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The Vault at PfaffsAn Archive of Art and Literature by the Bohemians of Antebellum New York
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Text for Page 065 [08-14-1853]

              devil a disagreeable one among �em.       Rowing on again, it is said
that the plash of the Sam Wards paddle-wheels may be heard.
But �twas only the distant drum like roar of the cascade, or the
bellowing surf.      Two hours may have elapsed since we set out. We
determine to return to the rocks, and be waited for.   Again at
the Grand Portal.  A fancy of two ghastly figures beckoning us.   Presently, through the 
	fog
we descry the other boat.    Captain Easterbrook and his crew.
�Boy�s! not a word about our being lost!� quoth Swan, and all.
When we reached �em, all the women looked anxious, and we were
greeted with dolorous �queries. �Are you lost too?� says Miss Comp
son.      A scene of most uproarous quizzing followed.   We, assuming
the part of their rescuers, shouted all manner of comic revilement
at em.    Montgomery standing up at the bows distinguished himself
greatly thus.    It was uproarous, rib-tickling merriment, and my
sides ached again.      All to the Grand Portal, and landed. But
the women were really frightened.      Miss Compson told me how they had
been �miles� along the shore, had believed they�d have to stop, camp-
ing out all night, with other horrors. �Did we know where the steam-
boat was?�     As we�d descried her, just before we entred, after
metting them, we could safely swear it.   So we kept it up bravely.
And all merrily back to the vessel.  I in ladies boat.         Supper.
But the golden sun determined not to sink to rest in ill humor
now �gan to scatter the fog nobly.   The cloudy wreaths scatter and
vanish, and soon the whole line of the �Picture Rocks� is
bare to our ken.       Far backwards to the East, Grand Sable,
with bare sand-hills, the �Chapel�, strangely perched up, and
quaintly hollowed into likeness of its name, by the wave-power; � the               
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