a sofa in
the saloon, generally in conversation with some person, resolving their
doubts on one point or another, speaking in a very audible voice; and
strangers standing or sitting around to hear him, as if he were an
ancient apostle or philosopher. He is a bulky man, with a large, massive
face, particularly calm in its expression, and mild enough to be
pleasing. When not otherwise occupied, he reads, without much notice of
what is going on around him. He speaks without effort, yet thoughtfully.

We got lost in a fog the morning after leaving Owl's Head. Fired a brass
cannon, rang bell, blew steam like a whale snorting. After one of the
reports of the cannon, we heard a horn blown at no great distance, the
sound coming soon after the report. Doubtful whether it came from the
shore or a vessel. Continued our ringing and snorting; and by and by
something was seen to mingle with the fog that obscured everything
beyond fifty yards from us. At first it seemed only like a denser wreath
of fog; it darkened still more, till it took the aspect of sails; then
the hull of a small schooner came beating down towards us, the wind
laying her over towards us, so that her gunwale was almost in the water,
and we could see the whole of her sloping deck.

"Schooner ahoy!" say we. "Halloo! Have you seen Boston Light this
morning?"

"Yes; it bears north-northwest, two miles distant."

"Very much obliged to you," cries our captain.

So the schooner vanishes into the mist behind. We get up our steam, and
soon enter the harbor, meeting vessels of every rig; and the fog,
clearing away, shows a cloudy sky. Aboard, an old one-eyed sailor, who
had lost one of his feet, and had walked on the stump from Eastport to
Bangor, thereby making a shocking ulcer.

Penobscot Bay is full of islands, close to which the steamboat is
continually passing. Some are large, with portions of forest and
portions of cleared land; some are mere rocks, with a little green or
none, and inhabited by sea-birds, which fly and flap about hoarsely.
Their eggs may be gathered by the bushel, and are good to eat. Other
islands have one house and barn on them, this sole family being lords
and rulers of all the land which the sea girds. The owner of such an
island must have a peculiar sense of property and lordship; he must feel
more like his own master and his own man than other people can. Other
islands, perhaps high, precipitous, black bluffs, are crowned with a
white li