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 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.
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:
This good old town of Eastham boasts
Of gallant men and true,
Who never shirked their duty when
The call of country blew;
Who carried sail thro’ many a gale,
To meet upon the sea
The British foe, and strike a blow
For home and liberty!
And foremost in the battle’s van
Bold Obed leads his crew;
He’s always there his part to share
In deeds of derring-do!
And when he brings his prize to port
Thro’ storm and flying foam,
He’ll proudly tell he’d conquer hell
On the grub he gets at home!
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.”
“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.”