After A Pause At Ball's Hill, The St. Ann's Of Concord Voyageurs,
Not To Say Any Prayer For The Success
Of our voyage, but to
gather the few berries which were still left on the hills,
hanging by very slender
Threads, we weighed anchor again, and
were soon out of sight of our native village. The land seemed to
grow fairer as we withdrew from it. Far away to the southwest
lay the quiet village, left alone under its elms and buttonwoods
in mid afternoon; and the hills, notwithstanding their blue,
ethereal faces, seemed to cast a saddened eye on their old
playfellows; but, turning short to the north, we bade adieu to
their familiar outlines, and addressed ourselves to new scenes
and adventures. Naught was familiar but the heavens, from under
whose roof the voyageur never passes; but with their countenance,
and the acquaintance we had with river and wood, we trusted to
fare well under any circumstances.
From this point, the river runs perfectly straight for a mile or
more to Carlisle Bridge, which consists of twenty wooden piers,
and when we looked back over it, its surface was reduced to a
line's breadth, and appeared like a cobweb gleaming in the sun.
Here and there might be seen a pole sticking up, to mark the
place where some fisherman had enjoyed unusual luck, and in
return had consecrated his rod to the deities who preside over
these shallows. It was full twice as broad as before, deep and
tranquil, with a muddy bottom, and bordered with willows, beyond
which spread broad lagoons covered with pads, bulrushes, and
flags.
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