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diff --git a/old/69718-0.txt b/old/69718-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 192707b..0000000 --- a/old/69718-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2842 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tall tales of Cape Cod, by Marillis -Bittinger - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Tall tales of Cape Cod - -Author: Marillis Bittinger - -Illustrator: Bruce Adams - -Release Date: January 7, 2023 [eBook #69718] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Steve Mattern, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALL TALES OF CAPE COD *** - - - - - - TALL TALES - - OF - - CAPE COD - - - - -[Illustration: _It Pays to Keep the Sabbath Day_] - - - - - TALL TALES - OF CAPE COD - - _by_ - MARILLIS BITTINGER - - _With Illustrations by_ - BRUCE ADAMS - - THE MEMORIAL PRESS - PLYMOUTH · MASSACHUSETTS - 1948 - - - - - TALL TALES OF CAPE COD - COPYRIGHT, 1948, BY - THE MEMORIAL PRESS - - _All rights in this book are reserved._ - - _Designed and Printed by_ - - THE MEMORIAL PRESS - PLYMOUTH, MASSACHUSETTS - - - - -TO MY FATHER, _who Mother says tells the tallest tales of them all, and -who helped me in the preparation of this book_. - - - - - ... Introduction - -There is not a part of the United States that does not have its share -of fascinating folklore. From the coast of California and its legends -of gold, to the hardy New England shores, rich with its stories of -shrewd Yankee peddlers, personalities and fables march back from the -past and implant themselves into the region as firmly and lastingly as -the giant redwoods of California or the huge elm-arches of Yarmouth on -Cape Cod. An integral part of sectionalized history, American folklore -holds its own as a meter by which we may judge and understand those -hardy men and women who took the new world in their hands and molded -its character for the generations to come. - -The title of this volume is perhaps misleading. Tall Tales of Cape Cod -they are, yes, but in a broader sense that are the feel and the basis -of a way of life. These fables and superstitions, personalities and -adventures cannot be labeled merely Tall Tales, for they were such an -important part of life on Cape Cod that to think of the narrow land -without them would be impossible. - -The stories I have presented here are, in a sense, true. Some of them -are original, that is, products of my own imagination, fired by the -Cape and its history. Others are as old as the Cape itself, and have -been repeated time and again. Still others have been gleaned from -conversation with Cape Cod folk and from the invaluable old books which -I have been fortunate enough to have made available to me. - -It would be impossible for me to state the credulity of the tales found -in this volume, that is a matter entirely for the reader to decide. But -this is Cape Cod, with its adventure and romance, mystery and humour, -and I hope that the reader will find in them the true feel of a land -that is incomparable in history, salty humour, and rock bound tradition. - - MARILLIS BITTINGER - - Plymouth, Massachusetts - April 1, 1948 - - - - - ... Contents - - - No Kissing On Sunday 1 - - The Cape Cod Gold Rush 3 - - How Scargo Lake Got Its Name 7 - - The Curse of Old Mother Melt 9 - - Barney Gould 12 - - It Pays to Keep the Sabbath 15 - - Timmy Drew and The Bull Frogs 17 - - The Wrong Gulls 28 - - She Had the Last Word 30 - - The Singular Case of the Young Anatomist 31 - - The Mooncussers of Cape Cod 38 - - How the Fogs Came to the Cape 40 - - The Peddler’s Coffin 45 - - The Whale that Went to New York 48 - - The Snake Biting Indian 50 - - Johnny Blunt’s Courtship 53 - - The Trusting Maiden 58 - - Shipwrecked 60 - - The Enchanted Mouse 65 - - Ole Bill Hardy 68 - - How Sophie Got A Husband 71 - - The Orleans Lamplighter 76 - - The Giant of Longnook Valley 77 - - Cupid and the Tree Warden 82 - - The Singing Fish of Monomoy Point 85 - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... No Kissing On Sunday - - -It isn’t unusual during the light-hearted days of Spring, or during any -season for that matter, to see a boy and girl exchange a kiss. But back -in the days when a kiss between any but married couples was a gross -impropriety, any demonstration of affection on the Sabbath was against -the law, even between married couples. There is no attempt to claim -here that this law was never broken, but woe unto those hapless couples -who were found out! - -A Harwich great-great-great-ancestor, a red blooded sailing man, had -been away on a long sea journey, and returned unexpectedly on one -Sabbath afternoon. He strode down the street to his home, and at the -gate, bellowed joyously for his wife. She rushed out the door and into -his arms, and the captain’s natural inclination was of course to greet -his wife with a hug and a kiss. They both, in the moment of meeting, -quite forgot the law which forbade any such goings on. A prying -neighbor--a frustrated old maid, no doubt--reported the incident to -the authorities, with the result that the affectionate captain was -clapped into the stocks for two days to repent. - -Not less than a month after this romance thwarting incident, another -couple was hauled into court. It would seem from this story that it was -not god-fearing folks who gathered garden fresh peas on the Sabbath. -The husband had returned from the sea Sunday morning, and his loving -wife, knowing that fresh peas were his favorite vegetable, had gone -into her garden and gathered an apron-full for dinner. It is not known -what punishment was levied on the couple, but it is recorded in the -family records that “they received their just punishment with god-like -mien.” - -[Illustration] - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... The Cape Cod Gold Rush - - -The lights in the cell block of the Charlestown State Prison shone -forth in musty yellow streaks one mid-summer night in 1849. It was the -hour when the prisoners were left to their own devices within their -tiny cells before the final night lock-up. - -The final lock-up bell clanged through the stone prison, the main -lever was thrown, and the block was dark save for two lanterns at the -end of the long corridor. The men settled down to sleep. But in the -corner cell of Section 3, 2nd floor, there was no thought of sleep. -The occupant of this cell was William Phelpes, sentenced to a long -term after confessing to a startling $50,000 bank robbery at Wheeling. -The loot had never been found, and it had taken authorities a long -time to catch up with Phelpes. But it was not thoughts of reclaiming -the fortune upon being released from prison that kept Phelpes awake -this night. He had no intention of waiting ten long years to return -to the outside world, and tonight he was planning a way to beat this -waiting. His was not a plan of violence or a foolhardy attempt at -escape. Phelpes was not unintelligent, and although he had little -formal education, he was nevertheless known to be shrewd, cagey, and -quick-witted. - -Phelpes waited until the prison was completely quiet and he could hear -only the steady breathing from the cell next to his, and an occasional -murmur from the lips of some uneasy sleeper. Then he sprang into -action. He took his tin drinking cup in his hand, and rattled it across -the bars of his cell, hollering loudly for the guard. The lights in the -corridor lit up, and the guards came running down to his cell, where -Phelpes demanded to see the warden, saying that he wished to tell of -the whereabouts of the $50,000. - -When the warden stumbled sleepy and red eyed from his room, his -annoyance about being awakened was amazingly short-lived when he -learned the reason. It was decided that the search for the loot was to -start early the next morning. Phelpes had promised, under guarantee -of a lightened sentence, to lead the warden and his assistants to the -very spot in which he had hidden the $50,000. The buried treasure, said -Phelpes, was at Cotuit on Cape Cod. - -There were two men that did not sleep in the prison that night, for -their heads were whirling with plans. These men were Warden Robinson -and Prisoner Phelpes. A golden cloud of money and freedom from the -job of warden filled the mind of Warden Robinson, for his share of the -reward promised for the return of the money would make it possible for -him to retire and live pretty much as he chose. For Phelpes, the golden -cloud meant only one thing--freedom, and already his mercurial thoughts -were sliding from one fabulous plan to another--plans that could only -be fulfilled by this freedom. - -At 5 o’clock the next morning, Phelpes, Warden Robinson and the sheriff -started out for Cape Cod and the $50,000. Phelpes, after the trio -had arrived at Cotuit, and the general vicinity of the buried loot, -pulled out a map, which he had carefully prepared the night before, -and studied it intently. Elaborate steps were taken to follow the map -to the letter. Warden Robinson’s hands shook as he held the map in his -hands, and even the calm Phelpes seemed ruffled and excited. - -The exact spot was finally found, and the digging began--digging that -went on and on for what seemed like endless hours. It grew darker -as evening began to turn into night when Phelpes sprang to his feet -and shouted “We’s almost there!” Shovels tossed dirt furiously, and -the exhilarated sheriff leaped into the hole for a closer look. The -warden’s face, illuminated by the lantern which he held, was a mask of -suppressed desire, and his eyes were holes of excitement and longing. -He had no thought of anything but the money which lay so close within -his grasp. But it was at this moment that Phelpes, forgotten both by -the warden and the sheriff in this instant of near-wealth, put his -ingenious plan into culminating action. As the warden leaned still -closer into the hole where the sheriff was still frantically digging -Phelpes lifted his foot and booted the gullible warden into the hole -on top of the sheriff. In the confusion that inevitably followed, -Phelpes made a successful dash for freedom, and later made his way to -the true spot where the $50,000 was hidden. - -[Illustration] - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... How Scargo Lake - Got Its Name - - -The handsome, stalwart young brave runner from a distant tribe looked -just once at the proud and fiery Princess Scargo, beautiful daughter -of Sagem, chief of the Bobusset tribe that once dwelt on the shore of -Dennis, and lost his heart to her. And the Princess, who had given her -heart to no man before, fell madly in love. - -As token of his love and devotion, the young brave presented his -beloved with a beautifully carved, hollowed-out pumpkin, filled with -water in which were swimming four small silvery fish. The Princess -adored her gift, and placed the small fish in a tiny pond which she -hollowed out with her own hands. The beautiful Indian maiden spent long -hours by her pond, for her lover had promised to return to her before -the fish had grown to maturity. And so every day she watched the growth -of her fish, for each change in size brought her closer to the young -brave to whom she had pledged her love. - -But the summer was a long and dry one, and when Princess Scargo went to -her pond one morning, she found it dry and three of her beloved fish -dead. The Princess was mad with grief. She wept and wailed, and the -tears of grief kept alive the one remaining fish, which she placed once -more in the pumpkin. - -Her indulgent father immediately called an important pow-wow. It was -decided that a lake should be dug especially for Princess Scargo’s -fish. The strongest and most skillful brave shot an arrow in four -directions. Each time an arrow fell, it marked a boundary of the lake. - -The work of digging the lake basin went on steadily. When Autumn’s -bright hues painted the countryside, and the Fall rains came, the lake -bed filled deep and clear. - -Princess Scargo placed her fish in the man-made lake, and prepared to -wait once more for her lover. He came as he had promised, and after -their marriage, they lived in their lodges on the shores of Scargo -Lake, where the descendants of the silvery fish, token of an Indian -love, still swim. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - ... The Curse of - Old Mother Melt - - -No one knew her real name, or from where she came. She seemed as old -as Time itself, and her cavernous eyes were fathomless pits of mystic -wisdom. The villagers spoke of her in hushed tones, and they called her -Old Mother Melt. They believed she was a witch. - -Old Mother Melt lived in an ancient, ragged cottage on the outskirts of -Provincetown, and the townspeople dared not venture near her cottage -after dark. Many a youth, returning from an evening of courting in a -neighboring town, and forced to pass by the cottage of Old Mother Melt -on his way home, was scared out of his breeches by the strange noises -and eerie lights that came from the windows. This fear came from years -of inbred superstition and ignorance, for Mother Melt had never done -any harm that could be proven. Nevertheless, she remained an avoided, -fearsome character. Whenever disaster, illness or calamity befell -someone in the village, there were many who murmured ominously about -“one of Mother Melt’s curses,” and the threat that “Old Mother Melt -will get you” disciplined many an obstreperous child. - -Whenever Mother Melt made one of her infrequent trips to the village -for a few meagre staples, those on the streets slid quickly into -doorways and shops, children scampered to their calling mothers, and -all peered suspiciously at the grotesque old figure of Mother Melt as -she picked her way slowly through the narrow streets. - -The days of Old Mother Melt were the great days of fishing in -Provincetown, and there was not a seaman in the village who would go -near her cottage the week before he was to sail. But there was one -whaling man, Capt. Samuel Collins, who scoffed at any mention of such -things as witchcraft and curses, and it was to this man that Mother -Melt spoke one day. Her request was a simple one. She knew that Capt. -Collins was to leave shortly for a long whaling trip, and she asked -that he take her son, a strong, intelligent lad of about fifteen, with -him on his trip as cabin boy and apprentice. Captain Collins had no -qualms about accepting, for he knew and liked the boy, and had often -been impressed by his quickness. So Mother Melt’s dream of her boy off -to sea, perhaps someday becoming master of his own ship, was realized. - -But through some mix-up, when sailing time arrived, Mother Melt’s son -was not to be found, and the captain could wait no longer for the -boy. As the Collins’ ship sailed away, Mother Melt was at the wharf -shrieking a curse upon the ship and all its hands. - -Several weeks of steady winds and fair weather favored Captain -Collins, but this run of good weather was shattered by a freak storm -of sudden, fierce intensity. Monstrous waves and savage winds battered -the fishing ship. Several of the crew were washed overboard to their -deaths, and valuable time was lost in repairing the damage. Captain -Collins recalled then the curse of Mother Melt, and declared that she -was responsible for the disaster, for he could see no other explanation -for the weird freak storm which had arisen so unexpectedly and caused -so much damage. He swore to kill Mother Melt when he returned to home -port. - -When the great fishing ship limped into Truro, Captain Collins wasted -no time. He was the first to stride down the gangplank and made his -way straight to the old cottage at the edge of Provincetown village. -There he found Mother Melt, weak and spent from a long illness. But -nothing halted him or his anger. Mother Melt pleaded so passionately -for her life, however, that he gave up his determination for revenge -and promised to spare her if she in turn promised to never again utter -a curse. - -Upon the death of Old Mother Melt, Captain Collins took her son under -his wing, and the lad later became master of his own ship, which had -a long and remarkable record of clear sailing, free from storms and -disasters. It is said that Mother Melt watched over the ship as it -sailed the seven seas. - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... Barney Gould - - -I happened into the Orleans General Store one drizzly afternoon, and -found some old timers gathered round the potbellied stove, reminiscing -about days gone by, and some of the personalities that colored those -days. Perhaps the old cracker barrel, the wonderful, mixed smell of -molasses and spices, and the kerosene lanterns were missing, but, in -the midst of modern conveniences of a modern store, I travelled back -into the past as I listened to the talk that flowed around the circle -by the stove. Rain streaked down the window panes; a little puddle of -rain water at the doorway widened as a few stragglers came in out of -the storm, stamping their boots, and shaking off their slickers like -ducks just out of water. The moods of the weather have a wonderful -effect on conversation in such a setting, and bring forth stories -almost forgotten, stories oft-repeated, and tall tales that grew and -grew with the years. - -Seth Finlay had a ghost of a smile on his wrinkled face, and a -reminiscent twinkle in his deep-sea eyes. I heard him chuckle deep down -inside, and felt somehow that a good yarn or two was forthcoming. Seth -caught me looking at him, and chuckled again. “’Spose you’re wondering -what I’m lookin’ so pleased about, don’t you? Wal, I’ll tell ye. All -these stories ’bout what you off-Capers would call ‘characters’ brings -to mind old Barney Gould. I ain’t sayin’ all the stories you hear ’bout -him air true, but he was quite a feller. A mite bit tetched, mebbee, -but harmless. - -“One thing he was most set about. That was usin’ trains or enythin’ -else besides the two legs that God gave him. He uster make regular -trips up Boston and back, carryin’ packages and letters for folks. -’Twasn’t long before we wuz callin’ him ‘Barney Gould’s Express!’ And -I swan efen one day, when Ben Howes wanted a dozen wood-end tooth -rakes, he gave Barney a quarter and the durn fool walked all the way to -Boston, got the rakes, and hiked all the way back with the rakes over -his shoulder. - -“Nuther funny thing ’bout Barney. He’d got the idee somewheres that he -owned the roads. He’d stop everybody he met and ask ’em for two cents -for his ‘road tax.’ I ’member one day he came up to me for the tax. -All’s I had was a dime. He said that would pay my road tax for five -years. If he’d lived fer that five years, he would’ve waited ’til then -to ask me again; he never forgot who had paid and who hadn’t, and never -hit up the same feller twice in the same year. - -“Yu’ve heard tell about them long-distance walkers, I calculate. Wal, -Barney was one of ’em. Least aways that’s how the stories go. They tell -one story ’bout that’s kinda hard t’ believe. Seems that Cap’n Joel -Nickerson was startin’ off in his schooner for New Orleans. Barney -was foolin’ ’round down the dock, helpin’ the crew cast off. Cap’n -Nickerson hollered over to him--‘Say, Barney--meet us down New Orleans -to help us tie up, will ye?’ You won’t believe me, but sure enough, -when the old schooner hove ’long side at the New Orleans dock, there -was Barney, waitin’ to help tie up. He’d walked all the way from P’town -to New Orleans. - -“An’ one time--bet you won’t believe this either--he thought he’d like -t’ see the Wild West. Yep--walked all the way to ’Frisco and back. Took -him near two years, but he said it was wuth it. ’Course, that was when -he was young and strong. Yep--he sure had a pair of legs, did Barney -Gould.” - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... It Pays to Keep - the Sabbath - - -Joe Crocker, down Wellfleet way, learned through bitter experience that -it pays to keep the Sabbath. - -Joe was always one to find a dollar, and when he did, he made the most -of it. But he didn’t hanker after what most folks call real work. His -financial status depended mostly on old Lady Luck. And she chose one -Sunday to shine down on him. - -Joe was strolling down the beach one Sunday morning when God-fearing -folks were in church, and he came across a school of blackfish flung up -on the beach. Now a man who finds such a school of beached blackfish is -a fortunate one indeed, for he is well paid for the “melons” that are -found in the skulls of the fish. - -Old Joe promptly set to work cutting his initials in the blackfish -skulls as a claim to his ownership. He was busily engaged in this task -when the Methodist minister came by and caught him in the act, so to -speak. He reprimanded him severely, and Joe just laughed. The minister -said he could laugh then, but that he would get the devil’s own pay -tomorrow, and strode on. I guess he knew it was useless to try and -convert a melon-cutting heathen on the Sabbath. - -Well, early next morning, Joe went down to sell his fish, but the -market prices had taken a sudden weekend drop, and the sperm oil man -wouldn’t buy. So there was Joe, left with a beach full of smelly -blackfish. And you’ve never smelled such a stench as comes up from a -beached school of blackfish when the wind is coming from the sea. The -townspeople finally couldn’t stand it another minute, and a group of -them came down to the beach to get rid of the school. And sure enough, -there were Joe’s initials, carved in the skulls where he had put them -on Sunday forenoon. Those initials J.C. were enough to convince every -man jack of them that the whole smelly job was up to one man--the -owner, and the owner was obviously Joe Crocker. He put up quite an -argument, but he finally had to hire a half dozen fishermen to tow the -blackfish back out to sea. The Methodist minister was heard to remark -that some people had to learn the hard way that it pays “to keep the -Sabbath day.” Joe didn’t have a thing to say, and he still didn’t come -to Sunday meetin’, but no one ever saw him looking for easy work on the -Sabbath again. - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... Timmy Drew and - The Bull Frogs - - -Once upon a time, it is said, there lived in Chatham on Cape Cod a -little whipper-snapper of a fellow, named Timothy Drew. Timmy was not -more than four-feet-eight, and that standing in his thick-soled boots. -And so, as befalls so many unfortunates of Timmy’s stature, he was -forced to accept heckling from his taller associates, among whom Timmy -appeared a dwarf. But long-legged men held no fears for Timmy, for -although small, he made up in spirit what he lacked in bulk, as is so -often the case with small men. Timmy was all pluck and gristle, and no -steel trap was smarter. - -When Timmy refused to stand for the gibes that were thrown at him, -he was chock full of fight. To be sure, he could hit his tormentors -no higher than the belt-buckle, but his blows were so rapid and full -of force that he beat the daylights out of many a ten-footer. When -Timmy was in his fiery youth, the words “If you say that ’ere again, -I’ll knock you into the middle of next week!” were enough to quell any -belligerent. - -Timmy Drew was a natural born shoemaker. No man around could hammer out -a piece of leather with such speed and accuracy. Timmy used his knee -for a lap stone, and years of thumping made it hard and stiff as an -iron hinge. Timmy’s shoe shop was near a pleasant valley on the edge -of a pond. In the Spring, this pond was a fashionable gathering place -for hundreds of bull frogs, that came there from all parts to spend -the warm season. Several of these bull frogs were of extraordinary -size, and as they became used to Timmy, who spent some time down near -the pond’s edge feeding them, they would draw near to his shop, raise -their heads, and swell out their throats like balloons until the area -vibrated with their basso music. Timmy, keeping busily at his work to -the accompaniment of this bull frog male chorus, beat time for them -with his tooling hammer, and in this manner the hours passed away as -pleasantly as the day is long. - -Now Timmy was not one of those shoemakers who stick eternally to their -bench like a ball of wax. In fact, Timmy made a habit of carrying his -work to his customer’s house, partly for assurance of perfect fit and -partly for company. Then, too, he always stopped at the tavern on his -way home from work for sociability and to inquire about the day’s news. -It was here especially that Timmy found his size unfortunate, for here -gathered all the jokers and wags of the neighborhood, as well as the -notoriously teasing and practical joking peddlers. Although Timmy felt -as uncomfortable as a short-tailed horse in fly time in this company, -he loved to be there and reveled in the conversation and the stories -that were told. - -Unfortunately for Timmy, however, the peddlers took the keenest delight -in imposing on his credulity as well as on his stature. They always -seemed to have the most amazing conglomeration of tall stories at -hand, but also seemed to have even more amazing ones when the gullible -Timmy was present. They had learned long before that Timmy was not -to be toyed with about his height, but still retained their practice -of goading him on to believe their incredibly tall tales. And there -was no one who can describe an incredible fact with more plausibility -than a peddler. His profession alone had taught him to maintain an -iron gravity when selling his wares, which, with very few exceptions, -could certainly not sell themselves. Thus their tales, sufficient in -themselves to embarrass any other narrator, carried great conviction. - -But there was a joke which the peddlers played on Timmy that carried -itself out far beyond any and all expectations. Many and diverse were -the pranks played on Timmy the gullible, but never before one with such -repercussions as this one, which, from the start, seemed made to order -for him. - -A fashionable tailor in the neighboring and larger village decided -to advertise in Chatham, thereby bringing to himself trade from the -small community and others like it. This tailor took it on himself -to have a large and flaming advertisement made which was posted in -the tavern which Timmy frequented on his way home from the shoe shop. -The advertisement excited general interest, for the tailor asserted -to have, at greatly reduced prices, a splendid assortment of coats, -pantaloons and waistcoats of all colors and fashions, as well as a -great variety of trimmings such as tape, thread, buckram, ribbons, -and--this last item was especially stressed--“frogs,” those cord -material hooks in the shape of that deep-throated and squat reptile. - -The next time Timmy appeared at the tavern, his associates and peddler -hecklers pointed out to him the advertisement, with special stress on -the “frogs.” They reminded him of the plenteous supply of these frogs -to be found in his own neighboring Lily Pond. - -“Why, Timmy,” they said, “this is the chance of a life time. If you -were to give up shoemaking and take to frog catching, you would make -your tarnal fortune!” - -“How so?” asked Timmy. - -“Why, lad,” spoke up one of the peddlers, “can’t you see by that poster -that frogs are in great demand in fashionable tailoring?” - -“Yes, Timmy,” spoke up still another conspirator in the joke, “you -might bag a thousand in half a day, and folks say they will bring a -dollar a thousand!” - -It was obvious that these words had a great effect on Timmy, for he was -carefully considering the suggestion, and could see the money pouring -already into his outstretched hands. - -“There’s frogs enough in Lily Pond,” he mused, “but it’s tarnation hard -work to catch ’em. I swaggers! They’re plaguey slippery fellows!” - -Then up spoke Joe Gawky, by far the most infamous practical jokester -in the company. “Never mind, Timmy. Take a fish net and scoop ’em up. -You must have ’em alive, and fresh.” And then, drawing Timmy aside, Joe -whispered, “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go you shares. Say nothing of -it to anyone. Tomorrow night I’ll come up and help you catch a goodly -batch, and we’ll divide the gain.” - -Timmy was in raptures. But he was, as you will soon see, counting his -frogs before they were caught. - -As Timmy walked home that night, a cagy thought, upon which he inwardly -prided himself, came into his head. Thought Timmy, “These ’ere frogs -in a manner belong to me, since my shop stands near Lily Pond. Why -should I make two bites at a cherry and divide profits with Joe Gawky? -By gravy! I’ll get up early in the morning, and be off with a batch -of them to the tailor’s before sunrise, and so keep the money all to -myself!” - -And so he did. Never before had there been such a stir among the placid -frogs of Lily Pond. In fact, they were taken quite by surprise, and -with no little difficulty. Timmy captured a huge bag of them and set -off on his journey to the tailor’s. - -Mr. Buckram, the fashionable tailor, was an elderly gentleman, and a -nervous one, and, when disturbed, inclined to be peevish. Mr. Buckram -was also very particular both about his own attire and that of his -customers, and prided himself on the neat-as-a-pin appearance of his -shop. - -The unsuspecting Mr. Buckram was busily engaged in making a waistcoat -for a Harwich gentleman when Timmy entered the shop. The sight of Timmy -alone was enough to make anyone take notice, but Timmy, together with -a large and curiously jumping bag slung over his shoulder was indeed a -sight to see. Timmy wasted no time in preliminaries, perhaps under the -impression that big business needed no introduction. Since the tailor -had not noticed or seemingly did not hear his entrance into the quiet -shop, Timmy assumed that the elderly man was deaf. So, without further -ado, Timmy leaned down, and, pressing his mouth near the old man’s -head, bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Do you want any frogs today?” - -[Illustration] - -The old gentleman dropped his shears and jumped clear off his stool in -astonishment, viewing Timmy with a mixture of amazement and alarm. “Eh? -Any frogs? What in tarnation for?” - -“I’ve got a fine lot here,” persisted Timmy, thinking the tailor was -being shrewd. “They are jest from the pond, and lively as grasshoppers!” - -Mr. Buckram was plainly confused. “Don’t bellow in my ears,” he -exclaimed. “I’m not deaf! Tell me what you want and then be off.” - -“I want to sell you these frogs. You shall have them at a bargain. Only -one dollar a hundred. I won’t take a cent less. Do you want them or -not? If I can’t get satisfaction here, I shall go elsewhere, and you -shall miss out on a great bargain!” - -Mr. Buckram thought he was face to face with a miniature mad man, and -attempted to rid himself of the small nuisance with bravado. “No, I -don’t want any frogs. Now get out of my shop, you young fool!” - -“I say you do want ’em!” shouted Timmy, “but you’re playing offish-like -to beat down my price. I won’t take a cent less, I tell you!” - -The conversation went on like this for fully ten minutes, and finally -Timmy, puzzled, mortified, and angry, slowly withdrew. “He won’t buy -’em,” thought Timmy “for what they are worth. And as for taking nothing -for them, I won’t. And yet, I don’t want to lug them back to Lily Pond -again. Curse the old man anyway. I’ll try him once more, and be durned -if I’ll ever plague myself this way again!” - -And once more he entered the tailor shop. - -“Mr. Buckram, this is absolutely your last chance. Are you willing to -give me anything for these frogs?” - -The old man was goaded beyond endurance. He sprang from his work and -took after Timmy with his long shears. - -“Well, then” said Timmy bitterly, as he backed away, “Take ’em among -ye for nothing,” and so saying, emptied the contents of the bag on the -floor of the shop and marched indignantly away. - -Well, you can imagine the confusion that followed. One hundred live -bull frogs had a marvelous time jumping about the shop. Every nook and -corner had a bull frog in it, and to make matters worse and add to the -confusion, they set up a loud and indignant cacophony of chug-a-lums. - -And thus dissolved the golden visions of Timmy the Frog Catcher. - -After this affair, Timmy could not bear the thought, sight, sound, -or mention of a frog. He never admitted that a joke had been played -on him, but his associates would not let him forget the incident. -They referred constantly to the matter. He was rarely seen now at -the tavern, and even the town children called after him on the -street--“There goes the frog catcher.” You see the story had spread up -and down the Cape, and Timmy had no peace. - -The sound of frogs singing in the Lily Pond incensed Timmy to such -a degree that he would run out of the shop and pelt the poor things -with stones to stop their noise. It seemed after a while that their -song, which he heard both day and night, had definite words in it, and -contained his own name. - -On one night in particular, Timmy was awakened from sound sleep by a -tremendous bellowing directly under his window. It seemed as if all the -frogs in the world were clearing their throats for a mass chug-a-lum. -He listened with amazement, and could soon distinguish-- - - Boooooooo - Timmy Drew-o-o-o - I can make a shoe-o-o-o - As well as you-o-o-o - And better too-o-o-o - Timmy Drew-o-o-o - Boooooooo - -Timmy was certain no ordinary frogs could pipe out such a song at that -rate. He leaped out of bed and rushed from the house. “I’ll teach those -rascals to come around plaguing me,” he said. But no one could be seen. -It was a clear bright night, all was solitary and still, save for an -occasional rumble from the sleeping frogs. After throwing a few stones -into the bushes, Timmy retired once more and fell into uneasy sleep. - -The amazing concert continued night after night, swelling on the -evening breeze, and then sinking away into the distance. Again and -again Timmy attempted to discover who were the perpetrators of the -nightly serenading. They could not be found. He began to feel certain -that he was to be forever haunted by the music. His friends sympathized -with him, but Timmy was too upset to sense the mischief in the air. - -The next time Timmy stopped at the tavern, he found all in earnest -consultation. - -“Here he comes,” said one, as soon as Timmy entered. - -“Have you heard the news?” inquired the tavern keeper. - -“No,” said Timmy with a groan. - -“Joe Gawky ’as seen sech a critter in the pond! A monstrous large frog, -as big as an ox, with eyes as large as a horse. I never heard of no -such thing in all my born days!” - -“Nor I,” said Sam Greening. - -“Nor I,” said Josh Whiting. - -“Nor I,” said Tom Bizbee. - -“I have heard tell of sech a critter in Ohio,” said Eb Crawley. “Frogs -have been seed there, as big as a suckling pig, but not in these ’ere -parts.” - -“Mrs. Timmings,” said Sam Greening, “feels quite melancholy about it. -She guesses as how it’s a sign of some terrible thing that’s going to -happen.” - -“I was fishing for pickerel,” said Joe Gawky, who, by the way, was a -tall, spindle-shanked fellow, with a white head, and who stooped in -the chest like a crook-necked squash. “I was after pickerel, and had a -frog’s leg for bait. There was a tarnation big pickerel just springing -at the line, when out sailed this great he-devil from under the bank. -By the living hokey! He was as large as a small-sized man! Such a -straddle-bug I never seed! I up line, and cleared out like a blue fish, -I can tell you!” - -Timmy searched anxiously the faces of all present for some sign of -spoofing, but he could see only sober concern that credited the story. -He began to feel very uneasy. - -“That must be the critter I heard t’other night in the pond!” exclaimed -Josh Whiting. “I swanny, he roared louder than a bull.” - -This last statement aroused in Timmy divers emotions, all connected -with the serenading that had been his for the past many nights. In -vain, the company questioned him concerning his knowledge of the -matter. He would not say a word. - -After this introduction, the conversation took naturally to discussion -of the supernatural. Each one had some story to tell of witches, ghosts -and goblins. By degrees, the company dispersed, until Timmy Drew found -himself quite alone. He found it difficult to get up and start home, -for the conversation had impressed him more than he would admit at -the time, and the walk home by the Lily Pond was nothing he cared to -consider. - -At length, he got up courage and started home. His course lay over a -solitary road, darkened by over-shadowing trees. A tomb-like silence, -heightened by his thoughts, prevailed, disturbed only by his echoing -foot-steps. Timmy Drew marched straight ahead with a stealthy pace, not -daring to look behind, yet dreading to proceed by Lily Pond. At last -he reached the top of the hill at the foot of which were his house and -Lily Pond. He had just about reached his door, when a sudden rustle of -leaves by the pond brought his heart dry and bitter to his mouth. At -this moment, the moon slipped aside a cloud and seemed to focus on an -object that turned Timmy to stone on the spot. An unearthly monster, -in the shape of a mammoth bull frog, sat on its ugly haunches, glaring -at him with eyes like burning coals. With a single leap, it was by -Timmy’s side, and he felt one of his ankles caught in a cold wet grasp. -Terror gave him strength. With a howl and a Herculean effort, he pulled -himself away from the monster’s clutches and tore up the hill. - -“By the living hokey!” said Joe Gawky, slowly rising from the ground -and arranging his clothing. “Who’d uv guessed thet this ’ere old -pumpkin head atop my shoulder with a candle a-burning in it would have -set old Timmy’s stiff knees a-goin’ at that rate! I couldn’t see him -travel for the dust his boots rose!” - -It is hardly necessary to add that Cape Cod saw no more of the Frog -Catcher from Chatham, Timothy Drew. - -[Illustration] - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... The Wrong Gulls - - -Cap’n Caleb Nickerson of Truro, master of a large ship which oftentimes -took on young boys as apprentices and cabin boys, was sailing home to -the Cape after a long journey. When the ship was almost to P’town, -Cap’n Nick, bone-weary and worn from the long run, decided to turn the -wheel over to young David, a youth who had shipped out with him to -learn the fine art of seamanship. - -“But, Cap’n Nickerson,” the boy demurred, “I don’t know much about -navigation yet, and the compass is still strange to me.” - -“Don’t worry, Lad,” said Caleb reassuringly. “See them gulls over -there? Wal, just folly them right along, and they’ll take ye right home -to port.” - -With these words, Cap’n Nickerson went below to his quarters for a -snooze. When he awoke a few hours later, he peered out of the porthole -and was dumfounded to find himself still out in the open ocean, when -the ship should have arrived in Provincetown long before. Rushing -madly topside, the cap’n grabbed poor Dave by the nape of the neck, and -in a few choice mariner’s words, demanded what in tarnation he thought -he was doing. - -“But, Cap’n,” exclaimed the perplexed boy, “you told me to folly them -gulls over there, and I’ve been right on their trail!” - -Cap’n Nick grabbed the telescope, took one squint-eyed look at the -gulls, and then bellowed, “Why you durn fool! Them’s Chatham gulls, not -Truro gulls!” - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - ... She Had the Last Word - - -A Cape Cod widow, whose married life had been far from peaceful and -happy, refused to let the minister write a flowery tribute for her -husband’s gravestone, as was the custom. - -But propriety and convention of the times insisted that something -appear carved on the headstone, and so the indomitable woman left the -choice of verse entirely up to the local stone-cutter. He resorted to -the stock phrase: - - “As I am now, so you will be-- - Prepare for death and follow me.” - -Convention thus being satisfied, no more was thought of the matter, but -when friends and relatives paid their next visit to the grave, they -were shocked and stunned to see, carved beneath the stone-cutter’s -verse, these lines: - - “To follow you I’ll not consent, - Because--I know which way you went!” - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... The Singular Case of the - Young Anatomist - - -Fate, that capricious ruler of the tides that governs our lives, -arranged a meeting on the wild, windswept Hill of Storms in Truro on -Cape Cod; a meeting so strange that, for the sake of credulity, I must -withhold the name of the earthly being who took part in it. For it was -on a dark Fall night, long ago, that a Cape Cod boy, with nothing in -his pockets but his dreams and a burning ambition, met and talked with -a live skeleton, and, caught up on the crest of Fate’s precarious wave, -was swept high to Fame and Fortune. - -We will call him Tom, and nothing else, this young and ardent hero of -our story, for if, in the telling of this strange tale, which I swear -to be true, the real name of the young man were disclosed, you, gentle -reader, would scoff and read no further. - -A look at young Tom as this amazing story unfolds would reveal a -singularly insignificant youth, dreamy of eye and slight of form. -Tom burned with that white flame of ambition thwarted by a financial -standing about equal to that of a beachcomber, and a scanty country -education. But youth has strange ways of overcoming such obstacles, -and Tom’s energies, rather than diminishing, seemed to gather momentum -and strength from the meagre stuff upon which they were fed. Why or -how, cut off as he was from higher learning, Tom chose Anatomy as his -field to conquer, no one knows, but chose it he did. He spent every -waking hour and every dream yearning for the day when he would be -able to buy for himself the text books that would pave his rocky road -to Success. A penny here, and, a week later, a penny there--finally -Tom was able to purchase a small text on Anatomy. In less than three -weeks, he had memorized, with the correct Latin names thrown in for -good measure, every word, every definition, every diagram in the text -book. This subject was his life, and he wrapped himself so completely -in his fierce desires that to shake hands with a man became not merely -a gesture of friendship, but a good chance to feel the finger bones -manipulate. But, happily, Tom was too intelligent not to know that -this knowledge, although he could describe exactly the position, use, -and articulation of every bone in the human body, did not make him an -anatomist. For his descriptions were merely a repetition of the words -in the small book which had become his bible. His burning desires now -changed course to those of seeing and examining an actual skeleton, and -these thoughts buzzed around in his mind like a swarm of angry bees. - -A pensive, solitary figure, Tom sat one night by the huge fireplace -in the local Inn, lost in thought and dream. The flames in the fire -before him took the shape of grinning, cavorting skeletons. He was so -absorbed in his dream-world that the noisy animation and conversation -about him pricked his consciousness no harder than a fly on an -elephant’s hide. The men were talking, as they had for weeks, about old -Cyrus Goodestone, a man always thought of as rich, but who had died -without a trace of money to be found anywhere, much to the distress of -his creditors. - -But when, during one of those violent and sudden early Spring rain -storms, the door of the Inn flew open, and a hooded and cloaked -stranger strode into the room, even Tom took notice. For the stranger -stood before the fire, his back to the company, and neither spoke nor -turned when greeted. The storm stopped as suddenly as it had started, -and when the moonlight shone once more through the window, the stranger -heeled about, gathered his voluminous cloak more closely about him, and -left. An eeler, sitting near Tom, spoke up: - -“That be a queer chap. I’m a-goin’ to see what he’s about,” and with -these words, he too left the Inn. - -Less than five minutes later, he returned, white as a flounder’s belly. -He made a beeline for the table, and gulped down a glass of rum. Then, -gasping, partly from fright and partly from the raw drink of rum, he -spoke. - -“Udds hiddikins! Old chap just gone out--got no proper face like--only -a Death’s head--looked me square in the face in the moonlight, he did, -and I c’n tell ye, I waited to see no more!” - -At this startling tale, Tom sprang from his lethargy like a man -possessed, and clutching the terrified eeler by the coat lapels, he -yelled, “You mean--he was a skeleton?” When the answer was a startled -“yes,” Tom shouted, “Which way did he go?” - -“Why, down towards the graveyard, sure,” said the eeler. But Tom was -out the door before the words had barely tickled the lips of the eeler. - -No thought that the eeler might have been “seein’ things” entered Tom’s -mind and he tore down the road toward the graveyard on Truro’s Hill of -Storms. The wild wind, the scudding clouds that made the night a night -of shadows, the bony-fingered branches that picked at his face as he -ran through the shortcut in the woods--of these things Tom was unaware. -For on the Hill of Storms, midst gravestones battered by sea winds and -spray, was his heart’s desire! - -Tom stood at the top of the hill, bracing himself against the sea wind. -His heart thudded against his ribs like the heavy breakers that boomed -against the rocks below. His wild eyes swept the graveyard, and then, -in the split second when the clouds parted, and the moon shone through, -Tom saw, still enveloped in the cloak, the figure from the Inn, gazing -sorrowfully down at the new grave marker of Cyrus Goodestone. Then, in -a sudden sweep of wind, the cloak billowed up, fell to the ground--and -left, gleaming phosphorously in the misty moonlight, the unbelievable -figure of a Skeleton! - -“Thank my stars!” yelled Tom. “I have found my Skeleton at last!” - -“Young man,” said the Skeleton in a hollow voice, clacking his hideous -hinged jaws, “Attend!” - -“How beautifully,” cried Tom, ignoring the command, “can I see the play -of the lower maxilliary!” - -“Attend, I say!” repeated the Skeleton, in a still more frightening -voice. And then, turning, “Rash boy, what are you about?” exclaimed -the bony apparition. The fact is, our enthralled hero was busily -running his fingers up and down the vertebrae of the Skeleton, counting -them to see if they corresponded with the number given in his book, and -muttering gleefully, “Seven cervical, twelve dorsal--just right!” - -The Skeleton, angered and shocked speechless, raised his arm and shook -his fist at the absorbed Tom, who, with his eyes fixed on the bony -elbow, merely shouted joyfully, “The gingyloid movement is perfect!” - -The Skeleton was plainly confused. Never before had he, accustomed to -scaring the wits out of people, encountered any such attitude as this, -for Tom stood before him completely unafraid. He was amazed at the -scientific stand taken by our young anatomist. As a matter of fact, -the skeleton began to feel a little wary himself, and moved away from -Tom, darting in and out from behind the gravestones in an effort to get -away. But Tom was not to be put off at this late date, and overtaking -the Skeleton, grabbed on and held for all he was worth. - -The ensuing conversation, however, was friendly, and the Skeleton -explained that he was old Cyrus Goodestone himself. He had, he said, -buried his money underground, and could not rest in peace until he had -dug it up and paid off his creditors. This he asked Tom to do. Tom -consented, upon one condition, which he laid in a very businesslike -manner before the Skeleton. - -“It will be some trouble,” he said, “and the affair is none of mine, -but look ye--I’m willing to comply with your request, if, as a reward, -you will allow me to come here and study you every night for the next -month. You may then retire to rest for as long a time as you please.” - -“Agreed!” cried the Skeleton, and, recovering from his original alarm, -shook hands with the exultant Tom to seal this strange bargain. - -Tom found the money, just as the Skeleton had said, distributed it -among the amazed creditors of Cyrus Goodestone, and passed every night -for the next month in the graveyard on the Hill of Storms. There, -amidst the gravestones, he studied his accommodating Skeleton, who, -as it turned out, was a congenial and humorous fellow. The Skeleton -tirelessly moved into any position or pose Tom requested, giving the -young anatomist an opportunity no other had ever, or will ever have, -that of watching the actual bone movement of a live Skeleton! - -By the end of the month, Tom and his Skeleton were warm friends, for -they had discussed many things, and had played cribbage by the grave -of Cyrus Goodestone, upon many occasions when the night’s posing was -done. They parted with regrets, and the Skeleton wished Tom success and -happiness in his career. - -Tom completely retained in his mind all he had observed in his amazing -month’s study, and by that knowledge, laid the foundation of a profound -anatomical science by which he was afterwards to become famous. - -It is needless to state that the above is the early history of an -obscure Cape Cod boy with a dream who became a famous anatomist, and -that any and all other accounts are baseless fabrications. - - - - -[Illustration: _The Mooncussers_] - - - - - ... The Mooncussers of - Cape Cod - - -Remaining only in tradition as some of the most colorful characters in -the unending novel of Cape Cod are the swashbuckling domestic pirates -known politely as salvagers, romantically as mooncussers, and more -authentically as bandits. - -Fables and tradition say that a band of these men anciently infested -the shores of Cape Cod. But they were not merely plunderers who swept -down on unsuspecting victims; their business was a serious, planned and -profitable one, flavored with a touch of the wildly romantic stuff of -which pirate stories are made. Theirs was a dangerous game, and they -played it well. - -The whole band of them were mounted on horses when they began their -nightly adventures. Up and down the beaches they rode, armed with large -lanterns which they placed at strategically dangerous points along the -shores. These decoy lanterns led ships astray on treacherous sandbars -and shoals. This completed, they plundered them of everything, leaving -the ships stripped and gutted. - -A group of the mooncussers would divide, two of them tramping the -beach in one direction, two in the other, a shingle held up to protect -their eyes from the flying sand, and straining to pierce the darkness -for a light from a ship in distress or for a glimpse of a hull on the -bars off shore. Perhaps the first sign would be a spar flung up by the -wild surf, the tattered remnants of a sail, or the still and battered -form of a dead sailor. It is easy to see the origin of the word -“mooncusser,” for moonlight nights held no profit for these men, and -the beauty of moonlight on still ocean was cursed and not admired. - -The nights of the mooncussers were the nights of howling winds, -thundering surf, and a wild and turbulent sea, for those were the -nights when the work of the mooncussers were the most profitable. It -was a wild setting for a wild play. - -But the advent of the huge lighthouses, put up after much opposition, -especially from the men of Eastham, put an end to mooncussing, for the -great white eye of the light beacon could pierce the darkness of a -night even brighter than the hated full moon. - -[Illustration] - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... How the Fogs Came - to the Cape - - -For many, many moons, the great tribe of the Mattacheesits had lived in -peace in their lodges near the clear blue waters of Cummaquid. It was -a noble tribe, renowned for its beautiful young maidens, its fearless -braves, and especially for its Great War Sachem, the Giant Manshope. -But the heartbreaking mourning of the death dirge had many times wailed -through the camp, for the Mattacheesits had a foe far more terrible -than any fierce enemy tribe. - -Twice each year since the beginning of Time--once in the Moon of -Bright Nights, and again in the Moon of Falling Leaves--the Great Devil -Bird from over the Southern Sea spread wide his smothering wings and -swept down on the tribe, capturing in his terrible talons the little -papooses, and even some of the youngest braves who had just learned -the art of the tomahawk. With a laughing shriek, he bore them away to -his secret lair in the Region of the South Wind, where no man had ever -ventured. They were never seen again. - -On the eve of a triumphant victory over the Nausets, Great War Sachem -Manshope returned, leading his braves in the ritual chant-dance of -victory. But the battlecry was mingled with the wail of the death -dirge, floating up towards the braves from the camp, and echoing -sorrowfully through the stillness of the summer evening. The Giant -Manshope found his faithful squaw with face gashed and breast torn, the -ashes heaped on her head mingling with tears of anguish, for the Great -Devil Bird had carried away her first-born, a strong young brave of -just sixteen summers. The Devil Bird had carried him off to the Unknown -Place before the sun had dropped from the edge of the world. - -A fierce cry, filled with all the venom and hate and sorrow of many -moons and many deaths, tore from the throat of Manshope. His people -trembled with fear and pride as they watched him stand there, his face -aglow with the call of battle, his eyes savage with hate and revenge, -for they knew that their great leader would leave for the Unknown -Place, stalking the Great Devil Bird. - -His huge war tomahawk in his hand, Manshope strode away without a word -from the camp, the wails of the sorrowing squaws and the war shrieks -of the braves echoing in his ears. The war drums beat their relentless -rhythm of death for the Devil Bird. With giant strides that took him -across the breadth of the Cape, Manshope plunged thigh deep through the -deepest streams, pushed trees aside in forests he had no time to skirt, -and came at length to the low treacherous swamplands that lay at the -edge of the Southern Sea, the last barrier to the Unknown Place. In the -misty half-light, Manshope saw, far in the distance, the Great Devil -Bird, its human prey in its talons, winging its way swiftly towards its -lair. - -Many wondered, but none knew what lay in the Unknown Place across the -Southern Sea, for no man had dared cross the churning waters to that -island lair of the Devil Bird. But the Sachem’s eyes saw the turbulent -waters not as danger, but as a bloody challenge. The Giant Manshope -called out to the Great Spirit to give him the strength and cunning to -follow the Devil Bird to its hiding place and slay him there. Then he -strode boldly forth into the deep, treacherous waters. - -Guided only by the stars, he came at length to the strange and feared -Unknown Place, now Martha’s Vineyard. From the western end of the -island, he saw majestically sheer cliffs which rose straight from the -sea. At the narrowest end of the land, he saw something which made his -heart sink, and his blood run cold in his veins, for there was a giant -oak, its twisted exposed roots strewn with the white bleached bones of -Indian children captured by the Devil Bird for countless years. - -The Giant Manshope crept noiselessly towards the death tree. Under the -enveloping shadows of its great branches he looked up, and saw the dim -silhouette of the Devil Bird sleeping in the uppermost branches. Its -head was beneath its wing, its beak dripped blood, and its belly was -distended with gluttonous human feasting. - -Manshope glanced at the stone tomahawk in his hand, and saw it gleam -in the half-light. He fastened it to his belt, and then swung himself -soundlessly up through the branches towards the sleeping Devil Bird. At -last he reached his goal at the top of the Death Tree, so close to the -Bird that the night breeze ruffled its feathers across Manshope’s cheek. - -There he paused, gazing down at the Bird, hate in his eyes, his heart -beating wildly with the excitement of near victory and revenge. He -raised his weapon high over his head and brought it down with a -crushing thud on the neck of the Devil Bird. The Great Evil One fell to -earth, never to rise again. - -Panting with excitement and triumph, Manshope waited until he was sure -the Devil Bird was dead before he left the hated Death Tree and its -sorrowful remains. But his triumph had a bitter taste, and his heart -was heavy, for although he had vanquished the Great Evil One, his soul -cried out in anguish for his beloved son. - -Lost in sorrowful meditation, Manshope rested for a while at the -northern end of the island before returning to his camp on the -mainland. He drew forth his pipe, but the tobacco was dampened by the -waters through which he had plunged, and would not burn, so he gathered -some poke weed, and, loading his pipe, sat quietly smoking. As he -smoked, the rings and swirls from his pipe billowed and rose through -the early morning air. It floated across the Southern Sea, over the -Cape moors and the lodges of the Indian camp, where his sorrowing squaw -awaited his return. - -Great was the rejoicing in the Indian lodges when Manshope’s people saw -this smoke, for they knew that their Great Sachem would never linger to -smoke his pipe while an enemy he was stalking was still alive. - -The Great Devil Bird no longer ravaged and killed, and the Indians -lived without fear once more. And when the sweet summer air drifted in -from the woods, the mist lay low on the swamplands, and the fog bank -from the sound curled in over the mainland just as the smoke from Giant -Manshope’s pipe did on that morning--Indian mothers drew their children -closer to the fire, and while the enveloping mists and fogs crept -slowly in, they told them the legend of the Great Devil Bird, saying, -“Here comes Old Manshope’s Smoke.” - -[Illustration] - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... The Peddler’s Coffin - - -The winter nights are long on Cape Cod. When the lonely winds howled -’round the house, and the naked branches tap-tapped against the -windowpane, friends and neighbors gathered in the big, warm kitchen of -the old Nickerson farmhouse down Rock Harbor Road in Orleans for an -evening of story telling and popcorn or apple roasting. - -Jonathan Snow, twelve years old, full of imagination and very -impressionable, loved these story evenings. Jonathan would curl up in -his favorite niche between the fireplace and the window, and there, -munching on apples, would listen pop-eyed to the spooky stories. Here -he was close enough to the bright, friendly fireplace to feel secure, -but also close enough to the dark eye of the window and the wild, windy -night to feel a delicious tingle of fear run up and down his spine. - -One bleak and howling February night, when the stories had been -especially hair-raising, a lull in the conversation and a few yawns -proclaimed that it was time for all to depart for their respective -homes. Jonathan knew he should leave, but he felt chained to the -fireside. He couldn’t stay, was too proud to voice his fears, and yet -shuddered at the thought of leaving this warm kitchen for the dark -and lonely walk home. But boy’s pride won. Jonathan buttoned up his -greatcoat, pulled his wool cap down over his ears, and bidding the -Nickersons a brave but reluctant good night, set off for home. - -It was not far from the Nickerson to the Snow home, but the night was -a wild one; a night of wind and floating mist, when familiar daylight -objects assumed fantastic shapes, and the road was filled with shadowy -forms. Jonathan held himself in admirable check for about 100 yards. He -strolled along whistling casually, but when he glanced back and could -see no more the winking lights of the Nickerson house, he was casual no -longer, and tore at breakneck speed down the road. - -Rounding the turn that meant the halfway mark to home, in the place -where the road was flanked on one side by a high stone wall and on the -other by a creek which ran parallel to it, Jonathan stood stock still, -blood turning to slow ice in his veins. For there, not four yards -before him, gleaming in a flickering pool of moonlight that filtered -through the scudding clouds, was a coffin. - -Three thoughts scampered through the terrified Jonathan’s mind. He -could jump the stone wall, splash through the creek, or leap over -the coffin and make a dash for home and safety. And jump he did. -Now a twelve-year-old Cape Cod boy can jump like a grasshopper, but -Jonathan did not jump high enough. Just as he thought he had cleared -the coffin, and indeed, his feet were running before they touched the -ground, his ankle was clutched by a bony hand, and he was pulled right -into the terrible coffin! - -Reflex action and young strength bounded together simultaneously. Using -all his energy, Jonathan pushed out with his hands and heels and leaped -from the coffin like fat from a hot skillet. Scared near out of his -wits, Jonathan broke an all-time speed record to home. There he babbled -out his story to puzzled parents, who, as hardy Cape Codders, scoffed -at the idea of a coffin, but decided to go and investigate anyway. So -Jonathan, armed with mother and father, returned to the fateful spot, -only to find that the “coffin” was a two-bushel market basket which had -rolled from a peddler’s cart, and which, in the dark night, Jonathan’s -aroused imagination had turned into an occupied coffin. The resident of -the coffin, which Jonathan believed had clutched his ankle, was only -the high basket handle which he did not clear in his leap for life. - -[Illustration] - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... The Whale that Went to - New York - - -It all started when a seventy-ton whale washed ashore at Wellfleet. -Now, seventy tons of whale is no easy thing to deal with, and the costs -of towing the whale back out to sea were more than the town fathers -felt the thin town treasury purse could afford. Many suggestions were -offered, but two enterprising old sea captains hit on a plan to raise -enough money for the project with perhaps money left over to add to the -town funds. - -Why not charge admission to see the whale? This seemed like an -excellent scheme but the Board of Health had something to say about -having a dead whale on the docks that squelched the plan before it got -into motion. But the old seamen, undaunted, still thought it was a good -plan. - -Yankee ingenuity reached an all-time high when the captains decided to -find out for themselves just how many people would pay fifty cents for -the dubious privilege of seeing a seventy-ton dead whale. They decided -to tow the monster to New York, paying all towing charges, which were -by no means slight, themselves. Their fellow townsmen scoffed at -the idea, but the two captains answered that the whole project would -undoubtedly reap a goodly financial harvest, and that the town could -whistle for a part of the expected profits. But, sad to relate, the -get-rich-quick scheme back-fired, for the two down-Capers found that -the New York Board of Health was no more eager to have a month’s -dead whale reposing in smelly grandeur on their docks than were the -Wellfleet officials. And so the two captains, poorer but wiser, and by -this time sick and tired of the whole business, dug deep into their -pockets once more and made suitable arrangements for the disposal of -the whale. When they returned home and were met with a cross-fire of -questions, they had not a thing to say. - -[Illustration] - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... The Snake Biting Indian - -Tall, straight, and dark browed, Joseph Naughaught was a familiar -figure as he made his way throughout the Cape, Bible tucked under his -arm. Wherever his wandering feet brought him, he stopped to preach for -Christianity, for he was a converted Indian. Pious, rum-hating Joseph -was a self-made man both educationally and religiously, and was well -known as a religiously, and at times, fanatically, sincere man--so well -known for this, in fact, that he soon came to be called “The Deacon.” - -When “The Deacon” was not evangelicaling, converting, or leading future -converts in prayer, he could be found, in all seasons, strolling -leisurely through the woods and along the beaches. - -One bright Fall day, when the Deacon was walking through the Truro -Hills, he came to his favorite place of meditation, a rocky, cave-like -shelter which was close to the ocean bluffs. There he sat for some -time, quietly smoking and thinking, when his thoughts were arrested by -a strange and ominous hissing. - -The Deacon was trapped, for there directly before the mouth of the -cave, was a huge circle of deadly black snakes. The Deacon was unarmed, -and the snakes he knew, would close in on him faster than light at his -slightest movement. He sat frozen with horror. - -The minutes dragged by. The Deacon never took his eyes off the snakes, -and they in turn were like frozen black ribbons, heads slightly raised, -as they stared at him with eyes he could not see. The small gusts of -occasional sea breeze were cold against the Deacon’s skin, for he was -drenched with the sweat of fear. - -The snakes crawled slowly towards him, with one of the black lines a -little ahead of the others. When the reptiles reached his feet, they -stopped once more. He could hear their soft hissing, and feel the -weight of the lead snake across his foot. They moved again, like a -soft, clinging wave, slithering and undulating towards him. Sluggishly -and relentlessly they moved up his immobile form, until they had twined -their dank bodies all around him. They clung to him like tenacious -pieces of damp wool. The Deacon could see their wicked slit eyes, -bright and expressionless, but deadly; he could hear their hissing -breaths, and feel their hungry bodies in a horrid caress. Still he did -not move a hair, a muscle--he seemed not to breathe. The leader snake -was wound around his neck, and was looking, his head raised, right at -the Deacon, darting its flat head in and out at the Indian’s face. - -On one of these thrusts, when the snake’s head came within an inch of -his mouth, the Deacon opened wide his great jaws, and at the moment -when the snake thrust its head inquiringly inside, the Deacon clamped -shut his huge teeth, and bit the snake’s head off. This so frightened -the rest of the snakes that they hurtled themselves from the Deacon’s -body and fled. Some of the black reptiles were stunned from their fall, -and the Deacon, master of the field, quickly killed them with a huge -stone. The dead snakes he skinned, and brought their dried hides home -as evidence of the terrible encounter. - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... Johnny Blunt’s Courtship - - -After the sleigh ride last winter and the slippery tricks served by -Patty Bean, nobody would suspect Johnny Blunt hankering after women -again in a hurry. To hear him rave and take on, and rail out against -the whole feminine gender, you would have taken it for granted that he -would never look at one again, to all eternity. - -Johnny did take an oath and swore if he ever meddled, or had any -dealings with women again--in the sparking line, he meant--he might be -hung or choked. But swearing off women, and then going into a meeting -house chock full of gals, all shining and glistening in their Sunday -clothes and clean faces, is like swearing off liquor and going into a -grog shop--it’s all smoke. - -Johnny held out pretty well for three whole Sundays but on the fourth -there were strong symptoms of a change. A chap looking very much like -Johnny, was seen on his way to the meeting house, with a new patent -hat on, his head hung by the ears upon a shirt-collar, his cravat had -a pudding in it, and branched out in front into a double-bow-knot. He -carried a straight back, and a stiff neck, as a man ought to when he -has his best clothes on, and every time he spit, he sprung his body -forward like a jack-in-the-box, in order to shoot clear of the ruffles. - -Squire Jones’ pew was next but two to Johnny’s and when Johnny stood up -he naturally looked straight at Sally Jones. - -Now Sally had a face not to be grinned at in a fog. She was easy to -look at and Johnny succumbed. - -Squire Jones had got his evening fire on and set himself to read the -great Bible, when he heard a rap at his door. - -“Walk in. Well John, howder do? Git out Pompey!” - -“Pretty well, I thank you Squire; and how do you do?” - -“Why, so as to be crawling. Ye ugly beast, will ye hold yer yop! Haul -up a chair and sit down, John.” - -“How do you do, Mrs. Jones?” - -“Oh, middlin’. How’s yer marm?” - -“Don’t forget the mat there Mr. Blunt.” - -This put Johnny in mind that he had been off soundings several times in -the long muddy lane, and that his boots were in a sweet pickle. - -It was now old Captain Jones’ turn, the grandfather. Being roused from -a doze by the bustle and rattle, he opened both his eyes, at first with -wonder and astonishment. At last, he began to halloo so loud that you -could hear him a mile, for he took it for granted that everybody is -just as exactly deaf as he is. - -“Who is it, I say? Who in the world is it?” - -Mrs. Jones going close to his ear, screamed out, “It’s Johnny Blunt!” - -“Ho, Johnny Blunt! I remember he was one summer at the siege of Boston.” - -“No, no, father; bless your heart, that was his grandfather, that’s -been dead and gone this twenty years!” - -“Ho! But where does he come from?” - -“Daown taown.” - -“Ho! And what does he foller for a livin’?” - -And he did not stop asking questions after this sort, till all the -particulars of the Blunt family were published and proclaimed by Mrs. -Jones’ screech. Then he sunk back into his doze again. - -The dog stretched himself before one andiron, the cat squat down before -the other. Silence came on by degrees, like a calm snowstorm, till -nothing was heard but a cricket under the hearth, keeping time with a -sappy yellow birch forestick. Sally sat up prim as if she were pinned -to the chairback, her hands crossed genteelly upon her lap, and her -eyes looking straight into the fire. - -For Johnny’s part he sat looking very much like a fool. The more he -tried to say something, the more his tongue stuck fast. He put his -right leg over his left, and said “Hem!” Then he changed, and put the -left over the right. It was no use, the silence kept coming thicker and -thicker. Drops of sweat began to crawl all over him. He got his eye -upon his hat, hanging on a peg by the door, and then he eyed the door. -At this moment, the old Captain all at once sung out: - -“Johnny Blunt!” - -It sounded like a clap of thunder and Johnny started right up on end. - -“Johnny Blunt, you’ll never handle sich a drumstick as your father did, -if you live to the age of Methuselah. He would toss up drumsticks, and -while it was wheelin’ in the air, turn twice around, and then ketch it -as it come down, without losin’ a stroke in the tune. What d’ye think -of that, ha? But scull your chair round close alongside er me, so you -can hear. Now what have you come arter?” - -“I arter? Oh, jist takin’ a walk. Pleasant walkin’. I guess I mean, -jist to see how ye all do.” - -“Ho, that’s another lie! You’ve come a courtin, Johnny Blunt, and -you’re a’ter our Sal. Say, now, do you want to marry, or only to court?” - -This was a choker. Poor Sally made but one jump, and landed in the -middle of the kitchen; and then she skulked in the dark corner, till -the old man, after laughing himself breathless, was put to bed. - -Then came apples and cider, and the ice being broke, plenty of chat -with Mammy Jones about the minister and the “sarmon.” - -At last, Mrs. Jones lighted t’other candle, and after charging Sally to -look well to the fire, she led the way to bed, and the Squire gathered -up his shoes and stockings and followed. - -Sally and Johnny were left sitting a good yard apart. For fear of -getting tongue-tied again, Johnny set right in with a steady stream of -talk. He told her all the particulars about the weather that was past, -and also made some pretty ’cute guesses at what it was like to be in -the future. Johnny gave a gentle hitch to his chair until finally he -planted himself fast by Sally’s side. - -“I swow, Sally, you looked so plaguy handsome today, that I wanted to -eat you up!” - -“Pshaw! Get along with you,” said she. - -Johnny’s hand had crept along, somehow, upon its fingers, and began to -scrape acquaintance with hers. She sent it home with a desperate jerk. -Try it again--no better luck. - -“Why, Miss Jones, you’re gettin’ upstroperlous; a little old maidish, I -guess.” - -“Hands off is fair play, Mr. Blunt.” - -Johnny finally managed not only to get hold of Sally’s hand but managed -to slip his arm around her waist. But not satisfied with this he began -to go poking out his lips for a kiss. But he rued it for Sally fetched -him a slap in the face, that made him see stars, and set his ears to -ringing like a brass kettle, for a quarter of an hour. - -“Ah, Sally, give me a kiss, and ha’ done with it, now?” - -“I won’t, so there, nor tech to--” - -“I’ll take it whether or no.” - -“Do it, if you dare!” - -How a bus will crack of a still, frosty night! Mrs. Jones was about -halfway between asleep and awake. - -“There goes my yeast bottle,” says she to herself, “Burst into twenty -hundred pieces; and my bread is all dough again.” - -The upshot of the matter is that Johnny fell in love with Sally Jones, -head over ears. Every Sunday night, rain or shine, finds him rapping -at Squire Jones’ door; and twenty times has he been within a hair’s -breadth of popping the question. But now Johnny has made a final -resolve. If he lives till next Sunday night, and doesn’t get choked in -the trial, Sally Jones will hear thunder. - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... The Trusting Maiden - - -Margery Smith of Chathamport was thrilled and impressed when John -Atwood, a respected widower, asked her to be his second wife. -Nevertheless, being slightly younger than Widower Atwood, Margery -demurred for quite some time before consenting to be his wife. Before -she finally said yes, the widower carried on an extensive courtship -and it was said that his promise of building a new house for his bride -finally convinced her in his favour. - -The trusting maiden waited until the knot had been tied before raising -the question of the promised new house, only to be met with John’s -reply of “Oh, that was jest courtin’ talk, Margy.” But although he -shattered love’s young dream in that respect, he did build a small -addition on to the old house. Margy spent the rest of her life in that -hot ell of a kitchen, and never became mistress of a new house. - - - - -[Illustration: “We were conscious only of hunger, heat and thirst.”] - - - - - ... Shipwrecked - - -On yellowed, tissue-thin paper, bound in leather, and entitled simply -“Journal,” was found an entry which matches all the adventure stories -of shipwrecked men ever told. Its authenticity can only be judged by -the excerpt which follows: - -Herein the reader, if there be any, will find the story of my most -harrowing experience at sea. It is only by the Grace of God Almighty -that I am alive this day to record it thus. - -I was twenty years old when I shipped out from Boston on a journey -to the East Indies. She was a good ship, my fellow crew members were -capable, congenial men, many of whom I had sailed with in the past. Our -captain had earned our respect even in the few short days we had been -acquainted with him. All hands and officers were convinced that clear -sailing and a profitable journey lay before all. - -I cannot record here in a vivid enough manner, my impressions during -the first three weeks of our sailing. The weather was fair and -mild, good winds had prevailed constantly; the life aboard ship was -especially pleasant. There was no need for any such feeling as I -had found myself indulging in for several days. But it nevertheless -prevailed. Perhaps all I can coherently say is that I had a vague -unrest, a mind-plaguing thought constantly with me, like the shadow of -some dark cloud over my being. This feeling brought with it the still, -subconscious impression of disaster and imminent death which I could -not, try as I would, shake off. I said nothing to my mates about this -feeling. They would perhaps have scoffed at me--if not, my revealing -of such an impression would only serve to disturb the uncommonly -smooth-running life of our close existence on the lonely seas. - -It was on a calm, uneventful afternoon, while all hands were engaged -in dilatory activities of repair and small duties, that this feeling -reached its highest peak. I felt a strange compulsion to plunge into -immediate intense activity, for my fears were mounting by the minute, -and, in my youthful mind, I felt vaguely ashamed. I had just left my -post by the starboard boat, where I had been engaged in lashing down -some canvassing, when I glanced up to see the lookout in the crow’s -nest peering intently out to sea. I knew somehow that my fear was about -to materialize. And verily, a moment later, the call came from the -nest, “Ship on far port horizon ho! She bears the Jolly Roger!” - -The action over our entire ship was so instant in contrast to the -almost sluggish movements of the minute before that it was as if a -painting had suddenly sprung into life, each of its immobile figures -leaping into definite motion. We clapped on every sail, but the pirate -ship was on us before we could get up enough sail to escape. They sent -a shot straight through our rigging. - -The happenings of the next hour remain in my mind only as a confused -jumble of shouts, clashing swords, and hand to hand combat. The pirate -crew were a determined and bloodthirsty lot, not content to merely take -over our monetary possessions. They outnumbered us and overpowered us, -deliberately destroying and ravaging everything upon which they could -lay their hands. - -They seemed at last content with what damage they had wrought. The -burly pirate captain ordered us to abandon our ship, which he and his -men then set afire. Before the fire had reached the hold, what few of -our number were left managed to reach some supplies, and with those few -essentials, we rowed away. I will never forget the frustrated agony in -my soul as I watched our valiant ship, strewn with the bodies of our -gallant captain and mates, burn to a charred skeleton, and sink slowly -beneath the waters.... - -[Illustration] - -There were two lifeboats, lost and tiny as pea pods on a pond, drifting -in lone aimlessness on the sea. There were eight of us, including -myself, in one boat, and five in the other. We saw the other boat, -which we could not reach because of the waves, drift farther and -farther away. At last, after it had been hidden from our sight by a -monstrous wave, we saw it again, capsized. We tried valiantly to reach -those who were floundering in the sea. It was hopeless. One by one they -sank beneath the surface, lost forever in the smothering embrace of the -sea. - -For a day and a night, the fierce winds and huge waves crashed against -our small craft, and I cannot explain today why we did not meet the -same fate as had our unfortunate comrades in the other boat. Upon the -second day, the rolling sea was changed to a flat, millpond surface, -and the sun was unbearably hot. We had managed to bring with us only -four bottles of water, enough to last but a few days. We did not live, -we merely existed. I felt the gnawing, piercing pangs of thirst and -hunger congest and constrict my being. Within fourteen days, four of -our number had died of thirst, and there were three men besides myself -left, starving. - -[Illustration] - -My hands, when I reached up to touch my burned, bearded face, were -trembling like a man beset with palsy. My eyes, I knew, were like my -comrades’, empty, vacant, hopeless. I was conscious only of a searing -ache over my entirety, and my mind was skipping and sliding over -disjointed thoughts. We looked at each other, and still did not see; -we were conscious only of hunger and heat and thirst. When we spoke, -it was as if in a dream. Jackson had managed to hook a small fish, but -had not the strength to pull it into the boat. I believe we realized -the helplessness of our plight, and began at that moment of realization -to get crazed. It was not long before we began to talk of drawing lots -to see which of us should be killed to provide food for the others. -The thought is horrible and distasteful now, as I sit with my belly -full of good warm food, but then the thought meant only one thing--the -lessening of the most terrible of pains--Hunger. - -We resisted this impulse as long as humanly possible. But at last the -time came when we must destroy one of our number, or fall upon each -other like crazed wolves. We cast lots, and it fell upon me to be the -victim. I prepared to die so that others might live. - -I cannot give my reader any searing recollection of faith or impression -that come to a man about to die, for I had none. I knew only that my -breast was bared, and that one of my mates, with arm raised, was about -to plunge his knife into my vitals. I believe that I wanted to die. -But the shining knife did not come sweeping down, for at that moment, -we heard a gunshot in the distance, and, looking in the direction from -which the sound came, saw a white sail on the horizon. - -This ship had seen our distress signal--my own shirt which hung from a -propped up oar--and had fired a shot to let us know we had been seen. -Death, under such horrible circumstances, breathes hotly down on few -men. - -I lived to see the pirate captain who had been the cause of our agony -hanged from his own yardarm in the harbor of Calcutta. - -[Illustration] - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... The Enchanted Mouse - - -In the early days of Eastham, when the menfolk were concerned with the -business of the sea, there lived a Captain Jed Knowles and his young, -lovely, and devoted bride. The captain was a fine figure of a man. Mrs. -Knowles, for all her beauty and sweet womanliness, was strange indeed, -for they said that she had strange supernatural powers. - -Mrs. Knowles was devoted to her sailing husband, and, as did many of -old time Cape wives, sailed with him on several of his voyages. When -love was young, and absence unbearable, Captain Knowles liked to have -his wife along with him, but the objections of the crew, who, according -to the best sea superstition, believed that a woman aboard was bad -luck, soon added to his misgivings about taking her along. Besides, -time was not kind to the temper of Mrs. Knowles, and she soon became -not a pleasure to have along, but rather a bother. The captain soon -decided that such companion voyages must cease. - -For several voyages now, Captain Knowles, under great opposition and -argument from his good wife, had succeeded in sailing without her. - -On one occasion, however, when the captain was to leave for an -extensive voyage, his wife once more requested that she be allowed -to accompany him. The answer was a firm negative, and much to the -captain’s surprise and delight, Mrs. Knowles did not demur, and offered -no argument to his decision. And this quick change about fooled the -unsuspecting seaman, for he underestimated the power of a woman, -especially the strange power of his own wife. - -On the day of departure, Mrs. Knowles bade her husband a fond goodbye -at the door of their home. The captain went down to the docks, weighed -anchor, and was on his way. He did not know, however, that a tiny mouse -had followed him aboard close at his heels. - -Three days out at sea, the captain got a report from the cook that -cheese and other like supplies were being nibbled upon by what was -certainly a mouse. The captain, who prided himself on a clean and -rodent-free ship, directed him to set poison for the scavenger, and -thought no more of the matter. - -But the captain did not rest easy. His sleep was disturbed upon many -occasions by a rustling, scampering noise in his cabin. When he arose -and lit his lamp, he was stunned to see, sitting on the foot of his -bunk, a tiny mouse, seemingly unafraid and serene, looking straight at -him. This happened night after night, and the captain became quite fond -of the little creature. But when upon one occasion, he found that the -mouse had eaten up a midnight supper, and gnawed upon his log book, as -well as starting to scamper up and down the bed while the captain was -asleep, he changed his mind. Taking up his whip, he struck the little -mouse with it, killing it, and tossed it out of his porthole. - -When the captain returned home, he opened the door to find his wife -dead on the floor in a pool of sea water with the mark of a whiplash -across her face. - -[Illustration] - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... Ole Bill Hardy - - -Cal’late I never seed the likes of Ole Bill Hardy. Yep--he was a -humdinger alrite. Thar were a heap of shrewd peddlers ’round about in -my day, young feller, and b’lieve me, they were the cagiest bunch of -fellers y’ ever see. Y’ had ter watch yer step when y’ were bargainin’ -withum, yesseree sir, else ye’d find yerself holdin’ the shy end of the -stick. But the feller that uster drive the sharpest dickers was Ole -Bill Hardy. ’Twa’nt many wimmin, or men folks either, ’round here that -hadn’t been spliced at one time or nuther by Ole Bill. - -I ’member one time in partic’lar--happened right here in the village, -it did. ’Twas quite a spell ago, when you were no more than a twinkle -in the divil’s eye. Wal, seems the folks ’round here were gittin’ -some purty high flyin’ idees. Th’ town had a hearse--and a durn good -one too--that’d bin used for buryin’s for near thuty years. And some -uv these folks begun t’ think that mebbee the old mariah ’twa’nt quite -toney enuff for ’em, so they sashayed over to town meetin’ and voted to -buy a new one. - -One day Ole Bill was a’ drivin’ by the old hearse house. Fust S’lectman -Bijah Gibbs was loafin’ round the doorway and spied Bill a’comin’. -Thought he’d see ifen he could get Ole Bill’s goat. He hollered out, -“Say thar, Bill, what’ll y’ give us fer the old hearse?” But Bill -didn’t bite. He jest looked Bijah rite in th’ eye and said, “Wal, I -dunno. Don’t seem rightly that yer ought ter sell the mariah. Some -folks in town ain’t even had a chanct ter ride in it yit. But if ye be -of a mind ter sell it, dunnor ifen I might give five dollars fer it.” -And sure nuff, Bill bought the old hearse, hitched it onter hind end of -his wagon and druv off. - -He wuz drivin’ along, proud as yer please, when he passed Miz Tizra -Small. Miz Small was alus collectin’ and buyin’ old stuff--antiques, -she called ’em. Ole Bill pulled up near her and hollers, “Here’s nuther -antique for ye, Miz Small.” Miz Small didn’t think much of the hearse -hitched onto the hind end of his wagon. She wuz mad as a wet hen. “Shet -up, you old fool,” she says, and sallied off down the street. Bill jest -kinda chuckled. - -Wal the next thing y’ know, Ole Bill was using the old hearse for a -peddler cart, and the women folk were so scandalized they got up a -meetin’ to complain about it. Seems they thought it kinda improper that -the hearse thetud carried their mothers and fathers to the grave was -bein’ used to cart old brooms and tinware. So they raised twenty-five -dollars and bought it back from Ole Bill. He didn’t care a mite. He’d -made twenty dollars. The old hearse was put back in the hearse house, -and stayed there ’til it rotted apart. - -’Member nuther time too. Evryone knew Ole Bill would sell anythin’. One -day he was drivin’ along and met two young scalawags who thought they’d -have a bit o’ fun with him. They up an’ asked him what he’d take for -the pants he was wearin’. “Two dollars,” says Bill, ’thout winkin’ an -eyelash. And durned if he didn’t peel ’em right off and hand ’em over -to the two young fellers, who were kinda taken back, I can tell ye. -“Geeyap,” says Bill, and off he druv down the road, all wrapped up in -an ole hoss blanket. - -[Illustration] - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... How Sophie - Got A Husband - - -Sometimes a good deed done on the spur of the moment by a well-meaning -philanthropist can do more harm than good, and lead to exceedingly -comical and unexpected complications. For instance, take the case of -Squire Nickerson of Orleans, who never knew the repercussions that -resulted from a spontaneous act of kindliness to two strangers. - -First of all, let me introduce the principals in this little drama: -Squire Nickerson, well-to-do, prominent, kindly; a school marm from -Boston whom we shall call Sophie, spinster, acid tongued, parched, -and taken to drinking lemon juice, which probably accounted for her -parchment-like appearance; and Seth, prominent, well-liked and friendly -as the Squire, but in very different circles. To be blunt, Seth was an -amiable old reprobate. Good people, all of them, but when they were -thrown together, they were stirred around in the darndest stew you ever -heard of. - -Squire Nickerson was driving, one night long enough ago so we can -spare embarrassment to those involved, back from a business meeting in -Hyannis. The road from Hyannis to Orleans on the backside route is, and -was then, winding and dark. Squire Nickerson was dozing in the back -of his carriage when he was bumped from his seat by its sudden stop. -Looking around, he saw that he was halted not at his home, but in the -dip bend of the road by Pleasant Bay. - -“What’s wrong Silas?” he asked his driver. - -“Well, sir,” replied Silas puzzledly, “There seems to be someone lying -smack in the middle of the road!” - -Upon examination, the someone proved to be a rather battered elderly -gentleman of indeterminate age, and this gentleman was sound, dead, -absolutely asleep in the middle of the road. With a few suspicious -sniffs, the Squire and Silas determined with surprise that the man was -in a state not of intoxication, but of unusual fatigue. - -“Pick him up, Si, and put him in the carriage.” - -“But Sir--” - -“In the carriage, Si. We can leave him at the Inn, poor fellow. It’s a -damp night, and surely in this state he can do us no harm.” - -And so the unsuspecting somnambulist was transported from the road to a -fine carriage. - -The Squire’s carriage, with its new occupant, had not rolled down the -road more than a few paces, when it stopped again. - -“I say, Sir. This ’eres a thing!” said Silas. “There ’pears to be a -lady, sir, at the side of the road!” - -“A lady? At the side of the road? Walking--why, no, she’s asleep, too!” -cried the Squire, peering out of the carriage window. “Why this poor -old couple! Probably didn’t have the coppers to pay for carriage to -their destination, meant to camp out tonight, and were separated in the -fog! We’ll bring both these poor souls to the Inn.” And so they did. - -Squire Nickerson made suitable arrangements for food and lodging at -the Inn. The old gentleman and lady were put to bed in a fine room, -and orders left by the Squire to give them a good breakfast. Leaving -extra money with the innkeeper for the two sleepers, and brimming over -with self-satisfaction of a good deed well done, Squire Nickerson -drove to his home, leaving his newly acquired but unconscious friends -snoring peacefully side by side, and never dreaming that there was a -possibility that he had joined a pair whom convention and law had not -made one. - -The fact was, the old man and the old woman were perfect strangers to -one another, and their being found in similar situations was purely -coincidental. Seth, who by now you know was the old gentleman in -question, was very accustomed to spending the night wherever he might -be, and Sophie, the lady in the picture, traveling by stage from -Boston, had become annoyed and frightened at the antics of a rather -tipply driver, and under the impression that it was but a few short -miles to Orleans, had left the stage and started to walk. When found by -the Squire, she had just stopped at the side of the road to rest, and -had fallen into a deep and sound sleep. - -And so passed the night. The newly united pair snored and wheezed -peacefully beside one another until the early sunlight broke into the -room to disclose the shocking and amazing situation. Sophie was the -first to awake, stirred from sleep by a sound she had never heard -before--that of a man snoring. - -Imagine the consternation of the proper spinster when she awoke to -find herself side by side in a strange bed with a man! Where she was, -or how she got there, she didn’t know. It was clear that she was in -bed with a man, and that was an event that had never happened to her -before, and undoubtedly never would. She let out a scream that would -wake the dead. Old Seth mumbled in his sleep, opened one eye, and -then sat bolt upright in bed, staring at Sophie, who, cowering at the -bed post, with purple face and tight shut eyes, screamed with the -continuous wail of a fire siren. First shock turned to dumb amazement. -Sophie stopped her caterwauling and turned her head toward Seth, who -by now fully awake, sat frozen with apprehension. She sat bolt upright -on one side of the bed, he on the other and, with eyes riveted on one -another, and there they sat, transfixed with amazement and shock. - -“Madame,” began Seth, remembering his manners even in a situation such -as this one, “My name is--” - -“Make me an honest woman, you wretch!” cried Sophie, interrupting Seth -loudly. It had at last struck her that this was some monster of a man -who had succeeded in some horrible design upon her honor. “Make me an -honest woman, villain that you are, or I will be the death of you!” - -Meanwhile, attracted by Sophie’s first screams, the other occupants of -the Inn were peeping in at the door where they saw this amazing scene: - -An elderly lady, keeping up a continuous stream of gesticulations, -vindictive assertions and loud pleas for aid, was busily dressing -herself more suitably for a meeting with a stranger. And in bed, -cowering and trembling, and attempting to interject the lady’s hollers, -an old man valiantly denied any knowledge of what had occurred. - -The Innkeeper at last interfered with the authority of his station. On -inquiry, it was found that no breach had been made that could not be -easily repaired. Even when told the true story, Sophie would not keep -still. The old gentleman, Seth, was then asked if he had any objections -to taking his fair bedfellow for a helpmate during the remainder of -this life. What else could he do? He stammered out his consent as well -as he could, the enraged virgin smoothed down her anger and ruffled -feathers, since satisfaction had been made to her injured honor. The -bargain was made, a gay but strained pre-nuptial breakfast was held -at the Inn, and the happy pair were bundled off to church, amidst the -laughing shouts of the strange bridal party and uninvited guests. There -the parson waited to make good a match too precipitously formed by the -charitable Squire who never knew the outcome of his good deed. - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... The Orleans Lamplighter - - -At Rock Harbor lived the old lamplighter of Orleans, Josh Northrup, who -took the job when the good ladies of the church--The Sewing Circle and -Female Samaritan Society--organized the Orleans Street Lighting Club. - -For years Josh was a familiar figure, making his rounds up and down -the streets with his ladder, oil, and matches. Josh listened with a -philosophical nod to all the complaints of the townsfolk, and was often -heard to sigh: - -“I’d start on one end of my beat quite a while before dark and folks -around there would get all set up by the spectacle of me burning oil -before sundown. By the time I reached the other end, it was after dark, -and durned if the fools down that end didn’t kick cuz they weren’t -getting their money’s worth.” - -The lamplighter’s set of rules decreed that the lights were not to be -lit on what the calendar called a “moonlight night” whether the moon -could be seen or not. Thus the most dangerous time to be strolling -along the streets was apt to be on a scheduled moonlight night, for -Josh always stuck religiously to the calendar. - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... The Giant of - Longnook Valley - - -Truro is on that part of the narrow land that sweeps inward at the -crook of the Cape’s long arm to form Provincetown. Here where the scrub -pines grow tough and scrawny, and the Truro Hills roll from backside to -bayside tangled with a mesh-work of clinging bayberry, wild blueberry, -sturdy beach plum, and coarse hog cranberry, is Long Nook Valley, a -deep hewn wedge carved in the rugged face of the lower Cape ... a -valley that stretches from the broad waters of the Atlantic on one side -of Cape Cod to the deep half-moon waters of Cape Cod Bay on the other. -Straight through the Truro Hills goes Long Nook Valley. The ancient sun -shines down on a place as old as Time, a place primitive, wild, and -strangely beautiful. From the deep floor of the valley, the hills rise -to the sky, silhouetted with the bony-fingered scrub pines. In this -time-scarred gouge through the hills, legends could well have started, -and superstition and folklore have their ancient origin. - -The formation of Long Nook Valley is a legend itself and concerns -Meloof, a giant legendary figure who lived in the Cape region even -before the great glacier came down from the north to chew deep paths in -the surface of the earth ... when this earth was filled with mysterious -mists and vapours, rising from a land and sea still in a state of flux -and yet unformed. - -With arms as long and mammoth as the towering elms of Yarmouth, and -legs packed with resilient strength of the mast of a great schooner, -with a chest as huge and powerful as the ancient Hercules, Meloof -was no mortal man. His voice could bring the wild rains down from -the skies, his whisper could churn the waters of the sea into white -foam. Meloof could stand in the deepest waters of Cape Cod Bay, and -by stretching out his arms, touch with one fingertip what is now -Provincetown, and with the other, what is now Orleans. - -When Meloof got into his fishing craft, the waters all along the Cape -shores rose as if in swift high tide. This boat was immense, its -sides thick and massive, its length enough to hold even the giant’s -tremendously long legs, gargantuan frame, and seven league boots. Out -in the wide, free expanse of the Atlantic, in the mist and haze, went -Meloof for a day of fishing. Where the hot sun shot through the steams -and vapours, Meloof dropped anchor. He lay back in his boat, holding -in his great hands his fish pole, made from the top of a 200 foot pine -tree. These huge trees grew in great profusion at one time over the -Cape, until a tidal wave came and stripped the lower Cape of every -living thing, leaving in its wake the dwarfed, grotesquely scrawny pine -trees now found there. Meloof lolled about on the waters, dreaming -giant dreams, his line slack in his hands. - -Meloof was shaken from his lethargy! The fishing line was a lashing -whip in his hands! The pole bent and arched into the water like the -tautly drawn bow of an Indian. It quivered and trembled. It snapped up -and down. It swished to and fro in the air. Meloof’s shoulders were -wrenched with the sudden pull at the line, and his boat was nearly -capsized by the tremendous snap of the line--suddenly, he knew what lay -at the end! The giant, the prize of the deep waters that Meloof had -time and again stalked and hunted, but without success. - -In one swift movement, Meloof uncoiled his huge frame and sprang to his -feet, bracing them hard against the sides of the boat. His nostrils -dilated, and his eyes were wild and eager with the anticipation of a -battle with an adversary worthy of his own size and strength. Meloof’s -muscles bulged like the sides of a water cask. Blue rope veins throbbed -in his temples. Sweat poured down his massive back, and the cords in -his huge powerful wrists and hands stood out like hawser lines. With a -great bellow, Meloof threw back his head and braced himself more firmly -against the furious strain of the battle. - -As abruptly as it had started, the tight drawn tension of the line -slackened. Then, in another instant, the line sprang taut and alive -when the creature at the end of Meloof’s line propelled itself out of -the water and into the air several hundred feet. A giant codfish, with -scales as large and thick as oversize barn shingles, eyes as big and -bulging as washtubs, and a gaping slash of mouth as wide as a cave, -twisted and turned in the air. A frenzied monster of the dark waters, -the giant cod thrashed about in an effort to escape. - -Back and forth raced the giant cod. Blue calm waters churned white and -angry. Breakers house-high piled up on the shores. The whiplash of the -line through the water, the rushing of the boat back and forth, made -mountainous waves and whipped the wind to gale force. The cod broke -surface, and then sounded the depths again. Then up-up- into the air -until Meloof’s line was almost perpendicular to the water. No rearing -stallion of the gods and his deity rider had such a battle. The victory -would go to the wiliest strategist, and this the cod seemed to sense, -for, with its eyes red with fear and anger, its fins quivering with the -strain of battle, it leapt into the air once more, and then plunged -into the water, sounding bottom. There it pivoted about and headed -straight for land. The water foamed white from the speed of the cod’s -course, and, behind him, fanned out in an arc as it was cleaved by the -bow of Meloof’s boat. - -[Illustration] - -The bullet-like course which sped Meloof and his craft straight towards -shore was perhaps more terrible than the actual battle in the ocean. -The shore loomed bigger ahead of him, but still Meloof held fast. His -tremendous strength was sapped from the strain of the battle, but he -still had a giant’s determination to conquer. With a last surge of -strength, the cod ceased its twisting, turning, gyrations and plowed -through the shallow waters of the shore, up and over the beach, and -straight into the Hills of Truro, dragging Meloof and his boat behind -him! - -Rocks and boulder formations cracked and split, hurled up and aside -like pebbles. The sky was dark with flying particles of sand and earth. -Right across the Cape from Atlantic to Bay furrowed the frenzied cod -and its tenacious captor, plowing and ripping a deep scar through the -hills! - -And thus was formed Long Nook Valley in Truro on Cape Cod. Traces of -the giant cod are found even today in the form of fish scales as large -as barn shingles. Some say that these fish scales are really pieces of -mica, left by the great glacier movement down from the north, but Cape -Codders know better. They are the petrified scales of the legendary -giant cod that hauled Meloof and his boat straight across the Cape -through the hills of Truro, forming Long Nook Valley. - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... Cupid and the - Tree Warden - - -A portly Cape Codder, while in the midst of his political campaign for -the position of local tree warden, strolled one evening into a tavern -in search of relaxation and rest from his campaigning. Nodding affably -to the various customers, he noticed among those present a man who was -obviously there for a long and festive evening. This brought to mind -the intriguing thought that the lady with whom the convivial gentleman -was then “keeping company” would probably be at home alone and in a -mood to welcome visitors. Our hero, not one to let such a promising -opportunity pass him by, made a snap decision and hied himself off to -the lady’s house. So Cupid smiled, but, in the offing, trouble brewed. - -The other gentleman observed the approach and quick retreat of the -political Lothario, became suspicious, and he too left the tavern, only -a scant half hour after the departure of his rival. Both male pride and -indignation were aroused when he arrived at the lady’s home, for there -he found the aspiring town official clad only in his underwear, which -even on Cape Cod is not considered correct attire for a social visit. - -[Illustration] - -Stunned by this disregard of convention, the lady’s rather beery -protector seized the visitor by the neck and seat of his union suit, -and hove him in the direction of the front door. - -Now no man likes to walk down Main Street in his underwear on a sharp -January night. The tree warden candidate was no exception. He did not -depart meekly. He did in fact, give forceful and valiant opposition -to the attack of his enraged and indignant adversary. It was quite a -battle, and caused a riotous commotion and an alarming collapse of -furniture. After a mighty tussle, the defender of the weaker sex and -convention found himself the victor, and the politician found himself -out on his ear--and in his underwear--in the cold night. - -But at this moment of victory, the local constabulary forces, who -had been called by the lady in question, arrived on the scene. As -the minion of the law marched away with the wildly gesticulating and -indignant attacker, the underwear-clad politician, who was brushing -twigs and snow off his union suit, called out, “Hi boys! Don’t forget -I’m running for tree warden!” - - - - - [Illustration] - - ... The Singing Fish of - Monomoy Point - - _In a small, musty, canvas bound book, unopened for years, was found - a story of such beauty and wonder that it escapes the imagination. - Each whisper of the turning pages which sent puffs of memory-filled - dust into the air, spoke of a day long ago, when a young man found an - island Paradise. The story in the ancient journal was dedicated to - the writer’s wife, Jessie, and is presented as a possible solution to - the strange humming sounds heard now and again off Monomoy Point in - Chatham on Cape Cod._ - - -It was long ago, when I was young and adventurous, and on one of my -first important sailings, that this amazing thing occurred. We were -bound for the Indies, and while rounding Cape Horn, ran full into a -swift and violent storm that was unexplainable. For one moment, the -waters were as calmly blue as those of Scargo Lake in Dennis on a -clear summer day, and the next, they were scowling, angry, and black. -The sky shook its fist at our ship and sent down to us such winds and -fierce rains as I have never seen before. All about us was billowing, -unpenetrable gray, and all hands felt the atmosphere alive with some -strange force. Our navigation equipment seemed frozen, and our rudder -was cracked by the mountainous waves that crashed against our ship. We -lived in darkness, and floundered around in that sea of gray for five -terrible days. At the end of the fifth day, a calm, a stillness came, -as suddenly as the attacking storm, and this silence seemed the more -terrible because of its contrast with the wild gray days through which -we had just passed. - -All hands came above, and though none spoke a word, I knew that a -strange fear gripped the heart of each of my shipmates. I am not a poet -or a man of letters, and my words, however carefully written here, -could not adequately describe the scene which met our eyes. - -We found ourselves floating in the midst of a strange, dead sea from -which we could not escape. I thought at first that it might be Sargaso -Sea, for the waters were filled with weird strands of sea plant life, -with roots as big as boulders, but common sense and knowledge of the -map made that impossible. The sea on which we drifted was a sea of -powerful currents, each eddying in opposite directions. The water, -so clear we could see the smooth white bottom 50 fathoms below, was a -curious turquoise, streaked with brightest greens and pinks. All around -us were the listing, vacant skeletons of ships that had found their -unexplainable way here before us. Monstrous fish, and fish no larger -than a hair, swam through the waters. These fish were gold, green, -blue, and red; striped, streaked, and dotted with the most amazing -panorama of colors. Strange hued birds with weird calls flew overhead, -and over all this amazing scene there was an intense, stifling silence. - -We drifted about under the hand of the changing currents for six weeks, -and lived from the waters around us. Some of the sea vegetation, when -pulled up, proved to be clean and sweetly edible, and the strange, -bright colored fish were easily caught. During this period, although -we were well fed, and temporarily safe, we grew restless, and -conflictions sprang up at every turn. For however well fed and kept -a man may be, the fear of the unknown, and a wondering about when he -will see familiar land and beloved faces, keeps him forever unhappy -and discontent. Moreover, we were all consumed with the most intense -curiosity about our strange surroundings. And always in our minds and -before our eyes were the bare hulks of the other ships, caught in the -sea, which we all hoped would not prove to be prophetic to us. - -We had, at the end of our six weeks of drifting, sunk so low in our -spirits, and become so apathetic about our situation, that we became -lax in our shipboard duties. As the days dragged by, we assigned one -watch for the long nights, and another for the daylight hours. I am -sure that if these men had been watched, they would have been observed -dozing at their posts, for none of us expected anything unusual to -happen, and by this time moved in that aimless lethargy of men without -aim or purpose. - -It was on the morning of what I presumed to be the 42nd day of our -drifting, that a frenzied shout from the night watch jolted us from -our bunks. Land had been sighted, and all hands, laughing and shouting -like men freed from long imprisonment, sprang to work, long neglected, -to reach this land. But each time we came close enough to use the -small landing boats, the land seemed to move away from us, until at -last we found that the land sighted was a cluster of many sized and -shaped floating islands, the largest of which became our goal. These -islands moved on the conflicting currents, and seemed forever out of -our reach. Finally, at the close of four days of chasing the island, -we were caught up on a current that crossed with that of the largest, -and it was there, on a strange, disjointed piece of land, on a strange, -cut-off sea, that we found what seemed to all of us to be our dream of -Paradise. - -The island was verdantly green, overflowing with exotic flowers, -and huge graceful trees which bore sweet succulent fruit. A heavy, -jasmine-sweet scent was in the gentle winds. Here was a land of such -incredible beauty and serenity that I knew somehow no men had ever been -there before. Small, spring-fed streams veined over the island, and the -water from these streams was like the coolest nectar. The days were -always full of sunshine, and the sky a shimmering blue, but for all -that sun, the days were never more than comfortably warm. The island -nights were nights of incredible beauty. The waters shone with a -thousand, a million diamonds of phosphorus, the night air was cool and -sweet, and the stars above seemed close enough to pluck from the sky. -Day and night, the peace and serenity none of us had ever experienced -before was over all, and I yearn for that serenity to this day. There -is always, I believe now, that feeling over those wonders of Nature -untouched by Man. - -Perhaps it was because they had lived so long in strangeness and -uncertainty that they had become apathetic, or perhaps it was because -they had found on this island Paradise the very essence of their hidden -dream of peace and beauty--whatever the reason, the men who had been -my companions and shipmates all through these amazing happenings, now -seemed content to loll beneath the palm trees, swim in the clear, -warm water, or fish from the canoes which they had fashioned. I heard -no mention of returning to Cape Cod, nor saw any desire nor yearning -for familiar faces and home land. We had established, in a small -sheltered cove at the south of the island where we had first landed, -our headquarters. Here we had everything necessary for living. A small -stream was close at hand, the sea was at our doorstep, and the cove -was abundant with the coconut trees, the tropical fruit bushes, and a -plentiful amount of trees suitable for building and firewood. My mates -seemed perfectly content to stay in this restricted area, and seemed to -have no desire to explore further the island upon which we had landed. -But, although I too felt that serenity, happiness, and contentment, I -yearned to explore the rest of the island, for I felt that there were -other mysteries and wonders yet to be seen. - -The rest of the island, which I set out to explore on the sixth day of -our stay, was much like the small part in which we had encamped, but -seemed to grow increasingly more beautiful as I travelled inland. All -through the morning, I tramped through the thick growth of the island, -coming now and then upon small glades, where damp, fresh green moss -surrounded little pools and silvery streams. These glades were dark and -cool, and the air was pure and refreshing. - -As I neared what I judged to be the centermost part of the island, I -broke through a wall of the island greenery, and saw, like a blazing -jewel in a setting of green, a lake, its waters of glowing, deep -blue. This lake was surrounded by long-leaved trees, like the weeping -willow I had seen at home, that trailed to the thick carpet of rich -green moss below. Curling vine tendrils, dashed here and there with -dots of red berries and exotic flowers, locked themselves around the -giant cypress trees. The sun pointed shafts of dull gold through the -trees that clasped their hands overhead, and the air was alive, vital, -and refreshingly cool, a direct contrast to the pleasant, but heavy, -sensuously sweet smell of the rest of the island. - -The cool, secluded lakeside oasis was a perfect place to stop from my -exploring, so I settled down on a soft knoll of moss, ate fruit from -nearby trees, and drank the sweet coconut milk. I must have fallen into -a deep and restful sleep, for I suddenly started up, arrested by sounds -which I first attributed to dreams. The silence and serenity was still -in the air, but there came to my ears, attuned by the deep silence -to any small sound, a strange, melodic humming. I was aware through -some instinct that I must not move. As I strained my ears, the humming -became louder, and looking over the lake, I saw its smooth surface -ripple as if a child had thrown a handful of pebbles onto it. The -humming vibrations seemed to have their source directly in the lake. - -I could sit still no longer, and crept slowly to the water’s edge. The -ripples grew larger, and to my amazed eyes there appeared a hundred or -so small fish, whose brilliantly colored bodies shimmered and vibrated. -These fish were singing! The humming grew in intensity, and I was able -to recognize several of the melodies; Scottish airs, South African -chants, Southern Negro songs, Cape Cod sea chanties, Lullabies--all -these came to my ear on a wave of the most beautiful harmony I have -ever heard. My brain reeled with the phenomena and the beauty of the -music. I could not believe what my own ears and eyes told me, and made -a sudden movement toward the water. The humming ceased instantly, -the fish vanished, and the water’s surface was as smooth as before. -The great silence once more filled the atmosphere. I felt a strange -exultation as I made my way back to the camp, and though I said nothing -of this amazing discovery to my companions, I determined to return to -the lake of the humming fish the next day. - -Day after day I returned to the green, cool loveliness surrounding the -lake of the humming fish. And each day I awoke wondering what I could -find there. At times the fish would seem to greet me with their burst -of humming, but upon other occasions they never appeared. It was on -those days of silence that I began to think that I was fast approaching -insanity. As the days passed, I became more hypnotized by the phenomena -of these humming fish. Gradually they seemed to become accustomed to my -presence, and two of the boldest allowed me to feed them small bits of -berry and weed that I tossed to them. Several times these two came to -the surface alone, and refused to hum until I had given them the food. -I began to think of these two fish, which were bright silver in color, -with gorgeous stripes of deepest blue, green, and yellow, as my own. - -My strange rendezvous with the humming fish continued for several -weeks, and when my mates at last came from their dream-world and -began thinking of home and family, I determined to capture the two -fish and carry them home with me. At length our ship, which we had -all considered wrecked beyond repair, was mended enough to warrant an -attempt to leave the island and the sea of currents. - -On my last journey to the lake of the humming fish, which I had come to -consider as my own piece of paradise and contentment, I lured the small -humming fish into a wide-mouthed jug, filled with water from their own -lake. I supplied myself also with three kegs of this same lake water, -and prepared to carry the fish home with me. - -I will not dwell on the voyage home, it suffices to say that we all -arrived safely, and pledged ourselves to secrecy about the island and -the sea we had visited. At home harbor, each man went his separate -way, and I, with my humming fish, strode home through the darkness, -taking the shortcut around Monomoy Point. The night was dark as ink, -and I stumbled from weariness, dropping the precious keg of fish on -the rocks at the water’s edge, and the two humming fish escaped. It -seemed at that moment that all I had experienced was a dream, for in -the vanishing of the fish, only the memory of my island paradise could -remain. - -For days I walked to the spot at Monomoy Point where the fish had -escaped. I called to them as I had at the island lake, and left small -bits of their favorite berry food at the water’s edge, but they could -not, or would not, appear. - -You are perhaps wondering why I kept silent so long. I had a wife and -three children, and I was a man of good name in my Cape Cod community, -and could not risk their well being by the revelation of this incident, -which would surely mark me as touched. And further, I did not wish to -have this most wonderful of experiences tarnished and bandied about by -unimaginative and callous cynics. - -It has been many years since I have gone to Monomoy Point in an attempt -to call back the humming fish from that loveliest lake on the island -paradise, but I have never forgotten them or the place in which I first -found them. All my recollections are as vivid and as real as the day -when I first found myself in that strange and beautiful setting. - -[Illustration] - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. - - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. - copyright on this publication was renewed. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALL TALES OF CAPE COD *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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