1812
[Illustration]
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.
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.”
“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. 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.”