Campobello: An Historical Sketch

Branching off from the Herring Cove Road is the Fitz-William road, where many lots have been sold, and also the road to Raccoon Beach. This drive is along another wonderful tangle of forest skirted by beaches. It leads to Liberty Point, the cable line from Welsh Pool to Grand Manan passing by it, on to Skillet Cove, where there is a split rock, on again to Owen Head, desolate and vengeful in its height, down to Chalybeate Spring,—a fortune for the future,—across beaches too rough for a single team with four people, to Cranberry Point, and back to where you started. At Deep Cove, near the Point, is a rock bearing pronounced glacial marks. Take the drive at low tide, and feel its gloom, with the fog drifting across your face. Take it at high tide, on a sunny morning, and feel its cheerfulness.

Once more drive down to the Narrows, past the cottages; stop at Friar's Head, whose Indian name was Skedapsis, the Stone Manikin. Go to the pagoda-like structure on top of the hill, climb down its side, and at low tide go walk between the Friar and the hill; then at high tide wonder how you ever did it. Retrace your steps. Go along the road, past Snug Cove and the schoolhouse, till you come to the Narrows, where runs the swift current which only the experienced boatman can cross in his flat-bottomed boat, that carries alike the passenger or his horse, or brings over from Lubec the funeral hearse.

Yet these are not all the drives. Subdivisions of them lead you into marshes, plains, and woods, though they are preferable as bridle paths or walks. They began as cow-paths, and may end as country roads. Adventures can still be sought over dangerous cliffs. It is more than easy to get lost in the woods. Still, no matter where you go, you cannot help coming out somewhere near water and a fisherman's hut; for Campobello,—in Indian dialect Ebauhuit, signifying by or near the mainland,—having an area of twenty square miles, and a circumference of twenty-five miles, is ten miles long and two to three miles wide. Remember in all these drives to turn to the left, and when you walk not to be afraid of cows.

Perhaps it is the water excursions which render Campobello most famous. Among these is the sail to St. Andrews, which offers modern Wedgewood ware for sale, and where is the far-famed Algonquin Hotel and Cobscook Mountain. The West Isles and Le Tete Canal make another pleasant sail. To go around the Island on a calm day is delightful. Very exquisite in its limited beauty is the sail up St. George's River, the trees on either side arching their branches over the little steamer. St. George's Falls and the stone quarry should also be visited on landing at the pier.

Johnson's Bay. For a short outing, row across Friar's Bay to Johnson's Bay; climb the little hill to the pleasant, neat, and hospitable farm-house; go through a grove to the wooden look-out, and clamber upwards. For wondrous beauty of beach and land-locked bay, of great headlands and brown hay-cocks, of the mystery of nature's secretiveness in South Bay, the view is unsurpassed.

South Bay. Then, inspired by its loveliness, come home to the hotel, engage Tomar and his canoes, paddle across the wide bay, and in and out of the islands and crannies of South Bay, the happiest, sunniest, cosiest bay on the Maine coast. Go through the canal at high tide; paddle everywhere around till the tide turns, and you can pass back through this narrow and again water-filled canal into Friar's Bay, the cottages at Campobello serving as guide in steering the homeward course.

The Tides. But truly there never is any guide among the tides and currents setting in from the different islands and headlands save that of correct knowledge of their ways. To lose an oar in these waters might mean drifting for hours; and then if the fog sets in! That fog, which is the basis of conversation on first acquaintance, the spoiler of picnics, and the promoter of a beauty of landscape so infinite and varied that one only wonders how any summer place can be without it.

Dennysville. Yet, if any one chances to feel that he is too much a part of the fog in a row-boat, take the little steamer to Dennysville. The ebb and flow along the coast in this region is so marked, that in going up the Denny River the pilot carefully guides the steamer through the whirlpools and maelstroms, which are dangerous only in winter. The river grows very narrow, till at its source it seems to be set in meadow lands, along which one wanders, through the quiet village roads,—for the town is fifty miles from any railroad,—trying to comprehend why anybody should forsake a spot so soothing to the spirit and so simple in its loveliness for the confusion of city life.

Grand Manan. Of all the water excursions that to Grand Manan is by far the most rich in reward. The best way is to take the steamer Flushing, which runs three times a week from Campobello to Grand Manan, and spend two nights and one day there,—longer, if you wish. There is little fear of sea-sickness on board the big steamer. The extraordinary cliffs and the sixteen-mile drive to Southern Head are scenes never to be forgotten, but which beggar words to describe. The sternness of nature stands here revealed, and the moans of the sea-gulls tell of even their need of sympathy.

The Friar. Beside these cliffs the noted one of the Friar at Campobello seems comparatively short; yet it is the prominent rock of the Island as one approaches it, and its importance is increased by the legendary lore that has gathered around it. Mr. Charles G. Leland tells the story in this wise:—

"Once there was a young Indian who had married a wife of great beauty, and they were attached to each other by a wonderful love. They lived together on the headland which rises so boldly and beautifully above the so-called Friar. Unfortunately her parents lived with the young married couple, and acted as though they were still entitled to all control over her. One summer the elder couple wished to go up the St. John River, while the young man was determined to remain on Passamaquoddy Bay. Then the parents bade the daughter to come with them, happen what might. She wished to obey her husband, yet greatly feared her father, and was in dire distress. Now the young man grew desperate. He foresaw that he must either yield to the parents—which all his Indian stubbornness and sense of dignity forbade—or else lose his wife. Now, he was m'teūlin, and, thinking that magic could aid him, did all he could to increase his supernatural power. Then, feeling himself strong, he said to his wife one morning, 'Sit here until I return.' She said, 'I will,' and obeyed. But no sooner was she seated than the m'teūlin spell began to work, and she, still as death, soon hardened into stone. Going to the point of land directly opposite, over the bay, the husband called his friends, with his father-in-law and mother-in-law, and told them that he was determined never to part from his wife nor to lose sight of her for an instant to the end of time, and yet withal they would never quit Passamaquoddy. On being asked sneeringly by his wife's father how he would effect this, he said: 'Look across the water. There sits your daughter, and she will never move. Here am I gazing on her. Farewell!' And as he spoke the hue of stone came over his face, and in a few minutes he was a rock. And there they stood for ages, until, some years ago, several fishermen, prompted by the spirit which moves the Anglo-Saxon everywhere to wantonly destroy, rolled the husband with great effort into the bay. As for the bride, she still exists as the Friar; although she has long been a favorite object for artillery practice by both English and American vandal captains, who have thus far, however, only succeeded in knocking off her head."

Tomar. Many an Indian legend of doubtful authority still clings to various points on the Island; yet only the Indians themselves are persistent and real. Each summer day they bring their baskets for sale. Tomar, at one time governor of his tribe, on a small salary with large work to do, is one of the few thoroughbred Indians who still live in this region. He is a man of integrity, skill, and gentleness. Each visitor is eager to gain his companionship and guidance in his canoe, as he paddles into nooks where one less experienced might hesitate to penetrate. Greater than his skill in paddling is Tomar's ingenuity in scraping pictures on birch bark symbolical of Indian life.

His Tribe. The Passamaquoddy Indians, or Openangoes, were a branch of the Etechemin nation, and apparently of comparatively recent origin. Their earliest village near Campobello was at Joe's Point, near St. Andrews. The majority of the remnants of the tribe are found at Pleasant Point, near Eastport, at Peter Dana's Point, near Princeton, and at The Camps, on the border of Calais. Their language is fast dying out; but their traditions and customs have been carefully studied and collected largely by Mrs. W. Wallace Brown, of Calais, and also by Professor J. Walter Fewkes, who has taken down on the wax cylinders of the phonograph many of their songs and stories.

The following original poem by one of the tribe was written for a sale that was held on August, 1883, for the benefit of a new rectory on the Island, in which Miss Lucy Derby was interested, and through whose efforts the rectory was built, the Company giving the land.

AMWES-WINTO-WAGENAmwézik 'klithwon ya skedabe zogel;Skedap tatchuwi melan kekousé kiziolgweh.Ulzee-ik 'lee madjhé goltook kizosook;Tatchuuwi tewebn'm nenwel kthlee-tahazoo wagenen woolsum'kik.Piyemee absegékook beskwaswesuk tchicookPèmee woolip p'setawkqu'm'see you wen.P'skèdab tatchuwè oolazoo weeahl m'pseeoo-wenil.Amwess ooktee-in aboozek;Uppes kootee-in hedlègit;Beskwas'wess lookquem hahze;Nojeemeeko gèmit chooiwigeou:Weejokègem wee you'h.Piel John Gabriel kweezee-toon yoot lin to wagun.Kee zee skee jin wih tun;Whu-titli keezeetoon Ebawg'hwit,Wè jee kissi tahzik wenoch chigwam.N'paowlin kweezee Iglesmani tun.THE SONG OF THE BEESThe bees make honey for man;Man should give something to God.The trees lift their tops to the sun;We should lift up our hearts to our father.The smallest flower in the forestGives out a perfume for all.Man should do good unto all men.The bee has a tree (for a home);The tree has a place to grow;The flower has a stem;The clergyman must have a house:May this song help it.Peter John Gabriel made this song.He made it in Indian;He made it in Campobello (the island by the shore),To help to build the house.1N'pow-o-lin (the scholar, or man learned in mysteries) put it into English.

The Fenians. Among the Islanders are many whom it is delightful to know. They are all interested in affairs of church, school, and state, and eager for the future commercial prosperity of the Island. Excitement in local politics often runs high, but only once—in 1886—has there been resort to arms. Then the Fenians were at Eastport and Lubec. From the latter place some came over to low water mark, but were driven back "by the shine of the rifles"; for Captain Luke Byron, with one hundred and fifty Islanders, duly equipped, was stationed at the Narrows, Havre de Lutre, and Wilson's Beach. Though the Fenians were at Eastport but little more than a month, the Campobello committee of safety remained on guard three months. But when an English man-of-war came into the harbor, the Fenians, to avoid capture, sank their own vessel off the Narrows, beyond the lighthouse, and escaped themselves towards Machias.

Climate. The summer climate of Campobello is cool and delightful, the thermometer ranging between fifty-five and seventy-five degrees; so one can be outdoors all day long without becoming oppressed by the heat. The extensive forests of balsamic firs seem to affect the atmosphere, soothing and invigorating the visitor by day, and inviting sleep by night.

Water. The greater part of the Island is fertile. The common field and garden plants and vegetables grow abundantly, while the deep layer of drift gravel affords excellent well water at almost all points. The water supply for the hotels and cottages is, however, brought in pipes from distant springs, and filters itself by passing through a natural reservoir of sand.

Soil. The soil consists of a light clayey loam. "The general surface of the Island is marked by the sharply curved contours characteristic of all glaciated regions, where the rocks are of unequal hardness covered over by a deep bed of soil composed of the drift waste. This soil consists of a light clayey loam of rather remarkable fertility."—says Professor Shaler. "The greater part of the trees are evergreen, belonging to two species of fir and two of spruce. Scattered among them are the common species of birch, poplar, the common red beech, and in open swampy places the alder," which spreads with amazing rapidity.

Flowers. Wild Roses, varying in color from the palest pink to an almost magenta red, cover whole fields with their frail beauty. In the grass and round the ledges about Friar's Head the Campanula droops its blue bell. The Blue Iris skirts the borders of Lake Glen Severn. The Field Daisy, Sea-side Buttercup, the Marsh Pea, the Fall Dandelion, and the Sheep Laurel, spread themselves over the pastures in processions of color. The Wood Oxalis, its white petals veined with pink, and the Linnæa or Twinflower, are found half concealed beneath the underbrush of the woods. Among the rarer flowers of the Island is the Alpine Cloud Berry, or Amber Colored Raspberry, found on the Alpine summits of the White Mountains and on the Northeast Coast, which is the same as the Norwegian species. The Corn Chamomile, a rare weed, and the Wild Chamomile, both of which are naturalized from Europe, are found here, but chiefly around Eastport. The aromatic Wintergreen is the real Checkerberry, in Maine called the Trory Plum. The lovely Eyebright is found only along the coast of Maine and Canada; its Alpine form is rare. There are many varieties of Orchids, Asters, and Goldenrod, of Primroses, Honeysuckle, Heath, and of Lilies, from the Trillium or Trinity Flower to the two-leaved Solomon's Seal.

The wild strawberry in July, and the blueberries and raspberries in August, and the small cranberry in September, give occupation to the children, whose prices for berries are variable.

In the waters around the Island there "is a richer animal and vegetable life than is found along any other part of our shore."

Dispute about Names of Rivers. These waters have been the subject of constant litigation from early days. According to the oldest maps, the present St. Croix River was called Magaguadavic, and the Schoodic River, the Passamaquoddy; a name applied not alone to that River, but to the bays of Schoodick, St. Andrews, Cobscook, the waters from around Head Harbor (Campobello), to West Quoddy, etc., on account of the great number of pollock taken in these waters. The Magaguadavic received its present name of St. Croix from a cross erected there by the French, before there were any English settlers in its neighborhood. The dispute concerning the identity of these rivers, interesting as an historical matter, has not the political importance which attaches to the settlement of the boundary line between the American and English possessions.

Boundary Line. This line goes out "between Deer Island and Campobello, so as to give the United States equal access through the main channel to the sea, and then remands Campobello into British territory," for, by the treaty of 1783, all islands heretofore within the jurisdiction of Nova Scotia were to remain British territory.

The Owen. All this now is a matter of almost antiquarian concern, the present interest centering in the development of the Island as a summer resort. In 1881 it was purchased of the Owen heirs by a few New York and Boston gentlemen, who organized the Campobello Land Company. The Owen was at once built upon the site of Admiral Owen's private domain. Part of this dwelling house was moved across the gravelled walk to serve as an office for the Company and in it were placed the Owen relics. The rest of the house was left unaltered, the lower rooms serving as hotel offices and the upper ones as chambers. The following year a larger dining room for the hotel was constructed, William G. Preston being employed as architect of the whole structure.

Tyn-Y-Coed. In 1882 the Tyn-Y-Coed was opened, in 1883 the Tyn-Y-Maes, both erected under the supervision of Cummings and Sears, of Boston.

Cottages. The first cottages which were finished in 1884 were those of James Roosvelt, Esq., of New York, and Samuel Wells, Esq., of Boston. Dr. Russell Sturgis, of Boston, Travers Cochran, Esq., of Philadelphia, Alexander Porter, Esq., and Gorham Hubbard, Esq., of Boston, Alfred Pell, Esq., of New York, have each successively built summer residences on the Island.

In 1892 The Owen and its adjacent land and Man-of-War Neck were sold to some Boston gentlemen, who intend to manage the Owen as a summer hotel.

Each year the place becomes better known, but those who early made it their summer home have stamped upon it, it is hoped, that simplicity in manner of living which will prevent it from ever becoming either a place for picnics or a fashionable resort. It can never lose the picturesque beauty and the exhilarating climate which make it a most beautiful summer sojurn from May to November, for the autumn months are as glorious in clearness of atmosphere as the early summer months are lovely in their softness of verdure and coloring, while the sunsets always kindle the imagination into visions of the future.

1

Mr. Charles G. Leland.