I wish I could quote for you in full the account of that day's doings which appeared in our local sheet, the Bonaventure Record, for it was beautifully written and described every feature as it deserved, reproducing verbatim the Mayor's address of welcome, Father Quinnan's speech in the Palace, and the Resolutions drawn up by ten representative citizens and presented to Captain Pettipaw on a handsomely illuminated scroll, which you may see to-day hanging in the place of honor in his parlor.
But let my readers imagine for themselves the arrival of the steamer, the cheer upon cheer as Captain Joe came gravely down the gang-plank; the affecting meeting between him and poor Melina and the nine little Pettipaws, the littlest of whom he had never seen, and several of whom had grown so in these last four years that he had the names wrong, which caused happy laughter and happy tears on all sides. Then the procession to the Palace! There was an orchestra of four pieces from Cape Cove; and a troop of little girls, in white, scattered tissue-paper flowers along the line of march.
The Mayor began his speech by saying that an honor had come to our little town which would be rehearsed from father to son for generations. Father Quinnan took for his theme the three words: "Father, Husband, Hero"; and he showed us how each of those words, in its highest and best sense, necessarily comprised the other two. And the exercises closed with a very enjoyable piano duet which you doubtless know: "Wandering Dreams," by some foreign composer.
People watched Captain Joe very closely. It would have been only natural if, returning to us in this way, he should have remembered a time, not so long before, when the attitude of his fellow-citizens had been extremely cool. But if he remembered it, he gave no sign; and he smiled at everyone in a grave, thoughtful manner that made one's heart beat high.
"He has aged," whispered Mrs. Fougère. "But his face is noble. It reminds me of Napoleon, somehow."
"To me he looks more like that American we see so often in the papers—Bryan. So much dignity!" This from Mrs. Boutin.
We appreciated the Captain's freedom from condescension the more when we heard from his own lips, that same evening, a recital of the honors that had been showered upon him during the past weeks. The Mayor of Queenstown had had him to dinner; Lady Derntwood, known as the most beautiful woman in Ireland, had entertained him for three days at Derntwood Park, and sent an Indian shawl as a present to his wife. On the St. Louis he had sat at the Captain's right hand; in New York he had been interviewed and royally fêted by the newspaper-men; and at Montreal the owners had presented him with a gold watch and a purse of $250. Also, they had offered him another ship immediately.
"Oh, you're going again!" we exclaimed; and the words were repeated from one to another in admiration—"He's going again!" But Captain Joe smiled thoughtfully.
"I told them I didn't mind being torpedoed," he said ('Oh, no! Certainly not! Mind being torpedoed; you! Captain Joe!') "but—"