returned to "his château in the Pyrenees," taking his Indian bride along. Then came the wonder of his French tenantry:

"Down in the village day by day
The people gossip in their way,
And stare to see the baroness pass
On Sunday morning to early mass;
And when she kneeleth down to pray,

They wonder, and whisper together, and say,
'Surely this is no heathen lass!'

And in course of time they learn to bless
The baron and the baroness.

"And in the course of time the curate learns
A secret so dreadful that by turns

He is ice and fire, he freezes and burns.
The baron at confession hath said

That, though this woman be his wife,

He hath wed her as the Indians wed

He hath bought her for a gun and a knife!"

Then there was trouble, but it was soon cured, for the curate made all things right by a Christian wedding:

"The choir is singing the matin song;

The doors of the church are opened wide;
The people crowd, and press, and throng
To see the bridegroom and the bride.
They enter and pass along the nave;
They stand upon the father's grave;
The bells are ringing soft and slow;
The living above and the dead below
Give their blessings on one and twain;
The warm wind blows from the hills of Spain,
The birds are building, the leaves are green,
And Baron Castine of St. Castine

Hath come at last to his own again."

But this was not all. The son of the baron by his Tarratine princess became the chief of the tribe, and ruled it

THE NOTED SETTLEMENT AT CASTINE. 253

until, in 1721, he was captured by the English and taken prisoner to Boston. He is described as brave and magnanimous, and, when taken before the Boston council for trial he wore his French uniform and was accused of attending an Abenaqui council-fire. He sturdily replied: "I am an Abenaquis by my mother; all my life has been passed among the nation that has made me chief and commander over it. I could not be absent from a council where the interests of my brethren were to be discussed. The dress I now wear is one becoming my rank and birth as an officer of the Most Christian king of France, my master." After being held several months a prisoner he was released, and finally he too returned to the ancestral estates in the Pyrenees. Lineal descendants of the St. Castines still rule the Abenaquis, but the nation afterward dwindled almost to nothingness. Fort Pentagoet, honoring these memories, became Castine. In and around its harbor in the many wars it has seen have been fought no less than five important naval battles. Remains of its fort and batteries are yet preserved, and a miniature earthwork commands the harbor. All the Abenaqui tribes were firm allies of the Americans during the Revolution. There are some remnants of them in Canada, but the best preserved is the settlement of Penobscot Indians on Indian Island in the river at Oldtown, above Bangor. For their fealty during the Revolution they were given an extensive reservation, where about four hundred of them, receiving a small revenue from the State, now live in a village around their Catholic church. They have a town-hall and schools, with books printed in their own Abenaqui tongue. The settlement maintains tribal relations, being ruled by a governor, lieutenant-governor, two captains, and four councillors. This remnant of a once great and warlike nation now gets a modest subsistence by catching fish and lobsters and rafting logs on their native river of Norumbega.

XXXV.

THE GREAT PENOBSCOT BAY.

WE have come through the forests to the edge of Penobscot Bay-one of the crowning glories of "hundred-harbored Maine." Its shores and islands bear many noble trees, and its head-waters traverse an immense territory covered with forests of pine, spruce, and hemlock. Two hundred millions of feet of lumber will be surveyed at its chief port of Bangor in a single season. The visitor wanders in these great woods and thinks of Longfellow's lines:

"This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,

Bearded with moss, and with garments green, indistinct in the twilight,

Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic,

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest."

This magnificent region of wood and mountain, bay and archipelago, to which we have come recalls many Revolutionary memories. The bold western shores of Penobscot Bay make the well-known Maine counties of Knox and Waldo. Its abutting lands were included in the noted "Muscongus Patent" which King George I. issued and which came to Governor Samuel Waldo. The colonists were sturdy fighters in those days, and at Thomaston, through which we have passed, on the picturesque St. George's River, the English built a fort early in the last century to hold this crown grant, and the French from Acadia must consequently attack it, the monks, it was said, leading their Indian allies, the warlike Tarratines, but being successfully repulsed. This extensive Muscongus Patent embraced a tract thirty miles wide on each side of the Penobscot, and General Waldo, who was colonial gov

AN EXPLORATION.

255

ernor of Massachusetts, thus had a princely domain. But he died before the Revolution, and Waldo county and the town of Waldoboro' now preserve his memory. His patent afterward came to the noted Revolutionary general, Henry Knox, through his wife, and thus Knox became the patroon of Penobscot Bay, building a palace at Thomaston, where he lived in baronial state, maintaining all the dignity and ceremonial of the most aristocratic court, and spending so much money in maintaining his princely scale of living and generous hospitality that he bankrupted himself and almost ruined his Revolutionary compatriot, General Benjamin Lincoln, who became involved with him. General Knox was a splendid man, but he was literally "land poor," although he owned much of the best part of the then province of Maine, which at that time was part of the State of Massachusetts. His descendants and successors have since divided up his extensive principality.

AN EXPLORATION.

Upon part of General Knox's domain, the beautiful waters of the magnificent Penobscot Bay and its many dotted islands, whose rocky contours make the most attractive and capacious archipelago upon the Atlantic coast of the United States, we look out from the diminutive but most picturesque Owl's Head Bay at Rockland. This town of primitive development nestles behind the bold jutting point of the Owl's Head, whose strong and steady light and fog-signal guide the mariner entering the Penobscot. It is a town of sea-captains, fishermen, and lime-burners. Its rocks make the best lime on these coasts. They are quarried and burnt in kilns along the shore, where the product is put in barrels and shipped to market. A hundred kilns illuminate the hills at night, and a million barrels will be sent away in a year. Yet lime is not the only rocky product of this region. The adjacent islands are famous for their granites. Among them is Dix Island, a

compact mass of granite, where the vessels load alongside the ledges whence the blocks are cut. This granite built our Philadelphia Post-office. Vinalhaven Island, down the bay, produces the Bodwell granite that built the grand new Army and Navy Department building in Washington. Fleets of schooners are now bringing this Maine granite in paving-blocks to Philadelphia to improve our streets. These granite islands and the pleasant shores and protruding points of land jutting into the bay at Rockland that have such a superb outlook are just beginning to feel the presence of the summer saunterer. Rustic cottages are going up, and a pretty club-house out on a promontory gives a feature to the view at Owl's Head; but these primitive people seem still too much wedded to the ways of their forefathers to very extensively patronize it. Salt fish and a noontide dinner still prevail in these parts over swallowtail coats and a full-course banquet in the evening.

From Rockland we begin an exploration of this wonderful bay. An ancient stage-coach with four horses, which might have been patronized by General Knox himself after sundry turnings skilfully managed is judiciously packed by a party of Quaker explorers from the city of Penn, and starts up the coast. We take a winding road among the cottages and bits of forest, giving splendid views out over the bay. We move north-eastward, and the towering and forest-crowned Camden Hills rise higher and higher as the stage-coach approaches that little town. More lime-kilns are along the shores, with their quarries inland, the old coach rocking and rolling as we jolt by them and swiftly slide down the winding way that leads into the steep ravine making the miniature harbor of Rockport, which supports another colony of lime-burners. The male population not thus employed are generally standing listlessly about with their hands in their pockets, mildly wondering who could have had the audacity to thus rudely invade their sleepy village. But we climb laboriously out