Father and I reached Portland by rail and went immediately to the harbor front. Walking by the docks, we came to a gently sloping beach. Here I noticed that we both were wearing bathing suits. We waded into the water, which was deliciously warm and which seemed neither to resist us nor make us unstable. We walked fast and easily. The bottom shelved very gradually and it was only after some time that I was obliged to go on tiptoe to keep my head above the surface. It was a bright day and the bay was smooth. We passed some islands and I began to expect to meet the swell of the open sea. Presently my father said he would show me some superior tobacco and, sure enough, we shortly came into very clear water with a rock bottom overgrown with brown tufts resembling sea anemones, but really tobacco. I could smell it plainly, though my nose was still above the ripples. I wondered if my father would buy this singular and valuable farm. We left it and walked straight out toward the empty eastern horizon. I began to be scared. The water became a trifle deeper and I had to jump from the bottom to catch a breath of air. Then it shoaled again and we mounted a sandbar which exactly reached the surface -- so exactly that many little pebbles were half out of the water, but none entirely so. The seaward side of the bar was steep and with deadly fear I followed my father down the incline. "This is the edge of the continental base," I thought. "We shall go down for miles." But I did not think of turning back.