Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. (This file was produced from images generously made available by Cornell University Digital Collections). THE NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE AND BAY STATE MONTHLY. OLD SERIES MARCH, 1886. NEW SERIES VOL. IV. NO. 3 VOL. I. NO. 3. Copyright, 1886, by Bay State Monthly Company. All rights reserved. Transcriber's Note: Minor typos have been corrected and footnotes moved to the end of the article. Along the Kennebec BY HENRY S. BICKNELL [Illustration] The first glimpse of the Kennebec, on approaching it from the sea, presents to the stranger a barren and uninviting picture. Hemmed in on either side by low, rocky isles, studded with scraggy pines that have long defied old Atlantic's blasts, it must have been a dreary and disappointing sight, indeed, to the little band of voyagers who were seeking a home in the new world over two centuries ago. Many treacherous sand-bars reach out to the circuitous channel that extends seaward a mile or more, and numerous wrecks along shore bear evidence of their hidden dangers. Before the age of skilful pilots and steam fog-whistles, the mariner must have had a busy time with his lead in threading this watery pathway, unaided by a single sign or sound from shore. A few days' sojourn among the charming bays and inlets dispels all feelings of lonesomeness, and unfolds a scene of continued interest and keen enjoyment. On a pleasant morning, from the summit of any hilltop the view is delightful. Scores of crafts, from the saucy mackerel-catcher to the huge three-master, are leaving their anchorage under the shadows of Sequin, and the lofty white shaft of the lighthouse above looms clear and grand against the sky. At the weirs along the river fishermen are pulling in their nets, which glimmer with their night's catch. The bustling little tugs, with half a dozen "icers" in tow, are struggling nobly against the tide. The merry shouts of bathers on Popham beach mingle with the roar and rush of the incoming tide. The dark pine-clad hills trending northward form a fitting background to the scene. A fine government light on Pond Island guards the entrance to the river. The cliffs on the ocean side are quite precipitous, and rise to a height of sixty feet, over which the spray is dashed in severe storms. Why it was named Pond Island has always been a mystery, for the drinking-water even is caught from the showers that fall upon the light-keeper's roof. From the summit the island slopes to the western shore, where a small cove affords the only landing-place, and in rough weather great skill is required in embarking safely. We were informed that the island furnished pasturage sufficient for one cow, but, from a close observation, it was evident that she must be content with two meals a day, or get an occasional donation from the meadows on the mainland.