physically comfortable,
seemed to be perfectly at ease. The captain walked the floor, bemoaning
himself for a silver watch which he had lost; the mate, being the only
married man, talked about his Eunice. They all told their dreams of the
preceding night, and saw in them prognostics of the misfortune.
There is now a breeze, the blue ruffle of which seems to reach almost
across to the mainland, yet with streaks of calm; and, in one place, the
glassy surface of a lake of calmness, amidst the surrounding commotion.
The wind, in the early morning, was from the west, and the aspect of the
sky seemed to promise a warm and sunny day. But all at once, soon after
breakfast, the wind shifted round to the eastward; and great volumes of
fog, almost as dense as cannon-smoke, came sweeping from the eastern
ocean, through the valley, and past the house. It soon covered the whole
sea, and the whole island, beyond a verge of a few hundred yards. The
chilliness was not so great as accompanies a change of wind on the
mainland. We had been watching a large ship that was slowly making her
way between us and the land towards Portsmouth. This was now hidden.
The breeze is still very moderate; but the boat, moored near the shore,
rides with a considerable motion, as if the sea were getting up.
Mr. Laighton says that the artist who adorned Trinity Church in New York
with sculpture wanted some real wings from which to imitate the wings of
cherubim. Mr. Thaxter carried him the wings of the white owl that
winters here at the Shoals, together with those of some other bird; and
the artist gave his cherubim the wings of an owl.
This morning there have been two boat-loads of visitors from Rye. They
merely made a flying call, and took to their boats again,--a disagreeable
and impertinent kind of people.
The Spy arrived before dinner, with several passengers. After dinner
came the Fanny, bringing, among other freight, a large basket of
delicious pears to me, together with a note from Mr. B. B. Titcomb. He
is certainly a man of excellent, taste and admirable behavior. I sent a
plateful of pears to the room of each guest now in the hotel, kept a
dozen for myself, and gave the balance to Mr. Laighton.
The two Portsmouth young ladies returned in the Spy. I had grown
accustomed to their presence, and rather liked them; one of them being
gay and rather noisy, and the other quiet and gentle. As to new-comers,
I feel rather a distaste to them; and so, I find, does Mr. Laighton,--a
rather singular sentiment for a hotel-keeper to entertain towards his
guests. However, he treats them very hospitably, when once within his
doors.
The sky is overcast, and, about the time of the Spy and the Fanny sailed,
there were a few drops of rain. The wind, at that time, was strong
enough to raise white-caps to the eastward of the island, and there was
good hope of a storm. Now, however, the wind has subsided, and the
weather-seers know not what to forebode.