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Updated: June 9, 2025
"But I ain't so sure. Sho! boys, I've kept you up till near midnight with my yarns. We must go to roost quick, or you'll never be fit to light out for Katahdin to-morrow." Before daybreak next morning Herb Heal was astir. Apparently even a short night's sleep had driven from him all disturbing memories.
Under a smiling sun an October breeze frolicked through leaves with tints of fire and gold, humming, while it swiftly skimmed over their beauties, as if it was reading a wind's poem of autumn. Katahdin looked as though it had suddenly taken on the white crown of age, with age's stately calm. The weather had grown colder during the night.
Now the breeze that blows over Green Island drops away, and the smoke of the eight smudge-kettles falls like a thick curtain. The canoes, the dark shores of Norcross Point, the twin peaks of Spencer Mountain, the dim blue summit of Katahdin, the dazzling sapphire sky, the flocks of fleece-white clouds shepherded on high by the western wind, all have vanished.
Sister in toil, though born of colder skies, That left their azure in her downcast eyes, See pallid Margaret, Labor's patient child, Scarce weaned from home, a nursling of the wild, Where white Katahdin o'er the horizon shines, And broad Penobscot dashes through the pines; Still, as she hastes, her careful fingers hold The unfailing hymn-book in its cambric fold: Six days at Drudgery's heavy wheel she stands, The seventh sweet morning folds her weary hands.
Katahdin lost nothing by approach, as some of the grandees do: as it grew bigger, it grew better. Twenty miles, or so, of Chesuncook, of sun-cooked Chesuncook, we traversed by the aid of our blanket-sail, pleasantly wafted by the unboisterous breeze.
Now this was the truth, and it was great wonder, that Katahdin had wedded this girl, thinking with himself and his wife to bring up a child who should build up his nation, and make of the Wabanaki a mighty race.
At this point, where the hills separate like the opening sepals of a gigantic calyx, the rugged might of Katahdin heaves head and shoulder into the blue. The irregular margin of the lake is fringed with pines of magnificent growth.
We forgot how damp and leaks and puddles had forced themselves upon our intimacy there; we remembered that we were gay, though wet, and there had known the perfection of Ayboljockameegus trout. As we drifted along the winding river, between the shimmering birches on either bank, Katahdin watched us well.
The more thoroughly trained naturalists of our own day detect him now and again in error as to his birds and plants, just as specialists in Maine woodcraft discover that he made amusing, and for him unaccountable, blunders when he climbed Katahdin.
In the Eskimo mythology the mersugat or kutadlit, who are the higher or benevolent spirits, protecting mortals, are distinguished from the evil ones by dwelling in cliffs, to which there are invisible entrances. There is a remarkable resemblance between Katahdin and Hrungnir of the Edda. Hrungnir has also very great affinity with the Chenoo giant.
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