OLD-FASHIONED OUTINGS. 



PART II. 



While in our camp on the shore of 

 Gloucester harbor, many were our ad- 

 ventures first and last, some of our own 

 choosing, some not. In the mouth of 

 Rafe's Chasm is a big oblong seamed 

 rock, considerably lower than either wall 

 at that point, with perpendicular sides 

 and top slanting to the lower wall, which 

 is the west, and the natural approach. 

 At low tide the boys made a point of 

 leaping the western channel and climb- 

 ing up across the narrower eastern one, 

 and where the boys went, the younger 

 girls expected to follow. (How was it, 

 I wonder, that girls began to be ''tom- 

 boys" just then? They have kept it up 

 ever since, but it is no longer a matter 

 of reproach.) The first girl who did 

 this held the championship for some 

 time, but the smaller ones qualified in 

 the end. We were there one day at half 

 tide when a good deal of surf was run- 

 ning, so we estabhshed ourselves well 

 up on the rocks, but our Newfoundland 

 dog elected to go down and enter the 

 water at the western comer of the 

 chasm. He was immediately swept out, 

 and out started somebody's eyes ! 

 "You've lost your dog!" But even as 

 v/e gazed in consternation, the wave — 

 walked back and returned him! A 

 strange sight it was — that black dog 

 advancing as in a vehicle, standing un- 

 concernedly in a tall green wave and, 

 when it arrived, walking calmly out and 

 shaking himself! No suction, no 

 struggle, his feet just on a level with the 

 flat ledge; out he walked and was 

 hugged, dripping, as soon as we could 

 lay hold of him. 



The Magnolia Swamp stretches far 

 toward Essex and Manchester, and with 

 the surrounding heath and forest forms 

 a wilderness which a wild animal might 

 range for miles, crossing now and then 

 a lonely road; and in the summer of 

 1884 two of us saw a very odd wild ani- 



mal in the old road. Descending sud- 

 denly from the hill above, we saw a 

 dingy white creature jogging slowly 

 along in the middle of the road a short 

 stone's throw ahead. It was clumsily 

 made, and its gait was awkward and 

 lumbering. It had short legs, very round 

 hind-quarters, no perceptible tail, and 

 long, slightly wavy white hair, exactly 

 the same all over, without mark, spot or 

 difference. We mended our pace and 

 gained on it, when the creature did the 

 same without looking round and 

 plunged into a dense cover of brier with 

 the heavy rolling gait of an elephant 

 and at such an angle that we never saw 

 its head, nor could we trace its line of 

 retreat in the underbrush. 



Now what was that? Please don't 

 say poodle or woodchuck or skunk or 

 raccoon. It bore no resemblance to 

 either, except, in size and color, to the 

 poodle. The only thing I ever saw at 

 all like it was a stuffed lynx in a New 

 Hampshire town. In color, length of 

 hair, and absence of tail they were ex- 

 actly alike. The stuffed specimen was 

 twice as big as the live animal and long- 

 limbed in proportion, while the latter 

 was thick-set and clumsy like a cub. 



One September day at sunset I was 

 sitting on a low rock platform trying to 

 paint a great green wave which reap- 

 peared at regular intervals, gathering 

 under the rock with a growl and falling 

 on the shore like lead. (The effort 

 looked like a tin wave, and an artist said 

 it should not have been attempted. The 

 opposite headland was better, fresh 

 from one ducking and expecting another 

 from the pale green border surging up 

 out of the gray, away from the eye.) At 

 last the sole companionship of this sulky 

 wave became oppressive, and turning 

 landward, I looked up into an uncanny 

 sky — a wild red afterglow barring the 

 slate with flame-color — and smelt a 



£3 



