feet, bracing them hard against the sides of the boat. His nostrils
dilated, and his eyes were wild and eager with the anticipation of a
battle with an adversary worthy of his own size and strength. Meloof’s
muscles bulged like the sides of a water cask. Blue rope veins throbbed
in his temples. Sweat poured down his massive back, and the cords in
his huge powerful wrists and hands stood out like hawser lines. With a
great bellow, Meloof threw back his head and braced himself more firmly
against the furious strain of the battle.
As abruptly as it had started, the tight drawn tension of the line
slackened. Then, in another instant, the line sprang taut and alive
when the creature at the end of Meloof’s line propelled itself out of
the water and into the air several hundred feet. A giant codfish, with
scales as large and thick as oversize barn shingles, eyes as big and
bulging as washtubs, and a gaping slash of mouth as wide as a cave,
twisted and turned in the air. A frenzied monster of the dark waters,
the giant cod thrashed about in an effort to escape.
Back and forth raced the giant cod. Blue calm waters churned white and
angry. Breakers house-high piled up on the shores. The whiplash of the
line through the water, the rushing of the boat back and forth, made
mountainous waves and whipped the wind to gale force. The cod broke
surface, and then sounded the depths again. Then up-up- into the air
until Meloof’s line was almost perpendicular to the water. No rearing
stallion of the gods and his deity rider had such a battle. The victory
would go to the wiliest strategist, and this the cod seemed to sense,
for, with its eyes red with fear and anger, its fins quivering with the
strain of battle, it leapt into the air once more, and then plunged
into the water, sounding bottom. There it pivoted about and headed
straight for land. The water foamed white from the speed of the cod’s
course, and, behind him, fanned out in an arc as it was cleaved by the
bow of Meloof’s boat.
[Illustration]
The bullet-like course which sped Meloof and his craft straight towards
shore was perhaps more terrible than the actual battle in the ocean.
The shore loomed bigger ahead of him, but still Meloof held fast. His
tremendous strength was sapped from the strain of the battle, but he
still had a giant’s determination to conquer. With a last surge of
strength, the cod ceased its twisting, turning, gyrations and plowed
through the shallow waters of the shore, up and over the beach, and
straight into the Hills of Truro, dragging Meloof and his boat behind
him!
Rocks and boulder formations cracked and split, hurled up and aside
like pebbles. The sky was dark with flying particles of sand and earth.
Right across the Cape from Atlantic to Bay furrowed the frenzied cod
and its tenacious captor, plowing and ripping a deep scar through the
hills!
And thus was formed Long Nook Valley in Truro on Cape Cod. Traces of
the giant cod are found even today in the form of fish scales as large
as barn shingles. Some say that these fish scales are really pieces of
mica, left by the great glacier movement down from the north, but Cape
Codders know better. They are the petrified scales of the legendary
giant cod that hauled Meloof and his boat straight across the Cape
through the hills of Truro, forming Long Nook Valley.
[Illustration]
... Cupid and the
Tree Warden
A portly Cape Codder, while in the midst of his political campaign for
the position of local tree warden, strolled one evening into a tavern
in search of relaxation and rest from his campaigning. Nodding affably
to the various customers, he noticed among those present a man who was
obviously there for a long and festive evening. This brought to mind
the intriguing thought that the lady with whom the convivial gentleman
was then “keeping company” would probably be at home alone and in a
mood to welcome visitors. Our hero, not one to let such a promising
opportunity pass him by, made a snap decision and hied himself off to
the lady’s house. So Cupid smiled, but, in the offing, trouble brewed.
The other gentleman observed the approach and quick retreat of the
political Lothario, became suspicious, and he too left the tavern, only
a scant half hour after the departure of his rival. Both male pride and
indignation were aroused when he arrived at the lady’s home, for there
he found the aspiring town official clad only in his underwear, which
even on Cape Cod is not considered correct attire for a social visit.
[Illustration]
Stunned by this disregard of convention, the lady’s rather beery
protector seized the visitor by the neck and seat of his union suit,
and hove him in the direction of the front door.
Now no man likes to walk down Main Street in his underwear on a sharp
January night. The tree warden candidate was no exception. He did not
depart meekly. He did in fact, give forceful and valiant opposition
to the attack of his enraged and indignant adversary. It was quite a
battle, and caused a riotous commotion and an alarming collapse of
furniture. After a mighty tussle, the defender of the weaker sex and
convention found himself the victor, and the politician found himself
out on his ear--and in his underwear--in the cold night.
But at this moment of victory, the local constabulary forces, who
had been called by the lady in question, arrived on the scene. As
the minion of the law marched away with the wildly gesticulating and
indignant attacker, the underwear-clad politician, who was brushing
twigs and snow off his union suit, called out, “Hi boys! Don’t forget
I’m running for tree warden!”
[Illustration]
... The Singing Fish of
Monomoy Point
_In a small, musty, canvas bound book, unopened for years, was found
a story of such beauty and wonder that it escapes the imagination.
Each whisper of the turning pages which sent puffs of memory-filled
dust into the air, spoke of a day long ago, when a young man found an
island Paradise. The story in the ancient journal was dedicated to
the writer’s wife, Jessie, and is presented as a possible solution to
the strange humming sounds heard now and again off Monomoy Point in
Chatham on Cape Cod._
It was long ago, when I was young and adventurous, and on one of my
first important sailings, that this amazing thing occurred. We were
bound for the Indies, and while rounding Cape Horn, ran full into a
swift and violent storm that was unexplainable. For one moment, the
waters were as calmly blue as those of Scargo Lake in Dennis on a
clear summer day, and the next, they were scowling, angry, and black.
The sky shook its fist at our ship and sent down to us such winds and
fierce rains as I have never seen before. All about us was billowing,
unpenetrable gray, and all hands felt the atmosphere alive with some
strange force. Our navigation equipment seemed frozen, and our rudder
was cracked by the mountainous waves that crashed against our ship. We
lived in darkness, and floundered around in that sea of gray for five
terrible days. At the end of the fifth day, a calm, a stillness came,
as suddenly as the attacking storm, and this silence seemed the more
terrible because of its contrast with the wild gray days through which
we had just passed.
All hands came above, and though none spoke a word, I knew that a
strange fear gripped the heart of each of my shipmates. I am not a poet
or a man of letters, and my words, however carefully written here,
could not adequately describe the scene which met our eyes.
We found ourselves floating in the midst of a strange, dead sea from
which we could not escape. I thought at first that it might be Sargaso
Sea, for the waters were filled with weird strands of sea plant life,
with roots as big as boulders, but common sense and knowledge of the
map made that impossible. The sea on which we drifted was a sea of
powerful currents, each eddying in opposite directions. The water,
so clear we could see the smooth white bottom 50 fathoms below, was a
curious turquoise, streaked with brightest greens and pinks. All around
us were the listing, vacant skeletons of ships that had found their
unexplainable way here before us. Monstrous fish, and fish no larger
than a hair, swam through the waters. These fish were gold, green,
blue, and red; striped, streaked, and dotted with the most amazing
panorama of colors. Strange hued birds with weird calls flew overhead,
and over all this amazing scene there was an intense, stifling silence.
We drifted about under the hand of the changing currents for six weeks,
and lived from the waters around us. Some of the sea vegetation, when
pulled up, proved to be clean and sweetly edible, and the strange,
bright colored fish were easily caught. During this period, although
we were well fed, and temporarily safe, we grew restless, and
conflictions sprang up at every turn. For however well fed and kept
a man may be, the fear of the unknown, and a wondering about when he
will see familiar land and beloved faces, keeps him forever unhappy
and discontent. Moreover, we were all consumed with the most intense
curiosity about our strange surroundings. And always in our minds and
before our eyes were the bare hulks of the other ships, caught in the
sea, which we all hoped would not prove to be prophetic to us.
We had, at the end of our six weeks of drifting, sunk so low in our
spirits, and become so apathetic about our situation, that we became
lax in our shipboard duties. As the days dragged by, we assigned one
watch for the long nights, and another for the daylight hours. I am
sure that if these men had been watched, they would have been observed
dozing at their posts, for none of us expected anything unusual to
happen, and by this time moved in that aimless lethargy of men without
aim or purpose.
It was on the morning of what I presumed to be the 42nd day of our
drifting, that a frenzied shout from the night watch jolted us from
our bunks. Land had been sighted, and all hands, laughing and shouting
like men freed from long imprisonment, sprang to work, long neglected,
to reach this land. But each time we came close enough to use the
small landing boats, the land seemed to move away from us, until at
last we found that the land sighted was a cluster of many sized and
shaped floating islands, the largest of which became our goal. These
islands moved on the conflicting currents, and seemed forever out of
our reach. Finally, at the close of four days of chasing the island,
we were caught up on a current that crossed with that of the largest,
and it was there, on a strange, disjointed piece of land, on a strange,
cut-off sea, that we found what seemed to all of us to be our dream of
Paradise.
The island was verdantly green, overflowing with exotic flowers,
and huge graceful trees which bore sweet succulent fruit. A heavy,
jasmine-sweet scent was in the gentle winds. Here was a land of such
incredible beauty and serenity that I knew somehow no men had ever been
there before. Small, spring-fed streams veined over the island, and the
water from these streams was like the coolest nectar. The days were
always full of sunshine, and the sky a shimmering blue, but for all
that sun, the days were never more than comfortably warm. The island
nights were nights of incredible beauty. The waters shone with a
thousand, a million diamonds of phosphorus, the night air was cool and
sweet, and the stars above seemed close enough to pluck from the sky.
Day and night, the peace and serenity none of us had ever experienced
before was over all, and I yearn for that serenity to this day. There
is always, I believe now, that feeling over those wonders of Nature
untouched by Man.
Perhaps it was because they had lived so long in strangeness and
uncertainty that they had become apathetic, or perhaps it was because
they had found on this island Paradise the very essence of their hidden
dream of peace and beauty--whatever the reason, the men who had been
my companions and shipmates all through these amazing happenings, now
seemed content to loll beneath the palm trees, swim in the clear,
warm water, or fish from the canoes which they had fashioned. I heard
no mention of returning to Cape Cod, nor saw any desire nor yearning
for familiar faces and home land. We had established, in a small
sheltered cove at the south of the island where we had first landed,
our headquarters. Here we had everything necessary for living. A small
stream was close at hand, the sea was at our doorstep, and the cove
was abundant with the coconut trees, the tropical fruit bushes, and a
plentiful amount of trees suitable for building and firewood. My mates
seemed perfectly content to stay in this restricted area, and seemed to
have no desire to explore further the island upon which we had landed.
But, although I too felt that serenity, happiness, and contentment, I
yearned to explore the rest of the island, for I felt that there were
other mysteries and wonders yet to be seen.
The rest of the island, which I set out to explore on the sixth day of
our stay, was much like the small part in which we had encamped, but
seemed to grow increasingly more beautiful as I travelled inland. All
through the morning, I tramped through the thick growth of the island,
coming now and then upon small glades, where damp, fresh green moss
surrounded little pools and silvery streams. These glades were dark and
cool, and the air was pure and refreshing.
As I neared what I judged to be the centermost part of the island, I
broke through a wall of the island greenery, and saw, like a blazing
jewel in a setting of green, a lake, its waters of glowing, deep
blue. This lake was surrounded by long-leaved trees, like the weeping
willow I had seen at home, that trailed to the thick carpet of rich
green moss below. Curling vine tendrils, dashed here and there with
dots of red berries and exotic flowers, locked themselves around the
giant cypress trees. The sun pointed shafts of dull gold through the
trees that clasped their hands overhead, and the air was alive, vital,
and refreshingly cool, a direct contrast to the pleasant, but heavy,
sensuously sweet smell of the rest of the island.
The cool, secluded lakeside oasis was a perfect place to stop from my
exploring, so I settled down on a soft knoll of moss, ate fruit from
nearby trees, and drank the sweet coconut milk. I must have fallen into
a deep and restful sleep, for I suddenly started up, arrested by sounds
which I first attributed to dreams. The silence and serenity was still
in the air, but there came to my ears, attuned by the deep silence
to any small sound, a strange, melodic humming. I was aware through
some instinct that I must not move. As I strained my ears, the humming
became louder, and looking over the lake, I saw its smooth surface
ripple as if a child had thrown a handful of pebbles onto it. The
humming vibrations seemed to have their source directly in the lake.
I could sit still no longer, and crept slowly to the water’s edge. The
ripples grew larger, and to my amazed eyes there appeared a hundred or
so small fish, whose brilliantly colored bodies shimmered and vibrated.
These fish were singing! The humming grew in intensity, and I was able
to recognize several of the melodies; Scottish airs, South African
chants, Southern Negro songs, Cape Cod sea chanties, Lullabies--all
these came to my ear on a wave of the most beautiful harmony I have
ever heard. My brain reeled with the phenomena and the beauty of the
music. I could not believe what my own ears and eyes told me, and made
a sudden movement toward the water. The humming ceased instantly,
the fish vanished, and the water’s surface was as smooth as before.
The great silence once more filled the atmosphere. I felt a strange
exultation as I made my way back to the camp, and though I said nothing
of this amazing discovery to my companions, I determined to return to
the lake of the humming fish the next day.
Day after day I returned to the green, cool loveliness surrounding the
lake of the humming fish. And each day I awoke wondering what I could
find there. At times the fish would seem to greet me with their burst
of humming, but upon other occasions they never appeared. It was on
those days of silence that I began to think that I was fast approaching
insanity. As the days passed, I became more hypnotized by the phenomena
of these humming fish. Gradually they seemed to become accustomed to my
presence, and two of the boldest allowed me to feed them small bits of
berry and weed that I tossed to them. Several times these two came to
the surface alone, and refused to hum until I had given them the food.
I began to think of these two fish, which were bright silver in color,
with gorgeous stripes of deepest blue, green, and yellow, as my own.
My strange rendezvous with the humming fish continued for several
weeks, and when my mates at last came from their dream-world and
began thinking of home and family, I determined to capture the two
fish and carry them home with me. At length our ship, which we had
all considered wrecked beyond repair, was mended enough to warrant an
attempt to leave the island and the sea of currents.
On my last journey to the lake of the humming fish, which I had come to
consider as my own piece of paradise and contentment, I lured the small
humming fish into a wide-mouthed jug, filled with water from their own
lake. I supplied myself also with three kegs of this same lake water,
and prepared to carry the fish home with me.
I will not dwell on the voyage home, it suffices to say that we all
arrived safely, and pledged ourselves to secrecy about the island and
the sea we had visited. At home harbor, each man went his separate
way, and I, with my humming fish, strode home through the darkness,
taking the shortcut around Monomoy Point. The night was dark as ink,
and I stumbled from weariness, dropping the precious keg of fish on
the rocks at the water’s edge, and the two humming fish escaped. It
seemed at that moment that all I had experienced was a dream, for in
the vanishing of the fish, only the memory of my island paradise could
remain.
For days I walked to the spot at Monomoy Point where the fish had
escaped. I called to them as I had at the island lake, and left small
bits of their favorite berry food at the water’s edge, but they could
not, or would not, appear.
You are perhaps wondering why I kept silent so long. I had a wife and
three children, and I was a man of good name in my Cape Cod community,
and could not risk their well being by the revelation of this incident,
which would surely mark me as touched. And further, I did not wish to
have this most wonderful of experiences tarnished and bandied about by
unimaginative and callous cynics.
It has been many years since I have gone to Monomoy Point in an attempt
to call back the humming fish from that loveliest lake on the island
paradise, but I have never forgotten them or the place in which I first
found them. All my recollections are as vivid and as real as the day
when I first found myself in that strange and beautiful setting.
[Illustration]
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed.