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Updated: June 27, 2026
Soon after I saw the first weir, and then the first hay-boat; and at every moment the river grew more serene, more gracious, it passed its arms about a flat, green-wooded island, on which there was a rookery; and sometimes we saw it ahead of us, looping up the verdant landscape as if it were a gown, running through it like a white silk ribbon, and over there the green gown disappearing in fine muslin vapours, drawn about the low horizon.
As I write, the whole experience comes back to me after the lapse of forty and more years the soothing rustle of the waves, and the saline smell boyhood's times, the clam-digging, bare-foot, and with trowsers roll'd up hauling down the creek the perfume of the sedge-meadows the hay-boat, and the chowder and fishing excursions; or, of later years, little voyages down and out New York bay, in the pilot boats.
Sometimes for miles the solitude of the forests and rock-bound shores is unbroken, save by an occasional fisherman's hut or an open patch of green pasture; then suddenly, upon turning a point, a group of red-roofed villas glimmer through the foliage; sail-boats are seen gliding over the water with gay companies of ladies and gentlemen from the city enjoying the fresh breeze that sweeps up from the Gulf; now a hay-boat or a clumsy lugger laden with wood drifts along lazily toward the grand centre of trade; and as we approach nearer to the dim smoke-cloud that hangs over the city, big and little craft gather thicker and thicker before us, till the whole fjord seems alive with masts and sails.
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