86 
THE MAINE WOODS. 
tiling to do with it. It is like the ducking you get on 
crossing the line the first time. I trusted that these old 
customs were abolished. They might with the same 
propriety insist on blacking your face. I heard of one 
man who complained that somebody had stolen his boots 
in the night; and when he found them, he wanted to 
know what they had done to them, — they had spoiled 
them, — he never put that stuff on them ; and the boot- 
black narrowly escaped paying damages. 
Anxious to get out of the whale’s belly, I rose early, 
and joined some old salts, who were smoking by a dim 
light on a sheltered part of the deck. We were just 
getting into the river. They knew all about it, of 
course. I was proud to find that I had stood the voy¬ 
age so well, and w r as not in the least digested. We 
brushed up and w r atched the first signs of d^wn through 
an open port; but the day seemed to hang fire. We 
inquired the time; none of my companions had a chro¬ 
nometer. At length an African prince rushed by, ob¬ 
serving, “Twelve o’clock, gentlemen !” and blew out the 
light. It was moon-rise. So I slunk down into the 
monster’s bowels again. 
The first land we make is Manhegan Island, before 
dawn, and next St. George’s Islands, seeing two or three 
lights. Whitehead, with its bare rocks and funereal 
bell, is interesting. Next I remember that the Camden 
Hills attracted my eyes, and afterward the hills about 
Frankfort. We reached Bangor about noon. 
When I arrived, my companion that was to be had 
gone up river, and engaged an Indian, Joe Aitteon, a 
son of the Governor, to go with us to Chesuncook Lake. 
Joe had conducted two white men a-moose-hunting in 
the same direction the year before. He arrived by cars 
