"On Scenery Near SA, NB" The Chamcook Mountain and the picturesque. Good part of the many mills lining the river from the lake.
Ramble and Remarks: On Scenery near St. Andrews, NB:
I have long admired that beautiful expression of Shakespeare--the air smells wooingly--but I feel it this morning with something like that conscious delight which experimentalists must feel who find their theories result in reality. I was always an early riser and could hold a thousand arguments in favour of the practice. I am now afoot ere the sons of commerce, and the busy imps of toil have resumed the labour of the day. . . . Yesterday I enjoyed the fine view from the higher grounds of the town. Today I mount that peaked hill which retains its Indian name, the Chamcook, and from its summit I anticipate a glorious scene. Here comes my companion.
Excepting by water, St. Andrews possesses but one highway leading to and from the town; its peninsular position, however, renders this no inconvenience. The improvements in the environs, I am informed have been rapidly made, all within these few years. After passing the next villa belonging to the Sheriff of the County, the road rises rapidly, and from the top of the ascent, a splendid prospect opens in every direction, and now we see the noble Chamcook reposing in the placid stillness of the early dawn and now . . . we accelerated our pace for about a mile, and after turning to the right came to the foot of the mountain. Cultivation has crept up its sloping sides, and denuded it of its majestic clothing. Its bald crown rises above its fair scattering locks still strewed on its venerable head, and a fringe of foliage environs it below, like the ample beard of an ancient dervis. Utility is ever at variance with the picturesque, and the best taste may be compelled to bow to circumstance. The proprietor, a gentleman by the name of MacLauchlin, is making extensive and I think judicious improvements; and no doubt takes as much pleasure in contemplating his cultivated slopes, as I should, to find them covered with their wonted forest. Merely as an admirer of natural landscape I lament the disappearance of the wilderness, but as a . . . I rejoice at the cause. This is not quite so extravagant as sentiments I head lately expressed on the picturesque, which I am tempted to extract from my journal as follows:
During my sojourn in Canada I was much amused by the foppery of a red coated aristocrat, who was mincing twaddle to a young woman whom I cannot designate by the term of lady, for according to my acceptation of that word, it means a female of education, good manners and intelligence. The beau and the fair one lounged on the quarter deck of the steamer, and while we glided through some delightful scenery, they pored drowsily over the contents of an album. . . . Ere they had turned over a tithe of the motley leaves, they came to a pause, an awful pause, prophetic of the end. Like most of these fashionable trifles, it seemed as if the powers of its projector had been exhausted in the first mighty effort, and a void of space remained to be otherwise employed when the magnificence of the binding should be forgotten. After a long listless look at the gaudy gilding, the hero drawled out--"aw--the myrtle is exquisite--quite recherchez--but--aw--pardons--not a single sketch of Canada." "O la la major," exclaimed the belle, "positively now, how can you--only fancy a view of spruce bird cage like houses and long straight roofed barns! Nothing else among these poor people improving their farms--no dilapidated castles, no dear old ruins--this new Country is altogether entirely quite too young for such delightful accidents."
Methought I heard the voice cry sketch no more; utility is ever at variance with the picturesque. We may now return to the Chamcook.
To ascend this hill is fine exercise; unlike the labour of Sisyphus, it is just sufficient to quicken respiration moderately, without causing exhaustion through fatigue. We reached the summit by a devious track and at length stood on the topmost point. All my poetic preconceptions were realized. I can feel, but not convey them. I shall merely enumerate the leading features of the grand and varied view.
A jumbled mixture of crags and knolls and volcanic inequalities stretch in indistinguishable confusion far to the east. The Wolves seem to repose in a hazy placidity on the almost undisturbed bosom of the Bay of Fundy, which withdraws until the eye cannot distinguish it from the misty mixture of the lower clouds. To the south, that long stretch of something bluer and denser than the distant vapour is the island of Grand Manan. The broken and irregular indentations which hem in the nearer bay are a series of Islands from Great Latete to Campobello. The territory to the eastward is part of the State of Maine: with a telescope you may plainly discern the star-spangled banner of the fort of Eastport. The Bay of Passamaquoddy occupies the middle space, and there lies Saint Andrews Island in front of the town, but by far the finest portion of this panorama is the County watered by the Scoodiac. A splendid outline bounds the horizon to the north west. The undulating district of St. David, the mountains of the lakes, the hills of Pleasant ridge, a purple conical peak far away north east, and a succession of eminences to the right complete the circle. We are placed on an almost isolated elevation, and can take in an immense assemblage of mountains and plains, forests and cultivated lands, rock and streams, and the great ocean commingling with the sky. Although the woods were most splendidly arrayed in hues as gorgeous as the sky at sunset, and all the tints of hill and dale and sea and sky were blended in harmonious perfection, yet neither any friend nor I were attracted by the beauty of the colouring; a sense of the grand and severe admitted of no minor impression.
Our unsated gaze was long turned to the diversified objects around us--the varied beauties of nature seldom pass upon the senses; but the sharp morning air at length brought us to the craving sense of a keen appetite. Luckily my friend had not neglected the commissariat, and whilst he untied a well stored napkin, he repeated the repeated the appropriate lines of Allan Ramsay . . . Seated by a mountain rill, we went through a practical illustration of the poet's assertion and having finished our repast descended joyously to the highway.
We next directed our steps to the hamlet at the outlet of the Chamcook lakes, where we were attracted by new and interesting objects.
Rambles and Remarks on Scenery Near SA, NB
After descending a steep bank we were all at once among the bustle and activity of the extensive establishment of John Wilson, Esq. a merchant of standing in SA, whose intelligence and enterprise have blended the ocean and the waters of Chamcook for the purposes of manufacture and commerce. There is an air of precision . . . about the place, which together with the embosomed snugness of its position, tenders it an agreeable scene to the eye of a fisher.
We proceeded directly to the lake from which the stream debouches at an opening between the surrounding hills, and ere its brief course has measure the extent of a furlong, it is lost in the waters of Passamaquoddy Bay. But in that short distance the genius of enterprise has applied its current as the motive power of a series of machinery, which thousands of streams that roil their mightily length in volumes to the sea, cannot boast of. These varied and useful works consist of a number of detached erections comprising the following particulars, viz. a barley mill in full operation, and I can bear witness that it produces as fine pearl barley as can be imported from any country in the world. Here is also a grist mill, set aside particularly for the convenience of the farmers of the surrounding country. Lower down we find three saw mills, with gang saws, and circular plates for edging deals and trimming their ends; a process which enhances their quality and consequently brings a higher value in the market than can be obtained for those manufactured in the ordinary way. Every convenience has been has been studied for hauling up logs and piling the sawed lumber. Below these are a kin and Mill for making Oatmeal, and for grinding Indian corn. The lower mill is now manufacturing 2300 bushels of wheat per diem from a cargo of 15,000 bushels imported by the proprietor this season from Hamburg. The flour is of a superior quality; they pack it and make it up in barrels that might receive the banks of Genessee or Howard Street.
My attention was particularly attracted by a capacious Wet-Dock constructed immediately below the mills capable of containing a number of vessels in 22 feet of water, which is the depth of the channel of the inlet when the tide is out.
this is the first basin of the kind I have either seen or heard of, on this continent; and it is much to be desired that he great facilities offered to the shipping interests by this stupendous undertaking may be widely embraced, and secure to the spirited projector, a remunerating and well deserved patronage. I had the satisfaction of seeing the first vessel that had entered in the process of loading. She lay close to the mills, and received the deals directly from the piles clean and dry. . . . It may be a homely remark but I will make it that owners and masters must feel great satisfaction in the consciousness that their vessels ride in perfect safety—their boats, crews and property quite secure—light work in loading and the utmost despatch given, consequently, much expense inconvenience and delay obviated. In touching on these matters, the wrier should be better informed of their general nature then I can pretend to be, as I am indebted to the gentlemen who accompanied me for all their prominent points. Our last look was at the shipyard where several vessels had been built—the last of which was the Princess Victoria, a fine ship of 561 tons. A. Z.
On the future of St. Andrews as watering place. See photocopy and below.
Communication, to the Editor of the Standard
Sir, All intelligence relative to the gradual rise and progress of this fine Province, as regard its localities, its commerce or agriculture, must be of deep interest to those residing in it. Possessing great natural advantages, abounding in tracts of excellent land, immense forest of timber, mines of coat that appear almost exhaustless, and large navigable rivers extending far into the interior, New Brunswick offers a field for the exertions of an enterprising people.
Very few attempts however have yet been made to disseminate information, respecting its actual condition. I am therefore induced to intrude upon you, though ill qualified for the task, a few notices on the flourishing County of Charlotte, which from its commanding situation on the borders of the Bay of Fundy, is accessible to vessels at all seasons; and from its numerous rivers has been enabled, for many years past, to maintain an extensive trade in the export of lumber and timber.
SA, the shire town, is situated at the head of the Bay of Passamaquoddy, on along narrow point, at the entrance of the River St. Croix. It was laid out in 1783, and now contains a population of nearly 2000. The streets are all at right angles, with a width of sixty feet, except the central street, which is eighty feet wide. The public buildings are, four places of worship, viz. an Episcopal Church, Scotch Kirk, Catholic Church, and Methodist Chapel, besides the Court House and Gaol, with a Grammar School. The Kirk deserves particular notice, on account of the elegance of its structure, and internal finish, having a spacious gallery, supported by rows of solid bird’s eye maple columns, and a tasteful pulpit of mahogany, beautifully inlaid with the native woods. It is acknowledged to be one of the handsomest edifices of the kind throughout the Provinces.
On the hill, in rear of the town, are the Military Grounds, which are occupied by a small detachment of soldiers.
The harbor is formed by an island, about a mile and a quarter in length, and connected with the town by a bar, dry at low water. At the southern extremity of the town, has been lately erected a small lighthouse, which enables vessels at high water, to enter the port in perfect safety.
The scenery on every side, is well worthy of attention. On the west side of the Saint Croix, is presented to the eye, at a distance of three or four miles, the rapidly rising farms of our enterprising neighbours the Americans, studded with houses and well filled barns: this fine prospect, is still further enlivened, by the passing and repassing of a number of topsails schooners, and occasionally a square rigged vessel, on their way to and from the newly formed settlements at the head of navigation of this River. In the Bay, in the south and east, are visible Deer Island, the Mascareen shore, and prominences at the estuary of the Macadavic. Towards the North, are the hills through which flows the Digdeguash, and the lofty Chamcook appears in bold relief, the whole forming an amphitheatre, whose beauty, I may venture to say, is rarely excelled, on this side of the Atlantic.
The climate of SA is subject to no inconvenience from fog, to which all other places on the shores of the Bay of Fundy are liable, and is milder both in winter and summer, than any of the inland parts of the colony. Its contiguity to the sea defends it in winter from the intense cold of the interior, and from the same cause, the summer heats are moderated. A comparison of the meteorological observations, taken here, and at Fredericton, would afford a striking illustration of this fact.
During the months of January and February, in the latter place, the thermometer continues below zero, for several days in succession, and often ranges from 20 to 30 degrees below, while in July and August it is not uncommon to find it above 90. I have on one occasion, seen it as high as 101 in the shade, exposed to a northern aspect. These extreme vacillations, which are scarcely known at Saint Andrews, are very unfavourable to valetudinarians.
The City of Saint John, during summer, from its exposed situation on the shore of the Bay, is frequently liable to the fogs, which roll in at every change of wind to the southern quarter: while this part of the coast, is almost free from its attacks; being sheltered by the island in front, and by which the bay of Passamaquoddy is completely land locked.
With such attractions: a mild, healthy atmosphere, the sea coast, and picturesque, nay magnificent scenery, we need not be surprised at the opinion expressed by Dr. Mackie, an eminent medical character, who lately visited this place, that were its local advantages more generally known, Saint Andrews would at not distant period, be resorted to, as a favorite watering place. Its means of communication with other parts of the Province, are becoming more extended both by land and water. Two Steam boats run regularly twice in the week, to Saint John, touching at Eastport, and usually perform the passage in nine hours. There is also a small Packet that runs constantly between this port and SS; and another to Philadelphia.
Considerable attention has been paid, of late, to the roads. A new and nearly direct line to Fredericton has been explored, for the purpose of superseding the present highway which has been long complained of, as nearly impassable in many places, and a survey is now in progress of the best line for a direct route by the way of St. Stephen to Woodstock, which will lay open a tract of country that is yet scarcely known.
Should you consider the above details worthy a place in your valuable paper, as calculated to the convey to your readers either instructions or amusement I shall endeavour to follow them up by further notices of SS, SG, and other parts of the County.
Communication re slavery and prejudice in St. Andrews. See photocopy.
Communication, for the Standard
A copy of the Eastport Sentinel of the 3d inst. having been sent to me, I noticed the following editorial remarks, which if founded on fact, were deservedly severe, but if not, require to be confuted. Now sir, I, as a resident of SA, am not willing that any incorrect statement or wholesale slander, respecting our town, should be sent abroad, without being refuted, and have taken some pains to ascertain the true version of the affair. The following paragraph is from the Sentinel of Wednesday last:--
St. Andrews Magnanimity.
We learn that a respectable citizen of this town was refused a dinner at a public house at St. Andrews recently, because our common Father and Creator was pleased to create him with a dark skin. He had been busily engaged with his customers about the house, (Railroad Hotel?) and being much fatigued and hungry, requested to be provided with a luncheon--his own delicacy preventing him from wishing a seat at the general eating table; and he was answered only by a gaping stare of some dirty servants. What we once heard of a runaway slave is strictly true: that people at the north need not fear to be overrun by the black in case they should be emancipated by the South, for the cold weather would half kill them, and prejudice would half kill them, and so halves make a whole. Refuse brother man a dinner merely because he is black? O, free and equal bluenosedom! Tell it not in Gath! Mr. Crawford is a man we should be happy at any time to have seated with us at our table.
The above is the statement given to the Sentinel, and a more willfully false and malicious report has seldom been circulated. But what are the facts? A decently dressed coloured man (the Eastport barber I am informed) called at one of our hotels, during the sitting of the court in this town, between one and two o'clock in the afternoon, he was met in the hall by one of the attendants, a clean neatly attired girl, and asked for a luncheon, he was shown into the public sitting room, where he was shortly after met by some of the gentlemen who returned from dinner, and asked them if he could get a lunch, the reply he received was that they would see, and immediately informed the landlord, who at once ordered a dinner; he then went to see "the respectable citizen of Eastport," but learned he had gone out, leaving word that he would return in a few minutes. The dinner was kept waiting upwards of an hour, but he "hungry man" did not return. This is the true version of the affair. A word more and I have done. Your brother editor of the Sentinel, in his notice, has cast a reflection upon the whole inhabitants, based upon Crawford's false report; perhaps he may yet find out--that the Bluenoses are truly free, and that they hail every honest man be he ever so dark skinned, as a brother. We have neither slaves nor slaveholders amongst us, nor are we living in slavish fear.
June 11, 1845
I live in the country, and know but very little of the town, I visit it only once a month, or perhaps not more than once in six weeks, those visits I generally make upon what is commonly called the market day, as the country people repair in crowds to town, on Saturdays, to see their commodities, and buy their little necessaries.
If the proverb be true that “a great city is a great evil,” you have not this to complain of, your town is not large, nor does it impose upon the country traveller by making a great show at a distance, a person on entering from the country can scarcely see it, till he finds himself in the midst of the hurry and bustle of the town. I believe it has quite a different appearance to one entering by water. But in justice to your town I must say that though it is small yet it is a very active place, all life and motion, the industrious farmer not only cultivating the town plots, with much taste and elegance, but also round the suburbs trusting the seeds to the bosom of the earth, securing favourable anticipations of a abundant harvest, these are never failing signs of industry and prosperity, mechanics and tradesmen are hard to work—shop keepers clean and neat hanging out their goods no doubt to induce the buyer and in fact all I saw with the exception of a few diplomatic gentlemen, who seemed to have nothing to do, were in some one way or other throwing in their weight in order to enliven the scene and promote the good of St. Andrews.
I passed on to the Steam Saw Mill, and truly I might say with one of old “the one half was not told me,” it particularly charmed my attention and increased my astonishment. I tried to count the beams, posts, braces, etc., but this was a puzzle for I verily believe I might as well undertake to number the stars of the Milky Way. How thickly the pieces are planted in the frame, how ell they are mortised, and how neatly hey are jointed, surely think I to myself the man that framed it must have a head (as the saying is) as long as an Almanac maker—How imposing will be the sight when she is complete in all her appendages, her machinery all in motion, and the logs a turning into deals as if by magic, this will reply the enterprising company, an also reflect much credit on the chief builder as will as the mechanican. I don’t wish to tire my reader with a long letter; my intention in throwing these few hints is simply to induce some other pen better acquainted with the situation and prosperity, to enlarge on the subject in order to do ample justice to St. Andrews.
As I reside in the country, I am therefore the more acquainted with its peculiarities, and intend in my next letter to give a short sketch of our leafy groves, verdant lawns, silvery lakes, and above all the gentle rolling breeze, which we have on the summer evenings, through the long twilight.
Yours etc., Septem
From Carleton Sentinel:
Our readers may wish to know something about St. Andrews. It is a cleanly, pleasant-looking town, well laid out, covering a very considerable area, but not at all compactly built. At one time St. Andrews was the center of a very large and flourishing trade; but of late years it has been going behind hand, and there are none of those indications of improvement and progress to be found which in such a marked manner characterize Woodstock. But it must now, we should suppose, rapidly grow and improve, becoming, as it is a grand outlet for the trade and produce of the wealthiest portions of the province.
The population of St. Andrews is about 2000. It has four churches, one grammar school, and seven common schools; likewise two printing offices, that of the Standard and Provincialist. Its principal manufacturing establishments consist of a brewery, an iron-foundry, and a steam mill: this latter, we understand, has been recently purchased by the RR company--there are several very good houses of entertainment, we were told: of our friend Bradford's we can speak confidently.
COMMUNICATION. To the Editor of the Standard. Sir.--I was much pleased with my visit to your pretty, healthy, and quiet Town, and with the attention at my Hotel. The sea bathing is most invigorating. I have returned to the dust and heat of the City, renewed in health, and can apply myself to business with a vigor which I did not expect after so short an absence. Thus far so good, but with your permission I respectfully throw out a few suggestions from an American stand point, and with a view to benefit your town or city. I do not know which appellation to give it, as I am not aware whether it is incorporated or not.
I believe, Sir, that if some of my enterprising and energetic countrymen, would visit your place, and expend some of their spare capital in the erection of a Summer Hotel of sufficient proportions to contain three or four hundred visitors, and obtain a thorough American host to run it, I feel quite sure, that it would be well patronized, as several of our people from this and other cities of the Union, would prefer a healthy little town like St. Andrews to the din and bustle of a City of which they have abundance at home. You cannot conceive how delightful and agreeable it is for one shut up in a crowded city, to breathe the pure fresh air, enjoy a few days fishing on the salt water, drink delicious cream, and have abundance of native strawberries, all for a mere trifle. I am so pleased with my sojourn in your locality, that my humble efforts will be used to induce my friends to take a trip there, and (pardon me) rusticate for a few weeks. Perhaps I may succeed in inducing a speculative friend to erect a Hotel. There is spare ground enough, and I suppose it can be purchased at a reasonable rate. Excuse the liberty a stranger has taken, and one who intends again to be
July 10, 1868
A large hotel wanted. See photocopy.
From St. John Globe:
SA was not always quiet, and many of its present inhabitants still remember its ancient commercial glory, and relate with pride their recollections of the enterprise of its merchants, of its beautiful and capacious by and harbour crowded with shipping from all parts of the world, receiving and discharging freights,--all pouring a stream of wealth into the lap of a happy and prosperous people. But those days have departed, perhaps not forever--we would fain hope not--though it seems almost a pity to destroy by any noisy bustle of trade so much natural beauty, stillness and repose. Although there are no wealthy people in SA, neither are there any poor inhabitants, and an alms seeker is a thing unknown in the place. In proportion to the means of the people, they are more enterprising and liberal than those of larger and mere pretending places, while their hospitality is proverbial; and it is a noteworthy fact that the town is entirely free from debt. Perhaps some will say that this is an evidence of want of enterprise. It may be so; but how many communities and individuals long to be in the same condition.
The place is now and has been deficient in hotel accommodation. There are several houses of entertainment, but they are all behind the age, although their proprietors do the best they can with the means at their disposal to make their patrons comfortable. With a large and well managed hotel, and combined and well-directed efforts on the part of the people, St. Andrews might be made as popular as Newport, Saratoga, or any of the famous watering places in the United States. No place on the continent of American possesses as many attractions to those desiring a cool retreat as St. Andrews. Its beautiful situation, facilities for sea bathing, boating, fishing, and driving, its easy access to Saint John, the cities of the United States, and by railway to the interior of the country; the fine lake, river and mountain scenery, with the healthfulness of the climate, all combine to make it one of the most desirable summer retreats that the heart of the worn out man of business of the weary invalid could wish for.
Speaking of mountain scenery, we believe that the view to be had from the summit of Chamcook Mountain, about three miles from SA, and of easy access, cannot be exceeded anywhere. The White Mountains may be higher, the Alps may possess more historical interest, and from their dangerousness be more attractive to the intrepid and foolhardy adventurer, but none of theses can give the visitor a more varied and more beautiful prospect than that to be had from Chamcook Mountain. Far down below in a Southerly direction lies Passamaquoddy Bay, with its hundred islands; still farther out as far as the eye can ready is the Bay of Fundy, with the larger islands of Grand Manan and Campobello, and the dangerous “Wolves:” to the eastward the entrance of the Magaguadavic appears quite close, and afar beyond Point Lepreau can be seen jutting boldly out into the Bay of Fundy. To the Westward are the forests of Maine, with the towns of Eastport and Pembroke, and the little villages of Robbinston and Perry. Looking north, the three Chamcook Lakes first catch the eye, stretching up a distance of five or six miles, surrounded by an apparently dense forest. The lower of these is quite large, and the Southerly shore is for some distance skirted by the St. Andrews and Woodstock Railway. Beyond this the woods of New Brunswick, covering undulating round, are visible until the vision is obstructed by the horizon. This mountain must have been visited by many people at one time and another. Although its sides are clothed with a growth of fine spreading elms, maples and evergreens, the summit bears but little vegetation, and the naked rock is carved and cut with the initials or names in full of thousands of visitors. Some attached their places of residence. Some are cut in bold and deep characters, and some so slightly as to be almost effaced by the slow changes that time has worked upon the surface of the rock. A few freshly cut names mark some recent visit. Others almost completely hidden in grey moss, show the work of some hand now in all likelihood still in death, but then guided by a mind filled with emotions, and feeling of admiration like our own. Man may come and go, and pass into eternity, but still nature is here young, fresh and beautiful, and as it invited the admiration of past and present races of men, so will it excite similar emotions in men to come in future ages, and those mountains, lakes and rivers, bays, islands and inlets will exist when the multitudes that lived and moved upon them and were made glad by their appearance, have passed away to give an account of the uses made out of the means provided for their comfort and enjoyment on earth.
Piece on St. Andrews Hotel Company. See photocopy. And Saint John hotel construction, tourist trade.
From the Boston Journal of Monday (April 3):
A SUMMER RESORT--”We know of few places more delightful to visit during our warm season than Saint John, NB. Its bracing climate, romantic drives, beautiful scenery, with its genial people, kind and hospitable in the highest degree, render it a charming summer resort, and the thousands of our own people who have visited tell other thousands, and the three trips a week of the steamers of the International line will not be enough to carry all who desire to go. In the fall the railway will be completed through to Saint John, and then the stream of travel will be divided into two channels. With wise foresight they have formed a hotel Company, and the result has been the erection of a splendid edifice capable of accommodating with the greatest comfort 300 guests, and on an emergency 400. It has been fitted with all the modern conveniences, and will be, when finished, one of the most thoroughly equipped first class hotels on the continent. No pains have been spared, and no expense withheld. One of our Boston architects, Mr. Washburn, has personally superintended the erection, and all his skill has been directed to making it first class in every respect. It has been leased to Mr. Cregan, long known as the favorite chief steward of the International Steamship Company, and under his management it will be a great boon to the travelling public. If he keeps up the course he adopted in the International Steamers, he will gain the support of the travelling public on land as he has so largely at sea.”
The foregoing article we trust will have the effect of stirring up the St. Andrews Hotel Company to immediate and energetic action; and every encouragement should be given them in their praiseworthy efforts, to obtain subscriptions [shares? see Bridges as ‘subscriber’ of the Railroad Hotel] for the purpose. The description of the climate of Saint John and its scenery, will apply with even more force to SA, which owing to its local position, possesses greater advantages from its healthy locality, sea-bathing, fishing, and beautiful drives. Visitors from the States have spoken in the highest terms of the Town and surrounding country; but complained of the want of spacious Hotel accommodation. It is devoutly to be desired that this want may be supplied ere another year passes over; and that in the mean time preparations will be made to accommodate all those who may visit the town this season for recreation and health.
As Others See Us
A New Brunswick Watering Place
--St. John Sun
Summer after summer witnesses a greater tendency on the part of the inland population to seek the seashore. Men who are too busy to go themselves send their families, and those who can’t afford to pay fancy prices for board at hotels rent rooms in cottages. The Bay Shore houses were overrun last summer by people from Fredericton and elsewhere, and an increase of accommodation would undoubtedly be followed by a corresponding increase in the number of dwellers along the beach. Capitalists are very slow to recognize the signs and take advantage of them, or provision would be made at once for summer boarder, lodgers and bathers at the Bay Shore. Point du Chene attracts a great many by its good bathing and freedom from fog, and would undoubtedly attract more if its accommodation were better. But St. Andrews has taken the lead of NB summer resorts and is undoubtedly destined to become widely known as a watering place before long. It’s attractions are numerous and diversified. At the head of a beautiful bay, which is protected by an archipelago of picturesque islands, and at the mouth of a broad river, its facilities for safe yachting and bathing are unsurpassed anywhere. It’s waters abound in fish, the catching of which would afford endless amusement for amateurs with the line, and enchanting camping grounds may be found in any direction—on the islands and in the coves. There are numerous objective points for excursions of a day or two by land or water. Clam bakes and fish chowders, so fashionable and popular in Massachusetts and New York, are within reach of the residents of St. Andrews every day. Down the bay and up the river are equally inviting for the lovers of boating, and offer a great variety of attractions. Then there is Chamcook Mountain, the Mont Blanc of the country round about, from the bold brow of which one looks upon a landscape of diversified loveliness and loneliness. The roads are good, and afford the lovers of horseflesh an opportunity of driving in many directions. The town itself, with its regularity of plan, and its broad streets, is healthy and agreeable. Its air is free from the smoke of factories and the slumbers of people at night are not disturbed by the screaming of locomotives and the rattling of trains, for it is a railway terminus and trains depart and arrive at seasonable houses only. Besides the numerous pleasant houses in which boarders are welcomed, there are good hotels, and rates are always reasonable. The opening of the Argyll Hotel, under the auspices of the N. B. and C. Railway Company, opens a new chapter in the history of St. Andrews as a watering place, because it is an invitation to the weary and wealthy denizens of heated cities to go there in search of cool sea breezes and salt water bathing without any sacrifice of the comforts and luxuries to which they have been accustomed. This is a splendid hotel in a beautiful location. It has been elegantly furnished, and will present many attractive features of the tourist and health seeker. The charms of the old town and its surroundings have only to be made known abroad to ensure the prosperity of the Argyll.
“The situation of St. Andrews is a happy medium between the interior and the coast. The waters of the ocean reach it, but not its destructive billows. There is a sense of security afforded by the guardian islands, and a suggestion of something beyond. The yachtsman may skirt the rugged coasts of Deer Island and penetrate its deep inlets, haunted by many a treasure-guarding ghost; navigate the winding passages between the tree covered islands of the Latete group; and sail out into the open sea and watch the sun sink to rest in the waters. Any one bent upon killing time in a manner calculated to build up a debilitated constitution and expand the lungs, and substitute energy of lassitude, cannot do better than make St. Andrews a headquarter for boating, fishing and bathing in the summer months.
“Sir Leonard Tilley and Sir Charles Tupper had residences in SA, and they have made its attractions known to Ottawa people. We should not be surprised to find it in the near future, the summer home of a great many people from the Upper Provinces who seek for pleasant seashore residences in convenient and not too expensive localities.”
As Others See Us
A “Hawkeye” View of St. Andrews
Under the banner of Her Gracious Majesty
Saint Andrews, New Brunswick, July 6
“The winter is over and gone,” the Jester said, “the time of the singing of the birds is come, and the voice of the turtle was heard in the land. And I am the turtle; old Turtle, of Turtleville, Turtle County, this state. I am at peace with all mankind. I sail with Captain Wren, and I drive with Mallory, I sit beneath my own vine and fig tree, with no one to molest or make me afraid, and Captain Herbert feeds me, and the man in all your blasted howling Yankeeland who says he is having a better time this summer than I am is a howling liar and my address is the Argyll hotel, St. Andrews. That’s the kind of a man I am.”
We braved the dangers of the briny deep in the good ship City of Portland, whereof Captain Pike, Major Martin’s old time friend, is master and on the way much we talked of Martin of Burlington and his old home in Lubec. We did not experience the “hardest storm the Captain had ever passed through,” but no matter, we can say we did. And it is just as easy to tell one lie as the other. I is the customary thing for people who go down to the sea in ships to encounter the “severest storm the captain ever passed through,” and my family shall not fall one pace behind the times if I can ascertain what society expects.
And we are now settled for the summer. We came back to New Brunswick because New Brunswick air, New Brunswick woods and New Brunswick waters are found, by practical experience, to be more beneficial to “her little serene highness” than any other place, inland or on the coast we have ever tried. And if St. Andrews will only deal as lovingly and with the same touches of healing as did St. John two year ago, we will give a candle to every saint in much sainted New Brunswick.
“there goes a whole ship load of candles,” says her little serene highness, who is better booked on the saints of New Brunswick than the jester. “Well, never mind,” he said. There is nothing mean about me, and candles are away down now, anyhow. If the saints do their part, they can draw on me for candles at ten days’ sight.
Saint Andrews, who is the patron saint of the wanderers for this summer, is the Shiretown of Charlotte county, and is old enough to be bigger than New York. It is really about the size of Danville, but it is plenty large enough for a summer resort. Its situation is beautiful, almost beyond description. Around us the blue waters of the bay dimple and smile under skies that are radiant with sunshine whenever Vennor gives them half a chance. And encircling the bay, the mountains, crowned with cedar and pines and hemlock, outline themselves in ranging shades and graceful curves against the sky. Old Chamcook, king of the mountains bald as the front seats at a Lydia Thompson benefit and bold as a man asking for a free pass, lifts his rocky head toward the clouds and overlooks all this part of the world, from Eastport to Saint Stephen. The sails of white winged sloops and schooners dot the smooth waters of the bay, the brisk little steamer makes regular diurnal trips between Eastport and St. Stephen, New Brunswick, and Calais, Maine, and the New Brunswick and Canada Railway adds variety to the scene with its flying trains. We look across the bay and see the thrifty farms of Yankee land—the slopes of the hill are covered with them; we go down to the block house and bathe, just after the tide has come in over an iceberg, and we find it very exhilarating—champagne isn’t a circumstance alongside of a bath in Saint Andrews bay, early in the season. Or we drive, you remember the old Nantucket proverb, that Nantucket was “Heaven for men, purgatory for women and hell for horses.” Well, a Nantucket horse, if he could only see a mile of the worst road in Charlotte county, New Brunswick, would lie down and die of sheer delight. Really, the best roads on this continent must be in New Brunswick. When they are in bad order, they are somewhat better than the best roads in Iowa. And when they are in perfect repair, you couldn’t make them much smoother with a jack plane and spot of varnish. And when we have a fancy for the water, we sail with Captain Wren. The bay affords the most delightful yachting, and you have old sons of Neptune who know the bay and the sky by heart to go out with you.
St. Andrews used to be a maritime town of no small importance. And there is good fishing in the bay. You can catch the codfish—the poor man’s turkey—in all his native unadornedness, before he puts on the flavor and perfume that makes him so omnipresent in a house of only ten rooms. He looks like a respectable, well conducted fish when you pull him out of the water, and as you look at him in all his natural purity, you wouldn’t think it of him. Indeed, you really wouldn’t.
And everywhere about us, are the pine woods. Everywhere the odor of cedar and hemlock and spruce and tamarack mingle with the ‘odor of brine from the ocean’. The woods grow right up to the doors of the Argyll hotel; you can hide yourself away in the shady canopies and nooks of the evergreens that cluster in the enclosed grounds of the hotel, and then down through the woods outside a delightful path, an old, disused, grass-grown road, leads you to the bay shore, down to the target and the firing range, down where you can take quite a dip in the early morning, when no one can hear you shriek; down where the restless tides rises and falls about twenty feet, for we are up in the Fundy region again you see. Oh, you’ll like St. Andrews if you’ll just come and look at it and live in it awhile.
“The most prominent building in the town is the Argyll hotel, a landmark that catches the eye from every direction, flying the flags of three great nations, Great Britain, the United States and the Argyll hotel from its turreted roof, and the greatest of these three is the Argyll. Captain William H. Herbert is a son of the sea; a native of Maine, who followed the sea long, long years until he had sailed into every port any Christian man every wanted to see or hear about, and then, having learned how to make everybody else as comfortable as himself, he opened the Grand Falls hotel, up at Grand Falls, this province, where we sojourned two years ago, and having managed that house into a big business and good reputation, he has this year taken the Argyll at St. Andrews a newly furnished house, the largest in the maritime provinces, within a stone’s throw of the steamboat landing and with a railway station of its own, with beach and woods at its doors, good living, good table, billiard room and all appurtenances thereunto appertaining, good fishing in the bay and the brooks, and good shooting in the hills and the marshes, good society in the town, good company at the house, and a good cook in the kitchen, good place to read, good place to thin good place to do everything, good place to do nothing, good St. Andrews. We haven’t found the inevitable Burlington man here yet—yes but we have too—Mr. Charles D. Corry, now of St. John, a relative of our Hendries; Mr. Corry lived formerly in council Bluffs, then he was in Peoria, for a year,--we were just talking of Charlie Allaire yesterday,--you can always ask for a Burlington man, no matter where you go. If you can’t find any one else, you can almost usually find—R. J. B.
A New Watering Place, by R. Melville Jack.
Thee are some little corners yet left in the wide, wide wide world where the rush and turmoil of the restless current of business has not disturbed their natural repose, and where the whirlwind of improvement has not torn off and defaced the coloring laid on by the hand of the master Artist.
It is one of these, and one which is so near and so easy of access that it seems almost incredible. It should have remained in its natural quietude and beauty so long that I wish to tell you. Step with me some worm June or July morning when the sun is shining a promise to burn your brain to a crisp ere noon, into one of the International steamship Company’s excellent boats lying at Commercial wharf (Boston) and we will visit it. We leave at eight o’clock, am and 2 o’clock on the day following will be at our place of destination. Or take the train at either the Eastern or Boston and Maine depot and in about the same time you will reach it. But give to us the steamboat, the cool sea air, the ever changing shore lines,( for we never lose sight of the coast), the numerous and different vessels that we meet and pass, the shout of “there she blow” as some great whale rises lazily to the surface and with t blow and a roll disappears only to reappear a little further on, the glassy surface or blue ripple of the sea, the view of Mount Desert towering up on the coat, and the Green Mountains falling far away in the distance, the twinkling of the lights from the lighthouses as night draws her sable veil over the face of the old ocean and as we steam up the Bay of Fundy the rock bound coast of Maine on one side and the rocker bound Island of Band Manan on the other. Old days of summer bliss! No storm to mar our comfort, no scorching heat to lessen our enjoyment, nothing but rest, beauty and pleasure.
Our ship rounds Quoddy Head and steams up the narrow passage, so narrow that we could throw a stone ashore at either side; up past the little town of Lubec, and lo we are at Eastport, the most eastern town in Uncle Sam’s domain. Here another steamer comes alongside and taking us and our baggage on board, away we go again, up the pleasant Bay of Passamaquoddy, where during the quiet, dreamy summer months the water is never so rough as to interfere with the yachtsman’s pleasure and where fog, shut out by the girdle of island which surrounds it, hardly every enters, onward we steam past Clam Cove, Head and enter the inner bay placed like a magnificent emerald in its setting of various hued mainland and island. Just fronting us on the opposite side of the Bay is the town, but it is yet ten miles distant and lies low, so is rather indistinct, but as we draw nearer what a charming picture reveals itself to our view.
The little town nestling at the foot of a gradually rising eminence, on one side the mouth of the St. Croix river and the purple hills of Maine; in front, the green waters of the bay, with the sunlight glistening and glittering like flakes of molten gold from the tops of the little wavelets; on the other side Chamcook Harbor and Minister’s Island rising in graceful proportions from its setting in the sea, while back of the town and four miles distant from it, Chamcook mountain rises beautiful in its misty robe of blue and wooded nearly to its summit. As our little steamer glides between the light house and the southern end of St. Andrews Island we find ourselves in the harbor and directly opposite the town. And now gentle fellow traveller allow me to heave you at the hotel while I attempt a sketch of the town and its surroundings, together with its scenery and the pleasures in store for those who visit there. St. Andrews is one of, if not the oldest town in the province of NB. The point on which it is built was named Point St. Andrew after St. Andle [sic] the priest who there first erected the cross. DeMonts and Champlain were the discoverers of the beautiful Bay of Passamaquoddy which nearly surrounds the town, and for a century from that time its history is nearly a blank. About the year 1700 two French officers Gourden and Sharkee (as they were called by the English) were sent to take command of the Passamaquoddy Indians, and build a fort from whence they were to attack Massachusetts. The deeds of cruelty committed by the famous Canadian Herteo de Rouville so excited that on the 4th of July 1701 Joseph Dudley, Esq., then Captain General and Governor-in-Chief of Her Majesty’s Province of Massachusetts, issued instructions to Colonel Benjamin Church to proceed to Machias and from thence to Passamaquoddy, and effect what spoils he possibly might upon the enemy in these parts. Church, according to his own account, succeeded in capturing Gourden and his two sons, driving Sharkee and the Indians into the woods and taking all their fish, carrying away as much as they were able, and destroying the remainder.
During the early portion of the present century St. Andrews was a flourishing and wealthy little town, shipping large quantities of pine timber to England and the West Indies, but the opening of the Baltic ports to the English trade and the building of St. Stephen and Calais about twenty miles above on the St. Croix together with other circumstances gradually withdrew the business, and since that time the little town has lain in its present state of quiet repose, its old wharves and docks rotting away and its warehouses and stores crumbling to pieces, until now they have almost disappeared, their places having been taken by new wharves and stores of less pretensions sufficient for the present business of the place.
But though time has destroyed its signs of former business greatness it has had no effect on the natural beauties of the place and its surrounding. The town is built on a peninsula making out into the bar and rising in a gradual ascent from the water edge to a height of about 150 or 200 feet. This eminence, called the “Barrack Hill” from an old fort called Tipperary built upon it summit, again slopes downward on the other side until it meets the waters of Katy’s Cove, a slight indenture of the bay, while toward the landward side the country stretches away with an undulating surface dotted with farms and woods until it reaches the base of Chamcook mountain, distant about 4 miles. This hill is a great resort for picnic parties and pleasure seekers, it is wooded nearly to its summit with a splendid open growth of birch, beech, maple, etc., and capped with a huge lodge of soft grey rock in which are cut the name so former visitors, thus leaving a lasting record for the inspection of future tourists. From the top of this hill is one of the most beautiful views imaginable, indeed the view from almost any elevation is charming, but from old Chamcook’s rocky crown more particularly so. In front, as you stand looking seaward, the bay studded with its numerous islands, twinkling and shimmering in the sunlight and divided from the Bay of Fundy by Pendleton’s, McMaster’s and Deer Island over the tops of which, forty miles out to sea, the wave lashed shores of Grand Manan are distinctly visible. Turning and facing in the opposite direction, the chain of the here Chamcook lakes lies almost directly beneath the observer, their blue waters glancing like sapphires in the flood of bright sunshine that lights up the charming scene. Away in the distance can be seen many lakes in the State of Maine, conspicuous among which is lake Meddybemps. On the left, the St. Croix River, the boundary line between Maine and NB creeps up in a silver threat between the dark green woods and darker hills, while on its banks twenty miles distant lies Calais, St. Stephen, and Milltown—the clatter of their mills and the noisy hum of business reaches us not, but all quietly they lie as if only placed there to add to the beauty of the picture—and on the right the indented coast line of Charlotte County backed by dark brow and red volcanic looking hills draws around in a semi-circle until it reaches Latete passage dividing McMaster’s Island from the main land.
Here the opportunities for yachting especially for boats of the smaller class are unsurpassed. The Bay hemmed in as it sis with its circlet of islands, is completely protected from storm and gales, in fact there is no weather during he summer season in which a yacht may not lie safely at anchor in the harbour, and seldom does the weather interfere with the sailing of boats in the bay; a familiar acquaintance with the bay and islands and very many boating excursions made both in Passamaquoddy and Fundy Bays fully justifies me in saying, I do not believe that there are more than three or four days during the summer that the winds are sufficiently strong in Passamaquoddy Bay as to interfere in pleasurable boat sailing. The larger class of yachts can increase the length of their cruises by going out either through Latete or clam Cove passage in to the Bay of Fundy and thence to the Atlantic. But for picnic parties which desire to return to their point of departure upon the same day Passamaquoddy cannot be excelled. In the first place independent of the views from the island and their own picturesque appearance, many of them produce in large quantities the smaller fruits of berries, some of which are in season during he whole extent of the summer and far into the autumn. The strawberry, the raspberry, the blackberry, the blueberry, the cranberry, the wild gooseberry and a host of others. But first the wild strawberry. Ah! The wild strawberry not the bruised and bleeding mass of pulp, not the overgrown and tasteless cultivated berry from the market garden, but the deep red, full flavoured wild berry picked fresh from the stalk, and the rich think yellow cream without a drop of milk left in its composition is the treat reserved for the picnicker to Harwood Island in the month of July. So thickly do these berries grow upon this island that I have seen the edges of the ladies white shirts stained red from brushing over the fruit during their strolls over the place. This little spot is about half a mile long and five or six hundred yards in width and distant from the town about eight miles.
After the strawberry season is over we turn our attention to the next in rotation the raspberry. And for that we go to Minister’s Island (so called from its once belonging to the first Protestant clergyman of St. Andrews.) This Island is still nearer the town, at back part of it is the picnicking ground is nearest the berries and present the most romantic appearance. The beach is of red sand with here and there high points and projections of the old red sandstone some of which are perforated by holes and caves produced by the action of the water; in these red sandstone cliffs are found beautiful specimens of a rose colored quartz and up and over their rugged surfaces climbs the wild pea and convolvulus. Winding our way through some narrow ravine upward we soon reach the home of the raspberry which here grows in great luxuriance and to a large size, immense quantities are picked by poor children and offered for sale on the streets of the town.
On other of the almost innumerable islands in this beautiful bay grow quantities of the berried which I mentioned before but each island seems to have its own specialty. The cranberry which is the latest of the season grows in immense quantise on some of the island just outside the inner bay and are gathered and shipped as an article of commerce. It would be impossible to give an adequate idea of the beauty of the scenery by description changing as it does from every point of observation. Here the artist has his choice of the magnificent or the pastoral, the marine or the landscape. Here the sportsman can choose between the land bird or the sea fowl.
And here the fisherman can at his pleasure drop his fly on the calm surface of the lake or dance it on the ripple of the purling brook or more ambitious stream. The Chamcook lakes abound in fish, the trout, the landlocked salmon, and the tuladi or togue, this latter is a fish not inferior the trout either for sport or for the table, six or seven pounds is not an uncommon weight and I have know some caught in the lower Chamcook lake to weigh as high as fourteen pounds each.
Bocabec Lake is another sport dear to the fisher men on account of the white or silver perch with which its waters abound and which weigh from 1 to 2 pounds. Bonaparte, St. Patrick’s. North and numerous other lakes offer their inducements to the fishermen in the way of specked and salmon trout.
The Magaguadavic River, from lake Utopia near its mouth to “big Magaguadavic Lake” some sixty miles further up, with its numerous feeders and lakes, is the fisherman’s paradise, especially, Lakes Utopia, Red Rock, Sparks and McDougall and MacDougall Lakes Stream.
The St. John and Maine Railway runs close by Big Magaguadavic, beneath the Dam of which have been caught rout weighing as high as five pounds. No more pleasant excursion cold be offered to the disciple of “Old Isaac” than a camping rip on this river and its lakes, and both rods and guns should be carried along. (#to be continued)
More on Lorimer’s scamming of paid subscribers to the Pilot.
A Summer Visitor’s Correspondence to the Norfolk Register, Randolph, Mass.
“Agreeably to the promise made in my last letter, I will try to write you a description of the beautiful little town of St. Andrews. It is most beautifully located on the face of a gently sloping hill inclining from its summit, on which is built Fort Tipperary, to the waters of Passamaquoddy Bay on three sides, the fourth or northwest side joining the mainland, from which the peninsula projects itself. The southwest or face is that on which the town is built, sloping gradually down until it reaches the wharves which extend out into the inner harbour, in which there is the very best and safest anchorage for coasters and other small craft, and of which I will write more particularly bye and bye. In approaching the town by water, it presents its very worst features to view, the rear parts of the buildings on Water Street, on the appearance of which it is unnecessary to dwell, as everybody knows who has ever seen a seaport from the water, that the building necessary for storage and such purposes as they are used are not generally of the beautiful kind, but are more for use than ornament. The town in extent is about one mile long and five sixths of a mile in width, is laid out in wide streets, built with coarse blue gravel (about as good as macadamizing) running in parallel lines and at right angles with each other forming blocks or squares containing about ninety thousand square feet each, on which squares all its houses etc are built. There are six streets running the full length, and thirteen the full width of the town, the largest ones in a direct line from northwest to southeast, while the shorter run from the top of the hill to the harbour, northeast to southwest. While the longitudinal streets are almost level, the latitudinal ones rise gently from the water front to the summit of the hill, on the southwest face of which the town is built. There is, therefore, about twelve miles of streets in the town plot, so called, that pleasure seekers can use for driving purposes, all of good, solid, hard gravel bottom, on which a horse can trot altogether without being compelled to walk with a light team, besides miles of beautiful suburban drives, accessible within three miles of the market square or center of the business part of the town, and of which I will write later. The building generally are comparatively old fashioned, without much ornament, and contrast somewhat strangely with those of their American neighbours, there being a few of the French roof style which are the most modern buildings to be seen. The English cottage, which has become so fashionable in New England is not be seen here at all, the pitch roof prevailing, while a few hip roofs may be seen. The houses look very comfortable indeed, and with a few exceptions are well preserved. Here there is but little show of public building, the churches and hotels being the first to strike the eye. Of churches there are five—the Episcopal, the Scotch Presbyterian, or Kirk, as it is called, the Roman Catholic, the Baptist, and the Methodist, named in order according to their size, capable of accommodating in the aggregate, between two thousand persons with sitting room. While the whole number of the inhabitants scarcely exceeds these figures, so you will observe that they are amply provided for, with room enough to hear the Scriptures expatiated upon and sing their praises to the Great Ruler of the universe. The hotels, of which there are seven besides a great many private boarding houses, which have been opened for the accommodation of tourists, travellers and summer boarders, have been taxed to their greatest capacity this season, unpropitious as it has been, consequently greater accommodations have got to be and will be provided for those who intend to spend their summer vacations in this really delightful town, which, for a watering place cannot be surpassed in the Dominion of Canada, if indeed there is any place in the world which for natural advantages as such can equal it. St. Andrews has been rightly called the Saratoga of Canada and bids fair in time to leave its rival of that name far in the shade. The hotels named in order according to their size and capacity, and a description of which I will give you at some other time, are The Argyll, located at the eastern extremity of the town, on a high knoll, commanding a beautiful view of the town of SA, as well as the islands of and Passamaquoddy Bay; Kennedy’s which also is a new building, is located on water Street, at the eastern corner of Market Square, is newly furnished and capable of accommodating upwards of one hundred guests. Both of these hotels are constructed on the most improved and fashionable plans, being ventilated and lighted as well as it is possible for modern architects to plan. Next in order comes The American, newly furnished and fitted, Morrison’s, Megantic, Passamaquoddy, and the St. Andrews Houses, from which the traveller, tourist or summer boarder can make his choice and amongst which he cannot fail to find accommodations to suit both his taste and the number of his ducats. In my next, I will try to give you a description of the two principal hotels, as well as of the carriage drives, boating facilities, yachting courses, as well as the picturesque and enchanting land and water scenery of St. Andrews and Passamaquoddy Bay.” G. H. A. Y.
A Summer Visitor’s Correspondence to the Norfolk Register, Randolph, Mass.
“As your patience seems to be equal to the emergency in publishing my rambling jottings, I feel it to be incumbent on me to keep my promise of last week, while I try to give your readers a slight idea of the pleasures which are to be enjoyed by simply taking a vacation excursion, and stopping a short time in this delightful little border town. Of the two principal hotels which I promised to describe, the Argyll is the largest and most imposing in appearance situated in the extreme eastern part of the town but a short distance from either the N. B. and C. Railway or the Steamboat Wharf, on a large tract of land which, together with the sum of $5,000 in cash, were contributed by the Town of St. Andrews towards this enterprise, and has already cost the owners thereof about $25,000 to which is expected to be added a large wing on the southeast side which will give this fine building a grand frontage of about 300 feet, by 50 feet in width, to which is attached an ell running back on the northeast side, or rear, about 75 feet, making the distance from front to rear 125 feet, height three stories, with French roof, and tower or observatory, from which an excellent view of SA, NB; Robbinston, Maine; Chamcook Mountain, Passamaquoddy Bay, and all the islands of Charlotte County, both in Passamaquoddy Bay and Bay of Fundy, known as West Isles, may be had, which scene alone would compensate one well for hours of toil spent in striving to obtain it. The entrance to this building is large and airy, leading into a spacious hall 50 feel long, 14 feet wide at entrance enlarging to 30 feet at the rear, from which access is had to the dining room, which is a large hall, 54 by 44 feet, with a 22 foot ceiling, lighted and ventilated by eight large windows, four being one each side, and at night by handsome six light chandeliers. Adjoining the dining room is a large billiard hall, 21 by 44 feet, which like all parts of this house is newly furnished in the most modern style. . . . The range, which is one of the French wrought iron improved, has a cooking capacity for 300 persons. All the rooms are large and airy, being supplied with every convenience and excellent ventilation. The gent’s parlor which is on the right of the entrance is 20 feet square, and fitted with everything necessary for east and comfort. The ladies’ parlors, of which there are two, one being 22 feet, while the other is 17 feet square, connected or divided at will by folding doors, are richly furnished and carpeted, one being supplied with a Wedlock piano, the other with a Burdette organ. The basement is divided into five compartments, all of which are called into use daily. There is also a good livery stable in connection with the house, where good horses and carriages of the latest Provincial and American styles may be had a very moderate rates. Capt. Herbert, the proprietor of the Argyll aided by his wife, formerly of the Grand Falls Hotel, Grand Falls, N. B., will always be found about his business of which he is master, trying to make his guests comfortable and happy, in which he has attained a fair degree of success.
“Kennedy’s Hotel, of which the owner and gentlemanly proprietor, Mr. Angus Kennedy, is also manager, is located on Market Square, Water Street, (on the site formerly occupied for many years by the Railroad House, E. Pheasant, proprietor,) has a frontage of 50 feet, extends back 104 feet, and is three stories in height with a hip roof. It is a very commodious and handsome structure, while its internal arrangements are convenience, comfortable and airy. The rooms are large, high and well ventilated, and fitted with all the modern conveniences. The furniture, carpets, etc., are all new and very tastefully selected from the very latest designs and styles. The house in point of completeness of arrangement and elegance of finish, manner of ventilation, etc., will compare favorably with hotels of the same capacity either in the United States or Canada. Two verandas run along the front on the first and second stories. The entrance is large, opening into a spacious hall 44 feet long and 12 feet wide, from which doors open to the office, coat and washrooms, sample rooms, private parlor, and large dining room, in the rear of which are the kitchen, pantries and laundry, all of which are supplied with the most modern conveniences. On the second floor are the ladies’ parlors, which are commodiously and handsomely furnished, 16 sleeping rooms and bath rooms. There are 36 rooms on the third floor, while space enough remains unfinished to provide for 20 more bedrooms on the fourth floor. An air of cheerfulness and comfort seems to pervade the whole house,, which together with the geniality of mine host, the popular proprietor, Mr. Kennedy, must continue as it always has done to attract a large share of the patronage of those who visit Sa, either for business or pleasure. The location of the house makes it very desirable as a commercial hotel. In connection with the hotel is a good livery stable conducted by Burton and Murphy, who are always ready to supply customers with good steppers, fine carriages and equipments. T he views from the different parts of the house are very fine indeed, and nearly all the points of interest are to the seen without leaving it.
The carriage rives in and around the streets of St. Andrews, as I mentioned before, extend a distance of twelve miles. Let us first drive down Water Street, where the principal business of the town is done, towards Indian Point, where we get a good view of the inner harbor, St. Andrews Island, the different wharves and piers, steamboat landing., railway station, and all the different buildings, shops, etc., necessary at a railway terminus, the light house at the eastern entrance to the harbor, where, as we take the circuit of the race-course (so-called for years, but no longer called in use for racing purposes) the greater portion of Passamaquoddy Bay breaks into view, with its numerous islands all high land, and which divides it from the Bay of Fundy, thereby keeping out lots of fog, as it is an indisputable fact that at least two-thirds of the time, when fog is thick in the Bay of Fundy, or outside, as people term it, Passamaquoddy Bay and its surrounding islands will be as clear as a bell. This expanse of salt water is a perfect paradise for yachtsmen, and as beautiful as the eye could wish to see. To describe it fittingly would take too much space and time. It is 17 miles long and 9 miles wide, deep clear water running in length from northeast to southwest, and in width vice versa, at the point the Sand-reef Light about one and one half miles off shore, Magaguadavic Light at the mouth of the river of that name, at the northeast extremity of the Bay, and Pea Point Light, just outside of Big Letete passage, are plainly visible as we approach the Birch Trees. Driving towards Fort Tipperary, the town looks its level best, and must bee seen to be admired. Let us alight and mount the earthwork, while we gaze on the beautiful landscape around us. Immediately under our feet as it were, nestles SA, almost entirely hidden under the trees which seems almost like a forest from this point. The largest buildings, Church spires rising like sentinels above them being visible, the harbor with shipping, the island, an arm of the bay one mile long and three miles wide, between St. Andrews Island and Perry, Maine, are to be seen directly in front as we face the southwest, while as we turn gradually to the left and run down the coast of Maine to Pleasant Point and West Quoddy, Clam Cove head, Deer Island Pendleton’s and McMaster’s Island, with Big and Little Letete passages on the east of Passamaquoddy Bay, Mascareen, SG, Digdeguash, Oven Head, etc., in the distance, while directly in or near the northeast lies Katie’s Cove, with railroad trestle bridge, Hardwood Islands, Hog and Minister’s island, the Protestant Cemetery, the various farms with the fields of golden grain making a strong contrast with the surrounding and adjacent woods. To north lies Chamcook mountain, only four miles away, from which the most magnificent views can be obtained, standing out as they do in bold relief against the sky in sublime grandeur.
As we complete the circle we see the landscape dotted with farms, farm houses, etc., until we reach the mouth of the St. Croix River, which is something over two miles wide at this point, a magnificent sheet of water, which extends up into Oak Bay, retaining nearly that width about 12 miles. Red Beach, Robbinston, lever’s Cove, Mill Cove, and back again to Perry on the Maine shore, while the old Block House at the western end of the town, the Almshouse and Joe’s Point complete the picture that would required a large book to contain a good description in detail, but which has only to be seen to be admired. Let us enter our teams, drive around the head of the town, down Water Street, to Whitlock’s stable. Drove three miles. Gone one hour. Charge fifty cents.
The schooner Mary Ellen, of St. Andrews, bound to Pawtucket, Rhode Island, has been abandoned at sea, 100 miles east of Cape Ann. The crew were rescued by the schooner Zedic and taken to Liverpool, Nova Scotia. The Mary Ellen was 113 tons, built at Saint George in 1865, registered at St. John, with Mr. Robert Ross, of St. Andrews, as managing owner. Mr. Robert Ross received a telegram on Monday stating that he Mary Ellen was taken into Portland, Maine, full of water. [looks like the end of the Mary Ellen right here]
Part three of the Summer Visitor’s Correspondence to Norfolk Register. Scenery and drives in the vicinity of the town.
After the pleasurable experience of yesterday, supposed we enjoy a repetition of it today by taking a drive through the country in the immediate vicinity of the town. Having already ordered Will to hitch out his best turnout, which is now reported “all ready,” we get aboard and proceed to Joe’s Point, which is about a mile from the western corner of the town. On our way we obtain a splendid view of St. Andrews Harbor from the westward, St. Andrews Island, and the southwest arm of Passamaquoddy Bay, which lies between St. Andrews Island and the coast of Maine, easterly up to the mouth of the St. Croix River, between Joe’s Point on the Dominion side and Robbinston, Maine, on the American. The landscape which is undulating is beautifully varied with farms and their necessary buildings, woods, valleys and hills on the right while on the left is one of the most elegant marine views which could be imagined or described. Arriving at Joe’s Point we look up the St. Croix to the head of the Bay (Oak Bay) a distance of about 12 miles as straight a yacht course as can be laid, with 12 miles more from this point to Eastport, makes the whole distance 24 miles, lying northwest and southeast with a width varying from 1 ¾ miles at the astern end of St. Andrews Island. The yachting course on the southeast side of Passamaquoddy Bay is 17 miles long and 9 miles wide, running in length from northeast to southwest and all clear, bold water, without any dangerous reefs, rocks or shale. While viewing the scenery up the river we observe on the Dominion side of Kivel’s Cove, Sandy Point and all of Oak Bay. On the American side are Devil’s Head, above which point the river turns and bears away to the westward to Calais, Maine, and SS, NB, the Ledge and other place so minor importance. As we follow down the river, from Devil’s Head, on the Maine side, we see the Plaster Mills, Red Beach, Doucett’s Island and Robbinston, with the hills and mountains of Maine making a most magnificent back . . . the scene is as a beautiful and variable as one can imagine, (as a friend of mine expressed himself while riding over this road, “There is nothing here that looks alike, and yet every part of it is in perfect beauty and harmony.”) Having reached the Bay Side road, we will drive up the river a short distance as we view the silvery tide, the farm buildings and farms, as they all slope so gradually and beautifully from the road to the river, with the American shore in the background,--really beautiful beyond description. Still farther along we come to Oak Bay, which is a most charming spot, and has to be seen to be fully appreciated. Returning, we take the Bay Side to the Saint John road, and while here we must by all means visit Chamcook Mountain, from the bald head of which the most beautiful magnificent and grandest views are to be seen. Having arrived at the entrance leading to the summit, we have an ascent of about two-thirds to a mile to make before reaching it, we drive half way up, hitch our team and prepare to exercise our lower limbs. About half the distance to the top from our hitching post, we find it, well-not too steep, but quit steep enough,--while the remaining sixth of a mile; completing our last hitch or series of hitches, requiring the stretching not only of the lower limbs but also of the upper ones, too, in grasping the rocks, scrub bushes, etc, that my be within reach in assisting to carry and draw our bodes to that coveted position—the cap of old Chamcook. Hurrah! We have gained the top. The first thing in order is to regain our breath, which we have almost lost in the ascent. After drawing few draughts of the good, clear air of heaven, we hare ready to look about us and enjoy the scene, the beauties and splendour of which seem almost too much for us poor mortals ever to expect to realize; but here we are and if we can believe our sense, we see, we realize and we enjoy the magnificence, the grandeur, as well as the gorgeous beauties of this autumnal view. The air is as clear as cold be wished and fully as bracing as desirable, but the glorious scene as spread before us beggars description. In front, looking south, lies St. Andrews with the intervening farming scenery. Between the harbor St. Andrews Island and Passamaquoddy Bay, with all its island. As we turn gradually to the left we see the bold, rocky and forbidding shores of Grand Manan, 40 miles away in the Bay of Fundy, with the Island of Campobello lying between. Still more to the left and lying about due east are the Wolves, three dangerous island off Point Lepreaux and lying between that point and Grand Man. Between us lies Latete passage. The shores of Mascareen, SG, Digdeguash, on the northeast head of Passamaquoddy, with their hills and mountains forming a bold and grand background. Bocabec, and Chamcook, almost at our feet, with their harbors, coves and headland, off which place lie Hog, Hardwood (Big and Little, the later formerly used as quarantine, and where hundreds of emigrants’ bones lie, who died of ship fever in years past), and Minister’s island, the Narrows, Bar Road, Kitty’s Cove, the birch Trees, Indian Point, which form the northwest shore of the bay. Turning still farther to the left we see Waweig with its mountains and hills. Cranberry mountain with the lake of the same name on its summit, lying about north. The string of Chamcook lakes extending for miles almost northeast. Still farther to the left we see Oak Bay the head of the bay so called. A little farther to the westward the St. Croix River, with the Ledge, St. Stephen and Milltown, lying due west the Calais Maine the Devil’s Head, hills, mountains rivers, lakes Meddybemps in the distance, and the American shore on the southwest to due south clean down to Eastport, which completes the circle but gives very faint idea indeed of this grandly magnificent, most picturesque, enchanting an romantic scenery. As may naturally be supposed, this point the apex of Chamcook Mountain is much resorted to by picnic parties, although quite a hard climb it is not at all considered hazardous. The ladies as a rule, rather enjoying the ascent, while being assisted by their gallant gentlemen escorts. Let me say here that there are but very few ladies of ordinary good health who do not wish, after visiting the summit of this old sentinel, to repeat their experiences.
. . . of fresh friend trout to the bill of fare is most desirable even for a party of picnickers As a picnic locality there is no place where I have ever been, (and I have cruised the North Atlantic coast pretty thoroughly) that has so many places and advantages as St. Andrews. You can go to a new place every day in the week and month, still there will be as many more good picnic places left that you have not seen, finding them at almost any place along he shore of Passamaquoddy or the St. Croix river, with good beaches and beautiful shade. As we are now ready to return, the descent is to be made after a good, goodbye to the apex of Old Chamcook. Hoping to visit it again in the near future, we begin re retrace our steps, arriving at Hume’s Hill 1 ½ mils out of town, we gaze about us again to take a farewell of the scenery spread before us, and wonder why the artist had done so little to bring this beautiful and splendid scenery before the world. We now descend this hill, which is a very prominent feature in the landscape, take a turn down the Bar Road, about a mile and back into town, having made a day of it, and a day that will be remembered with deep interest during life. G. H. A. Y.
As Others See Us
A Summer Visitor’s Correspondence to the Norfolk Register, Randolph, Mass, US
Goodbye to SA
St. Andrews, Sept 1, 1881
This, my last day of pleasure and recreation, we will spend by attending a picnic and chowder party of St. Andrews island. MY letter commenced here, will probably be finished at the stating point, that beautiful village of S, which I left behind me nearly three weeks ago. ‘Tis a delightful morn, and nature seems to have donned her most charming garb, as if to make this our last day at St. Andrews a day that will ever dwell greenly in our memories. While I am writing, our party are now getting ready for the pleasure and recreations of the day, and I assure you that it is a most folly party too. A more propitious day could not have been produced even if made to order. 8:30 am and even now the boat are all ready, while the necessary provisions to appease the appetite of a hungry part, are now being transported to the pier, there to e stowed in the proper place so as to give room and accommodation to those of us who intend to show our appreciation of the good things by giving hem their appropriate places in our capacious bread basket. At 10:30 am we have landed at the spot where our day’s pleasure and festivities are to take place. Our cook, who has proceeded us, is now preparing the chowder, the principal ingredient of which is the “succulent clam,” and oh! What clams! Tender, fat and juicy, a feast in themselves, as our experience with our clam chowder will show for itself. On our arrival, some of us who had had experience with our cook, and knowing that we could depend on him on all occasions of his integrity, were somewhat surprised to hear him ask for some more fat for the chowder, knowing as we did that ample provision had been made in that direction but cook said he did not think that he had quite enough port to make said chowder as palatable as he could wish, but on being assured the we all would like and relish it better without so much fat, he resumed his duties, but not with so much confidence depicted on his features as we had noticed on previous occasions. However, the stow went happily on. The different individuals of our party wandered off the suit their different fancies, some alone, some almost, others in small squads, some lounging in the shade, etc., as is usual at all picnics, until the welcome dinner call was sounded. The edible and desirable being duly prepared our company seated themselves, proceeded to fortify the inner man with the substantial things of life. After eating for perhaps ten minutes, during which time the chin-music band had been playing some very lively airs, our meal was interrupted somewhat by cook wishing to know the private opinion of each and every individual on his ability as a cook, and also their opinion on the merits of that chowder. Every person, without exception, expressed himself and herself as fully satisfied with cook’s ability, and also with the flavour of the chowder. Still, he evidently was not happy while one of the party venture to request cook to free his mind, as it was beginning to be noticed that there was something heavily bearing him down, upon which cook exclaimed as if he had cast aside an immense burden:
“Thee is an inside history to this chowder that has not been told.” Immediately every spoon and mouth came to parade rest while no one would move until an explanation had been made, which came at last after much importuning by the ladies, cook remaking that he could assure us beyond a doubt that there certainly was no trichinae port in the chowder. Well, after such assurance coming from one whose honesty of purpose none could doubt, our mouths, reopened, while the march of the chowder went on. Having finished this the principal dish and all had become satiated with chowder, a heavy demand was of course made on the edible of a lighter and more delicious nature. While discussing these our cook was pressed forth inside history of that chowder, which he related in this way: Well, you see that as I came over here in advance, with this little geezer, (a four year old boy) to care for, and as my only assistant in preparing this meal I naturally felt somewhat nervous about the result, but however, I applied myself to the task by taking possession of the “Old camp ground” billing the boiler one-third full with water, lighting the fire, but up a quantity of port sufficient to enrich our chowder, which I placed where it would do the most good, foolishly casting what was left into the fire, then proceeding to bring the potatoes and onions into line. While attentively attending to this duty, my assistant showed evident signs of fear, which I first noticed by his calling my attention to the fact hat “I want to see mamma.” Immediately glancing up I discovered that my water had boiled out, the boiler was red hot in places, while my fat burned brightly and with lurid glare. Well! You see that it was impossible for one person, and that one a man, to grasp the situation and attend to both. In less than a minute I decided that it was of more importance to attend to the wants of 18 or 20 hungry picnickers than to only one, and he only an assistant; so Instead of grasping the situation, I clinched the pot, when the wrestle commenced; but to make a long story short, I lost the fat and had the boiler to cleanse. The party then being an hour late, I heartily prayed that they might be still two hours later. I got the stew started again, but used a bountiful supply of onions instead of the fat (which was past redemption). About this time the party arrived, when as you all remember I began to enquire of you all for fat, giving as an excuse, when told that provision was in the baskets sent in advance, acknowledging the contract, I told you that in my mature judgement I did not consider that I was provide with a sufficient quantity to make our chowder a success. However as no more fat was to be had, and you all have assured me that you would not like it fat, I proceeded with the business at hand, depending on the fat of clams along to grease this savoury dish (not, however without some misgiving in my conscience). The chowder having been seasoned to suit my aesthetic taste, and served up to suit yours, as you have all asserted, what better evidence can I produce to show that those clams contain fat enough in themselves to enrich a first chowder? Besides, what better evidence to you wish for to prove that there is no trichinae lurking in the hidden depths of this stew? Now to tell you all the truth, what made me feel so hurt in my feelings, was the fact that some, if not all you seemed to doubt the truthful assertion which I made for the simple purpose of dispelling any doubts which might occur to your minds concerning the merits of this delectable and savory dish. This explanation having thoroughly reassured our party of the honesty, veracity and inward true heartedness of our cook, it was unanimously voted “that his chowder, although minus port, was excellent. That cook be restored to full confidence and fellowship, and that the be permanently engaged to cater for our party through all time.” After spending the afternoon in roving, romping and rambling about the island for a few hours, the tea bells rung, which summons was responded to by all with alacrity. After doing ample justice to the meal, a stroll by moonlight on the sands followed, after which our party ere-embarked, were safely transported “to the other shore,” and scattered to our several resting places some of us to take our departure for the westward again on the following morn, which we did. After rather a tempestuous, tedious and misty voyage, reached Boston at 10 o’clock, pm, the following Saturday night, but just in time for me to take the 11:15 pm train for S., via the Old Colony and Fall RR, at which point I arrived time enough to take my regular port, beans and brown bread Sabbath morning and which served as gentle remainder that I had returned to New England and to the cares and duties of everyday life again. Mr. Editor and kind readers, let me here thank you for your toleration, patience an attention, hoping that all of you who can possibly do so, will try to spend at leas a part of your vacations in the future at SA, NB, as only by your experiences personally can the truth of my statements be vindicated. For much of my pleasure information, etc., I feel compelled to thank a former resident of your town who I happened to meet, and whose object in visiting St. Andrews was similar to my own. I hope that we may meet there again, and see some of your Massachusetts friends and acquaintance there also. With my best wishes to you all I will say “good night,” and still I remain the same G. H. A. T.
As Others See Us. Correspondence of the Boston Post. “Whatever may have been the cause of the sudden decline of this once proud people, the testimony of all who are in the least alive to the enterprise of the present preponderates in favour of St. Andrews as one of the first Canadian resorts. Free from fog, and with night air delightfully cool, and consequently death to the mosquito, a better place for all who are in quest of summer rest cannot be desired. . . . For commercial traffic, domestic and foreign, the open winter harbour and deep inland water promise an early growth. Already the Canada Pacific, which has made St. Andrews the objective terminus, is extended nearly east of lake Megantic to Moosehead. The consolidation of the European and North American with the Maine Central System, soon to be officially announced, will give a most productive impetus to east bound travel and westward freight. Under the superintendence of Mr. Cram of the former road, with the means at hand and obstacles ever present, the greatest revolution possible in passenger and freight traffic was effected. -E. C. C.
Excerpts from Bangor Daily News and Bangor Whig. See photocopies and below. Descriptions and praise of town; nothing about hay fever.
-From Bangor Daily News, praise for road:
"Its streets, which were laid out by Deputy John Jones, surveyor for the Crown, were made all of a uniform length and sixty to eighty feet wide, crossing at right angles, and dividing the town into sixty blocks, each 320 feet square. These streets were finely macadamized in this way. In those days, when Jamaica rum flowed freely as water, and people drank at any and all times in the day whenever they chose, the jails were kept full of 'drunks,' and when a prisoner became sober, he was set to 'breaking stone' till his sentence expired. Today these roads are as good as when first made and the work of the convict has lasted where the warehouse of the merchant has tumbled in ruins. The roads are never dusty in hot weather and the rain soaks into the porous soil, as soon as it falls, so they are never muddy. It is a beautifully modelled little town and the great city of Philadelphia is planned after it."
From Bee Line Gazette, "the finest roads":
Beautiful St. Andrews
A Boston Journalist’s Description of us and our New Hotel
The course of the summer resort travels is one of constant change and ever widening circumference. It is but comparatively few years since the fashion of a changer of residence, became universal, and yet today there is no one, from the clerk up to the possessor of many estates, who some time during the summer does not feel as if it were a duty which he owned to health an custom to visit some place, which either natural beauty, wonderful air, or the expenditure of money, or the patronage of some celebrity, has made fashionable or notorious. Annually the growth of this custom has stretched its limits and gradually it has taken in one place after another. It is but a few years ago that Mount Desert was the utmost limit of the summer traveller, and when a visitor there was assured of plenty of room and freedom from a crowd, and exemption from the trammels of society. All that is past now. Fashion has reached that resort, and wealth and its allies have made life there very gay. Still the summer travellers kept ahead of fashion, and at last it reached the very jumping off place of the United States. This did not in the least deter them, and then this year the summer resort accommodations of this country have leaped the boundary line and taken up a place on the New Brunswick side of the line.
The scenic beauty of this part of the country, and the quaint old country atmosphere have long been vaguely known to the eastern people, but he fact that it was hard to get there the comforts which are indispensable to us as a race have kept Americans from invading the region in any great numbers, but since a hotel company in which many Boston men have an interest have taken possession of one of the prettiest sites in the provinces and have built a first-class hotel there, the country bids fair to be at no late day well reconnoitred by us—and it will repay the trouble.
St. Andrews is situated on a narrow point of land extending southward into the Passamaquoddy Bay, about twelve miles north of Eastport. Though on the New Brunswick side it is due north from the coast of Maine, and despite the nearness of the American boundary, the country, the people, and the town itself have a distinctly foreign air. Not only is the place picturesque in its surroundings, having a water view of great extent—no less than seventy give mils of coast being in sight—with the mountains of Maine on the one hand, and of NB on the other; bordering the vision on either side, it has a favor of romance about it, and is the ruins of a once lively shipping port now passed into a dream. The little town, which is on the extreme point of the narrow peninsula, has about seventeen hundred inhabitants, and is almost tree-embowered. The oldest inhabitant still tells tales of the days of his youth when its harbor was crowded with merchantmen, which lay so closely alongside of one another that one could walk from the lower end of the town to Joe’s point at the other on the decks of the vessels, stepping from one to the other. All this if it be true, is long gone by, and only a few decaying hulls, or pleasure craft and fishing boats are seen at its docks. The town, though dilapidated, is still attractive. It is doubly so, as the simple inhabitants are all fond of flowers, and as you walk its quaint streets you will see everywhere, even in the humble houses, pots of flowering plants. The town, which was an early French settlement, was named for a priest, Saint Andre, who first planted the cross of the Jesuits on that shore, and played an active part in the struggle between the French and English for the possession of the provinces. Above the town the land rises in natural terraces. This rise is so gradual that one can climb to the height of one hundred and fifty feet and hardly be aware of it until one looks back and sees the magnificent bay spread before one, and the town hidden in the trees at one’s feet. The point from which the best view is obtained is known as Fort Hill, and was selected as the site of the big hotel which has just been completed and named the Algonquin.
Though we have driven the Indian from our soil, yet he still remains to remind us of his once free sway by the names which have remained behind him on the bosoms of our lakes and rivers, and hills, and of our free will we are constantly adding a reminder on our own account of naming a house or a club by some such name as has been given to this. The Algonquin has a view which can hardly be surpassed on the coast. Below is the town—so far distant that it but adds to the view, and its picturesqueness alone is visible. From every point of the compass one sees the water and beyond on three sides the view is guarded by the eternal Hills. Five hundred yards away is Fort Tipperary—now deserted and almost dismantle, though useless guns still mount guard on its grass-grown battlements, behind whose earth works no longer ago than 1866, during the Fenian troubles, the British regulars marched and countermarched to the sound of the drum and the fife, whose martial strains bade the residents of the odd little town, “have no fear.” Previous to that the only memorable time when the fort has been manned was during he “Trent Affair.”
The new hotel which crowns this eminence is a structure in the old English style of architecture, and is liberally piazzaed, gabled, and turreted. It was built by the Algonquin land Company from plans by Rand and Taylor, and in a manner which in every way meets the requirements of this convenience-loving age. It has three hundred and fifty feet of piazza, and from them one can see Passamaquoddy Bay, Chamcook mountain, which guards the way at the north, the St. Croix river, the Bay of Fundy, whose famous fogs do not cross to this shore, and the picturesque, rock-bound and mountain-guarded shore of Maine. The scenery, which grows on one, is of itself enough to make the place popular; while its air, which is said to be a sure cure for insomnia, is so restful that tired nerves at once improve under its tonic. The surrounding country is most interesting. The drives are magnificent. The roads are made of the stone which comprises the shore, and which is a kind of cross between sandstone and slate. It is of the color of sandstone, and makes roads as hard as rock; while its porous quality and solidity are of a nature which makes neither mud nor dust. On rainy days the water runs right through it, and the surface is barely wet; on dry days not a speck of dust rises from it. . . . The extreme end of the peninsula is Indian Point, where, in the year 1770, Col. Church landed with his force to revenge the sacking of Deerfield, Conn. This point was a pretty bit of natural beauty, but upon it has already been spent thousands of dollars by the land company who have made of it a beautiful park. There are ten acres of land, on the extreme point which was given to the company by the town on condition that a certain amount of money would be spent on it, and the park deeded back to the town. A boulevard has been built around it at the water's edge, and serpentine walks thread their way under the shade of pine trees with whose health-giving balsam the air is redolent. An artificial lake, which is large and contains several islands, has been built, and about the park there are already surveyed a number of cottage sites.
The Boston contingent are all very enthusiastic about the place, and there is no question but that the fact that it is across the borders, where they use the English stamp, and pounds, shillings, and pence, hold sway, and where the custom house is the gate-way, giving the flavour of foreign travel, will aid the real attraction of the place to popularity. The All-Rail line to St. Andrews is in every way a delightful trip. The train leaves Boston at eight o'clock in the morning and proceeds via the Boston and Maine and Maine Central roads, reaching St. Andrews at 9:10 on the evening of the day. The scenery, especially at the latter part of the trip, is delightful, while the service of the road is such as to enable one to make the journey with perfect pleasure and comfort.
Keep to the Left
What Befell a Yankee who disobeyed the Injunction
(Correspondence Boston Traveller)
My first experience while driving over one of the splendid roads surrounding SA, NB, causes the above to be firmly implanted on my mind. I had read so much recently regarding the fine roads there that immediately after my arrival at the Algonquin I ordered a horse and buggy that I might ride forth and prove that man in this 19th century is proven to exaggerate. Turning down one of the broad gavelled driveways leading from the hotel, I found myself upon a street of the old town. Upwards of 60 feet wide, its sides lined with shade trees, this street bore but little resemblance to streets as we of the city know them A green sward covered its width from fence to fence, not showing upon its surface the slightest indication of wheels ever having passed over it. Here, thought I, is the best evidence of a smooth, unruffled repose, and what must be the life led by the 1700 inhabitants of the village that can permit nature’s carpet, unharmed to cover a public road. I soon emerged, however, upon a travelled way, which I later learned is the road to SS, 28 miles distant. Following its even, smooth surface for some two miles I found myself on the band overlooking the lovely St. Croix River. Now I was beyond the boundaries of the ton, and expected soon to strike the ordinary country “rut:” road, but being disappointed I had almost determined to drive on until I did find it. At last I discovered some distance ahead an old-fashioned school house.
From its driveway appeared a horse and wagon, and in the latter a nice looking girl, arrayed in a white calico gown. Here, thought I, is a chance to show my city ways, so whipping my horse into a trot, I prepared to pass the young lady with uplifted hat. Her horse was now on the highway, and had assumed a gait somewhat faster than a walk. She kept however on my side (the right) of the road, but I anticipated that as we neared she would turn out. My horse seemed determined to give her the right of way, but to show “my horse knowledge” I yanked the right rein, and in another instant my buggy was in collision with hers, upsetting it, and throwing her upon the roadside. I lay sprawling upon the opposite side, but immediately regaining my feet, I went to her assistance; partly stunned, but not otherwise inured, she had assumed a sitting posture. I offered my regrets, but only received in reply the admonition, “Keep to the left.” I begged her pardon and said I was on my own side. “You were not,” she said; “don’t you know that in NB you should keep to the left?” Offering every excuse for my ignorance, I explained that if she were from “the States” as I was, and accustomed to the ways of a great city like Lynn, she would probably have committed the same error.
“A great city like Lynn,” and she laughed. “Why bless your innocent ‘Johnnie’ soul, I’ve been teaching school for my sister today while she went to town, but when I’m home I’m in the doll department at Macy’s, corner fourteenth street and Sixth avenue, NY, but I was born in St. Andrews and come home every second year to build up.”
I righted her buggy and helped her in, and as she drove off toward St. Andrews a mischievous twinkle came in her eye, and turning her head toward me as I stood in the road feeling very cheap, her parting salutation was: “Remember Johnnie keep to the left.”
Eastern Summer Resort
Healthy Breathing spots in the Neighborhood of SA
“Quoddy” contributes an interesting and well-written sketch to the Eastport Sentinel on “Eastern Summer Resorts.” We quote from it the following:
The map of Maine with its ocean fringe of headlands and islands resembles a curtain drawn away to the left. In the extreme lower corner dangling like a tiny tassel, is the little group of Isles of Shoals, only partly in this State, which though small in extent is still a note summer resort. Higher up on the opposite extreme of the coast is Passamaquoddy with its tangle of headlands, inland waters, and island groups, a sort of crumpled rosette on the curtain’s edge, bulging over into NB, with Grand Manan, a noble pendant just below. Thus gather here is a remarkable group of summer resorts varied in character, already widely known and designed to greatly increased popularity in the near future. . . . Campobello, further in, is a large and picturesque island, its outer shore washed by the harbor, through which runs the boundary line, to Eastport, and the shores of Maine. It is under the control of an American company which is developing it as a summer resort. The Tyn-y-coed, which with its mate the Tyn-y-maes, occupies an elevated plateau amid a group of petty private cottages, has a noble outlook and enjoys a reputation unexcelled by any house on the northern coast, and the place has proved attractive to a superior class of visitors.
Further up the on the mainland on the inner bay lies the old provincial town of St. Andrews. An American company has also taken hold here,, undertaken various improvements an erected a spacious hotel, the Algonquin, on the heights above the town, from which a magnificent view is gained over the surrounding country The lovely Chamcook hills rise not far away and at their base begin a chain of pretty lakes stretching northward and well stocked with fish.
From Montreal Witness
This is one of the most charming and restful spots in the Dominion and is destined to become the summer resort of many families from Montreal, Toronto and other Canadian cities, as it is now of not a few from Washington, Philadelphia and New York. The opening of the Canadian Pacific short line to the Maritime Provinces brings St. Andrews within fourteen or fifteen hours of Montreal at an expense of $15 for return first class tickets. The quaint old town is beautifully situated on a Peninsula in Passamaquoddy bay, and the scenery of the district is perhaps unsurpassed anywhere on the Atlantic coast. The air is bracing and salubrious, and the almost entire absence of fog, together with the odors of balsam which thickly stud the park on the beach, make it one of the healthiest places on the continent. It is difficult to imagine surroundings more congenial to restfulness and health. The drives in the vicinity are numerous and the roads all that could be desired. There is fishing in abundance in the bay and in the numerous lakes within easy access. There are daily excursions by steamboat to SS, Calais, Campobello Island, Eastport, St. John, Portland, etc., as well as by rail to SG, Fredericton, Grand Falls, etc. The town has a population of about 1,500, with numerous stores and well appointed liveries, etc. There are five neat and attractive churches, the best known of which is the Presbyterian "Kirk," some 65 years old, with its high pulpit, which cost 500 pounds sterling, presented by a wealthy member of a former generation. There are several hotels, two of which are large and well appointed summer hostelries. One of them, "The Algonquin," is in the West End, with accommodation for some 150 guests. The other, "The Argyll House," has room for about the same number, and is situated on the border of the town park, having a railway platform on its own grounds for the convenience of guests. There are extensive grounds for the amusement of children, and the view from nearly every room is good. The rooms are large and airy, all carpeted and well furnished. The table is good, there being sufficient variety for any ordinary taste, and the cooking all that could be desired. The landlord spares no pains to make his guests feel at home, and good order and punctilious cleanliness are marked characteristics of the Argyll House. The rates are most reasonable, running from $7 to $10 per week, with a reduction for families.
There are several Montreal families in St. Andrews thus far this season, including those of Rev. Dr. Warden, Mr. J. S. McLachlan, Messrs. Jas. Burnett, R. Meighen and John Hope. Others are expected this week. The season continues till October, fever patients being here in large numbers in September and October. Hay fever cannot exist here, nor, apparently, can most other diseases, St. Andrews being one of the most healthy places, with a lower death rate than almost any other town on the continent.
The Place to Go
There is a time when one feels kindly towards his fellowmen and longs for his neighbors to participate with him in his pleasures. Have any of my readers ever made a “visit to this place, and here on a foreign soil and under a foreign government, ever tested the pleasures of studying the phases to be found in the life and habits of a beautiful, sleepy town, a town where once the busy mart of life was found and where now only the remnants of prosperous place are left, and with this no signs of poverty? If not, and one desires to rest that day dream give one accustomed to the battle of our Yankee life, visit this place. Do not come expecting to find the artificial life of Newport, or the hurly burly of Old Orchard or fashionable Saratoga, but come with all the imagination that you can command, for anything you can picture will be realized. The bay of Naples at your feet and the range of Alps as you turn to the Italian blue in the skies, are pictures that can be realized in this quaint old town. Here, without taking an ocean voyage, may be found the charming old gentleman with a title, and as you hear a neighbor address him as “Sir,” you cannot help asking yourself, “Is this only half a day’s journey from Boston?”
Leaving Newton a few days ago a party of our citizens found themselves at the Boston and Maine depot bound for this place. When we left home the sun was shining, but on our arrival, for our benefit, the plugs of the skies were pulled out and a more gloomy, disconsolate number of people would be hard to find. Even getting supper at the Algonquin, kept and managed as only a Yankee can manage a hotel, did not make us feel any too well toward the place where we were looking for rest and when one after another had turned in, it was with regrets that we were not back on Yankee soil.
What a change in the morning, for as we met one after another on the broad piazza of the hotel, the only expression to be heard was “How Beautiful.” Accepting an invitation to take a ride over the village and into the woods, we found ourselves upon delightful roads and we turned from one road to another and as one view after another presented a different picture, we were only too sorry when our appetites called up back to take care of the inner man.
This place cannot be described. If any one of our citizen desires a change and that change to be restful and invigorating, I do not know how you can act better the part of a public benefactor than by encouraging them to visit SA, NB.—Doctor
“the majority of our citizens who are able to take advantage of a summer vacation, are actuated by one or two motive: recreation and pleasure for themselves and their families, or necessity of rest from the continuous labors of the year. Our remarks at this time apply more directly to those coming under the latter head. The Newtons are filled for the most part with men of business, whose brains are constantly working to attain success in their occupations and these are the men who require and should have absolute rest, bodily and mentally, during at least one month out of the twelve, for it they did but stop to think, the would realize how many of their associates or business acquaintance have discovered when it was too late, that they had not heeded nature’s requirement by “letting,” so to speak, on their treadmill lives after money. We are very apt to imagine that our business can only be carried along by our personal push and pressure,, and this may be true in many cases, but the successful business man brings to his aid the assistance of those, whether partner or employees, who can safely be entrusted with his affairs, while he renews his health and vigor by taking the much needed rest. Nine tines out of ten when we find our health undermined, and our body and brain out, we can look back and see where a rest at needed times might have saved us from our present condition. A summer’s daylight to some near by place seems to satisfy many, but the labor of getting there,, and trying to rush a month in one day produces anything but what is aimed at. To the would-be fashionable Newport, Saratoga and like resorts afford the momentary gratification to their desires, but for perfect rest we should seek places of unquestionable healthfulness, pure atmosphere, and more than l an entire change from our ordinary surroundings. Years ago several of our citizen discovered just across the Maine border, a place that seemed to possess all the attributes required, and each succeeding year their number was so increased that they found it necessary to build a modern hotel, the Algonquin, which they opened to the public last year. Aside from the hotel and its perfect location, St. Andrews presents wonderful attractions by reason of its ocean, bay, river, inland lakes and mountain scenery. The average temperature during the summer months is 70 degrees, while at night blankets are always required. Mosquitoes and malaria are unknown, and there the tired brain and fatigued body will find perfect rest and recuperation. (Editorial, but perfect Newton propaganda)
From Newton Graphic, Mass
A summer's day flight to some near by place seems to satisfy many, but the labour of getting there, and trying to rush a month into one day produces anything but what is aimed at. To the would-be-fashionable Newport, Saratoga and like resorts afford the momentary gratification to their desires, but for perfect rest we should seek places of unquestionable healthfulness, pure atmosphere, and more than all an entire change from our ordinary surroundings. Years ago several of our citizens discovered just across the Maine border, a place that seemed to possess all the attributes required, and each succeeding year their number was so increased that they found it necessary to build a modern hotel, the Algonquin, which they opened to the public last year. Aside from the hotel and its perfect location, St. Andrews presents wonderful attractions by reason of its ocean, bay, river, inland lakes and mountain scenery. The average temperature during the summer months is 70 degrees, while at night blankets are always required; mosquitoes and malaria are unknown, and there the tired brain and fatigued body will find perfect rest and recuperation.
Things that are Needed
Aug 4, 1890
To the Editor of the Beacon
There are two very important adjuncts to a successful summer resort that are lacking in SA, and the lack of which militate against the success of the place. There is not a summer resort on the Atlantic coast, from Cape May to Eastport, that does not have at least one steam launch playing about its waters, and there is none at which the bathing facilities are kept to the minimum, except St. Andrews. These are more important than many realize, and have a great bearing upon the success of the place.
Last year, the steam launch “Tourist” cleared from this port daily for SG, SS, and other near by resorts, and was a source of great pleasure to hundreds who visited our place. This season the absence of such a craft is noticeable, and expressions of regret are heard on every hand. We are told that the “Tourist” was not a paying investment, and that the syndicate lost money running her. That is undoubtedly true, but did the gentlemen of the syndicate, to whom we were indebted for the pleasurable trips on the little steam yacht last year, stop to think before deciding not to have her this year, that the steamer was in a measure an advertisement for the place, an attraction that held people when they were once here, and through them caused others to come. Think for a moment of the embarrassment of the visitor of last summer who has induced friends to come here this year wit the representation that there were numerous side trips to be had at merely nominal rates. They have of course found that he has been misrepresenting matters, and naturally are dissatisfied.
It seems to me that the proprietors of the two largest hotels here could well afford to maintain a steam yacht here during the short season, and if there were any losses divide them. I doubt, however, if there would be any losses, providing, of course, that the management was a business one, and not like that of 1889. A summer resort must offer attractions other than those afforded by riding.
Now as to bathing. There are hundreds who come here annually for the sole purpose of enjoying sea bathing, and a slight effort at least, should be made to cater to their desire. At the present time there is a woeful lack of accommodations in this respect, and the fault should be remedied at once. It would pay some young enterprising man to construct several bath houses on the shore that skirts Indian Point Park, and let the, with suits, to the summer visitor who delights to have himself in the waters of the bay. There is an opening for the right man. The waters of the bay may be rather chilly for the comfort of the visitor from the south who has been accustomed to the warm waters of Nantasket, Nantucket, Narragansett Pier, Old Orchard and other similarly situated resorts, but it is none too warm for the northern visitors who have, perhaps, been accustomed to Murray Bay or some other chilly locality. They come here to bathe, and they should be given the opportunity.
SA is a charming resort in which to pass the summer months, as the hundred who visit here are willing to testify, but the place will never be success until more attractions are provided. It seems to me that a syndicate formed for the purpose of “booming” a summer resort had first better improve the natural advantages of the place, and then provide attractive forms of pleasure.
--Herbert S. Fuller
An Enraptured Tourist
To the editor of the Beacon,
Truly, St. Andrews is a charming place for a summer resort and it does not require newspaper puffing to extol the beauties of he situation of the town. The peninsula is a bit of new and fresh country, with the large trees cut down for firewood. There are many fine fields of meadow hay and pretty woods of balsam and hemlock; across and through the fields and woods one can ramble at leisure breathing in the ozone of the sea air; and the smell of the wood ferns and wild flowers is delightful.
From the verandah of the Algonquin or looking out of anyone of the bedroom windows, the views towards all points of the compass are enchanting. From the top of the hill on the road leading out of the town, the view of water, of island, fields, woods and hills, is superb. Considering the size of the town and peninsula, the number of pretty short walks within one mile of the Algonquin Hotel is surprising, and all of them of easy distance for ladies and children and yet how many of the visitor take advantage of the exercise and find out the pretty spots of fields and woods? Then at the east and west ends of the town one can s troll for several miles along the beach at low tide, dry shod and smooth and easy walking, so few rocks or boulders are there and the tide goes out so far that the beach at either side of the peninsula provides a pleasant morning’s ramble and always a delightful breeze. It is true that no provision has been made for public bathing as to be found at seaside resorts along the Atlantic coast, but at high tide there are quite a number of secluded and favourable places within ten minutes walk of the hotels were a dip can be indulged in.
During the week I have sojourned here I have explored the whole district within five miles of the Algonquin Hotel, in my walks and rambles between 9 am and 6 pm. I have walked at least five mils on the roads leading to SS, Saint John and Bocabec Bay and along cross and side roads besides. I say nothing of strolls through fields and woods. I have seen or met several visitors enjoying a pleasant drive, but of the hundreds of visitor sojourning here now, or who have visited St. Andrews within the past two months, how many of them have visited the various pretty spots about the peninsula? Visitors come to St. Andrews from all parts of Canada and US, travelling hundred and thousands of miles, to get away from the heat an dust of inland cities, during the dog days and yet how many men, or ordinary good health and possessing the ordinary amount of activity and energy, do you find idling and loafing away the hours and days simply to east, drink and sleep, when by walks and rambles about the peninsula they could be storing up health for the long winter and renewing health by good long walks and at the same time see all the lovely scenery and pretty localities about St. Andrews. Every summer thousands of tourists and travellers go up to the top of Mount Washington because it is the correct or fashionable fad, but I can assure all visitors to SA, from a personal experience and the result of my walk last Saturday afternoon, that it is worth travelling a thousand miles to spend an hour on top of Chamcook Mountain. Although I could not find out any beaten track, I had no difficulty whatever in making my way up crossing a fence and entering the woods at random. Half way up I was rather surprised to meet a cow when I was thinking the locality was favourable for Bruin! Coming down, I had only descended some twenty feet when I unexpectedly struck a well worn path which I found brought me down a gentle slope; in fact, an active lad could easily run up hill all the way to the top of the mountain. Considering the number of visitors at all three hotels and the facility for reaching the top of Chamcook mountain, I am more than surprised that the walk or excursion is not of a daily occurrence. The view all round is simply grand—a perfect panorama. I cannot too strongly encourage all visitors to make the ascent. I also walked last week to the first of the Chamcook lakes, and I intend to walk to the second one in a day or two. The first lake is a beautiful sheet of water and when fishing is good the day’s outing must be glorious sport in such a pretty locality. Nature has done much for St. Andrews and the peninsula, but the residents of the town and the wives and daughters of farmers should cultivate a taste for flowers. True a visitor does find flowers in the windows of many houses in the town, and about the doors of some farm houses, but gardens, flower beds and parterres of lovely flowers might be more popular, and when so much benefit and pleasure can be derived at such little expense, a few cents spent on flower seeds would make all homes cheerful.
August 11, 1890
Writing Up Sa
Bishop Perry, of Iowa, Writes Entertainingly of the Town
Correspondence Davenport Democrat
At St. Andrews by the sea, NB, July 1890.
We are “in the cool,” as our English and provincial friends describe it, and as we have had day by day telegrams, letters and papers, telling of the “heated term” at home we have felt as though we were specially favored at having found so comfortable, so cool, so cheap a seaside resort. No “cheap” in any sense of inferiority or lack of comfort, care and excellent cuisine. Not “cheap” in offering second-rate service or poor accommodations such as the world with us implies. But in this “Blue-nose country,” and under the cross of Sgt, which twines lovingly with the “stars and stripes” on every peak and from almost every house about us, prices are still moderate, inflation has not reached us, and one enjoys at the palatial “Algonquin,” kept as few can keep an hotel by Mr. Charles V. Carter, of the Hotel Raymond fame in California tourist’ memories, the very best of all things at the lowest possible rates, and there is more than full equivalent rendered for every penny paid. Under such management, and with sea and mountain, lake and brook, shade and sunshine, air intoxicating in its exhilaration,, and the saltiest of salt sea baths, with beds luxurious , piazzas broad, every window with a view of sea and shore to offer, the Algonquin will not only sit as a queen on her towering height overlooking Passamaquoddy Bay, but she will rule among the summer seaside resort and be all the season through as crowded as she is today.
It is but a little short of three hundred years since Henry IV of France granted to Pierre du Ghast the Sieur de Monts the tracts of shore and inland extending from the present sit of Philadelphia to Quebec. The royal gift was called Acadie, a name said to be derived from a local aboriginal word. De Monts sailed from le Have de grace in March or April 1604. The adventurers were, as were wont to be the case in those early days of attempted colonization and settlement, a motley crew of pressed vagabonds and criminals, gentlemen adventurers and soldiers, and an ill-assorted company of priests and Huguenot preachers. Between the latter the odium theologium was fierce and portentous all the voyage through. The first land seen was Cape La Have. Sailing to the southwest after a little delay, Cape Sable was rounded and the Bay of Fundy seen. On St. John the Baptist’s day, June 24, the site of the present city of Saint John and the noble river bearing the same name, were discovered. Later, penetrating through what is now euphemistically styled “Digby Gut” the Annapolis Basin was reached,, and Port Royal fixed upon as a point of settlement and defence. Sailing to the west from St. Mary’s Bay and the mouth of the Saint John , the “Wolves” were sighted and Grand Manan” and Campobello—we give them the name they bear today. Then the great discoverer in his
Writing up SA
Bishop Perry, of Iowa, Writes Entertainingly of this town.
Correspondence Davenport, Iowa, Democrat
. . . Refugee silver, china, furniture, pictures, abound in these quaint old homes, built a century ago. Sypher of New York—rightly named because of the cipher he adds to numerals on his prize lists-could well replenish his stock of real “antiques” if he could induce the St. Andrewsians families to part with these household goods, for “Chippendales” and tulip-backed chairs, and solid mahogany round tables, dressers, bureaus, escritoires, and bedsteads abound; and with them, the willow-blue china, the old Chelsea, the old-time cut glass, and all this sort of thing. these are the penates of the St. Andrews homes, and you are welcome everywhere, and once within the heavy oaken doors, the hospitality is profuse.
Dear old SA! Sleepy, slow, and yet so charming! The Algonquin roses on its proud eminence with the town, the waters, the distant hills, the open sea, the river, inlets, fisheries,--all at its feet. We go away regretfully. Rumor has it hat no less a pen than that of Davenport’s proudest boats,--Octave Thanet,--will ere this summer season is over, “write up” this virgin soil—this border-ground of the old French history and the modern seaside society story. We trust that this tale is true. There are characters here and the local coloring gat one’s hand is of the best.
W. S. P.
Octave Thanet writes of her Vacation Trip to Old St. Andrews by the sea.
SA by the Sea, July 1/1891
It is not such a simple thing as it seems to decide where one shall spend the summer. We decided, on the strength of a friends’ letter, to come to SA, NB. To reach this place you may take the railway or a line of “palatial steamers.” They may be palatial for anything we know; my seamanship is so low and degraded that I never try to make it keep company with anything palatial on the water; therefore we chose the cars. Palatial is not the appropriate adjective for them! It is interesting to a traveller to watch the career of cars; to meet with the old friends of his youth, long since departed out of his accustomed ways of travel, in the byways of iron North and South.
Myself, I almost shed tears of recognition, when after so many years my eyes again fell on the once admired dark red plush cushions and gilded black walnut and narrow berths. “It is!” I exclaimed to my friend who was gazing about her with emotion, visibly indicated with a frowning brow and a curling lip, “It is the long lost sleeping car of my childhood! I know in the toilet room are the towels about the size of one’s hand and the lock that will not turn to lock the door in the first place and will not unlock it in the second so you feel like a prisoner of Chillon for a quarter of an hour at a time.
“We do wrong, West,” I mused in a sentimental Stern’s’ Yorick’s vein,” we do wrong to abandon the old friends that have worked for us as soon as more comfortable cars are invented. You see J---, they cling to the old fashions; indeed, from the appearance of those seats, I should judge that whole families, with liberal lunch baskets and clung to them; they are contented with modest accommodations. I feel myself back in a primitive, frugal Spartan time when we saved our money and four people occupied a section. I almost am emboldened to offer the porter the unostentatious ante-bellum quarter of the of the usual dollars.”
J--- merely remarked that she wouldn’t and on reflection I didn’t Too much depends on the porter’s opinion to experiment on it. Of course, on these cars, they burn oil lamps of extraordinary heat giving power; and of course there are no screens or brakes, but then the window fastenings have something the matter that prevents raising them, so it really does not matter.
We are so Philistine and material in the West, were I live, that we grumble about such trifles and demand electricity and screens and “breakers,” and vestibules and ventilation to any extent; but East, a cultured, Christian population seems to accept them without a murmur.
At Bangor the Boston express stops for breakfast. Bangor is a pretty town. I will not allude to the breakfast. There are days when in hostelries, as in private families, everything goes wrong; when the coffee is poor and the potatoes greasy, and mistakes have been made about the date of the spring chicken’s death (supposed I am sure, to be more recent than any one who ventured to eat the chicken could imagine.) It was our misfortune to reach Bangor on such a day.
One waits an hour or so at a sufficiently dismal little border town where the customs officer fumbles in the upper tray of one of our boxes. He is good-natured, elderly customs officer and we wonder if he has children at home, and if his salary supports them (for it is a frayed coat sleeve that hovers about J---‘s dainty trifles) and we wish him well, and would tip him if we dared—but we don’t. After the change of cars (to a day coach still smaller, still shabbier, still dingier than the sleeper) we skirt the lakes and roll through the valleys of St. Andrews.
Everyone carries away a souvenir of St. Andrews from here. The souvenir that one should bring away is an Indian basket. Where a little park slips into the bay, in a grove of pines, are set the Indian tents, and there some families of Indians weave baskets out of the sweet grasses and stained withes. Daintier or queerer baskets one cannot find in Montreal or Quebec.
It is pleasant prowling about the stores because the shopkeepers are so invariably courteous and do not seem grasping, after the manner of their kind in pleasure resorts generally. They actually appear to have only one price for their goods, whether you are a citizen or a stranger. Now, in St. Augustine, (to which our minds instantly turn when the pillage of travellers is discussed), one tradesman frankly told us that they had three prices; one for the dwellers in the town, one for the cottagers and one for the “rank stranger,” each price climbing a little higher on the golden stair. If there be pillage in St. Andrews it is so delicate, so slight that it shrinks out of observation.
Sa is an old town—that is, there were settlers on the peninsula as early as the seventeenth century; and one of the forays of Massachusetts reprisal was against the Frenchmen and their Indian allies on Passamaquoddy Bay.
Do you recall Church’s narrative? He commanded the Massachusetts troops. A very successful foray it was. Church landed on either Moose Island (now Eastport) or Indians Island; it makes it more thrilling for one when at St. Andrews to suppose that it was Indian Island, therefore we take the latter version. Thence he sailed, across to SA, completely surprised the Indians, and besides taking many prisoners, captured all their store of fish, carrying off what they could and destroying the rest. “Whereon,” said Church, grimly, “the enemy seeing what our forces were about, that their stock of fish was destroyed, and that the season was over for catching any more, set up a hideous cry and so ran away all into the woods.”
This was the first Massachusetts invasion.
At the close of the same century, came another company of New England loyalists who fled from the States after the colonies were declared independent. They converted the fort and trading posts into a town. Staunch old Parson Andrews bearing with him the royal arms that he had taken from his Connecticut church, affixed them above his new pulpit, and the faithful of his flock gathered about him under the Union Jack. So many years have passed that even the descendant of a Revolutionary parson and the descendant of a Puritan solider may admire their unconquerable fidelity to their consciences. They were honest souls. We are glad that they prospered, that they built them mansions that were spacious, even luxuriant, in their day, and that the town became the seaport of the coast. But we do not believe the gorgeous tradition that one could walk two miles stepping from the deck of one vessel to another, along the wharves.
Then there came the last Yankee invasion. This time they came in peaceful guise. They bought thousands of acres. They called themselves the St. Andrews Land Company, and it is question whether they captured St. Andrews or St. Andrews captured them. To us it seemed the latter aspect of the case is the truer. They have a Canadian president, Sir Leonard Tilley, the governor of New Brunswick, and have several Canadians on the Board of Directors, but the vice-president and secretary is a Boston man, Robert S. Gardiner, and the treasurer is Mr. Eugene F. Fay of Boston, while well known Boston, Maine and New York names are on the Board of Directors.
Happily, these gentlemen have guarded the old associations of the town, making their improvements along the old lines. So in an utterly un-American spirit of repose, we may walk the old streets with their unfamiliar names—King street, prince of Wales street, Royal street, Queen street and then through all the royal family of His Majesty George III, Harriet, Elizabeth, Patrick, Sophia, Frederic—surely the old loyalists branded their principles into the very ground.
Of course in such a town there are divers objects of interest. Every stranger is expected to visit the Indian camp and the Blockhouse, Fort Tipperary and the Scotch Kirk. The Kirk is a white building with a bell tower and the picture of a green, green oak displayed on the façade. Here the Scotch Presbyterians, of whom there is a goodly number in SA, worship and receive the Word from an unconscionably high pulpit.
Tradition has a pretty story about the church. It was built early in the century by a generous but opinionated Scotchman. He wanted a church that suited him within and without; as the shortest, peaceable route to his own will and way he built and furnished an kept the church, giving the use of it to the parish on condition that they paid the taxes. How grateful the congregation was, one cannot decide; perhaps they grumbled and criticized John Scott’s taste, and wondered why when he was about it, “a man of his means,” he couldn’t pay the taxes; it is certain, anyhow, that they did not pay the taxes themselves. Then the giver rose up in his wrath and the following Sunday, when they assembled, they found the doors locked and John Scott ready with a fiery discourse on their sins of omission.
Somehow, peace must have been patched up, for the church was left to them at his death, with this queer proviso—as if John Scott will push his finger into their affairs even from the grave!—every year the picture of an oak tree was to have a fresh coat of paint. Punctually, every year it has had the legal coat, until it is glossy bas relief.
There are dozens of interesting traditions afloat in St. Andrews and more than dozens of interesting characters. A placid old gentleman whose pretty cottage on the hill we noticed the first day, is the father of Canadian journalism, and a perfect mine of information. (A. W. Smith no doubt) Generally some time in the day one will see, either in the hotel or on the streets, a handsome, elderly man to whom everybody bows. Sometimes he is in a pony carriage driven by a dark eyed young man or by a sweet faced and Titian haired lady. This is Sir Leonard Tilley, the governor, the young man is his son, the charming woman his wife. They are all greatly loved in St. Andrews. And any old inhabitant would like nothing better than to tell stories of Sir Leonard’s eloquence when he was the member for Saint John. Lady Tilley entertains delightfully, and many a wanderer from the States carried back grateful memories of her home and her cook—and J--- wished me to add—her Jersey cows.
In this respect, the hospitality of Saint Andrews, there is so much to say! Canon Ketchum, Mrs. Ketchum, and Miss Ketchum, Sir Charles Tupper and a score of other kind hosts and hostesses, have captured more American hearts than Church’s men took captives. Canon Ketchum has some rare old books in his library that are worth a long journey to see.
SA is gradually acquiring a pleasant company of cottagers. In the meanwhile it has three hotels, all warmly praised by their guests. One of those we could commend to all our friends, but I am not writing an advertisement. The architect of that house has been happy in his fireplaces. They typify a kind of homelike comfort which I have never encountered in any other hotel. It is our opinion, too, that hay fever attacks the most genial, sweet tempered, witty and personally attractive people; until we ran into the hay fever sufferers here this interesting fact in neurology had escaped us entirely; also the equally interesting fact in therapeutics, that St. Andrews air is a specific for hay fever.
Possibly one reason is the extraordinary dryness of the atmosphere, which is more like mountain than sea air, yet has the quality of sea air in its salt refreshment; possibly another is that the pine woods are an absorbent. Be the reason what it may, hay fever sufferers can ride, drive, walk, fish in wet clothes or keep flowers in their rooms and never feel a twinge.
J--- and I are no fisherwomen; this is a pity, since the fishing privileges of St. Andrews are large, both in the bay for salt-water fish and in the lakes and streams for salmon trout. A day’s journey will give one an opportunity to gambol with the sportive salmon and to add anew page to one’s knowledge of the Indian question. The Indians are guides. I know nothing regarding them, but friends tell me that, except that they are greedy beyond imagining and liars from the cradle to the grave, they are very good fellows.
The sailing is fine, and they are to have a kind of pond for bathers in Katy’s Cove this year. The water, it seems to us, however, is too cold for real pleasure. However, I do not know by experience. Without the bathing there are enough attractions at St. Andrews to draw us to the “sleeping beauty by the sea.” Beyond any resting place that I know it s very air distils rest.
As Others See Us
Review of St. Andrews in Boston Courier by Kate Prescott Ward.
For nearly three years the charming town of St. Andrews has bee the Mecca toward which the weary student, the votaries of fashion and pleasure, the seekers of rest, amusement or recreation have turned their faces with anticipation, and from which they depart with regret. It is a delightful place, and among tits attractions are not a few rare features. It is English in aspect, and the British coat of arms, emblazoned in gold and pale green on the court house façade would be enough tit itself to announce to the indifferent visitor the fact of its nationality were there naught beside. The difference in currency and turning to the left in driving are among the other signs of the British province. Greatest credit is justly accorded to the syndicate, comprising the St. Andrews Land Company, composed of well-known business and professional men of Boston and elsewhere, are to Mr. Albert Miller for the success of their undertaking in making a most charming and fashionable resort of this attractive place. Among all the watering places accessible to Bostonians and others not one exceeds St. Andrews in point of beauty, health-giving properties, in comfort or entertainment.
It amply repays one for the four hundred miles of travel by land or water, and our methods of travelling have now been reduced to nearly a fine art as well as a science that little, if any, inconvenience is experienced by even those most delicately constituted. The pleasant trip by the International steamship Line to Eastport is too familiar to the public to require description or comment, while the hour’s sail across Passamaquoddy By is fascinating in the extreme. The water is generally as smooth as a mirror and as clear, giving a two-fold pleasure in studying the play of light and shade on the many little wooded islands by their clearly outlined reflection in the placid surface.
The fact that the principal hotel being on an elevation of one hundred and fifty feet above he level might suggest the idea of a “climb” to those of weak or weary feet. But the house is not perched on a pinnacle, for the land on all sides makes a smooth, gradual slope to the town level.
Among the business interests of St. Andrews is that of sardine fishing. This is in reality the catching of small herring; shipping them to Eastport where they are packed, labelled with French or Italian labels as the case requires, and sent to various markets, the greatest demand being from the far West. One of the shops contains as fine an assortment of he beautiful Jasper and Wedgewood ware as we often see in the largest establishments of our principal cities, and at much lower prices, from the fact that the duties are much less. There were also some fine specimens of the English terra cotta, which might stand as a substitute for the beautiful Copenhagen ware were it not that the later is of much finer finish and the designs classical instead of Mexican.
The land here is well cultivated and the vegetable gardens very attractive, even while we looked in vain for the waving plumes of the cornfields. The fact that one hundred thousand dollars worth of turnips were shipped from here to Boston last year is ample evidence that the quiet villagers are neither dead nor sleeping, though their industry be of so quiet a kind.
The first railroad in all British North American was built here, the object being to connect with Quebec and make St. Andrews the winter port of Upper Canada. But after the completion of a few hundred miles, the work was relinquished for lack of funds; the enthusiasm and energy of the projectors declined and finally the plan was abandoned. Through this fruitless scheme (in 1835) many families were impoverished and at present only one of the directors, Dr. S. Gove, is living.
Among our many agreeable visitors at present are the Hon. John Bigelow, ex-minister to France and one of the most elegant, distinguished looking men of the day. His manner an conversation fully comport with his appearance and it was music to the favored ears to hear his reasonable, just and charitable comments on the famous baccarat case in London, which has excited such various criticism in the four quarters of the globe. He, Miss Grace Bigelow and her sister, Mrs. Harding, are enthusiastic over this place, and when asked if she would not leave it with regret, Miss Bigelow replied: “Indeed, I will, for I would like to spend the rest of my days here.” This high praise, though well merited, in view of the fact that Mr. Bigelow and family have experienced so much of the sunny side of life and seen so many of the worlds’ most attractive pleasure resorts and famous watering places.
Others here are: Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bonaparte, of Baltimore. The latter has been here with her friend, Miss Haycock, of Philadelphia, for a moth or more and she anticipates passing the rest of the season at St. Andrews. Boston was honoured when Mr. Charles S. Bonaparte and his brother, Jerome Bonaparte, chose their wives from among its fair women. The latter was miss Appleton and the former Miss Ellen Channing Day, both most attractive women, though quite different in coloring and style.
It may naturally be supposed that Mr. Charles J. Bonaparte rarely, if ever, comes in contact with stranger without a consciousness that he is subject to a scrutiny, be it ever so delicate, in tracing a likeness in face or figure to his illustrious relative. At this moment we uncover our own head, apologetically, for so doing. . . .
No visitor to St. Andrews can fail to appreciate the courteous hospitality of the permanent residents. Sir Leonard and Lady Tilley, who have a winter home at Saint John, spend their summers in this lovely place, and interest themselves in all matters that concern the town or the townspeople. They entertain delightfully and seem to have won the affection as well as the admiration of the residents. . . .
One feature by which we are deeply impressed, is the correct, distinct pronunciation of the residents of SA, even of the working classes. Their voices are low-keyed and pleasant; their replies and manner are invariably courteous, and quite in contrast to the “Yep” with the evident indifference to the amenities of life as an adjunct, which we so often meet with among the same class in New England.
A word before closing of some of the advantages of this place. First of all there has never been a case of hay fever, malaria or nervous prostration that originated, or that could be self-sustaining in St. Andrews. The air seems absolutely pure, coming to us from the surrounding waters of the long named bay, the broad St. Croix or the Bay of Fundy, or else from the pine groves on the strip of land extending inland. There is “water, water everywhere—“ but we cannot finish the quotation for there is plenty of water to drink. So pure and so light that, when first sipped, one is inclined to drink a quart instead of the dainty glassful. The drives in every direction are delightful whether by the shore or through the woods; if taken through the woods one finds a double pleasure in the various shades of vivid green; and in the delicious fragrance of the pines, fir balsam and cedar, and of the quantities of swamp pinks, azaleas, honey-suckles and roses. One drive particularly pleasant took us by a rose hedge on which there must have been thousands of buds and blossoms. Then the quiet of the woods is very restful, with only the tuneful notes of the thrush, the wren, the robin and the others; and in the early twilight the birds-notes are hushed and the silence for some moments is unbroken by even an insects’ hum. The trees are mostly evergreens, which are very beautiful in their vivid coloring. Besides these there is not an infinite variety and we fear that Mr. Beecher, who said and wrote so much of the individual tones of the trees, might miss some of the tones in the musical gamut of the forest. But he would enjoy the low, sweet murmuring of the pines, the sighing of the cedars, the whispering chattering of the birches, and the rustling of the maples and chestnuts, with the soft sweet music of the elm tree branches. And when emerging fro the woods into a full view of placid Chamcook Lake, any true lover of nature would feel a glow of enthusiasm. Beyond the lake is the range of Chamcook hills, which, from every part of SA, makes a charming variety in the scenery with the cultivated fields, the woods, and sea and sky. As to amusements, boating and fishing are in the daily routine; tennis comes in for its share, and dancing and card playing with other games may be indulged in at pleasure.
The half has not been told, but the few to whom this spot may yet be terra incognita may learn the rest by a visit to the charming, interesting, old town.
---K. P. W.
The President’s Vacation. His Travels, Pleasure and Adventures. Pittsfield, Mass., Sun.
A most charming old town is SA, NB. We go down from Calais by the “Rose Standish,” a sail of about three hours, the boat stopping at one or two poets en route to take on freight and passengers. There are a great many holiday people like ourselves. The freight includes the usual variety of merchandise and in addition huge blocks of red granite, much like that from Mr. Allen’s quarries in Missouri. The “Rose Standish” is not a “fast girl” and her timetable allows a leisurely pace which we greatly enjoy. River and bay are in a smiling humor and we sit in the shade of the upper deck and watch the panorama of the shore slide by. It is ten o’clock when we climb to the wharf and pass up the quiet street.
The town occupies the west slope of the long peninsula, on one side the wide St. Croix River with its beautiful scenery and spreading away to the south and east the bay whose charm has but one equal in the world, it is said, the famous bay of Naples. “Sad, isn’t it?” said the President, “that so charming a picture should have for its name “the Pesaka.” I give it up but it is spelled “Pesakadamiakkanti.” The title means in Indian, “Leads up to open places.” It is simplified (?) in the modern guidebooks and geographies to Passamaquoddy. Some say the latter word means in the Indian tongue the “Place of the pollock” and that the bay was so named because of the abundance of this kind of fish in its waters. The President would name it “Holiday Haven.”
Quaint little houses border the streets, shingled mostly from ground to ridgeboard, weather-beaten and old. There was formerly a great business done here in shipping, lumbering, boating and fishing, and these odd little houses are the former domiciles of woodmen, mechanics and sailors. The business seems to have largely died away, but the cottages are here and most of them have windows filled with flower pots and little door yards with old-fashioned flowers and tangles of wild rose. Shops are not many-- simply the country stores to supply the practical wants of the population but every summer an art crockery store is opened to sell souvenirs to tourists. The shop is well filled by exquisite things from French, English and Irish potteries and as there is no duty the prices are very tempting. The shell-like Belleck Ware, the Worcester, Devonshire, Wedgewood and other fancy wares are not above half Boston prices. Wedgewood is the favorite with buyers. Pittsfield people will see some good examples of it at Mr. Mills’ store on North street, and the President is so captivated with its beautiful blue color and its cameo like carvings of mythological gods and goddesses that he defies the law and buys an armful. Old Josiah Wedgewood, who invented this ware in 1600, and made fame and fortune with his bowls and cups and vases and pitchers with their profiles of kings and statesmen and actresses upon them, would have smiled out loud if he could have seen the President guarding his treasures from the inquisitive eyes of the customs men. It transpired that the revenue guards knew all about it, but at their discretion let slip the little samples and presents the tourists buy. His teacup and bowl, wreathed with exquisite carvings telling a tale he will have to look up in the Iliad or the wanderings of Ulysses were perfectly safe, and he need not have carried them so furtively and secretly in his high Derby hat.
. . .
It is quite half a mile, and a sunny, warm half mile at that, from the wharf to the Algonquin, a grand summer hotel which crowns s knoll overlooking the town and the waters round about. Stages run but we preferred to walk along the streets and up the winding road, stopping to “take in” many beautiful views of bay and island and ship. By our side, as we stroll up the slope, walks one native here, and in a kindly way he gives us the various points in view—Joe’s Point, running away cut into the St. Croix, and far beyond, in the same direction the woody crown of the “Devil’s Head.” The Maine highlands with Kendall’s Head, Point Pleasant with its Indian village, remnant of the Etchemins who were the lords of the land, before the white man’s advent; Deer island, Minister’s Island, Big Latete, Little Latete, the pretty harbor of Chamcook, and near by the town Navy Island. This a very tame in print, perhaps, but to view on this clear July day, with a brilliant sky and sea, the flitting of white sails, the beach stretching its long yellow line fringed with foam, the blossom-bedecked cottages, the quaint old houses, the sleepy haze that lies far down the bay, the quiet streets—with all these and more allurements that we can describe, it was an half hour’s walk that left an indelible picture on our memories and that stroll up the slope of St. Andrews was one of the most delightful incidents of the vacation.
The “Algonquin” is a vast structure built for the summer boarder business and it is first-class in all its appointments. It stands 150 feet above high water, and commands the whole circumference of view, shoreward and to sea. The parlors are spacious and handsome, an elevator, baths and all sorts of comforts are provided, the rooms are large and beautifully furnished and the dining hall is an apartment of fine proportions with an outlook over e town and the bay. The hotel will accommodate 150 guests. We found nearly a hundred although the season is hardly in its height until August. Landlord Albert Miller is a Franklin county man, from Athol, I believe, and has ample experience in hotel management. He receives us with most courteous hospitality and makes us a present of the house, so to speak, and when, an hour later we sit down to a luncheon fit even for royal palates, the President is (so) glad he accepts the gift. After the lunch comes cigars on the piazza. Big easy chairs are here by the score and we take two of them where the breeze and shade are best and sit listening to the orchestra, three bright young women with cornet, violin and piano in the parlor just behind us. How perfectly happy the president looks! The blue smoke blows from his cigar in a fragrant cloud. He rocks gently in the big chair to the time of the waltz the musicians are playing; his eyes are bright with the beauty of the picture before him and he says softly, “No wonder that, when He looked upon the land and the sea He had made He said it was good.”
We sit here till well into the afternoon. Guests all about us are enjoying the luxury of peace and rest “far from the madding crowd.” The music rises and falls; there are long halts in the program, the alternate union Jacks and Stars and Stripes which decorate the columns of the piazza flutter lazily; there is an irresistible drowsiness falling upon all of us and in his sleepy hollow chair the President nods—and snores! “The boat is coming,” some one says, and far down the bay is a cloud of smoke the flash of roam from side-wheels and bow of a steamer. It is the “Rose Standish” on the return trip and we must go. Very reluctantly, we leave, and with many backward glances at the wide sweep of lawn with its gorgeous flower beds and its neat walks; at the groups of guest her and there, the women in pleasant summer costumes chatting an gossiping and laughing in contentment and delight, and at the fair landscape all about.
“A very good dinner indeed,” said the President to Capt. Ryan, as he talked with him about the Algonquin. “I should say so,” remarked the captain, “and if you will be kind enough to sit in the middle of the boat she will not be so apt to run on one wheel.” The President had indeed “filled well,” but he rather resented the imputation that he had weighted himself to such an extent that he could be used as ballast for a big ship.
SA as Viewed Through the Glasses of a Stranger
Pittsfield, Mass., Sun
We are walking up a long, quiet street in SA, on our way to the Algonquin, the magnificent house where tourists find entertainment in this ancient town. We have had a delightful sail from Boston without a touch of mal de mer. The superb scenery of the coast nearing Portland, an hour or two in Eastport with its fine views, have been enjoyed and we have made an hour's voyage by the "Rose Standish," of the Frontier steamboat company's excellent line, to this place. . . . By blooming paths, then, we reach the great house. Landlord Miller give us hearty welcome and makes it home to us at once, as he does for every comer to his doors. A repast, modestly called "lunch," occupies the noon. The dining room is delightfully fresh and cool, and every window frames a picture of sea and shore, bay and island. Then comes a lazy hour or two on the piazza with the little orchestra in the parlor; three of the brightest young lady pupils of the Boston conservatory, playing light, restful music. We "loll" in the big armchairs and wonder why, in the apportionment of life, work should be so long and vacation so short. . . . The rush of traffic is no longer heard in SA, as we have said, but its beauty can never be lost. If grass grows in the streets grace also grows, the grace and softness and mellowness which time brings to towns as well as lives. Nor can the charm of its environment of island dotted bay, shining sea, flash of distant surf, gleam of white sail and long line of shore of rock and beach ever fade. Every summer the Algonquin fills more and more overflowingly with the tired and overwrought, to get refreshment in the invigoration and balm of the breezes and the peace that dwells like a blessing upon it. That it must become a great resort is sure, for court circles of the Canadian government have come this year and stamped their approval on the Algonquin and St. Andrews and here and there, on chosen sites, the seaside "cottage" is going up in Lenox fashion and of Lenox magnificence. We like it beast as it is, quaint, quiet, unique, beautiful SA, and though the "Rose Standish" will take us by a beautiful waterway, through a lovely land, we are very loath to leave.
A Westerner’s View. A Minnesota Journalist talks about St. Andrews and Thereabouts
St. Paul Despatch
One of the quaintest old relics in the Canadian provinces are the ruins of battered old Fort Tipperary, asleep in wreck and the bite of ages beyond the town of SA, NB. SA, you will know, is a famous old English town, where the 1700 worthy people still sing the High church service in manner and form of the time-honored days of the Georges. But to Americans, St. Andrews is fast becoming much more of a picturesque tomb of past great shipping life. It is and always will be the noted scene of the ill-fated Fenian raid in 1867, when the secluded rebels steamed proudly off Eastport, Maine, to raid Indian Island. To repulse this made attack the English attracted a man-of-war from Halifax and taking a wet towel imperiously wiped the Fenians from the face of the sea.
But all is now serene and blissful in and about the pudgy little town, with its fishing smacks lying gracefully in the harbor, with its low, white houses and high gray churches; its pretty garden and prolific orchards. its modern aspect is heightened by the stateliest of resort hostelries, the Algonquin—a home for summer tourists. Seated high upon an eminence of 200 feet above high tide, this commodious resort, is indeed a pleasure gratifying every sense, delight, sense and comforting indulgence.
To the west the historic St. Croix moves majestically to the sea, bearing every form of craft from the old black “Pinkey” (a small sloop designed for the slumber trade) to the great side wheel bateaux of today. From the east a sheen of gold and reddened amber lights up the romantic Bay of Passamaquoddy, seventeen miles long and about as deep. To the south lies the foliaged town; while directly in the north and interior of the province a thousand beautiful roads lead to as may interesting lakes, glens and nooks “where thought a treasures sense becomes.”
So in the midst of all this beauty, where the salt sea air exhilarates the feeble, where the sun shines for weeks, they have discovered the climate to be a panacea for the ills of afflicted folks. Sufferers from hay fever and catarrh, I am assured, come to this lovely little retreat and are released and loosed of their distress. But prominently among the pleasures of this resort, which surround the American visitor, is that which one knows when he greets his own countryman abroad. We greet here an American manager of Boston, a man whose personality alone would, make the resort popular. Unlike the cold, distrustful attention, we Americans, often time suffer from the foreigner—he whose allegiance is not pledged to Uncle Sam—this generous cosmopolite starts your comfort with the genial warmth of true American hospitality. You will know his land and his nativity to hear him invite you to dinner from the remote end of a telephone circuit, though you had never seen him or known him, and when you tumble into his summer home and feel his universally applied and perpetually expressed welcome, you are sure you see the stars and stripes in his cheeks an eyes. Such a host is Mr. Albert Miller, our American fellow, away up in the balsam laden air of NB.
near the Hotel, stands the oddly-constructed cottage of the famous landscape artist, George Inness. When the prominence of the cottagers was disclosed to me, I sought an interview with Mr. Inness, who is not only noted for his great talent as our leading American landscape painter, but also for his marked ability as a conversationalist and art critic. A crowded chat of three hours one Sunday afternoon on a balmy porch did not seem to weary him, nor did it effect less than to attract about us a score of eminent sojourners, who, for the moment, seemed to be interested in our discussion of Turner, Ruskin, Claude, Daubigny, Fortuny, Corat, Delacroix, Dannat, Chase, Marr, and a shot of other great names in the realm of art and its literature. I shall reserve for another relish, the character and issues, the repartee and satire and the very interesting deductions of this debate with the elder Inness.
An hours’ run in the steamer Rose Standish, for thirty years piloted by that sturdy, kind-faced mariner Capt. Daniel Ryan, and you pick your way through the sardine factories of that old Anew England town, Eastport, Maine. This is indeed an interesting little city. It has a history as long as time and as wide as nature. Its people are genuinely of the New ??England type—a type which clings loyally to the forms and traditions of corn bread, brown bread, baked beans and “twant so.” They are of an ultra-hospitality, which throws itself in distinct relief when compared with Canadian frigidity. the collector of customs, the Hon. George A. Curran; Alden Bradford, capitalist and romancer, and the postmaster, Mr. Paine,, represent in themselves and their generous conduct of newspaper correspondents, three of New England’s characteristic elements—humor, hospitality and herring!
The herring weirs about Eastport are one of its attractive features. They suggest in great measure the business of the little town. Eastport is full of sardines. It prepare and packs the cheapest sardines of the East. The fish is in reality the English herring. It is caught in great quantities in weirs constructed of birch saplings and nets. When a “catch” is hauled and brought to a factory, a whistle signal is blown and the townsmen and women who work in the sardine industry respond and engage in their various departments. the fish are hauled to the factories in schooners. From the hold of the boat they are carried in baskets to long tables where boys sand with small knives ready to begin the work of “decapitation.” For every peck of decapitated sardines, these boys get a credit check for five cents. Then the heedless herring are soaked in brine for one hours, when they are spread on tables to dry. When dry, they are laid singly on grated trays and put into a frame which revolves in a furnace. As a tray is put in, one is taken out and shoved in a stand to cool. From there the fish, when cool, are packed by young women who are dexterous and very deft in their handling of the baked and brittle fish. When hermetically sealed, each can is boiled two hours, then packed in cases of 100 cans. These cases are sold in quantities at $3.50 each. The poor of the East buy these “sardines” at retail for five cents a can and we observe another phase of lowly taste and cheap meat.
Across from dusty little Eastport we see the promontories and cliff formation of rugged Campobello, with its comb of historic inlets. Once the retreat of Benedict Arnold, now the resort of delighted tourists. It is here on this romantic island the popular authoress Kate Gannett Wells has built a beautiful cottage near the hotel Tyn-y-coed. Here also the Passamaquoddy Indians, a tribe as to which there is much interesting lore, built their lodge and welded their birch canoes, hunted the Maine moose and deer and swapped wildcat an sealskins for shamrock whisky.
Visit to SA
Dr. Haviland Find a Man with Elephants on Hand
Editor Beacon:--I received the copy of the Beacon you sent me and by its perusal I noted the kindly mention you made of me and my work. During my stay in your place I made many pleasant acquaintances. Upon landing at SA, the first person I became acquainted with was your enterprising merchant, Mr. Grimmer., whom I found to be one of the most active business men I ever met. He comes the nearest to hat one might call omnipresent, being here, there and everywhere at the same time, doing business at every turn. I was greatly amused while watching their methods to note the great diversity of calls for different things. One wished a collar button, another a carload of hay. During a few minutes’ conversation with a man in my presence he sold him a large bill of hay and other things. Some wished iron, others lumber, while another called for stove-wood. I wondered to myself if there was anything that he did not keep on hand, so thinking that I would test him I asked him if he had any elephants for sale, who which he quickly replied, “Yes, I have several on hand.”
With all his business to look after he found time to drive me over to that beautiful island farm, known as “The Van Horne, Stock Farm.” Here I met the friendly Superintendent, who refused to kick the bucket for such a trivial thing as a bullet through his stomach. He showed us over the place. We found it to be one of the best-appointed I have ever seen. The belted cattle were truly fine, but the horses were what claimed my attention most. After examining them carefully I pronounced them as I do now the finest lot of colts of their class that I ever saw. The barn with its appointments was simply perfect and plainly showed that a master hand was at the helm and the expenditure of much money was plainly in evidence. After spending an hour or more in looking over the other stock, which was all first class, we bade goodbye to the Supt, and returned to SA, well pleased with the afternoon’s visit.
The next day I did considerable veterinary work, having made my business headquarters at the office of DeWolfe and Denley. Mr. Denley extended to me ever courtesy and introduced me to several of your townsmen. It would be hard to find two better-equipped and better conduced liveries in any town twice the size of St. Andrews.
Mr. Denley kindly drove me to the “Came Stock Farm,” were I found a nice, healthy lot of coes, showing every appearance of being well cared for. I was much pleased with the gamy hackney stallion, as I judge him his conformation that he must be a great actor in the harness. I should have been glad to have seen him driven but instead turned my attention to an inspection of their sheep. I will truly say that they were the finest lot of sheep I ever saw in either England or America. It surely takes a Scotchman to breed and develop sheep.
I put up at the American House, an unpretentious hostelry and only recently occupied by its present proprietor, who was very busy in putting it in shape. He is sure to meet with success as the landlady knows how to cater to the most fastidious appetite. I certainly ate the best clam chowder there of her making that I ever tasted and I am anxiously waiting for the time to come when I shall make my next visit to enjoy another chowder.
--M. W. Haviland, V. S. Calais, May 6, 1903
The Van Horne farm
Seen through eyes of a visitor
On Thursday morning we boarded the staunch, smooth-sailing and well managed boat “Henry F. Eaton” for a trip to St. Andrews. We noticed Col. J. D. Chipman and wife and the Methodist Sunday School and parents numbering two hundred and fifty three in all, coming on board for their annual picnic, which was held in a suburban spot of the shire town.
The day was fine, and warm, and the party made the round trip without accident and delighted with the outing. Col. Chipman is the popular Supt., and he can call any of the children by name readily when he meets them. He is often called “Jack,” being so well known, and having so many friends throughout the St. Croix Valley, and seems to wear a blander and sweeter smile when saluted as Jack than Colonel.
Mr. and Mrs. Chipman are great church workers in all its departments. He has established a good chorus choir in the church, making at present young Moore chorister, but Mr. Chipman is always there to assist the choir when at home. We can speak of their choir reference from an experience of many years, and can truly say that to run a volunteer chorus choir successfully as Mr. Chipman has done is an arduous task, and requires a level head.
Arriving at St. Andrews, in company with W. H. Stevens we called on the genial editor of the Beacon, who received us most cordially. After a brief conversation, he asked, “anything special”! We replied “no! We called to renew our subscriptions to the newsy Beacon.” After requesting him to deal gently with the bald-headed men of our district, among whom we are included, we left for other scenes of interest bidding the editor a pleasant good day.
Some one possessing more zeal than wisdom has said “nine tailors make a man.” We take exception to this statement in two localities at least, namely, in SA, and SS, where we are confident the assertion will not bear analysis. For the tailors in these localities are first-class, progressive and well informed as to farming and breeding generally, and other leading industries. At any rate we were convinced of this fact when S. McConkey, of SS, on Thursday,, procured a team from the well-equipped livery of W. E. Mallory, taking with him two of his friends, one a farmer of long experience, the other a progressive horseman, to Ministers Island, now chiefly the property of Sir William Van Horne, where scenery and environments are grand, to some of which we will briefly refer.
From the Andrews home and the Van Horne residence there is a good view of St. Andrews harbour which is fine at high water, but at low water the bar is exposed, which reveals an obstruction, but the Government dredge is there, and will without doubt make a passage through for steam boats and vessels which shortens the trip to and from St. Andrews and St. Stephen considerably. St. Andrews is laid out in squares and the roads are in good condition, and will be kept in good order without a doubt as it is now becoming a progressive town with an efficient mayor and council, and competent officials. Good order must prevail, and everything kept in good condition. After satisfying the eye from nature’s observatory in and around the shire town, we direct our attention first to the cattle.
On entering the commodious stables we found the men all busy, some unloading hay and others at their daily routine. The stock is stabled every night, and the stables are kept as clean as a parlor, no odor perceptible from any of them. On entering we were met by James Fitzsimmons, who has charge of stock and stables, and a fine, intelligent dog of 150 pounds by his side. The dog viewed us sharply as we approached, keeping a little in advance of Fitzsimmons, who whispered something to him we thought the told the dog they’re from St. Stephen and are all right. At any rate we left Mr. McConkey keep the lead, and the dog seemed satisfied, going the rounds with us, listening to what was going on, and when we were making a note her and there watched us as though eh would like to be included. It would be dangerous for a tramp to enter the premises.
The first shown was the Dutch belted and French Canadian cattle, of which there are forty head, all the belted wearing nature’s uniform, a white belt around the body. As they were driven from the field to the paddock, they presented affine appearance. The Dutch belted bull weighed 2100 pounds, and a noble-looking animal, and has always been kind, his caretaker says. the French Canadian bull is also a beautiful animal, with horns, growing from each side of the head, and extending forward and upward in symmetrical form, while the Dutch Belted’s horns extend directly from each side of the head, so that the caretaker must look out for side issues when they swing the head to either side suddenly. The man in charge of the cattle says they are all very quiet, and receive kind treatment, and he has no difficulty in managing them.
We next viewed the piggery which was kept in fine order. Our chaperon says “where are the pigs”? I’ll show you,” says the super, giving the call and throwing some feed in the box. They responded promptly, 40 red Tamworths, very choice pigs; their weight when killed in the winter averages nearly 500 pounds.
Our attention was next directed to the hennery which was a well-equipped department. The hens occupy the lower flat, except when they lay they go to the second storey where each hen as a box and always occupies it. These boxes are arranged in order around the room. There are at present one hundred and fifty hens I should think of all kinds and the very choicest.
The Clyde stallion, weighing 1670 pounds, was at the Islands on service. There were 11 horse kind, 6 horses, and five colts of the working and profitable class, good general purpose horses.
Two windmills are used in connection with the work of the stable and all the farming machinery is of the improved kind. 2 silos are used which store three hundred and fifty tons of feed. There is at present in one silo 175 tons of feed in good order. Everything about the farm is in good condition. The road way around the island is three miles long and is in excellent condition. The view from the veranda of Sir William’s residence of the bay is fine, most invigorating. It is a delightful place to spend the summer. Time and space will not allow us to go further into details. We close with thanks to the men in charge for kindness shown us.
Picture with History
SA Fifty Years Ago Sought by Tourist
There is a picture in the writing room of Kennedy’s hotel that has an interesting history. It is a lithograph of SA, made by Frederick Wells, an officer of the 1st Royals, which regiment was stationed here about fifty years ago. Presumably that is about the age of the picture. At present it is the property of Mrs. R. M Hazen, of Saint John. Some years ago, the late Miss Hazen, of Saint John, was visiting a member of her family at Tonbridge, Kent, England. One day, in passing a bookseller’s shop she noticed this lithograph in the window and she at once secured it. After Miss Hazen’s death it fell into the hands of Mrs. Hazen, who prizes it very highly
The picture bears below it the following inscription, which indicates that even at that remove period St. Andrews had a reputation as a tourist resort, besides being an aspirant for winter port honors:
VIEW OF THE TOWN OF ST. ANDREWS, NB, WITH IS MAGNIFICENT HARBOR AND BAY. From the extreme beauty of its scenery and the salubrity of its climate, the town is much resorted to by tourist from all parts. It is situated at the entrance of the Bay of Fundy, at the southern and warmest extremity of NB; and lying in close proximity to the US at their nearest point to Great Britain it commands the whole of their extensive system of railways and is probably destined at no distant period to occupy an important position in the history of British north American, particularly as on the completion of the St. Andrews and Quebec Railway (the great trunk line to the Canadas and which is now in active progress under the Earl Fitzwilliam, Lord Ashburton, and other gentlemen) it will become the winter port to those vast provinces and that line being the shortest which can be constructed to reach them on British territory it will naturally be much resorted to as a port of disembarkation for emigrants, who will doubtless long cherish it in grateful remembrance as the spot where after the perils of their voyage they first touched the hospitable shores of their adopted home. [circa 1857 then]
SA Views Thro’ Tourist Spectacles
Joseph Smith--not Elder Joseph Smith, of Mormondom, with a plurality of wives, but Joseph Smith of Newspaperdom, with a plurality of ideas in his well-ordered cranium--has been visiting St. Andrews and has written of his experiences in the Boston Traveller. Under the heading “A Voyage of Discovery--Last Leg,” Mr. Smith thus soliloquizes with respect to SA:--
We have a friend who holds that no summer resort is worth a thought where a man cannot sit out on the verandah in his shirt sleeves, put his feet on the railing and yell baseball scores at his neighbour in the next house. You cannot indulge in anything quite as democratic as this at SA, but you can play golf to your heart’s content; you can gad all over Passamaquoddy bay in a motor boat very close to nature, or you can fish off the wharf with a native, swap yarns about the war of 1812, or listen to the legends of the golden age of SA, when the patron Saint of the Democracy, T. Jefferson, laid his embargo and these waters were filled with smugglers.
Along back in those early days, when the people on either side of line made faces at each other, when the British Lion was called a yellow dog and the American Eagle a clucking hen, this town of St. Andrews was some pumpkins; it had a garrison of red coats and Fort Tipperary on the crest of the ridge; and, with its Old Dominion Loyalists, was as cocky and blood-thirsty as could be. Since those days the shouting has ceased, the ships have sailed away, the captains are on crutches or in the cemeteries. St. Andrews has become humanized and slumberous, and in the very middle of Fort Tipperary, surrounded by sodden ramparts, stands the summer home of the president of the C. P. R., and the old 32-pounder pointing across the St. Croix River is only a receptacle for the flotsam and jetsam children push down its black and harmless throat.
So passeth the glory of the World;
The people who summer in St. Andrews are not really up-to-date; they go there to rest and their conduct is calculated to make a self-respecting cad or bounder sick with disgust and disdain. It is true we were there only for a day or two, but in that time we never saw an automobile, we didn’t see a single lady--or a married one--going in swimming with a diamond tiara and a brass band; no monkeys, French poodles or Russian princes were entertained during our stay, and a guest could get his meals without carrying a letter of introduction to the head waiter or surrendering his watch to the waiter. The most shocking and revolting thing about the Algonquin Hotel was the number of children around the place, and the parents, who appeared to be proud and fond of them. St. Andrews is cool and restful but dreadfully behind the times in real fashionable splurge and reverberation; why, they don’t even have a sardine cannery or an effluvia there; the place is hopelessly slow.
NB--SA is just now dreaming dreams of greatness when she will wake up to find fleets swinging in her tides, when the roar of her whistles and the rattle of her machinery will give every herring in her seas insomnia, and when she will have hustle, industry, wealth and happiness galore, where now she has only peace, plenty and a pleasant poverty. The C. P. R. has bought up all the waterfront and nailed down pretty near all the real estate in the region, and some fine morning Saint John , NB will be a reminiscence; Portland, Maine, will be only a summer resort, and St. Andrews will be a noisy, chesty, smoky, uncomfortable municipal bounder, brother to Chicago, Winnipeg and Seattle. We trust it won’t be in our day.
The Beauties of Fair SA
As Told in the C. P. R. Company’s Summer Guide Book
NB, one of the Maritime Provinces of Canada, possesses a wonderful charm and attractiveness during what is called the heated term elsewhere. There are many pleasant resorts along the Atlantic coast of North American, but nowhere exists a more delightful spot than SA-by-the-Sea, where the conditions in beauty of environment, salubrity of climate and healthfulness of locality reach perfection. With pure salt sea air, the life-giving breath of the pine, a wondrous scenic splendor and many facilities for the comfortable housing of visitors--it is an incomparable resting-place and retreat, and so pleasant that many make it their summer home.
SA-by-the-Sea is located on the south-western part of NB, where the St. Croix River dividing British territory from the State of Maine, pours its flood into Passamaquoddy Bay, a long stretch of water completely sheltered from the ocean’s storms and fogs by a great barrier or large and small islands. On a peninsula reaching far into the bay stands the town which has attained supremacy in the East as a rare summering place. The site of SA-by-the-Sea bears the same relation to the bay and river that Newport News does to the waters of Hampton Roads and the James.
The glamour of historic association envelops the entire region. Over three centuries ago--in the summer of 1604--the adventurous Sieur des Monts, piloted by Samuel Champlain, whose name and fame as an explorer are so intimately connected with the discoveries of the northern half of the continent, came from France with a patent royal of all the territory in America between the 40th and 46th degrees of north latitude. This first expedition to these waters crossed the Bay of Fundy and ascended the Schoodic (Now St. Croix) river to a small island three miles above the present site of SA, which was fortified against the forays of the Indians who then occupied the land. This is the Dochet’s Island of to-day, but during the long-disputed boundary question between the United States and the dependencies of Great Britain in North America, it was called Neutral Island from the fact that it was mutually admitted to be neutral ground and enjoyed all the rights and privileges of No Man’s Land. On the establishment of the independence of the United States, a number of United Empire Loyalists came across the border and settled at SA, and there are houses now standing in the town whose frame were brought from Castine, Maine, and set up anew here, while in the Episcopal Church is displayed the royal coat-of-arms brought by the stanch Loyalists from Wallingford, Connecticut, in their flight. Later, St. Andrews was a garrisoned town, and the site of old Fort Tipperary, and the Block House, with their grass-grown redoubts and earthworks, are quaint reminders of the ancient means of defence of this border town; but they now only serve to recall the fact that this peaceful retreat has been the theatre of stirring events during the past three hundred years.
Another connecting link with the early part of the last century is Greenock Church, with its quaint, high-towering pulpit and old-fashioned box pews. The edifice, which has an interesting history, was completed in 1824.
SA-by-the-Sea, apart from its many attractive scenic and other features, can be said to be noted for its health-giving climate. The mean daily temperature is 68 degrees during the entire heated term, and the charts show that the belt denoting the driest atmosphere passes through Passamaquoddy Bay. Fog at St. Andrews is practically unknown, and fever, epidemic and malarial disorders, are absolute strangers. The peculiar formation of the soil allows no surface water to remain, the underlying sandstone providing a natural filter through which the water passes, taking with it all deposits on the surface, and the tides, twice a day, rising and falling twenty to thirty feet, carry all waste far from shore. Flies and mosquitoes and other insect pests are unknown at St. Andrews. [Note nothing on hay fever]
The town itself is quite and peaceful, and many of its quaint, old-fashioned streets and by-ways are embowered in trees, making fragrant shady resting places for those whose only glimpse of nature during the greater part of the year is caught in the cities’ small artificial parks. Surrounded on three sides by the sea, one sees in all directions an encircling line of coast, while higher up toward the Chamcook Mountains the eye is charmed by the view seaward. Roses and hawthorn hedges and every other variety of bright-hued flowers meet the eye and charm the sense in all directions. Wild fruits--strawberries, raspberries, blackberries and blueberries--grow in the greatest profusion, and in the gardens are the finest flavored cultivated fruits.
It is not alone as a health resort and resting place, however, that SA-by-the-Sea is attractive. The water trips among or in the neighborhood of the islands of the Coast; the boating and sailing and fishing in their waters; the adaptability of the beaches for warm sea bathing in Katy Cove [sic]; the countless diversions of riding, driving, motoring, wheeling, walking and exploring on the shores; the camping parties and improvised “settlements” and outing for dulse; the opportunities for golf, tennis and other pastimes--these all combine to make this a perfect paradise of summer delights.
Out from SA-by-the-Sea in all directions, are perfectly constructed roads, forest-lined and shaded, reaching sheltered sports by ocean and inland lake. The roads are excellent, and there is no mud or dust to annoy the pleasure of the drive. The favorite drives are to Chamcook Mountains and lakes, and to the Glebe and Bocabec (seven miles) at the head of Passamaquoddy Bay; the shore road bordering the river; the Bar road to Mowatt’s Grove, and at low water across the bar to Minister’s Island, the drive to which presents the novelty once experienced by the Children of Israel--that of going through a passage in the sea which had fallen back on either side. This drive takes one through the bed of the ocean twenty feet below sea level at high water. There is the drive through the Cedars past the golf links to Joe’s Point, beyond which is Smuggler’s Cove, a noted hiding place of those having utter disregard for customs, laws and coast guards in past and gone days. Another drive is around Indian Point, at the extreme end of the peninsula, where, from the boulevard at the water’s edge, a sea-view embracing the entire bay is commanded. Delightful excursions can be made either by land or water to SS, NB, and Calais, Maine, up the St. Croix; to St. George (where there are extensive granite works and quarries) crossing (if the excursion be made by land) the Bocabec and Digdeguash rivers--two famous trout streams--where are the Magaguadavic (pronounced Mag-a-davey) Falls, a cascade of remarkable beauty, and to many other interesting points in the locality. Horses and carriages are obtainable at moderate rates, there being several liveries in the village.
To visit the summit of Chamcook, the horses are left at the base and the ascent accomplished on foot, with a taste of Alpine excitement, although the climb is a perfectly safe one. Owing to the fact that the tidewater washed its base, the views from its heights are far grander than those obtained from greater heights inland.
The excellent roads rob motoring of all its discomforts, and there are many long stretches in which automobiles may be speeded with out danger. [Cf. Complaints by the locals about speeding tourists]
Splendid opportunities are provided for those who are fond of fishing and shooting.
For sea-fishing, excellent craft--from the sloop-rigged “pinkie” to the schooner--with experienced skippers, can be procured in the harbor. Cod, haddock and pollock can be caught in large quantities, and to those who have ever indulged in the sport of deep-sea fishing, nothing need be said concerning the excitement and pleasure of it. The expense of such a fishing trip, including the skipper with his boat, lines, bait and provisions, will be from $3.00 to $5.00 per day, which amount is usually divided among four. [The pitch here seems to be to the middle-class] In the inland lakes and rivers in the vicinity of SA-by-the-Sea the fishing is excellent. There are about twenty lakes within a radius of fifteen miles. The fisherman can go to nearly all the best lakes and streams in the morning, returning in the evening. In the lakes, during June, land-locked salmon and lake trout may be readily taken with the fly. In July, August and September, in deep water, the same fish may be taken with line bait, or by trolling. In the smaller lakes, higher up, quantities of trout, weighing from a quarter of a pound to a pound, may be taken with fly, worm or live bait. All the streams abound in the smaller but equally delicious species of trout.
Great enjoyment may be obtained in fishing for tommy cod and smelts off the wharves and the operation of seining the weirs after sardine herring have been impounded and spudging for them, is very interesting to strangers. The weirs are spread around the shores of the bay and fishing can be viewed from the shore, but the best way is to go out in a boat around the weir while the fishermen are catching the fish. The weirs are built so that at the rise and fall of the tide the fish flow into them; then the man on the watches closes the mouth of the weir, the fish are then held in the weir until the arrival of the buyers from the sardine factories. The fishermen then go into the weir and take the fish out with seines. There is considerable excitement at times in weir fishing. The fish are sometimes chased by the huge horse mackerel, silver hake, squid, skulpin and dog fish.
A Minister’s Vacation—Moralizes on the Rough Roads of Bocabec
Eastport Citizen—Arriving at Bocabec we put up for one night with our good Baptist brother, Mr. Charles Hanson. He showed us his granite quarry on the hill above his farm that has proved to be a source of profit in the days gone by. The view from the hill as the sun was going down was something grand. Starting the next day for SA, we had all the way a lesson of Patience for the roads were in awful condition. These rough rocky roads in NB compared with smooth and beautiful highways in Maine certainly show that somebody is at fault. The good roads plank seems to have fallen out of the party platform in Canada and traveller by carriage and automobiles cannot take any pleasure in riding over the most part of our provinces. The reason that men and women, tired to death of forms and conventionalities, choose the heart of the forest and the cool avenues and lanes of the country is not far to seek. They are seeking for rest as well s recreation and nothing is more helpful than a quiet drive through our own province if the roads are in good order. But when jolted about on loose rocks, and tripped first one way and then another by the ruts and gullies of a driveway the weary traveller feels more tired than if he had gone afoot, and recuperation for man or beast is out of the question. I am glad to say that as we neared St. Andrews the roadways improved and in every direction around that fine little town it was a pleasure to ride or drive.
Pauline Johnson (1861-1913)
From: “Flint and Feather” (1912)
Low Tide at St. Andrews (New Brunswick)
THE long red flats stretch open to the sky,
Breathing their moisture on the August air.
The seaweeds cling with flesh-like fingers where
The rocks give shelter that the sands deny ;
And wrapped in all her summer harmonies
St. Andrews sleeps beside her sleeping seas.
The far-off shores swim blue and indistinct,
Like half-lost memories of some old dream.
The listless waves that catch each sunny gleam
Are idling up the waterways land-linked,
And, yellowing along the harbour's breast,
The light is leaping shoreward from the west.
And naked-footed children, tripping down,
Light with young laughter, daily come at eve
To gather dulse and sea clams and then heave
Their loads, returning laden to the town,
Leaving a strange grey silence when they go,--
The silence of the sands when tides are low.
SA the Beautiful
Review of “SA-by-the-Sea, New Brunswick,” by Betty Thornley and illustrated by G. Horne Russell, R. C. A. (Published by C. P. R.)
To paint word pictures and brush pictures of St. Andrews by the Sea that will be entirely approved of by the multitude who have a very warm spot in their hearts for their beloved town, that is task hard indeed to fulfil. So to describe with pen and colors the beauty, the history, and the life of St. Andrews by the Seat that those who have never seen it can fully realize its charm and allurement, that is perhaps a still harder task. The author and illustrator of the attractive booklet which the CPR ha published under the title of St. Andrews by the Sea, NB have in their pictures as pen and brush come as near to satisfying those who know and love the town so well, as it is humanly possible for them to do. For those who know not that town we cannot speak. Miss Thornley’s short sketch of the town history, her appreciation of its natural beauties, and her enticing account of its many and varied opportunities of happy healthy amusement and recreation, make the letter press of the little booklet will worth reading. We had searched in vain for the reason why the bathing cove was known as Katy’s cove, and are glad at last to know and to have one more mind picture to add to our store. Katy’s Cove will henceforth always suggest the reluctant school boy bather being drawn from hi ill timed pleasure by the sturdy Katy McIntosh.
What shall we say of the reproductions of Mr. G. Horne Russell’s exquisite paintings with which the booklet is very fully illustrated. We can but thank Mr. Russell again and again for capturing and putting upon canvas the picturesqueness of SA, the freshness of is breezes, and the joy of its life out of doors. Mr. Russell has painted as he alone knows how to paint the “Newport of the North,” the most beautiful town in Charlotte County, which County excels all others in the Province in “scenery, history, cookery, and art.” the paintings have been reproduced with wonderful exactness. No more pleasing souvenir of a visit to St. Andrews could be imagined or contrived than this booklet, which can be purchased at the Algonquin Hotel bookstand for the small sum of twenty-five cents.
St. Croix Courier
SA by the Sea. By Jessie L. Thornton in Industrial Canada. Long article on Algonquin, town and area. Photo of touring car with Algonquin in background, as from visitor’s center. Good spot might be in section with pamphlet on “Arriving in SA” etc. Pseudo-motoring journal.
On the south western coast of the province of NB, very close indeed to the state of Maine, Passamaquoddy Bay is separated from the outlet of the St. Croix River by a hilly triangle. St. Andrews occupies the tip of the wedge. Deer Island faces it and Campobello and Grand Manan lie in the order named out in the Bay of Fundy, off the coast of Maine. The protecting cover of these islands shelter Passamaquoddy Bay from the extreme storms of the Atlantic and its calm waters are warmer than those on the exposed coasts a little further south.
The Passamaquoddy Indians, a tribe peaceable enough now, in all conscience, have a legend that white men planted a cross on the edge of the bay and called the spot St. Andre. In this way, they account for the name of the town and also for that of the river, St. Croix. Beneath the shadow of Chamcook Mountain, which is no mountain, but an abrupt hill four hundred feet high standing back of SA, a French ship dropped anchor on a June day in 1604. From it were unloaded cannon, implements, brick and provisions upon an island then and baptized St. Croix. One gets an excellent impression of this island on the way up from St. Andrews to St. Stephen. The island is no longer St. Croix but is called , indifferently, Doucet’s or Dochet’s.
Historically St. Andrews is not without interest to those with a bent in that direction. From these, the canopied pulpit in the Greenock Church will evoke more than a perfunctory show of enthusiasm. The church building was begun one hundred and five years ago and completed a few years later by a well-to-do captain who determined to make it a monument worthy of the town and his own generosity. He ordered a carved oak tree to be embossed upon the face of the tower, in memory of his native Greenock, or Green Oak in Scotland. To the cabinet maker who fashioned of mahogany and bird’s eye maple “The finest pulpit in the province” he have a free hand. No nails were used in fitting the parts. Exquisite care was expended upon joints and panels, and the cost, according to St. Andrews tradition, was twelve thousand dollars. The first minister of the church is buried in the adjoining year. Besides performing his clerical duties he had time and disposition to found the “SA Friendly Society” to which all the town’s best born of a hundred years ago belonged. The members bound themselves to converse only “upon Religion, Morality, Law, Physics, Geography, History and the present or past state of nations.” As this curriculum would keep their meeting-hours reasonable occupied, they agreed, Scotchmen all, to make pause for no other refreshment than “spirits and water.”
Report has it that the old Scots families of the town have much fine plate and many heirlooms in mahogany. In any event, the frames of some of the houses were brought from the United States by United Empire Loyalists during the famous hegira which did so much to populate the Maritime Provinces. The Tories who settled in St. Andrews were especially noted for the fervency of their patriotism. One Scot who had seven sons recognized in them an opportunity to express his zeal for the Crown. Each new arrival was baptized George in honour of the reigning sovereign.
SA is one of the most delightful seaside resorts in the world and is to Canada what Newport is to the United States. As one writer has remarked “the social atmosphere is more rarefied in St. Andrews than in other provincial resorts. The writers of pamphlets like to call it the Newport of NB.” Be that as it may, St. Andrews has its own coterie of admiring enthusiasts who never weary of singing the praises of this resort where one can really get a good night’s sleep after the hottest summer day. These cool evenings are a feature of St. Andrews and everyone who has tossed and tumbled in a red-hot bed in an oven-like room, in an ordinary summer hotel knows what a heaven-sent boon a cooling night wind would be. IN St. Andrews one doesn’t yearn for such a gift; one simply takes it for granted.
The days are filled to the brim for those whose ambition it is to keep “on the go.” In the first place, there are two golf courses, one of eighteen holes, the other of nine. Both these courses were laid out by John Peacock, whose professional skill is well known and justly admired by golfers the world over. Without exaggeration, let it be said, that there is no better or more sporting seaside course outside of Scotland. Tennis is another attraction for the athletic and bowling greens and alleys have their devotees.
At Katie’s Cove is a splendid bathing beach. The water is of a pleasant temperature in this protected bay and the chute and diving boards afford endless sport. The Casino, with its organized entertainments helps to pass the time on summer evenings.
The neighbouring country is intersected with a network of beautiful drives which are attracting motorists in greater numbers each year. Within the earthworks of a dismantled fort above the town is the summer home of Lord Shaughnessy, while on Minister’s Island, also Van Horne’s Island, is the model farm which from the train looked like nothing so much as a giant checker board. A curious thing about this “island” is that at high tide it is accessible only by boat, whereas at low tide a perfectly good road connects it with the mainland.
Industrially, St. Andrews is almost totally dependent on the fishing facilities in which the district abounds. There are both salt water and fresh water fish in great quantities, and the canneries engaged in packing these products are well worth a visit. Clam factories are especially noteworthy while the sardine factory in the nearby village of Chamcook employs several hundred hands.
Not only has the Canadian Pacific Railway provided excellent transportation facilities to SA, but it has arranged for the most attractive kind of a visit by erecting and maintaining one of the most famous hotels in a most delightful setting. This hotel, widely and favourably known as “The Algonquin,” replaced the old building of the same name which was destroyed by fire in 1914. This new structure is a thoroughly modern type of building, constructed almost entirely of reinforced concrete, hollow tile being utilized for all interior partitions. The building consists of four storeys and two basements with over two hundred guest rooms and maximum accommodation for three hundred and fifty persons. Ninety seven of the bedrooms have private baths; the keynote of the furnishings is “simplicity,” carrying out the idea of a purely summer hotel. Danger of fire is at an absolute minimum, as fire wells and automatic fire doors divide each floor into five sections which can be completely isolated from the rest of the building.
Both the comfort and inviting character of the place impress one to a marked degree. The general feeling is quiet and restful--largely due to the simplicity and good taste used in the appointments. This simplicity and good taste, in addition to its undoubted natural recreation advantages make it a much sought out place by an increasing number of better class patrons. It is altogether carefully planned,, and built along sound and safe lines, and embodies in its equipment all the features of convenience necessary to a thoroughly efficient hotel service. In this it conforms to the present-day idea of a first-class summer hotel.
Its spacious grounds, which overlook the sea include one of the worlds’ finest golf courses, and through the surrounding country stretches a network of fine motor roads that give access to some of the most charming scenery in Eastern Canada. Tennis and lawn bowling are also provided for, and sea bathing, yachting an fishing are sports for which there is every encouragement in the numerous bays that extend up and down the shore in the vicinity of the hotel.
From an article in Acadiensis, written by M. N. Cockburn several years ago, the following extracts dealing with the history of St. Andrews are taken: . . .
St. Croix Courier
“Wee Anna and Beautiful SA”
Excerpt from article in Saturday Night
SA is one of the most restful villages you can imagine, dowered with the dual beauties of the hills and the sea;--and when the sky is blue above them, Canada cannot show anything fairer. Millionaires from Montreal have marked certain “cottages” for their own, but have had the wisdom to keep the rustic charm of their seaside nook in their gardens and on their broad verandahs. They have remembered Kipling’s saying: ‘The first use of dollars is to conceal dollars,’ and have not allowed luxury to become obvious. Every golfer knows the links at SA, and the small persons of the village make a handsome summer income out of the task of ‘caddying.’ It is Anna’s ambition (little girl who presents writer with bouquet of sweet peas) to be a caddy when she adds a few more summers to her experience. (Mother promises she will bob Anna’s curls)
St. Croix Courier
SA-by-the-Sea. In Toronto Saturday Night. Talkies at Casino. Motoring. Good overall view of Algonquin as centerpiece of town. (picture of hotel in thirties—see photos and pamphlets from late thirties CPR Archives)
During the heat of summer it is wise to escape from the burden of oppressing work, the routine of oft-repeated duties and the monotony of seeing the same places, doing the same things day after day. Enjoy a refreshing seaside vacation: full of the tang of salt breezes sweeping in from the encircling waters; the sound of waves washing on the shores; before your eyes rolling swards of green velvet grass, and the inviting golf courses dotted here and there with waving scarlet flags. Beyond, is a landscape of natural, untrammelled beauty, of dignified trees and rambling paths hinting of hidden loveliness, . . . of sea and sky and wood and shaven green . . . that is SA-by-the-Sea, in NB.
Here, happily, Nature’s bounty has been complemented by the comforts Man has achieved through centuries of effort, as embodied in the spacious Algonquin Hotel. Built by the Canadian Pacific Railway in Old English style, this modern, fireproof hostelry is charmingly situated overlooking Passamaquoddy Bay. Here, carefully chosen help do their best, the chefs in the kitchen rise to culinary heights, and the orchestra’s efforts are so enchanting that, when the music throbs on the sweet evening air, one can only sigh in sheer content. Golfers the world over have supreme ambition to “play SA,” the home of the Royal and Ancient Game. But not all can afford the time to visit Scotland, so they come up to SA-by-the-Sea in Canada, where the natural advantages of turf and terrain have been developed into courses not unworthy to bear the hallowed name. The two St. Andrews golf courses, built by the CPR (the championship 18-hole links and the sporty 9-hold ones), live up to the Scottish tradition in turf, and form, and caddies, and professional attendance.
The main course, surrounded on all sides by magnificent views, is truly a kingly setting for this regal sport. The turf is slipped plush and the hazards are as natural as they are good. The roué of the play, the location, of the tees and the selection of the greens, have been so arranged as to afford picturesque vistas of the glorious bay, and the benefit of the glowing, health-bestowing climate. The “nineteenth-hole” is an attractive club house, popular with golfers and non-golfers alike; here you may recall, with congenial companions, the thrills of seaside golf on St. Andrews’ links. Adjoining the club house is an excellent putting green.
If you prefer to consider sport as a spectacle, you may sit on the broad verandah of the Algonquin Hotel and watch the tennis players or bowlers as you choose.
Every window of that restful room of yours in the Algonquin Hotel, designed to please your eye, is a frame for a picture of breath-taking beauty . . . the winding roads, the stately trees, the green, velvety lawns, and the island-dotted bay where waves glint jewel-like, under the sun’s lingering rays.
Thus it well accords with the fitness of things that by day, the life of SA-by-the-Sea is outdoor sports. From breakfast to dinner, the colony is busy with golf clubs and tennis racket, with fishing rod and automobile. Nature has provided the garden; and the Algonquin Hotel has added the fairways and the bowling greens, the diving-platform and the four fast tennis courts adjoining the Casino.
Algonquin guests may scatter far and wide during the day enjoying the round of sports, but in the evening they concentrate on two equally popular places—the lounge and the Casino dance-floor. Golf and motoring are replaced by dancing and bridge and so the social hours are ushered in.
From dinner table to lounge is the beaten path of the Algonquinite. Here you may spend a restful hour—comparing adventures and scores, listening to a favorite piece entrancingly placed by the Algonquin orchestra.
At 9:30 the first fox trot sounds from the Casino. All the younger set is on hand . . . and between dances why not loll on the Casino veranda enjoying soft breezes and delightful companionship, or stroll on the grounds, admiring the bay suffused with luminous moonlight.
This year get your sun tan on St. Andrews sandy beaches and your swimming in Katy’s Cove. Sauntering down the long, tree-shaded path that meanders from the Algonquin Hotel to the bath houses you seem to come upon a sandy beach ideal for sun worshippers’ frolics. Swimming in the sun-heated salt water of Katy’s Cove is exhilarating, and sheltered, too . . . a dam has been constructed across the mouth of the cove! Aquatic sports are held each summer.
. . . Motoring? Excellent highways and charming scenery invite you to motor in every direction. The trip to St. Stephen is over good roads, fringed by the turquoise waters of the St. Croix River. Up this river over three hundred years ago sailed de Monts and his “motley assemblage of gentlemen, artists and vagabonds” (so reads Champlain’s quaint record published in Paris in 1613). Here they cast anchor and disembarked, claiming he land for God and His Gracious Majesty, Louis of France.
Other fine motor roads include the Joe’s Point Road, which crosses the golf course and strikes the St. Croix at its mouth; the Saint John Road going northeast through inland seas of forest to Fredericton, the capital of NB; and the far-famed Reversing Fall at Saint John.
Fishing is popular at St. Andrews. Up-country are streams and lakes stocked by the Provincial Government. Down-bar are famous deep-water fishing grounds with scrod, cod, haddock, pollock, etc., and other varieties running in season. Expert guides can be had in St. Andrews. The children, too, not to be outdone, hunt clams on the adorable mud-meadows at low tides. Little wonder the “Quoddy Bay” lobster and delicious seafood find a prominent place on the menus of the Algonquin Hotel.
Associated with fishing, is the kindred sport of yachting. Between Passamaquoddy Bay, the St. Croix River and the Bay of Fundy, St. Andrews offers yachtsmen all the thrills they long for. Passamaquoddy Bay is fairly sheltered, yet there’s always a spanking breeze; while Fundy is open enough for the most venturesome. St. Andrews Harbour is frequently visited by trim, cruising yachts.
Of course, modern life is not complete without “talkies.” So the Casino is equipped with motion picture booth and apparatus. Tri-weekly the dance floor of the Casino is transformed into a “picture palace.”
After the evening’s performance, you may prefer some bridge in the lounge among amid congenial company; and the gentlemen may enjoy a game of billiards, pool or indoor bowling at the Casino.
In the daily round of sports . . . and during the evening hours . . . life flows serenely at the Algonquin Hotel, SA-by the-Sea, with never a dull moment to mar its even tenor.