THE TRAGEDY
of
MONOMOY BEACH
THE GRAVEYARD OF THE ATLANTIC
by
CLARKSON P. BEARSE, SR.
(Copyright 1943)
Designed, printed and published on Cape Cod by
THE GOSS PRINT
HARWICH, MASSACHUSETTS
_Introduction_
This will introduce to our readers, the author, Clarkson P. Bearse, Sr.
He is a native Cape Codder and lives in a peaceful typical Cape Cod
home in Harwich Port. In fact he is Postmaster of the Harwich Port Post
office. He was a former member of the Coast Guard Station which figured
in the Monomoy disaster. Due to an injury received in the line of duty
he was unable to report for service, or otherwise he would have been
another victim rather than the author of this thrilling story of the
sea.
For many years he retained the facts about this world famous tragedy,
second only in importance to the Portland disaster. His modesty caused
him to refrain from telling the story until his friends finally
prevailed upon him to fill in at a Grange lecture hour one night. Then
Kiwanis listened to him and was thrilled. Then other organizations
sought his thrilling story. We know he will thrill you, too, as he
paints his vivid word picture.
No living person can tell this story like Mr. Bearse. This tragedy of
the sea is only one of hundreds of ship wrecks which have made these
shoals known as “The Graveyard of the Atlantic” all over the world. We
are proud to present this copyrighted edition for your reading pleasure.
The Publishers.
[Illustration: CLARKSON P. BEARSE, SR.]
_An Appreciation_
_For the historical sketch which decorates each page in this book we
thank Wendell Rogers, the Chatham artist. His generous contribution
has added much to the historic as well as to the artistic value of the
book_.
_For the accuracy of the Honor Roll of the Town of Chatham as of August
1, 1943 we are indebted to Town Clerk Levi Denson._
_The American Legion of Harwich, Cloyde Pate, Commander, is also due
official recognition for their sponsorship of the Harwich Honor Roll._
_The Publishers._
THE TRAGEDY of MONOMOY BEACH
or
THE GRAVEYARD of THE ATLANTIC
CHAPTER I
I was born and brought up on Cape Cod. To me it is the only place on
earth. In olden times, in times gone by, people away from here had
the idea that Cape Cod was a narrow strip of land extending off into
the ocean, consisting of sand dunes and fish shanties. But in recent
years there has been a radical change in the opinion people have had
about Cape Cod. Now they are looking at Cape Cod as it really is.
The automobile, the chamber of commerce, boards of trade, and other
advertising agencies have opened Cape Cod wide, and it has been
explored from one end to the other by thousands and thousands. Now some
of these people are prophesying the future of Cape Cod, but they are
not only prophesying the future of Cape Cod but they are delving down
into the past--down into its past records and past history. Recently,
almost within the year, they have gone down forty-one years and have
come up with the old Monomoy Disaster. Sometimes they come into the
post-office and question me about the disaster. I not only have to
admit that I had been associated with those men who were lost, but was
familiar with the disaster itself, so I have been telling them and all
others who were interested by an address. I appreciate the privilege of
addressing so many distinguished gatherings.
It was the seventeenth day of March 1902, when the news spread--and it
spread like wildfire all over--not only over the towns of Chatham and
Harwich, the two towns most directly affected by the disaster, but over
the surrounding towns and all over Cape Cod, for that matter. Women
ran from one house to the other, telling the news--men congregated on
corners, in stores and elsewhere, discussing the news. The report was
that every surfman on the old Monomoy Lifesaving Station, with the
exception of one, had been lost. They had perished off the back side
of Monomoy Beach in the tide rips and the seas. In telling the story, I
have entitled it, “The Tragedy of Monomoy Beach or the Graveyard of the
Atlantic.”
Eight miles down from Harwich is the town of Chatham. Everybody knows
that Monomoy Beach extends off from Chatham--off into Nantucket Sound
in a southerly direction something like ten miles. It is approximately
two miles wide, and is composed wholly of beach sand, a growth of beach
grass, occasionally a brush swamp, and a few meadows. Its topographic
makeup is sand dunes and hollows, hollows and sand dunes, all sizes and
shapes, and the sand continues to blow and shift. Today there is a sand
dune, tonight a dry gale of wind, tomorrow a piece of level ground.
Today there is a piece of level ground, tonight a sand storm, tomorrow
a hollow. So it is, year in and year out. The sand continues to blow
and shift.
Monomoy Beach is bounded on the east by the broad Atlantic, and the
seas--the seas--the seas roll in from an expanse of three thousand
miles and break and pound and roar upon the strand in an unbroken line.
Sometimes I tell my friends if they desire to see the ocean in its
raw, if they desire to see those seas that roll in from this tremendous
expanse and break and pound and roar upon the strand, if they desire
to see the tide rips that break and boil and foam, if they desire to
see the lightships off in the distance guiding the shipping down over
the shoals, if they desire to see the tide as it sweeps out of Caleb’s
Bay and meets the ocean, and produces those tremendous tide rips down
there on the end of Monomoy Beach or Point Rip--if they desire to see
all this, I suggest that someday in an easterly gale they take a trip
down on Monomoy Beach--way down to Point Rip, and there they will see
the ocean in its raw. Then, in good weather, look off and see the
shoals--the shoals that extend way across to Nantucket cut down through
here and there by false and major channels, and the tide rips, hundreds
of them breaking and boiling and foaming--the same shoals and the same
tide rips that turned the Mayflower back three hundred and twenty-one
years ago. They are there today.
In the days gone by, in the olden times, the back side of Monomoy
Beach was rightly called the “Graveyard of the Atlantic.” Why? Because
more ships and more schooners grounded and pounded themselves to
pieces and washed upon the beach--more men lost their lives and their
bodies strewn along the back side of Monomoy Beach than any other like
locality in all the world. Why, fifty, seventy-five, and a hundred
years ago did our fathers brand the back side of Monomoy Beach the
“Graveyard of the Atlantic?” Because of episodes like this that follow.
This is but one episode, all others were similar.