NO MAN'S LAND
Lying a short distance off the Maine coast is an island which belongs to
nobody and is therefore referred to as No Man's Land. If you look for it
on the map you will find it marked as Muscongus. It is also known as
Loud's Island, in honor of the first settler. The strange state of
affairs came about in this way:
The Lincolnshire or Muscongus Patent, granted in 1630 by the Council of
Plymouth to Beauchamp and Leverett, included the land from the seaboard,
between the Muscongus and Penobscot rivers, for a certain distance
inland, but made no mention of the island on the south. The grant passed
to General Samuel Waldo, and was the origin of most of the land titles
in that section of Maine.
One of the most honored names in colonial England is that of Samoset,
the Wampanoag Indian, who met the first Plymouth settlers with the
English greeting, "Welcome, Englishmen!" He had picked up a few words
from the fishermen who made their headquarters at Monhegan, an island
ten miles farther out to sea. Samoset was accustomed to spend his
summers on Muscongus. If you dig in the sand on the island you will be
pretty sure to find relics of the aboriginal occupation of the place.
Captain Loud commanded a privateer in the service of George III, and one
day lost his temper in a dispute over some prize money. The quarrel
waxed so hot that he declared in his rage he would never lift his hand
again in the service of the king, even to save the monarch's head. Such
_lese majesté_ was sure to bring serious consequences to the peppery old
salt, so he hurriedly sailed for Boston on his brig. While coasting the
province of Maine, he came upon Muscongus, and was so charmed that he
spent the remainder of his life there. In some way that no one can
explain, the United States surveyors overlooked this island, three miles
in length and a mile broad, and the mistake has never been corrected.
Muscongus therefore remains no man's land.
It is well wooded and watered and has a picturesque shore, with rocky
coves, white sandy beaches, and an attractive appearance from every
direction. No steamer ever stops there, and it is rather ticklish
business to pick your way over the crags to the dilapidated landing and
so on to the firm land beyond.
The unique condition of Muscongus causes some queer things. For a long
time, the people, who now number a hundred and twenty-five, paid taxes
to the township of Bristol on the mainland two miles away. Every year
the tax collector sailed or rowed over to Muscongus and marked in chalk
on each door the amount of taxes due from that family. He gave his
receipt for payment of the same by rubbing out the chalked figures.
This was a pleasing but one-sided arrangement. Bristol gained the sole
advantage and by and by the Muscongus folks awoke to the fact. Then they
refused to pay any taxes unless the collector showed legal authority
for his assessment. The chalk marks were rubbed off the doors and after
some spirited scenes the collector withdrew, since, as has been shown,
he had no legal means of enforcing his demands. Since then Muscongus has
been the only community in New England which is not taxed, except so far
as it chooses to impose the burden upon itself.
Among the islanders every man was a Democrat with a single exception. At
the Congressional election on the mainland the Republican candidate was
unpopular, but the vote of Muscongus was cast for and elected him. The
canvassers, however, threw out the vote because of the refusal to pay
taxes. This was just before the Civil War, and in the words of the
chronicler of Muscongus: "That was the end of all things here in
connection with the mainland."
You need not be reminded that as the great war went on the government
was forced to resort to drafting to obtain the soldiers it needed.
Muscongus was included in the Bristol district, but the inhabitants
warned the authorities that any attempt to enforce the draft would cause
bloodshed. Some of them, however, were alarmed at the thought of
fighting the national government. At a mass meeting the community voted
to donate nine hundred dollars toward the expense of the war, and a
number paid three hundred dollars apiece for substitutes, though none
volunteered. These contributions meant many sacrifices to the poor
fisher folk.
A man living on Muscongus had once served in the regular army, and a
certain major at Bristol determined to secure him for Uncle Sam. The
officer was taken over to the island in a small sailboat, and made his
way to the home of the veteran he wanted. He was absent, but his wife
was in the kitchen peeling potatoes. A few minutes later the major's
companions awaiting him at the shore saw him dash through the door and
run at his highest speed for the boat. A few paces behind him, holding
the pan of potatoes against her side with one hand, and snatching them
out with the other, she bombarded the terrified fugitive. She could
throw, too, with the force and accuracy of a short stop of the
professional league, and every missile landed. She kept up the
bombardment all the way to the waterside, by which time her ammunition
was used up. When the battered major stepped ashore at Bristol he
exclaimed:
"Thunderation! if I had a regiment of women like her I'd capture
Richmond in three days!"
The foregoing facts Captain Alvin Landon related to Chester Haynes and
Mike Murphy one sunshiny forenoon as the _Deerfoot_ swept past the
numerous islands between Cape Newagen and Pemaquid Point, and rounded to
at the rickety landing on the southern side of Muscongus. The boys
stepped out upon the rocks, leaping and climbing to the wabbling support
over which they picked their way to the solid earth. A few rods distant
a goodly sized sailboat was moored, the passengers having already gone
up the sloping bank and inland. Hardly a fair summer day goes by
without bringing visitors to one of the most interesting spots on the
coast of Maine.
Since the excursion was likely to take most of the afternoon, our young
friends brought their lunch with them. At the crest of the slope, they
sat down on the grass under a group of trees, and with keen appetites
ate the last morsel of their meal. Then followed a stroll, with ears and
eyes open. They found the islanders courteous, hospitable and ready to
answer all questions. One of the first interesting facts learned by the
youthful callers was that nearly all the people were blue-eyed, and the
men straight, tall, rugged and with a physique superior to that of their
neighbors on the mainland. Several descendants of the Loud and other
pioneers were met, one or two of whom were approaching the century mark.
Contentment was everywhere, and all were proud of their independent
lives with not the slightest wish to change it. Some of the men seek
their wives outside of the little model republic, and more than one
husband has been drawn to the island by the attraction of a pair of
violet eyes and the sweet disposition of a coy maiden. It has been
charged that there is a mental and physical deterioration because of
intermarriages between relatives, but nothing of the kind seems to have
occurred.
Muscongus knows little, except by hearsay, of crime and pauperism. All
the doors are left unlocked at night, and a drunken person is never
seen. Should any fall in need of charity it is given cheerfully. Years
ago there was an aged couple whose five sons were lost at sea, and who
were unable to provide for themselves. They were supported in comfort in
their own home as long as they lived.
Of course there has to be some form of government. It is of the simplest
nature. All general meetings are held in the little schoolhouse, the
only public building on the island. The presiding officer is chosen by
acclamation, and is always the school agent and superintendent of
business of the community. An open discussion follows of the measures
needed for the public welfare, and whatever rules are adopted are
obeyed without protest.
In former years the porgy industry was the chief support. But that
declined and was succeeded by lobster and mackerel fishing, which does
not pay so well. Every family owns a little farm, the soil is good, and
all live in modest comfort. The neat, tidy houses nestling among the
firs are surrounded by fruit trees trim and productive. The small
library in the schoolhouse is free to all.
As to religious services, a prayer meeting is held every Sunday evening
in the schoolhouse and Sunday School in the afternoon, but there is no
resident minister. Occasionally the clergyman at Friendship, near
Bristol, comes over to preach, and the faithful coast missionary who
works among remote islanders and lighthouse keepers brings reading
matter and ministers to the spiritual wants of the people. Among the
islanders are Free Masons, Odd Fellows, Knights of Pythias and Red Men,
who conduct the funeral services.
"It calls to mind the ould counthry," said Mike Murphy, when the
_Deerfoot_ had started homeward.
"How?" asked Chester at his side.
"It's so different; think if ye can of any part of Ireland living for a
waak, lit alone months and years, widout a shindy."
"There are few sections in our own country of which that can be said."
"It taxes me mind to thry to draw the painful picter; let us think of
something else."
Since the weather was favorable, Captain Landon made a circuit farther
south, leaving the small White Islands on his left, the Hypocrites on
his right, and so on into the broad bay, whose western boundary is
Southport.
"I say, Captain," suddenly called Mike.
"What is it?" asked Landon, looking partly round.
"If ye have no objiction I should like to take a thrick at the wheel."
"All right; come over here."
In a twinkling the two had changed places. As Mike assumed his duty, he
added:
"I've been obsarving ye so close that I belave I can run the battleship
as well as yersilf. I have noted that whin ye wish to turn to the right,
ye move the wheel around that way, sarving it according whin ye wish to
head t'other way. 'Spose now ye find it nicessary to go backward?"
"Pull over the reversing lever; the wheel has nothing to do with that."
"I'll remimber the same. Hullo!" added Mike in some excitement. "I
obsarve a ship ahead; do ye think it's a pirate?"
His companions laughed and Alvin answered:
"That is the steamer _Enterprise_, which runs from Portland to East
Boothbay and back on alternate days, calling at different points."
"I mustn't run her down," said Mike, swinging over the wheel so as to
pass her bow; "she's right in our path."
"Don't change your course; she has plenty of time to get out of your
way."
"Begorrah! do ye maan to say _she is moving_?"
His companions scrutinized the lumbering craft for a minute as if in
doubt. It was Chester who said:
"I think she is."
"Better make sure," remarked Mike heading the launch to the south, thus
contributing his part to a joke which has been fashionable for years in
that section of the Union over the sluggishness of the freight and
passenger steamer named.