Minks, Muskrats, Meadow-Mice, Woodchucks,
Squirrels, Skunks, Rabbits, Foxes, And Weasels, All Inhabit Near,
But Keep Very Close While You Are There.
The river sucking and
eddying away all night down toward the marts and the seaboard, a
great wash and
Freshet, and no small enterprise to reflect on.
Instead of the Scythian vastness of the Billerica night, and its
wild musical sounds, we were kept awake by the boisterous sport
of some Irish laborers on the railroad, wafted to us over the
water, still unwearied and unresting on this seventh day, who
would not have done with whirling up and down the track with ever
increasing velocity and still reviving shouts, till late in the
night.
One sailor was visited in his dreams this night by the Evil
Destinies, and all those powers that are hostile to human life,
which constrain and oppress the minds of men, and make their path
seem difficult and narrow, and beset with dangers, so that the
most innocent and worthy enterprises appear insolent and a
tempting of fate, and the gods go not with us. But the other
happily passed a serene and even ambrosial or immortal night, and
his sleep was dreamless, or only the atmosphere of pleasant
dreams remained, a happy natural sleep until the morning; and his
cheerful spirit soothed and reassured his brother, for whenever
they meet, the Good Genius is sure to prevail.
-
MONDAY.
"I thynke for to touche also
The worlde whiche neweth everie daie,
So as I can, so as I maie."
^Gower^.
"The hye sheryfe of Notynghame,
Hym holde in your mynd."
_Robin Hood Ballads_.
-
"His shoote it was but loosely shott,
Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine,
For it mett one of the sheriffe's men,
And William a Trent was slaine."
_Robin Hood Ballads_
"Gazed on the heavens for what he missed on Earth."
_Britania's Pastorale_
-
MONDAY.
- * -
When the first light dawned on the earth and the birds, awoke,
and the brave river was heard rippling confidently seaward, and
the nimble early rising wind rustled the oak leaves about our
tent, all men having reinforced their bodies and their souls with
sleep, and cast aside doubt and fear, were invited to unattempted
adventures.
"All courageous knichtis
Agains the day dichtis
The breest-plate that bricht is,
To feght with their foue.
The stoned steed stampis
Throw curage and crampis,
Syne on the land lampis;
The night is neir gone."
One of us took the boat over to the opposite shore, which was
flat and accessible, a quarter of a mile distant, to empty it of
water and wash out the clay, while the other kindled a fire and
got breakfast ready. At an early hour we were again on our way,
rowing through the fog as before, the river already awake, and a
million crisped waves come forth to meet the sun when he should
show himself. The countrymen, recruited by their day of rest,
were already stirring, and had begun to cross the ferry on the
business of the week. This ferry was as busy as a beaver dam,
and all the world seemed anxious to get across the Merrimack
River at this particular point, waiting to get set over, - children
with their two cents done up in paper, jail-birds broke loose
and constable with warrant, travellers from distant lands to
distant lands, men and women to whom the Merrimack River was a
bar. There stands a gig in the gray morning, in the mist, the
impatient traveller pacing the wet shore with whip in hand, and
shouting through the fog after the regardless Charon and his
retreating ark, as if he might throw that passenger overboard and
return forthwith for himself; he will compensate him. He is to
break his fast at some unseen place on the opposite side. It may
be Ledyard or the Wandering Jew. Whence, pray, did he come out
of the foggy night? and whither through the sunny day will he
go? We observe only his transit; important to us, forgotten by
him, transiting all day. There are two of them. May be, they
are Virgil and Dante. But when they crossed the Styx, none were
seen bound up or down the stream, that I remember. It is only a
_transjectus_, a transitory voyage, like life itself, none but
the long-lived gods bound up or down the stream. Many of these
Monday men are ministers, no doubt, reseeking their parishes with
hired horses, with sermons in their valises all read and gutted,
the day after never with them. They cross each other's routes
all the country over like woof and warp, making a garment of
loose texture; vacation now for six days. They stop to pick nuts
and berries, and gather apples by the wayside at their leisure.
Good religious men, with the love of men in their hearts, and the
means to pay their toll in their pockets. We got over this ferry
chain without scraping, rowing athwart the tide of travel, - no
toll for us that day.
The fog dispersed and we rowed leisurely along through
Tyngsborough, with a clear sky and a mild atmosphere, leaving
the habitations of men behind and penetrating yet farther into
the territory of ancient Dunstable. It was from Dunstable, then
a frontier town, that the famous Captain Lovewell, with his
company, marched in quest of the Indians on the 18th of April,
1725. He was the son of "an ensign in the army of Oliver
Cromwell, who came to this country, and settled at Dunstable,
where he died at the great age of one hundred and twenty years."
In the words of the old nursery tale, sung about a hundred years
ago, -
"He and his valiant soldiers did range the woods full wide,
And hardships they endured to quell the Indian's pride."
In the shaggy pine forest of Pequawket they met the "rebel
Indians," and prevailed, after a bloody fight, and a remnant
returned home to enjoy the fame of their victory.
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