For a little while let us shut our eyes and make pictures in the darkness. No doubt it will be difficult; because the pictures that come first are pictures of long wharves, studded with painted buildings, small houses dotting the shore, bridges, and, back of these, church spires and school towers. But these pictures we must blot out, and make old time sketches of long, long ago ! Gone are the wharves, the bridges, the church spires ! All along the shore are stout trees, standing side by side and making a dense forest, where roam wild animals, of many kinds and sizes, from the tiny chipmunk to the big antlered moose. In these forests and along these shores lived the Indians. Here in small clearings they planted their corn, put up their wigwams, and danced their wild dances. And many miles across the water lived the white man, some of them, happily, adventurers, eager to sail out over the vast ocean to find new lands and peoples. So, from the bleak country of Norway came Leif Ericson, a bold sailor who feared nothing. Down the coast of our New England he sailed, touching here and there, and leaving the record of his visit carved on the great rocks. To these Norsemen, in their small, strong boats, this was but a happy adventure. The follow-ing summer Thorwald came to try his luck, which was poor indeed! First, history tells use he was caught in a storm and his' boat so damaged that he was obliged to shove out a plank to go ashore. Then came the Indians ! There was a fight in which Thorwald was mortally wounded by the arrow of an Indian, and so died in this strange new land. Somewhere along our coast he was buried. Centuries later a tomb built of cemented stones, containing a skeleton and an iron sword, was discovered. Doubtless you have all read the poem—"The Skeleton in Armor"—in which the poet Longfellow tells such a fascinating tale. And you have seen pictures of the round stone tower at Newport, which some wise man has said was, after all, only a windmill. Of course, deep in our hearts we like to connect this tower with the sailors of eight hundred years ago, who, by their dauntless courage, set fire to the imagination and made a background for charming legends. The coming of Ericson and Thorwald was so far as we know, the only visits of the Norsemen. For many years our land was left undisturbed by adventurers. The Indians were in possession and had only each other with whom to wage war. But this peace was not to last. The land was destined to have a far different history. Abroad, men were making their plans and spending vast sums of money for ships of discovery.
In 1604 Samuel de Champlain, in his second voyage to the new world, sailed down the coast of what is now the state of Maine, and, on July 16th, 1605, came to the shore of Cape Indians, Ann. In th his eir canoes writings he tells us of what he saw—the fires of the along the shore, and at last the savages themselves ! On the pebbles and sands of the coast they did for him one of their wild dances and received as presents knives and biscuits. You can picture readily that little scene—the bright colors, the dance, the harsh noises of the savages, and the drab, little company of white men standing by, their arms full of knives and biscuits ! It was on this day of his meeting with the Indians that Champlain and his men passed Gloucester Harbor, sailing fast with a favorable wind. Even at a glance the great sailor felt the beauty and safety of the port; for later, when the fog set in, he turned about and came back, landing on the shores of our city. He tells of the luscious grapes growing here, the pumpkins and some good roots which the savages cultivated. He teals once again of the Indians and how their chief, Onemechin, came down to the boats and was given as a present a coat. But Onemechin, poor fellow, had no use for it. He put it on and took it off, trying all the while to move his arms about. But, alas ! It would not do, so he gave it away. Can't you hear the gruff sounds he made, all the time thinking strange things about these white men who wore such queer clothes ? Champlain and his men spent several days with the Indians, enjoying the beauties of the shore. When he sailed away, he called the place Le Beauport, which is the French for beautiful harbor. Does it not make us proud i to know that a man like Champlain, who had seen many parts of this wonderful world, was struck by the beauty of our harbor? Champlain, as you know, was a native of France, and the French had made many discoveries in the early this part of the seventeenth century. The English had done little up to his time, although you have probably heard of the man with the long name—Bartholomew Gosnold—who sailed by our harbor and along the coast. Then there was a Captain Pring, in his ship the Speedwell, who came looking for sassafras, a tree which was supposed to be a cure for all sickness. And last, and perhaps the most romantic of all—even more so than the picturesque Norsemen—was Captain John Smith of Virginia fame. In 1615 the good captain set sail for what is now the coast of Maine to search for gold and copper. While his men were whaling, he and a few of his company, in small boats, sailed down the coast and traded with the Indians—perchance a string of bright colored glass beads for a costly skin of fur, or some other trifle that pleased the eye of the childlike Indian. He had little, if any, trouble and found this trading a happy occupation. He made maps as he l sailed along and named some of the headlands.
RALPH P. PARSONS.