Smuggling. Whether Arnold was attracted to the Passamaquoddy region by its opportunities for smuggling can never be known. But certain is it that the embargo law of 1807 had put a stop to foreign trade, and in 1808 destroyed the coasting trade. Before then it had been easy to carry breadstuffs and provisions across the line. Thousands of barrels thus reached Eastport; and many thousands were brought to Campobello and Indian Island, at one dollar a barrel. Smuggling began, or, if it did not then begin, it increased. Sudden wealth and bad habits kept pace with each other. At first the price for smuggling was twelve and one-half cents a barrel, which quickly rose to three dollars a barrel. One man is said to have earned forty-seven dollars in twenty-four hours. Fogs helped,—"that's why they were made".
In the war of 1812, Indian Island and Campobello were very busy in shipping English goods and wares from the large colonial ports. Neutral voyages were constantly made. American vessels had a Swedish registrar, and went from Sweden to Eastport in three or four hours. Silk, wool, cotton, metals, were thus carried up the bays and streams, and shipped in wagons to the Penobscot, then to Portland, Boston, etc.
Provincial trade was peculiar. British vessels, laden with gypsum and grindstones, because they came from ports not open to American vessels, sailed to the frontier out on the lines, and transferred their cargo to American vessels waiting there. Slaves from Norfolk, Virginia, were sent to some neutral island, from there transported to an English ship again out on the lines, and then carried to the West Indies.
Rice Island. One of the islands which was cognizant of some of the smuggling was Tuttle's, now called Rice Island, after Solomon Rice, who kept store there. It is a little round spot of beauty in the chain of islands bridged by fallen weirs, between Lubec and Eastport.
Lubec. Lubec itself owes its existence to the attempt of five citizens of Eastport to avoid the payment of duty bonds to the British. Lubec Point was then only a forest. Though by 1818 it had become a rival of Eastport, it is now but a small town. Yet it is more picturesquely situated than almost any other town in New England. Its single steeple and its flagstaff dominate the steep hill down which run two grassy streets to the water's edge, where stretch out into the Narrows the piers, which change their aspect with each rising and falling tide. When the fog sets in over the bay, the last point it hides is Lubec steeple. When it lifts, it leaves its gay flower gardens damp with a moisture that brightens each tiny petal. From the top of Mulholland's Hill, on Campobello, Lubec looks like some quaint foreign spot, with streaks of American activity across it.
Out beyond the town is Quoddy Lighthouse, built about 1809. Near it is the Life Saving Station. On the left of the hill are the low marshes off Lubec, and beyond them the long purple line of Grand Manan.
There is no more varied excursion than to row over to Lubec, and from there to drive through woods and over sandy roads to the lighthouse. Then drive back and along the upper shore to North Lubec, where the Young Men's Christian Associations have bought land and erected a hotel, with the privileges of fair accommodations and the enthusiasm of camp-meetings. At sunset take the Lubec Ferry to Campobello. There is so much to see in each place, and so many hills for the horse to walk up, that it is better to take two separate days for these drives.
Eastport. Another favorite pastime with the summer visitor is to row across to Eastport. It is the great shopping place, not only of Campobello, but of its own county. Most excellent and tasteful are its shops, whose proprietors have a courtesy of manner which city merchants might well emulate. The drives from Eastport are pleasant, each one different from the other. Go along the water up to Pleasant Point, where a few Indians live under the care of the kindly sisters of the Catholic Church, and where Rev. John Cheverus once visited, or over to Pembroke with its mills, and up and down long hills.
Meddy Bemps. Best of all is it to forsake the viands of the hotels, drive up to Meddy Bemps, and camp there for two or three days; catch what early fish you can, bass and pickerel; eat as big and as sweet blueberries as ever grow; pull up the water lilies by their long stems; buy rag mats; and enjoy the quiet and beauty of the lake and its shores.
The North Road. On Campobello itself the most lonesome and picturesque drive is that along the North Road, over stony and narrow ways, up rough hills, and by beaches which seem close to the houses. The view framed by the New Brunswick hills is ever changing, while the St. Croix River extends off into an unrimmed distance. From Head Harbor, lines of fishing boats, brilliant with the red flannel shirts of the men, stretch out into the bay. Eastport seems near and far. Part of the North Road is gay with gardens, for dearly do the Islanders love their dahlias, their princely flowers, and all the lesser floral dignitaries. Here stands the Baptist Church, against which the lambs crouch as if in sacrificial symbol. Far beyond it is Mallock's Beach, sentinelled by high cliffs, reverenced for generations as the baptismal beach. Then come the desolate, low peaks of bare, purple rock, which shut out all but gloom, when suddenly appear the bright, laughing waters of Havre de Lutre—Harbor of the Otter—and its opposite wooded shores, leading to Head Harbor. Let your horse find his own way homeward, and climb home yourself along the shores of Havre de Lutre, which will bring you out at the head of the harbor, near where William Owen first settled.