1812

A TALE of CAPE COD

By Michael Fitzgerald

YARMOUTHPORT, MASS.: C. W. SWIFT, Publisher and Printer, The “Register” Press, 1912.

Copyright, 1912, by Charles W. Swift.

TO THOMAS CHANDLER THACHER, A LOYAL SON OF CAPE COD, THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED.

PREFACE.

In this story of Cape Cod during the War of 1812 the author has essayed to give an accurate picture of some of the trials which the harassed inhabitants endured under the guns of the British warships.

The plight of Eastham in those days was that of many other towns on the Cape. The seafaring population of the district was utterly at the mercy of the enemy and all trade was at a standstill in consequence of the embargo on commerce. Deserted by the National and State governments, the sturdy people bore their sufferings with heroic fortitude and stubbornly resisted the invasion of their shores, now meeting the arrogant foe in deadly combat and driving him to his boats, and again, successfully matching their wits against his might, capitulating only when further resistance appeared useless.

The author has had the advantage of many years’ residence in the district and the privilege and pleasure of close acquaintance with the descendants of some of the characters in this tale, and, as an interested student of local history and tradition, his researches have instilled him with intense admiration for the virile race that first settled on this historic ground and whose indomitable perseverance and success in the face of almost insuperable difficulties have won the applause of the world.

“Old times have changed, old manners gone,” but in the little towns of the Cape today the sons of this brave old stock preserve many of the salient characteristics of their sires and are not lacking in the spirit which made Cape Cod something more than a geographical expression in the annals of the Nation.

“Hoppy” Mayo, Peter Walker, Squire Harding Knowles and others mentioned in the story were sterling citizens of Eastham a century ago and they were typical of the men who lived in those days; men of keen intelligence and patriotism, graduates of the little red schoolhouses where they were taught to express their thoughts in the clear English which was the language of their Pilgrim ancestors.

In this little volume the author has followed closely the facts as recorded by such writers as the Rev. Enoch Pratt, the Hon. Charles F. Swift and others who have given attention to the story of Cape Cod. The main purpose of the book is to stimulate interest in the study of the chronicles and traditions of the Cape and the author hopes that his efforts in this direction will merit the approbation of the public.

East Brewster, Cape Cod.

CHAPTER I. The Capture.

In the year 1814 Provincetown was the rendezvous of the British fleet which harassed the Massachusetts merchant marine and levied tribute on the towns of Cape Cod. The inhabitants of the Cape were practically defenceless against the enemy, and though the artillery of the period was of insignificant calibre as compared with the big guns of the present day, the British gunners were able to terrorize the scattered communities of the coast and it was a time of stress and trouble for the good people of Cape Cod.

Added to this, the war was unpopular in the district. The embargo proved disastrous to American shipping and particularly affected the seagoing population of the Cape. When we consider that Cape Cod was vitally interested in maritime pursuits we can understand how the deadlock in commerce was responsible for local discontent. The position of the inhabitants immediately under the fire of the warships was well-nigh intolerable, but their patriotism never wavered however much they disapproved of the war.

One summer day in this troublous year, a large whaleboat emerged from Boston harbor and bore away for Eastham, Cape Cod. The crew consisted of two men, Winslow L. Knowles and Matthew H. Mayo. They were both in the prime of life, typical Cape Codders, and had been masters of fine vessels before the war destroyed the trade. Their whaleboat was a tiny craft in comparison with the stately merchantmen in which they had sailed the seven seas, and the skippers keenly felt their fallen fortunes. They were now at the very nadir of the profession, forced to sneak from port to port in a vessel not much larger than one of the ships’ boats of their former commands.

[2]But what was the use of complaining? That villainous British fleet with its barges and light cruisers was never far away. A round shot across their path might at any moment bring them to, and then the Eastham folks would have to go without the goodly supply of food and drink with which the boat was laden.

As they crept across the bay before a light wind the skippers exchanged reminiscences of their long voyages and found satisfaction in relating stirring episodes of their experiences. Meantime, a good lookout was kept for the enemy, but the coast seemed clear with the exception of a small schooner dead ahead. They took her to be a Duxbury fisherman.

“It seems to me, Win, that the ‘Spencer’ must be in Provincetown. There hasn’t been much for her to fuss about lately.”

Captain Mayo was somewhat older than his companion. He was generally known as “Hoppy” Mayo, the sobriquet being derived from his middle name “Hophney.”

“Yes, it looks that way, Hoppy; but you can never tell anything about that frigate. Old Raggett has got a fine ship and he likes to show her off. Shouldn’t be surprised to see her at any moment.”

“Raggett is a fair enough chap,” said Hoppy. “Of course, he has to obey orders, and he’s got to do the dirty work planned for him in London; but he’s not looking for trouble and if he doesn’t catch you in the act he lets a good many things pass.”

“Damn this war, anyhow,” said Captain Knowles bitterly.

“Yes, Win, damn the war if you like, but it had to come. Why, that last voyage Zeke Bangs made didn’t a British man-o’-war take four men out of his ship and he dare not kick! These Britishers think they own the world, land and water alike, and ’twas about time to let them know some other people had a few rights.”

[3]“Yes, but we weren’t prepared for war,” retorted Captain Knowles.

“Seems to me we were just as much prepared as we were when the Revolution was started. Good Lord, man, how long do you think we should wait while this bully of the seas was driving us to desperation? Isn’t it bad enough to pay tribute to the Algerine pirates? Must we forever be treated as children? Does any sensible person think this American nation is going to remain in swaddling clothes until the crack o’ doom?”

The argument continued with unabated vigor until the whaleboat was nearly abreast of the schooner which had been forgotten in the heat of the discussion. Suddenly a round shot plunged into the water and both skippers jumped to their feet.

“What the devil is that for?” exclaimed Hoppy.

“Well, it means that we’re caught in a trap,” replied Captain Knowles.

And so it proved to be. The schooner which they had taken for an inoffensive fisherman was manned by British seamen from the “Spencer,” and was one of many captured craft which the enemy used for operations in the shallower waters of Cape Cod bay. A second shot brought the whaleboat to.

As the schooner approached, the Americans felt all the bitterness of defeat. In Boston they had been told that they stood a good chance of getting home safely. The frigate had not been seen in the bay during the previous week, and they had started with high hopes of a successful run. Now they were in the toils and Tom Crosby’s two hogsheads of good Jamaica rum would cheer the thirsty foe! Friends in Eastham would miss the comforting gill which in those days was deemed essential to the perfect enjoyment of life. Altogether it was a most humiliating situation. Here were two of the most successful runners in the business held up by a stratagem which they should have foreseen and which the veriest landlubber would have looked out for.[4] What a subject for Peter Walker’s sarcastic rhymes! The British bullets and bayonets were harmless compared with the poisonous shafts of Peter’s poetic quiver; their misery could be quickly ended by the former, but Peter’s undying verse could be read by future generations and Hoppy Mayo and Win Knowles would be the laughing-stock of posterity!

“Boat ahoy!”

“Hullo!” answered Hoppy.

“Come aboard!” shouted the officer on the schooner’s deck. They were soon alongside. Lieutenant Fotheringay of His Britannic Majesty’s frigate “Spencer” greeted them:

“It is the fortune of war, sirs. You have escaped us many times, but the pitcher goes to the well once too often! Captain Knowles, you and your friend are well known to us. Captain Raggett’s orders to us were to get you at all hazards. I hope you will have no reason to complain of your treatment, at least until your case is finally disposed of by the commanding officer of this station.”

“We’re much obliged, I’m sure,” replied Hoppy with a touch of irony; “but what puzzles me is how you happened to get hold of our names?”

The officer smiled as he answered:

“Surely, Captain Mayo, you did not suppose we were ignorant of your existence? Captain Raggett has had intimate knowledge of your exploits for some time but you have eluded him until now. Further than this I cannot tell you at present, but I may tell you that the next time you go to Boston it will not be wise for you to trust every chance acquaintance you meet on the waterfront!”

The prisoners looked at each other significantly.

“Well, I’ll be darned!” exclaimed Knowles; “so it was that chap we met at Snow’s tavern! Might have known it, too; he was abusing Raggett a bit too much.”

The lieutenant invited them to the cabin and treated them handsomely. In a few hours they reached Provincetown and as night fell the schooner dropped anchor under the lee of the “Spencer.”

CHAPTER II. At Crosby’s Tavern.

The tavern kept by Master Thomas Crosby at Eastham was thronged on the evening that Hoppy Mayo and his comrade, Win Knowles, were expected to arrive from Boston. Crosby’s cellar was nearly empty of the cheering liquor that helped the male inhabitants of the town to bear the hardships of the woeful condition to which they were reduced by the fortune of war, and the fresh consignment which was known to be on the way was eagerly awaited. It must not be inferred from this that the population was inclined to riotous living. On the contrary, the people were of an orderly and peace-loving, nature, but the advocates of total abstinence had not yet made much progress on Cape Cod, and in accordance with the custom of their fathers, the men of Eastham were not averse to taking a friendly gill in company with their neighbors who met for gossip and entertainment under Crosby’s hospitable rooftree.

Master Peter Walker, of whom it has been told by the historian that his wit was keen and his learning great, occupied his favorite seat by the huge chimney-place, which, however, was fireless at this season. Master Walker was a blacksmith by trade, and a poet by choice. Selectman Harding Knowles and his colleagues on the Board were there. Much attention was paid to the opinions of Squire Knowles who was a gentleman of great dignity and knowledge of affairs. “Uncle” Jabez Rich, retired schoolmaster, feeling somewhat the burden of his ninety years, sat opposite Master Walker. Uncle Jabez had a wonderful memory and was fond of telling of his stirring adventures during the old French wars. The rest of the company was made up of citizens engaged in various occupations; artisans, farmers, fishermen and[6] shipmasters. The latter were chafing under the enforced idleness caused by the enemy’s blockade of the coast. Captain Jared Higgins was especially emphatic in condemning President Madison for challenging the might of England on the high seas when

the United States had no navy capable of meeting the numerous squadrons of Britain. Captain Jared was a staunch supporter of Governor Caleb Strong of Massachusetts and voted for him on every occasion that the anti-war governor sought office. Partisan feeling ran high in those days and heated argument was not uncommon at Crosby’s. However, private opinions were forgotten when it came to presenting a solid front to the enemy.

The township of Eastham was part of the ancient territory of the Nauset Indians. It was settled in 1644 by Thomas Prence, later governor of Plymouth Colony, who, accompanied by the famous Deacon John Doane and a chosen party of colonists, purchased land from the Nausets and made their homes in the locality. These first settlers of Eastham were men of high character. The men who formed the gathering at Crosby’s tavern on the evening of which we write were mostly descended from the pioneers who faced the wilderness and the savage in search of freedom to worship God in their own way, and their descendants had inherited this love of liberty and sturdy spirit of independence. Men of pure English stock predominated, but on the features of a few could be traced the evidence of mixed descent. The dark-eyed maidens of the Nausets had not been found unwilling to share the white man’s lot, and though the red man had vanished from the district, a dash of his blood remained to tell of some forgotten romance in the olden days. Strong-bodied,

self-reliant citizens were these people of Eastham. Their mode of speaking was clear and incisive, denoting a high degree of intelligence. Many of them had acquired in the great school of world-wide experience a polish of manner and a courtliness of bearing that became them well.

[7]The well-worn arguments on the questions of the day were threshed out vigorously until the night was well advanced. Still no sign of the voyagers and a general feeling of uneasiness as to their fate became manifest.

“Something must have gone wrong with Win and Hoppy,” remarked Obed Sparrow. “They should have been here long ago.”

Peter Walker winked at Crosby. “Neighbor Sparrow is getting anxious about the stock in hand, Master Crosby,” insinuated Peter.

“Well, Master Walker,” replied mine host, “Obed has good reason to feel anxious about it, if that’s what’s in his mind. My last hogshead of Jamaica is running low.”

“Oh,” Peter put in slyly, “you may be doing Obed an injustice. Perhaps he’s thinking about the molasses. Mistress Sparrow is famed for her cookies, you know.”

Everybody laughed. “What was that rhyme of yours on the subject, Peter?” inquired Squire Knowles.

“If it wouldn’t hurt Obed’s feelings,” replied Master Walker, “I might give you a verse or two, if only to help pass the time.”

“Let’s have it, Master Walker!” cried several in chorus.

“Well, neighbors, it isn’t very good poetry, but it’s good rhyme and it’s a tribute to Mistress Sparrow’s accomplishments.”

Master Walker cleared his throat and began:

Cheers and laughter greeted this sally and Master Walker was urged to continue. Obed was particularly clamorous for the rest of the verses. He loved to hear his good wife praised.

“Aye, it is just like your blood, Peter,” muttered Uncle Jabez. “I remember well when Jonas Walker kept the camp in goodhumor that time before Louisburg. We were in the Fourth company of Gorham’s Regiment, and Elisha Doane, our captain, used to say that Jonas Walker was the life and soul of the regiment. Colonel Shubael Gorham often had Jonas to amuse the officers when they supped in the Colonel’s tent.”

“Those were stirring times, Uncle Jabez,” said Squire Knowles.

“Aye, Squire; there were fine men in that regiment. I have seen Captain Joseph Thacher, of Yarmouth, go right through an embrasure into the Grand Battery while the bullets were thick as hail.”

“You must tell us the story some time, Uncle Jabez. Master Walker might get offended if we don’t listen to the rest of his poem.”

“It’s getting late, neighbors,” said Peter. “Some other time I’ll finish it.”

Harding Knowles and Peter Walker went home together.

“Peter,” said Harding, “if Hoppy and Win do not arrive during the night we must conclude something serious has happened. I sincerely trust they have not been captured.”

[9]“I’m afraid that’s just what has happened, Harding,” replied Peter. “That runner from Provincetown told me last week that the British seemed to be up to something new. He said Raggett hadn’t been ashore for a week, and that seemed strange, as Raggett was fond of stretching his legs over the dunes.”

“I fear there is bad work ahead for us, Peter. Hoppy is hotheaded, you know, and he’ll be apt to give offence to those fellows at whose mercy we are. ’Tis said they are going to levy tribute on the Bay towns, and God only knows how we are to meet it. The Committee of Safety has been considering the matter. Some are for fighting it out; others consider that course unwise as we have no armed force to signify.”

“I plainly see we are in a bad fix, Harding, but we can only wait and hope for the best. Raggett’s been pretty good about it up to this and if he’s changed, it must be due to orders from London.”

“That’s so, Peter. The National government little realizes the hardship of our position, and even if it did, we have no naval force for the protection of the Cape. The scattered units of our navy are doing great work but the British are in overwhelming numbers. The loss of the Chesapeake last year was disheartening.”

“Well,” replied Peter, and there was fire in his eye, “you know, Harding, what Lawrence said on that occasion: ‘Don’t give up the ship!’ Keep that in mind, Harding, and we may yet bring the bully of the Bay to terms.”

“Let’s hope for the best, Peter. Good night.”

“Good night, Harding.”

CHAPTER III. Prisoners of War.

After a night of fitful slumber, the captives were awakened early by Dunton, the master’s mate left in charge of the schooner when Lieutenant Fotheringay went aboard the frigate. Dunton was a surly fellow, over middle age, and heartily hating all Americans who, in his opinion, were an inferior breed of English inhabiting a semi-civilized land. To him they were “damned Yanks,” deserving of neither courtesy nor favor.

“Lively, you fellows; get ready to go aboard the frigate.”

Hoppy coolly looked him over. “I guess there ain’t much getting ready about it, my friend. You see, we kind o’ forgot to bring our Sunday clothes, not expecting this honor.”

“I don’t want any back talk from prisoners,” replied Dunton, sneeringly.

“Is that so?” asked Hoppy in an even voice, though inwardly he felt like kicking the officer. “Well, now, I should think you’d like a little chat, seeing you’re so friendly about it.”

“Nice pair of scarecrows you are to go aboard a king’s ship and meet a post-captain!”

This was intended to silence Hoppy. Hoppy flushed, and Captain Knowles, seeing trouble ahead, nudged his compatriot warningly but without effect.

“Don’t know as you’re any beauty yourself, Dunton, with all your finery in the way of brass buttons. Ignorant folks might take you to be the king of England himself, but I have met king’s officers before now and I know that a master’s mate of your stripe is no ornament to a ship’s company.”

Dunton was furious. “You’ll be sorry for those words yet, you damned Yankee smuggler!”

[11]“Maybe so,” returned Hoppy. “I’m willing to take a chance, anyway.”