CHESUNCOOK. 
91 
Already we had thought that we saw Moosehead 
Lake from a hill-top, where an extensive fog filled the 
distant lowlands, but we were mistaken. It was not 
till we were within a mile or two of its south end that 
we got our first view of it, -— a suitably wild-looking 
sheet of water, sprinkled with small, low islands, which 
were covered with shaggy spruce and other wild wood, 
— seen over the infant port of Greenville, with moun¬ 
tains on each side and far in the north, and a steamer’s 
smoke-pipe rising above a roof. A pair of moose-horns 
ornamented a corner of the public-house where we left 
our horse, and a few rods distant lay the small steamer 
Moosehead, Captain King. There was no village, and 
no summer road any farther in this direction, — but a 
winter road, that is, one passable only when deep 
snow covers its inequalities, from Greenville up the 
east side of the lake to Lily Bay, about twelve miles. 
I was here first introduced to Joe. He had ridden 
all the way on the outside of the stage, the day before, 
in the rain, giving way to ladies, and was well wetted. 
As it still rained, he asked if we were going to “ put 
it through.” He was a good-looking Indian, twenty- 
four years old, apparently of unmixed blood, short and 
stout, with a broad face and reddish complexion, and 
eyes, methinks, narrower and more turned-up at the 
outer corners than ours, answering to the description 
of his race. Beside his under-clothing, he wore a red- 
flannel shirt, woollen pants, and a black Kossuth hat, 
the ordinary dress of the lumberman, and, to a consid¬ 
erable extent, of the Penobscot Indian. When, after¬ 
ward, he had occasion to take off his shoes and stock¬ 
ings, I was struck with the smallness of his feet. He 
had worked a good deal as a lumberman, and appeared 
