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diff --git a/old/69718-h/69718-h.htm b/old/69718-h/69718-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index b3be334..0000000 --- a/old/69718-h/69718-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3669 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html lang="en"> -<head> - <meta charset="UTF-8"> - <title> - Tall tales of Cape Cod, by Marillis Bittinger—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> - <style> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -.tdr {text-align: right;} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; - text-indent: 0; -} - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; -} - -.x-ebookmaker .blockquot { - margin-left: 7.5%; - margin-right: 7.5%; -} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} - -div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} -div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} - -.xxlarge {font-size: 200%;} - -.large {font-size: 125%;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold; text-align: center;} - -img { - max-width: 100%; - height: auto; -} -img.w100 {width: 100%;} - -.illowp37 {width: 100%;} -.illowp38 {width: 100%;} -.illowp39 {width: 100%;} - -.x-ebookmaker .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poetry .verse {text-indent: -2.5em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .first {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .center {text-align: center;} -@media print { .poetry {display: block;} } -.x-ebookmaker .poetry {display: block; margin-left: 3em;} - -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; - padding: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - -</style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tall tales of Cape Cod, by Marillis Bittinger</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Tall tales of Cape Cod</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Marillis Bittinger</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Bruce Adams</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 7, 2023 [eBook #69718]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Steve Mattern, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALL TALES OF CAPE COD ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt="cover"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/insidefront.jpg" alt="inside front cover"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h1> -TALL TALES<br> - -<small>OF</small><br> - -CAPE COD</h1> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<figure class="figcenter illowp37" id="frontis" style="max-width: 28.125em;"> -<img class="w100" src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="It Pays to Keep the Sabbath Day"> -<figcaption class="caption"> - -<p class="caption"><i>It Pays to Keep the Sabbath Day</i></p></figcaption></figure> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="titlepage"></div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<p><span class="xxlarge">TALL TALES<br> -OF CAPE COD</span></p> - -<p><i>by</i><br> -<span class="large">MARILLIS BITTINGER</span></p> - -<p><i>With Illustrations by</i><br> -<span class="smcap">Bruce Adams</span></p> - -<p><span class="large">THE MEMORIAL PRESS</span><br> -PLYMOUTH       ·       MASSACHUSETTS<br> -1948</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center"> -TALL TALES OF CAPE COD<br> -<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1948, by</span><br> -THE MEMORIAL PRESS<br> -<br> -<i>All rights in this book are reserved.</i><br> -<br> -<i>Designed and Printed by</i><br> -<br> -THE MEMORIAL PRESS<br> -PLYMOUTH, MASSACHUSETTS</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">To My Father</span>, <i>who Mother says<br> -tells the tallest tales of them all,<br> -and who helped me in the preparation<br> -of this book</i>.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">... Introduction</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Marillis Bittinger</span></p> - -<p>Plymouth, Massachusetts<br> -April 1, 1948</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">... Contents</h2> -</div> - -<table> -<tr><td>No Kissing On Sunday</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1"> 1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Cape Cod Gold Rush</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_3"> 3</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>How Scargo Lake Got Its Name</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_7"> 7</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Curse of Old Mother Melt</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9"> 9</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Barney Gould</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_12"> 12</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>It Pays to Keep the Sabbath</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_15"> 15</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Timmy Drew and The Bull Frogs</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_17"> 17</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Wrong Gulls</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_28"> 28</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>She Had the Last Word</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_30"> 30</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Singular Case of the Young Anatomist    </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_31"> 31</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Mooncussers of Cape Cod</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_38"> 38</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>How the Fogs Came to the Cape</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_40"> 40</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Peddler’s Coffin</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_45"> 45</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Whale that Went to New York</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_48"> 48</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Snake Biting Indian</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_50"> 50</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Johnny Blunt’s Courtship</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_53"> 53</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Trusting Maiden</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_58"> 58</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Shipwrecked</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_60"> 60</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Enchanted Mouse</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_65"> 65</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Ole Bill Hardy</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_68"> 68</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>How Sophie Got A Husband</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_71"> 71</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Orleans Lamplighter</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_76"> 76</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Giant of Longnook Valley</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_77"> 77</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Cupid and the Tree Warden</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_82"> 82</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Singing Fish of Monomoy Point</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_85"> 85</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i001.jpg" alt="No Kissing On Sunday"></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">... No Kissing On Sunday</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">It isn’t</span> 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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span> -the incident to the authorities, with the result -that the affectionate captain was clapped into the -stocks for two days to repent.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i002.jpg" alt="Pg 2"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i003.jpg" alt="The Cape Cod Gold Rush"></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">... The Cape Cod Gold Rush</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The lights</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i006.jpg" alt="Pg 6"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i007.jpg" alt="How Scargo Lake Got Its Name"></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">    ... How Scargo Lake<br> -Got Its Name</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The handsome</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i008.jpg" alt="Pg 8"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i009.jpg" alt="The Curse of the Old Mother Melt"></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">... The Curse of<br> -             Old Mother Melt</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">No one</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> -curses,” and the threat that “Old Mother Melt will -get you” disciplined many an obstreperous child.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i012.jpg" alt="Barney Gould"></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">... Barney Gould</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">I happened</span> 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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> -and bring forth stories almost forgotten, stories oft-repeated, -and tall tales that grew and grew with the -years.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Yu’ve heard tell about them long-distance walkers,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i015.jpg" alt="It Pays to Keep the Sabbath"></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">   ... It Pays to Keep<br> -the Sabbath</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Joe Crocker</span>, down Wellfleet way, learned through -bitter experience that it pays to keep the Sabbath.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i017.jpg" alt="Timmy Drew and The Bull Frogs"></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">... Timmy Drew and<br> -The Bull Frogs</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“How so?” asked Timmy.</p> - -<p>“Why, lad,” spoke up one of the peddlers, “can’t -you see by that poster that frogs are in great demand -in fashionable tailoring?”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>Timmy was in raptures. But he was, as you will -soon see, counting his frogs before they were caught.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> -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?”</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i022.jpg" alt="Pg 22"></div> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Buckram thought he was face to face with a -miniature mad man, and attempted to rid himself of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> -the small nuisance with bravado. “No, I don’t want -any frogs. Now get out of my shop, you young fool!”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>And once more he entered the tailor shop.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Buckram, this is absolutely your last chance. -Are you willing to give me anything for these frogs?”</p> - -<p>The old man was goaded beyond endurance. He -sprang from his work and took after Timmy with his -long shears.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And thus dissolved the golden visions of Timmy -the Frog Catcher.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Boooooooo</div> -<div class="verse">Timmy Drew-o-o-o</div> -<div class="verse">I can make a shoe-o-o-o</div> -<div class="verse">As well as you-o-o-o</div> -<div class="verse">And better too-o-o-o</div> -<div class="verse">Timmy Drew-o-o-o</div> -<div class="verse">Boooooooo</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The amazing concert continued night after night,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>The next time Timmy stopped at the tavern, he -found all in earnest consultation.</p> - -<p>“Here he comes,” said one, as soon as Timmy -entered.</p> - -<p>“Have you heard the news?” inquired the tavern -keeper.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Timmy with a groan.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“Nor I,” said Sam Greening.</p> - -<p>“Nor I,” said Josh Whiting.</p> - -<p>“Nor I,” said Tom Bizbee.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“That must be the critter I heard t’other night in -the pond!” exclaimed Josh Whiting. “I swanny, he -roared louder than a bull.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>It is hardly necessary to add that Cape Cod saw no -more of the Frog Catcher from Chatham, Timothy -Drew.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i027.jpg" alt="Pg 27"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i028.jpg" alt="The Wrong Gulls"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">... The Wrong Gulls</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Cap’n Caleb Nickerson</span> 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.</p> - -<p>“But, Cap’n Nickerson,” the boy demurred, “I -don’t know much about navigation yet, and the compass -is still strange to me.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“But, Cap’n,” exclaimed the perplexed boy, “you -told me to folly them gulls over there, and I’ve been -right on their trail!”</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i029.jpg" alt="Pg 29"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i030.jpg" alt="She Had the Last Word"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">... She Had the Last Word</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Cape Cod</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“As I am now, so you will be—</div> -<div class="verse">Prepare for death and follow me.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“To follow you I’ll not consent,</div> -<div class="verse">Because—I know which way you went!”</div> -</div></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i031.jpg" alt="The Singular Case of the Young Anatomist"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">         ... The Singular Case of the<br> -Young Anatomist</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Fate</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>A look at young Tom as this amazing story unfolds<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>A pensive, solitary figure, Tom sat one night by the -huge fireplace in the local Inn, lost in thought and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“That be a queer chap. I’m a-goin’ to see what he’s -about,” and with these words, he too left the Inn.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> -skeleton?” When the answer was a startled “yes,” -Tom shouted, “Which way did he go?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>“Thank my stars!” yelled Tom. “I have found my -Skeleton at last!”</p> - -<p>“Young man,” said the Skeleton in a hollow voice, -clacking his hideous hinged jaws, “Attend!”</p> - -<p>“How beautifully,” cried Tom, ignoring the command, -“can I see the play of the lower maxilliary!”</p> - -<p>“Attend, I say!” repeated the Skeleton, in a still -more frightening voice. And then, turning, “Rash<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> -month. You may then retire to rest for as long a time -as you please.”</p> - -<p>“Agreed!” cried the Skeleton, and, recovering from -his original alarm, shook hands with the exultant Tom -to seal this strange bargain.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span><figure class="figcenter illowp38" id="i037" style="max-width: 28.125em;"> -<img class="w100" src="images/i037.jpg" alt="The Mooncussers"> -<figcaption class="caption"> - -<p class="caption"><i>The Mooncussers</i></p></figcaption></figure> - -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> -<h2 class="nobreak">               ... The Mooncussers of<br> -Cape Cod</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Remaining</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> -the beauty of moonlight on still ocean was cursed and -not admired.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i039.jpg" alt="Pg 39"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i040.jpg" alt="How the Fogs Came to the Cape"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">            ... How the Fogs Came<br> -to the Cape</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">For</span> 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.</p> - -<p>Twice each year since the beginning of Time—once<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>His huge war tomahawk in his hand, Manshope -strode away without a word from the camp, the wails<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The Giant Manshope crept noiselessly towards the -death tree. Under the enveloping shadows of its great<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> -over the Cape moors and the lodges of the Indian -camp, where his sorrowing squaw awaited his return.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i044.jpg" alt="Pg 44"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i045.jpg" alt="The Peddler’s Coffin"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">... The Peddler’s Coffin</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>One bleak and howling February night, when the -stories had been especially hair-raising, a lull in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i047.jpg" alt="Pg 47"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i048.jpg" alt="The Whale that Went to New York"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">                    ... The Whale that Went to<br> -New York</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">It all</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i049.jpg" alt="Pg 49"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i050.jpg" alt="The Snake Biting Indian"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">... The Snake Biting Indian</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Tall, straight</span>, 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.”</p> - -<p>When “The Deacon” was not evangelicaling, converting, -or leading future converts in prayer, he could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span> -be found, in all seasons, strolling leisurely through the -woods and along the beaches.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i053.jpg" alt="Johnny Blunt’s Courtship"></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">... Johnny Blunt’s Courtship</h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">After the</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Squire Jones’ pew was next but two to Johnny’s and -when Johnny stood up he naturally looked straight at -Sally Jones.</p> - -<p>Now Sally had a face not to be grinned at in a fog. -She was easy to look at and Johnny succumbed.</p> - -<p>Squire Jones had got his evening fire on and set -himself to read the great Bible, when he heard a rap -at his door.</p> - -<p>“Walk in. Well John, howder do? Git out Pompey!”</p> - -<p>“Pretty well, I thank you Squire; and how do you -do?”</p> - -<p>“Why, so as to be crawling. Ye ugly beast, will ye -hold yer yop! Haul up a chair and sit down, John.”</p> - -<p>“How do you do, Mrs. Jones?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, middlin’. How’s yer marm?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t forget the mat there Mr. Blunt.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>“Who is it, I say? Who in the world is it?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Jones going close to his ear, screamed out, “It’s -Johnny Blunt!”</p> - -<p>“Ho, Johnny Blunt! I remember he was one summer -at the siege of Boston.”</p> - -<p>“No, no, father; bless your heart, that was his grandfather, -that’s been dead and gone this twenty years!”</p> - -<p>“Ho! But where does he come from?”</p> - -<p>“Daown taown.”</p> - -<p>“Ho! And what does he foller for a livin’?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Johnny Blunt!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>It sounded like a clap of thunder and Johnny started -right up on end.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I arter? Oh, jist takin’ a walk. Pleasant walkin’. -I guess I mean, jist to see how ye all do.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Then came apples and cider, and the ice being -broke, plenty of chat with Mammy Jones about the -minister and the “sarmon.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>“I swow, Sally, you looked so plaguy handsome -today, that I wanted to eat you up!”</p> - -<p>“Pshaw! Get along with you,” said she.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Why, Miss Jones, you’re gettin’ upstroperlous; a -little old maidish, I guess.”</p> - -<p>“Hands off is fair play, Mr. Blunt.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Sally, give me a kiss, and ha’ done with it, -now?”</p> - -<p>“I won’t, so there, nor tech to—”</p> - -<p>“I’ll take it whether or no.”</p> - -<p>“Do it, if you dare!”</p> - -<p>How a bus will crack of a still, frosty night! Mrs. -Jones was about halfway between asleep and awake.</p> - -<p>“There goes my yeast bottle,” says she to herself, -“Burst into twenty hundred pieces; and my bread is -all dough again.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i058.jpg" alt="The Trusting Maiden"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">... The Trusting Maiden</h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Margery Smith</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span></p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp39" id="i059" style="max-width: 28.125em;"> -<img class="w100" src="images/i059.jpg" alt="We were conscious only of hunger, heat and thirst"> -<figcaption class="caption"> - -<p class="caption">“We were conscious only of hunger, heat and thirst.”</p></figcaption> -</figure> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">... Shipwrecked</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">On</span> 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:</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> -serve to disturb the uncommonly smooth-running life -of our close existence on the lonely seas.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>They seemed at last content with what damage they -had wrought. The burly pirate captain ordered us to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> -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....</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i062.jpg" alt="Pg 62"></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i063.jpg" alt="Pg 63"></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i064.jpg" alt="Pg 64"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i065.jpg" alt="The Enchanted Mouse"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">... The Enchanted Mouse</h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>For several voyages now, Captain Knowles, under<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> -great opposition and argument from his good wife, had -succeeded in sailing without her.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> -changed his mind. Taking up his whip, he struck the -little mouse with it, killing it, and tossed it out of -his porthole.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i067.jpg" alt="Pg 67"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i068.jpg" alt="Ole Bill Hardy"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">... Ole Bill Hardy</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Cal’late</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>’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.</p> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i070.jpg" alt="Pg 70"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i071.jpg" alt="How Sophie Got A Husband"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">... How Sophie<br> -           Got A Husband</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sometimes</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Squire Nickerson was driving, one night long enough<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“What’s wrong Silas?” he asked his driver.</p> - -<p>“Well, sir,” replied Silas puzzledly, “There seems to -be someone lying smack in the middle of the road!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Pick him up, Si, and put him in the carriage.”</p> - -<p>“But Sir—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>And so the unsuspecting somnambulist was transported -from the road to a fine carriage.</p> - -<p>The Squire’s carriage, with its new occupant, had -not rolled down the road more than a few paces, when -it stopped again.</p> - -<p>“I say, Sir. This ’eres a thing!” said Silas. “There -’pears to be a lady, sir, at the side of the road!”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Imagine the consternation of the proper spinster<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Madame,” began Seth, remembering his manners -even in a situation such as this one, “My name is—”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i076.jpg" alt="The Orleans Lamplighter"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">... The Orleans Lamplighter</h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">At Rock Harbor</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i077.jpg" alt="The Giant of Longnook Valley"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">... The Giant of<br> -             Longnook Valley</h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Truro</span> 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> -lolled about on the waters, dreaming giant dreams, -his line slack in his hands.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> -waters, the giant cod thrashed about in an effort to -escape.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i080.jpg" alt="Pg 80"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>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!</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i082.jpg" alt="Cupid and the Tree Warden"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">... Cupid and the<br> -    Tree Warden</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">A portly</span> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i083.jpg" alt="Pg 83"></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Now no man likes to walk down Main Street in his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i085.jpg" alt="The Singing Fish of Monomoy Point"></div> -<h2 class="nobreak">   ...The Singing Fish of<br> -Monomoy Point</h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><i>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.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span><span class="smcap">It</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The rest of the island, which I set out to explore<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> -as if a child had thrown a handful of pebbles onto -it. The humming vibrations seemed to have their -source directly in the lake.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>For days I walked to the spot at Monomoy Point<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i093.jpg" alt="Pg 93"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/insideback.jpg" alt="inside back cover"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> - -<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p> - -<p>Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p> -</div></div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALL TALES OF CAPE COD ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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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