The Great-Grandson. But as the boy ran quickly up the same steps, there was not a man who did not rush forward to greet him. The band played, while the women crept out from among the piles of lumber and waited for recognition. It came as the boy was led from one to another, bowing low in his shy, frank manner, cap in hand, to the women and girls, who had known him as a child, and shaking hands heartily with all the men, young and old. Away off stood two old ladies, who blessed the morn which had brought back their young master. Up to them he went with pretty timidity, and then, boy-like, hurried off to look at the cannon. He put his finger on it with a loving touch and a lingering smile, which to the older ones who saw it told of hidden emotion, which, perhaps, he himself scarcely recognized.
Silence fell as the Metropolitan rose from the chair where he had been resting and thanked the people for their greeting to the boy, because of his grandparents. The midshipman's eyes shone as they fell on the faces, lighted up as they had not been for years, to see that the fair, five-year old boy who had left them had grown into the straight-limbed, graceful, manly, modest youth, whose greeting was as unaffectedly frank as their own. After a while midshipman and bishop stole silently away up to the graves of the old Admiral and his wife, of the captain grandfather, and the cousin, all of whom had been naval heroes.
The Old Home. On to the Owen house went the boy and found his old haunts,—first, the nursery, then his mother's room, and next his grandmother's; out among the pines to the places where he had played, on to the sun-dial and the quarter-deck. All were revisited, with none of the sadness which comes in middle life, but with the sure joy of a child who has found again his own. He clicked the uncocked pistols of the Admiral, and took up the battered, three-cornered hat.
In the afternoon a game of baseball was played in his honor; and never did his great-grandfather watch more eagerly for victory over the pirates than did this descendant watch that the game might be won by the Campobello boys. At evening, in the little English Church, where the bishop blessed the people and told of Lady Owen's deeds of mercy, the boy bent his head over the narrow bookrest, and after the service was over he again shook hands with those who had so easily and quickly become his friends.
The next day the people gathered again at the wharf. The midshipman was a new old friend by this time. Once more the brass-piece sounded farewell as he crossed the bay. It had been the playmate of his boyhood, his imaginary navy, his cavalry horse, his personal friend. By its side he had never wanted to rest on chairs or sofas. Once more he turned to look at it as he went down the steps to the water's edge, and waved adieu to those who loved him for his mother's sake, with a fondness and pride and sense of personal ownership unknown in "the States," where ancestry counts for but little.
The old cannon still stands upright in Mr. Batson's store. No one would ever steal it again. No one can ever buy it away. From father to child it will descend, to tell of the English-American feudalism of a hundred years ago, and of the happy, bright boy, who found his father's house turned into a modern hotel.
The wonderful loveliness of Campobello can never be taken from it by any possessor. It is a beauty partly its own, and partly borrowed from the soft rounded headlands, the toy-like islands, the vanishing rivers, and the far reaches up the bay, which make the opposite shore. Busy shining Eastport, with its New England steeples, spreads itself gently in a long line down to the water's edge.
The Sunsets. At evening the sunset sends its glory over the waters and the land, blending all into the wondrous charm of changing, glowing color. The sunsets of the Island have been likened to those of Italian skies and Swiss lakes. They need no comparison. They make their hours those of exceeding beauty and reverent silence.
Treat Island. Treat Island is one of the places which enhance the enjoyment of Campobello. It lies between Lubec and Eastport. Its first owner was Colonel John Allan, who gave it the name of Dudley Island, in recognition of his friend, Paul Dudley Sargent, a descendant of the Earl of Leicester. As Colonel Allan's revolutionary sentiments compelled him to leave Nova Scotia, his American patriotism eventually led to his appointment of Superintendent of the Indians. He thus became involved in perplexities and hairbreadth escapes. At the end of the war he went into business on Dudley Island, and counted among his guests Albert Gallatin. Allan was buried on the island in 1805. In 1860 two hundred of his descendants gathered there, and dedicated to his memory the marble column which the antiquarian and the picnic lover alike visit. After a while the island began to be known as "Treat's," for a gentleman of that name had bought it, and carried on there a large fish-curing business. He was also the successful pioneer of the canning industry. But with the scarcity of herring and multiplicity of duties, the weirs became disjointed and the houses dilapidated. Alas! now the land is hired for pasturage, and excellent thereof is the milk.
Benedict Arnold. Among Allan's customers when he lived on the island was Benedick Arnold; for Allan spelt the name with a k, as his account book shows. Arnold at that time, though in business at St. John, N.B., was living for a short time in Campobello, at Snug Cove. In the Centennial year this account book was exhibited at Dennysville, as one of its curiosities. In 1786 Arnold bought a new vessel, which he called the "Lord Sheffield," and made trading voyages in her along the coast and to the West Indies. Once, while cruising in Passamaquoddy Bay, he invited Colonel Crane to dine with him on board his vessel. But the Colonel, who was a revolutionary veteran, stamping his foot, wounded at the siege of New York, furiously replied, "Before I would dine with that traitor I would run my sword through his body." Arnold went to England in 1787, where he insured his St. John store and stock for £6,000. The next year he came back; a fire consumed all, and Arnold collected the insurance. Two years later Arnold's partner accused him of setting fire to the store. Arnold sued for slander, and claimed £5,000 damages. The jury awarded twenty shillings! When he left St. John his house was sold at public auction. "A quantity of household furniture," reads the advertisement: "excellent feather beds: mahogany four-post bedsteads, with furniture; a set of elegant Cabriole chairs covered with blue damask; sofas and curtains to match; an elegant set of Wedgewood Gilt Ware; two Tea-Table sets of Nankeen china; Terrestrial Globe; a double Wheel Jack; a lady's elegant Saddle and Bridle, etc." Yet whoever now owns them must be glad that they are not family heirlooms. Auction sales are more honorable for some china.