"subsidize" our captain with many fair words, and persuade him to send us ashore in a ship's boat, that we may miss nothing in our voyage up this river we have come a long way to see.
As we round the base of the cape, we find ourselves in a pretty little harbor called Baker's Bay, with an island or two in it, and surrounded by heights of sloping ground covered with a dense growth of spruce, fir, and hemlock, with many varieties of lesser trees and shrubs. Along the strip of low land, crescent-shaped and edged with a sandy beach, are the officers' quarters and soldiers' barracks; for the cape has been fortified, and has three powerful batteries on the channel side. Nearest of all is the residence of the light-house keeper—a modest mansion under the shelter of the cape.
At this place wo will call and get our bearings. We wish to pay our respects to the post-commander, and have the quarters pointed out to us. That formality—a very pleasant one—disposed of, we gladly accept a proffered escort to the fortifications. If the day be warm, we take the path through the thick woods, winding around and about up to the top of the promontory. What fine trees! What a dense and luxuriant undergrowth!
Sauntering, pulling ferns and wild vines, exclaiming at the shadows, the coolness, the magnificence of the forests, we come at last to the summit, and emerge into open ground. Here all is military precision and neatness: graveled walks, grassy slopes and terraces, whitened walls. As for the guns and earth-works, they are of the first order. When we have done with these, we turn eagerly to gaze at the sea; to watch the restless surf dashing itself against the bar; to catch that wonderful monotone—"ever, forever."
