IX.
Long before daylight we ranged abroad,
hatchet in hand, to wake the dreaming wood
with our blows—then made the kettle sing
to the morning star. Soon ready, we pushed
into the fog & passed the mouth of the Penichook,
a wild salmon stream, without seeing it.
Travelers generally exaggerate
the difficulties of the way. Like most evil,
though, the difficulty is imaginary:
for what’s the hurry? What’s better than to be left
adrift in cloudland, floating on a fragment
of the wreck of the world? We rowed for hours
between glistening banks before the sun dried
the air & the river became swifter.
Overhead a fish-hawk sailed & screamed.
Out on a branch reaching over the stream
sat a fat squirrel twirling a green nut
with one paw, while the other held it fast
against its incisors as chisels. It rustled
like a russet leaf with a will of its own,
now under a fence, now over it, now peeping
at the voyagers through a crack with only
its tail visible, now playing hide & seek
a new nut stowed in its chops, with constant electric
flashes twitching along its interrogative tail;
until with chuckling squeak it dives
to the root of a hazel, & we see no more of it.
X.
A canal boat is of simple construction,
requiring little timber, & costs
about two hundred dollars. They are managed
by two men using poles fifteen feet long,
shod with iron & propelled by them walking
the boat’s length from the forward end, & back.
If the wind is favorable, they raise a broad sail
& only have to steer. From morning to night,
unless the wind is thus fair, the boatmen walk
backwards & forwards, each on his side, stooping
with his shoulder to the pole, moving
steadily forward through the endless valley.
They feel with pride the slow irresistible
movement beneath them as being one
with them & of their own energy. Late at night
they come singing in to shore, moor their boat,
& get their supper & lodging in some house
near at hand, & push off again in the morning
by starlight. But since our voyage,
the railroad has been extended, & there is now
but little boating on the Merrimack.
At the Musarium 