University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.
The Cliff and Fisher's Lot.

The bold, iron-bound coast of Maine is
indented with numerous romantic inlets
that penetrate at greater or less distance
from the sea; some of them expanding
into capacious harbors where a fleet of
the line could ride at anchor in safety,
and others narrowing into creeks overhung
by almost arching cliffs. The
shores of these indentures of the coast
are mostly formed of steep, bald cliffs,
with scarcely a vestige of tree upon
them; bleak, wild, desolate spurs of
granite that for centuries have battled,
unmoved, with the storms and billows.

In one of these little rock-bound bays,
one pleasant sunny afternoon in August,
1814, a small fisher's vessel was riding
at anchor. There was not a breath of
air to ruffle the bosom of the sheltered
nook where she lay, though the blue
surface of the ocean beyond the head-lands
that shut it in, was gently moving
under a light wind from the south-west.
But the little bay lay as motionless as a
mirror, reflecting with wonderful distinctness
the rocky sides, the minutest
shrub upon them, and the fishing craft
itself inverted with every rope and spar
like a painting.

The bay in which the fishing-boat was
reposing so peacefully, was seperated
from, or rather was joined to, the sea by
a narrow passage between two rocky
headlands, about sixty feet high, that
came sweeping round from the main like
two embracing arms. The inlet thus enclosed
was about half a mile in breadth,
and from the sea to its farther shore not
quite one mile. Of all the bays of that
bay-abounding shore, this was the most
romantic and secluded, combining the
most perfect safety from the tempests of
the ocean, with the closest contiguity to
its deepest waters.

The shores on this secluded spot, we
have said, were on every side bold and
rocky. There was, however, one remarkable
exception; and this was a snow
white, in the sunshine, silvery beach
that for a quarter of a mile broke the
savage character of the rocky boundary
in the bight or curve of the bay, directly
opposite to its narrow, tunnel-like entrance.

This beach was as smooth as a floor of
the purest marble, and at low tide was
full a hundred yards broad—a beautiful
pavement of sparkling sand that at noon-day
dazzled the eye, and by moonlight,
when the waves rippled upon its verge,
was one of the most lovely features in the
scenery. Not a stone, not a green weed,
marred its purity. The eye, turning from
the savage grandeur of the cliffs around,
rested always upon this with relief and
delight.

Directly opposite this lovely beach, the
fishing boat was at anchor, and about a
cable's length from it. From the beach
a path wound up the face of the rock to
the upland. Over-hanging this path were
two or three groups of pine and fir trees,
dark and unfading in their perennial
green. These were, with the exception
of fine tall white pines that grew, conspicuous
objects from every quarter, on
the western headland close to its verge.
On the eastern head there had doubtless
been once a similar group, as a lofty
scathed trunk, white and hoary, lifted itself
from the cliff in lonely grandeur, a
land mark for the fishermen far away at
sea, as the sun beams lighted it up and
made it shine like a column of steel.

In the rear of this, stretching far inland,
was a forest of low pines and other
evergreen trees; but they were not visible
from the level of the bay, and were
only seen coming in from sea; or more
nearly when the path which led from the
beach was surmounted and the upland
reached. The observer there would,
however, see this side of the forest a
lower secondary cliff, about twenty feet
high, between the base of which and the
cliff he had climbed, stretched a green
level space, comprising several rods in
length and breadth, and would be agreeably
surprised and pleased to discover
close against the receding cliff a neat
fisherman's hut, half embowered in the
foliage of wild vines, and over shadowed
by green trees that bent protectingly
down from the rocks above it.

This dwelling from its seclusion, its
native beauty, its commanding view of
the bay beneath it, and of numerous bays
and islands, and headlands, and the broad
blue sea beyond—with its pleasant lawn
and pathway to the beach, and the pretty
beach itself—with the fishing vessel riding
at anchor, as if inviting to an excursion
down the bay; with all these advantages,
so unexpectedly discovered and
combined, it would have tempted the
most world-loving to sigh for its possession
as a haven and home of rest.

The cottage, the situation of which we
have thus described, was the abode of a
fisherman; one of that large and useful
class of men, who have given to Maine
the proud appellation of `Nursery for
the Navy.'

Unlike the ordinary habitations of the
poor fishermen, who dwelt along the
iron coast of the eastern sea-board, this
was, as we have seen, a picturesque
abode. It was constructed of logs it is
true, but they were smoothly hewn, and
neatly fitted at the angles, so that when
the walls were completed, they presented
a smooth surface which, being whitened
with lime, made from sea-shells, presented
a pretty appearance. The roof,
too, was unique. being entirely composed
of a surface of large shells, cemented in
line, and laid in rows over-lapping like
the plates of scale armour. This arrangement
combined both economy and
ingenious taste, and showed that the occupant
was a person of a superior order
of mind, to those of his class.

The house, which contained four rooms,
was built against the second cliff, and
directly beneath two trees that shot outward
from its surface almost horizontally,
and so covered it in a manner at once
wild and sheltering. Above these trees,

was a great dark crown of forest, the beginning
of the vast inland wood already
alluded to. The sides of the cliff bent
round, so as to enclose the cottage on
the north and east, and west sides, leaving
it open to the south and the sea.

This wall of cliff was not entirely bare.
Some careful hand had trained over it,
nearest the hut, the wild creeper of the
Northern clime, so that it formed a beautiful
feature to the eye.

The same hand of taste had planted
rose-bushes, the fragrant wild-rose of the
rocks, about the door and underneath the
windows; and also in groups on the
lawn interspersed with young acacias and
elm. Woodbine had also been taught to
form leafy arches over the two humble
windows and door, and to fall from the
eves in graceful festoons.

There was a dove-cote at one end of
the cottage, and upon a tall pole near
the eastern gable, was perched a little
miniature light-house, perforated with
arched windows, from which the chirruping
and ever-active black-martin went in
and out, enlivening the scene with their
musical notes, and their motions through
the air.

There was also a lantern-shaped cage
hanging at the door side, through the
bars of which a glimpse could be got of
the rich green coat of a Poll Parrot, even
if his shrill voice in continually calling
out, `How is the tide, my lads?' did not
previously give warning of his presence.
There was seated also, in the door step,
on this sunny afternoon, on which we
are bringing you, dear reader, to the
house we are describing to you as you approach
it, in the door-way a large, enormously
large, and comfortable-looking
black cat, nine years old, with a face as
grave as a grandam's, and her paws and
hide as sleek and soft as those of a young
mouse. She sits purring in the warm
sun, wrapped up in her dignity and com
fort with all the consequential appearance
of a privileged citizen.

Not far from the old cat, which occasionally
glances towards him out of the
corner of her half-closed left eye, crouches
a grand, noble-looking Newfoundlander,
with his nose resting upon his
pure white paws, large as a lion's. His
colour is tawny, like that of a lion, and
his hair about his majestic neck and head,
long like that of the king of beasts, to
whom this dog is only second, save in
savage ferocity. But the small light
hazel eye of the dog, the quiet thoughtful
air of his brow, the gentle aspect of
his whole physiognomy, show that his
qualities are far from being savage; that
though he may have the courage of the
lion, he has the gentleness of the lamb.

He seems to be asleep, as he lays himself
half in the sun, half in the shade of
a low myrtle bush; his eyelids from
time to time slowly lift, as if he was on
the alert with all his outward repose.—
He had laid himself down in the full sunshine,
but the sun in his journey has
thrown his stately form half into the shadow,
and soon promises to cast him completely
into the shade. The old cat appears
to be quietly watching this operation,
and to be speculating with half an
eye, upon the probability of Bonus's
changing his position, as the shadow falls
farther and farther upon his person; for
though it was an August afternoon, it was
near the close of the month, when on
this coast, the sun-light is sought rather
than shade.

There is a small black and white cow,
without horns, grazing upon the lawn,
cropping the sweeter grass near the
verge of the cliff, an ugly, ill-favored
animal; but nevertheless in keeping
with the place and scene. These are all
the living objects about the cottage, save
a poor solitary sparrow hopping upon the
rocks, near the path that descends to the

beach, and far away, in the deep blue of
heaven, a hawk, or an eagle, balancing
himself upon his spread pinions as immovable
as if painted on the sky.

About the cottage door are signs of the
craft of the occupant. A dip net stands
against the wall on one side, and a grapnel
hangs by a peg on the other. Before
the window, on the grass, is stretched a
cast net, to dry in the warm sun-beams,
and afterwards to undergo repairs, which
rents here and there in the delicate tracery
of cross lines shows that it will need
ere it be used again to ensnare the hunted
habitants of the deep.

Against a tree, at the west end of the
cabin, stand a pair of oars and a mast
with a sail bound around it by the gasket,
the blades of the oars being still
damp, as if not long out of the water.—
From the trunk of this tree to the limb of
another was stretched a cord, knotted at
regular intervals, with strands of twine
pending from each knot. This was the
commencement of a new net, and the
balls of twine, a serving mallet, and marline-spike,
near in a box, showed that the
worker was not far distant, and had been
recently at his task.

The door of the cabin is open: it leads
into a broad, high entry or hall, open to
the very rafters of the roof; but a glance
will tell us that this space was left for a
given purpose, and not from want of
thrift or time to cover the hall. Instead
of a roof or ceiling, its place is supplied
by a boat inverted, so as to form a sort
of arched ceiling. This boat is of peculiar
structure, very long, and narrow
forward and aft, but broad in the beam.
It is a light sea-green color on the outside,
and pure white within; and in reality
forms a very pretty and appropriate
roof or canopy to the central apartment
of the fisher's cottage. It is just the
length of the entry, and in its centre exactly
its breadth. It is suspended in the
mid air by regular davits, and can be
lowered in a moment's time, when, by
being turned on its side, it can easily be
passed out of doors. On each side are
beckets, containing each two long slender
oars, beautifully made, with white
blades and green tips. The entry also
contains, at its furthest extremity, festoons
of dried fish, nets, paddles, oars,
spars, boxes, and is altogether a general
household storage room.

There are doors on either hand, opening
into small, but comfortable rooms,
one of which is a kitchen, the other a bed-room.
In the rear are two other rooms,
one of which is a sort of boat-shop for
repairing, and even building boats, and
the other a ruder sleeping apartment
than the former, which has a carpet woven
of grass upon the floor, and snow-white
curtains to the bed. There are
glimpses of three or four pots of flowers
in the window, though they looked as if
they fared not too well in the hard sea-air
of the cliff. See! there is a bee busily
buzzing and stealing sweets out of one
of the flowers, which shows that they are
more healthy than we at first supposed.
But the bee must have been a far traveller
to wing his way to the sea-side to
gather honey; but, peradventure, he
well knoweth that May Fawn's flowers
are like herself, when compared with
other maidens, sweeter and fairer than
all in the regions round about.

And who is Mary Fawn?

Mary Fawn is the fair flower of the
cliff, whose presence has thrown such a
fragrant beauty over all that we see. It
is the lovely fingers, lovely and taper
though browned with the sea-winds and
the sun—of May Fawn that has taught
the woodbine to cover the naked rock,
as charity clotheth the poor. It is the
busy hand of May Fawn that planted
the wild rose-bush at the door, and trimmed
the honeysuckle over the window.

It is the taste of May Fawn that has converted
this bleak sea-cliff, with its acre
of open ground, into a green and tempting
paradise. If thou seest any beauty
in it at all, it is because it first existed
inherent in the pure soul of May Fawn.
The beautiful and picturesque, which
you behold, are but emanations from
her own tasteful self. She has one of
those souls which creates every where,
out of the material, its own image.

The affection of May Fawn led her
to build a cote for the dove, and a tower
for the martin. Her affection gathered
to her bosom the old cat to love, and to
embrace, in her benevolence, the noble
dog Bonus. May Fawn was stamped
upon every thing around. The spirit of
Mary Fawn filled all with its own
beauty.