Allusion has been made to the embargo and to the Yankee shrewdness
which evaded the watchfulness of government officers whose duty it
was to prevent departures from port. The following narrative, for
the incidents in which I am indebted to Capt. Charles C. Doten,
illustrates the shrewdness to which I referred.
During the Embargo, Plymouth’s fishing fleet was laid up in the
docks, and the owners found themselves cut off from the trade with
the West India Islands. The catch of fish from the Grand Banks could
not be sold to advantage for want of this market, and after being
cured remained stored in the fish houses.
England and France then being at war their West India dependencies
were subject to blockade, and as a consequence provisions which
could be run into the ports of either nationality, commanded high
prices. With such a temptation it was not strange that there were
found adventurous men in fishing ports to hazard the loading of
vessels with dry fish, and disregarding embargo penalties of our own
government, surreptitiously depart “for the West Indies and a market.”
Plymouth was not lacking in this sort of enterprise, and the writer
proposes to sketch one or two of the “run-a-ways,” to show the
character of the men of those days who a little later did the country
good service as “privateersmen” when the war between the United
States and England was fought.
Anticipating that these attempts to break the embargo would be made
in spite of stringent regulations, orders were given to the customs
officers at every port to keep strict watch and prevent vessels from
going to sea. Accordingly at Plymouth, Water street was nightly
patrolled, and a guard boat well manned, and in charge of Capt.
Joseph Bradford, was stationed in Beach channel to intercept any
outward bound vessel which might succeed in getting away from the
wharves. With these precautions it would seem to have been difficult
to evade successfully the minions of the law and run out a cargo of
fish in defiance of all the Federal government could do to prevent
it, yet it was done.
The first schooner was the Hannah, lying at Hedge’s, now known as
Pilgrim wharf, which then had two or three warehouses on it, one of
them containing fish. On a dark night an industrious gang of men
quietly loaded the vessel from the warehouse, but unluckily, before
their work was completed, the tide fell so that the Hannah grounded,
and could not get to sea that night as intended. Next day the custom
house officers noted that the vessel did not rise buoyantly with
the tide, so going on board they lifted the hatches, and at once
discovered “what was the matter with Hannah.”
Felicitating themselves that they had caught their mouse, and
determining that there should be no escape, they stripped the vessel
“to a girtline,” that is, they removed all her sails together with
the running and standing rigging, leaving nothing aloft but a single
block on each mast through which a line was rove for the purpose
of hoisting a man when the craft was to be re-rigged. All the gear
was carted away, and, while the fish were left on board, the Hannah
being absolutely reduced to bare poles, the officials were perfectly
certain that they had made it impossible for her to take her cargo to
the West Indies. Of course the laugh went round town at the expense
of the defeated owners, and the officials were “cocky” over their
smartness. Weeks went by and the incident passed out of mind, the
deeply laden Hannah meantime lying in her berth and daily rising and
falling with the tide. All the same her voyage to Martinique was made
up, her captain and crew engaged, and the man who was to rig and take
her out of dock had his gang picked for the purpose, and only awaited
his opportunity. This man was Capt. Samuel Doten, father of our
townsmen, the late Major Samuel H. and Capt. Charles C. Doten, one of
the most energetic shipmasters of his day, whom nothing ever daunted,
and who liked nothing better than a bit of dare-devil business, being
perfectly competent for anything pertaining to seamanship or calling
for executive ability. These qualities were well known in this town,
so naturally he was “in it” with the Hannah. Capt. George Adams,
another old sea dog, was his right-hand man in the part he had to do,
and there were two or three others, who could handle a marlinspike
and make a knot or seizing as well in darkness as at noonday.
Capt. Doten lived at the foot of the Green, on what is now Sandwich
street and kept a boat on the south shore near the place, where he
afterwards built the wharf, now owned by Capt. E. B. Atwood. The
long waited opportunity came one night with a howling southeast rain
storm, from which the Water street watch sought shelter in one of
the stores. There the officers with pipes and toddy made themselves
comfortable, while right before their noses the Hannah’s decks were
alive with her own crew, and Capt. Doten’s gang of riggers, who had
come alongside in boats. A loft which contained the gear of another
vessel, likewise clean stripped by her careful owner, so her rigging
might not get weather worn in the months of the tie-up, was broken
open and the shrouds and stays were carried on board the Hannah.
Capt. Adams was the man to go aloft and put the eyes of the rigging
over the mast heads, and Capt. Doten arranged for a system of wooden
tags to be tied to the pieces as they went up, so that by feeling
the notches cut in the tags, Capt. Adams would know whether what he
received belonged on the starboard or port side. So it was also with
the blocks and halliards, and all being understood, Capt. Adams took
his place in the sling tied in the end of the girtline, and was soon
hoisted to the crosstrees. The hours passed, but before daylight
the Hannah was rigged, halliards rove fore and aft, and sails bent,
though both rigging and sails were too large for her, belonging as
they did to another vessel of greater tonnage. Capt. Doten had met
this difficulty in the case of the standing rigging, which was too
long, by turning up the ends of the shrouds over hand spikes used for
shearpoles, and passing the lanyards from the deadeyes at the rail
also over the handspikes, his deck men then setting taut with the
watch tackles they had brought, and seizing all off securely. The
sails were made smaller simply by putting in a reef.
All was now ready, and the Hannah cast off and dropped down to the
end of the wharf. Capt. Doten, who was a good pilot for the harbor,
took charge, and with the hoisting of the jib the vessel quickly fell
off before the wind and ran directly along the shore for High Cliff,
there then being no Long wharf in the way. This course was taken to
avoid the guard boat which was supposed to be patrolling the channel
along by the Beach, the usual way of leaving the port. It was the top
of high water and there was little likelihood that with proper care
the vessel would touch anything. At High Cliff Capt. Doten ordered
the mainsail set and pointed the Hannah’s nose for the open sea. Then
giving the helm to her captain, whose name the writer unfortunately
has never heard, he gave the course to steer, and the schooner went
romping down by Beach Point at a pace which left no chance for the
guard boat to intercept her, when from away up Beach channel Capt.
Bradford descried the fleeting sail. Before getting far down the
harbor Capt. Doten and his men wished the Hannah and her crew a
successful voyage, and jumping into their boat towing alongside were,
before the early morning, snugly stowed away in their respective
homes. Of course there was great excitement when it was found the
bird had flown, and instantly the conclusion was reached that “Sam
Doten had run away with the Hannah,” so the officers at once repaired
to his house where his wife was unconcernedly getting breakfast, and
Capt. Doten, having apparently just arisen, was leisurely dressing.
The officers were greatly surprised at finding him and he equally
surprised to learn from them that the Hannah had got away, nor did he
hesitate to express his gratification that the custom house gang had
been so thoroughly outwitted.
The Hannah made an excellent run to the West Indies and arrived
safely at Martinique, where she sold her fish at $20 per quintal of
112 pounds and the vessel also was disposed of, the aggregate sum
which ultimately got around to her owners being a very handsome one
for the venture.
_The Hope and the Cutter._
The brig Hope was the next Plymouth vessel to “run the embargo.” She
belonged to William Holmes of this town, and loaded a cargo of dry
fish at Provincetown, where she was seized by the customs officers
of that port, and anchored in the harbor, with a revenue cutter
commanded by Capt. Thomas Nicolson of Plymouth lying near at hand
to prevent her from going to sea. Under these circumstances her
owner induced Capt. Samuel Doten, who had “assisted” in the Hannah
adventure, to become the principal in “cutting out” the Hope from
under the guns of the revenue vessel.
Selecting his crew, Capt. Doten took charge of the brig and waited
for things to come around to his liking. What he wanted was a smart
northeast gale, which is a fair wind out of Provincetown, though
of course a pretty rough affair to contend with in the open bay,
and against which he would have to work his vessel out past the
Cape after getting clear of the harbor. No abler or more daring
seaman ever trod a deck, and, whatever the chances, Capt. Doten was
ready to take them, so when one night the weather shut in “nasty”
with indications of the wished for gale the next day, he made his
preparations. A mooring line was run out aft to keep the brig’s head
toward the harbor mouth, so that her square sails should immediately
fill before the wind when hoisted. On the yards the gaskets keeping
the furled sails in place were nearly cut off, so that while they
still preserved the shape, they would part and allow the topsails to
be hoisted without having to send men aloft to loose them as usual
when getting under way, much depending on gaining a few minutes over
the cutter at the start. Vessels of those days had hemp cables, and
Capt. Doten meant to “cut and run” when the decisive moment came.
With the morning the gale was piping smartly, and it never occurring
to the captain of the revenue cutter that a vessel would attempt
to go to sea in such a blow, he took his gig with her crew and
went ashore. The ebb tide left the boat on the beach while Capt.
Nicolson and his men were up town, and meanwhile the sympathetic
Provincetowners, ready to help the Hope, stole the thole pins and
an oar or two. This was the favorable moment, while the cutter
was disabled for want of her commander and several men, for whose
return on board she would have to wait, so Capt. Doten cut his cable
and stern mooring line, quickly hoisted and sheeted home his fore
topsail, and was moving down the harbor before the lieutenant in
charge of the cutter realized the situation. Seizing a musket he
fired at Capt. Doten, who was at the Hope’s helm, but made a bad
shot. Then he let go a big gun at the brig, which also was poorly
aimed, and did no harm. It served, however, as a signal for Capt.
Nicolson to come on board, if he needed more than the evidence of
his eyes. The town was immediately alive with excitement, for the
seafaring men took in the whole plan and shouted with delight over
its boldness and sheer sailor-like daring. Men hindered more than
they helped while pretending to assist in getting the boat down to
the water, but at last, with her captain on board again, the cutter
got into full chase, firing her bow guns at the brig in hope of
crippling her spars if doing nothing more damaging. Provincetown has
rarely seen anything more exciting than that running fight, and the
story is told there even to this day, as the writer can vouch, having
himself heard it from an old sea dog over there within a few years.
The Hope was a good sailer, and soon doubled round the long, sandy
point at the harbor mouth, across which the cutter still continued
firing, the shots sending the sand into the air in clouds as they
skipped over the beach.
After getting outside, Capt. Doten made more sail for the better
handling of his vessel, and one of his men, William Stacy of Boston,
went aloft to loose a to’gallant sail. Just as he reached the
crosstrees and gripped the shrouds for further ascent, a shot passed
so close to him that, holding by his hands, the wind of it strung him
out like a flag. Getting his footing again he yelled: “A good shot,
try it again,” and went on with his duty.
The cutter soon got into the open bay where the sea was so rough that
her firing became entirely ineffectual, and she could only chase.
Capt. Nicolson, however, was one of the plucky kind and meant to do
his full duty by keeping the Hope in sight if he could do nothing
more. The gale became fiercer, and the sea rougher as the two vessels
got from under the lee of the Cape, and that night the cutter was
forced ashore near Scituate and wrecked, but with no loss of life.
Capt. Doten, with a loaded vessel under him, which he knew how to
handle, made better weather of it, and succeeded in beating the Hope
out past Cape Cod against the storm, and in a day or two was running
for the West Indies, intending to make Martinique.
All went well until nearing his destination, when one afternoon a
big British frigate poked her nose out from behind an island right
across his path and fired a gun for him to heave to. There was
nothing for it but to obey, and a boat with a boarding party was
soon alongside. The officer wanted to know where the brig was bound,
to which Capt. Doten replied, “West Indies and a market.” “You mean
Martinique, don’t you?” said the officer, “and let me tell you that
had you got in there the Frenchmen would have given you $25 a quintal
for your fish; but you will do well as it is, for I’m going to send
you into the English island of St. Lucia, and our people will give
you $16.” “Very well,” answered Capt. Doten, “I’ll go to St. Lucia
then.” “Yes,” replied the officer, “I’m sure you will, as I’m going
with you, for you Yankees are altogether too smart and slippery to be
trusted alone, with $9 on a quintal of fish difference as to where
you land them.”
So the Hope went into St. Lucia, where Capt. Doten sold both fish
and vessel, and later he found his way home with $25,000 in Spanish
doubloons, a large part of the sum being sewed into his clothing,
and the writer has heard the Captain’s wife tell of letting him into
the house at about two o’clock one morning, and of their sitting up
in bed together, ripping out the gold pieces and tossing them into a
shining pile, of which “Hope told a flattering tale.”