CHESUNCOOK. 
At 5 p. m., September 13th, 1853, I left Boston, in 
the steamer, for Bangor, by the outside course. It was a 
warm and still night, — warmer, probably, on the water 
than on the land, — and the sea was as smooth as a 
small lake in summer, merely rippled. The passengers 
went singing on the deck, as in a parlor, till ten o’clock. 
We passed a vessel on her beam-ends on a rock just 
outside the islands, and some of us thought that she was 
the “ rapt ship ” which ran 
“ on her side so low 
That she drank water, and her keel ploughed air,” 
not considering that there was no wind, and that she was 
under bare poles. Now we have left the islands behind 
and are off Nahant. We behold those features which 
the discoverers saw, apparently unchanged. Now we 
see the Cape Ann lights, and now pass near a small 
village-like fleet of mackerel-fishers at anchor, probably 
off Gloucester. They salute us with a shout from their 
low decks; but I understand their “ Good evening ” to 
mean, “ Don’t run against me, Sir.” From the wonders 
of the deep we go below to yet deeper sleep. And 
then the absurdity of being waked up in the night by 
a man who wants the job of blacking your boots! It is 
more inevitable than sea-sickness, and may have some- 
