Chapter 2

Falmouth--Falmouth is one of the larger villages on the Cape that draws a fine class of summer residents who populate its fine hotels and summer homes. It has varied scenery as it lies between Buzzards Bay and Vineyard Sound. Its hotels are among the best and for attractiveness cannot be rivalled anywhere. At Woods Hole, a part of Falmouth, is found another settlement of exclusive character. Falmouth has several other villages, all with fine hotels, golf links and boat harbors.

Sandwich--This town on the North side of the Cape is one of the old and original settlements and is on the banks of the Cape Cod canal. It has extensive woodlands dotted with well stocked ponds and is very attractive to campers.

Bourne--Sagamore Beach, within the confines of the town of Bourne, is on the north shore and is a pretentious cottage colony with two excellent hotels. Golf links are adjacent and it has its own water system, community house and tennis courts. Cataumet and Pocasset are parts of Bourne which border on Buzzards Bay as well as Monument Beach and the village of Buzzards Bay, itself. These are typical bayside resorts where boating, bathing, fishing and golf are extensively indulged in. The town is intersected by the Cape Cod canal and the traffic that flows through it passes in front of the summer colonies.

Martha's Vineyard--This is an off-shore island reached by a half-hour's boat ride from Woods Hole. A poet has said of it, "a little bit of Heaven dropped from out the sky one day" which aptly describes it. Oak Bluffs, Edgartown. Vineyard Haven, Tisbury, Chilmark and Gay Head are its principal villages. The island presents all the best features of an ideal summer vacation spot away from the mainland, yet possessing all the essential features which go to make life comfortable. Its hotels are many and excellent.

Nantucket--Further at sea, a two and a half hours' steamboat ride from Woods Hole. Unique is a word that inadequately describes it. All over the United States there are people who assert that there is no place like Nantucket on the face of the globe. It has a large summer population and tourists are adequately cared for. It has the most regular climate of any place along the New England coast, the temperature averaging 76 degrees during the summer months. It is cooled by the Atlantic breezes.

Onset--This is a busy and thriving summer resort located in a beautiful spot on upper Buzzards Bay. It attracts many thousands of people during the summer months, who come to spend a few weeks, days, or the season there. It is a cottage colony supplemented by hotels and boarding houses that fit the purses of all classes.

At some of these places, either on Cape Cod itself or the islands, every person can find conditions suited to his or her individual taste.

WELLFLEET

EDWARD L. SMITH

Cape Cod has many fine distinctions that make it stand out from a commonplace world and Wellfleet, as a town name, marks the Cape with a place-name known all over the globe, but in no other locality than on the coast of Barnstable Bay. It is true that a misguided, homesick, and ill-advised denizen of the Cape, roaming the arid, inland sand wastes of Nebraska, foisted the name of "Wellfleet" on his townsite. But as it has to date remained "unwept, unhonored and unsung," so is it quite unknown to sailors or to the sea, being about fifteen hundred miles from salt water and an immeasurable distance from being appropriately named.

The origin of the name "Wellfleet" has always been a source of lively interest to those who delight to delve to the roots of things historical. So many of our early towns in Massachusetts were named by the Englishmen who settled them for English towns familiar to them before they came oversea, that England is the natural source from whence such a Saxon-English name as Wellfleet might come.

After forty years of desultory search by the writer, the problem is yet unsolved, though a good Yankee guess may not come very far out of the way.

When that part of old Nawsett now Wellfleet was first settled it was noted for the abundance of shell fish in the harbor and creeks, or cricks as then called, and oysters were both especially plentiful and choice.

In England, on the coast of Essex, and not far from the Thames, was a stretch of oyster beds noted in the sixteenth century for their production of oyster different from all other locations and revered by epicures of those far-away times to be the luscious complement necessary to their royal as well as more common plebeian feasts. But we had best let old John Norden, who in 1594 published the results of his life-long investigations into the history of Essex, tell the story, which here is given verbatim as it appears in his work, "SPECTLI BRITTANNIE PARS."

"Some part of the sea shore of Essex yealdeth the beste oysters in England, which are called Walflete oysters: so called of a place in the sea; but of which place in the sea it is, hath been some disputation. And by the circumstances that I have observed thereof in my travail, I take it to be the shore which lieth betwene St. Peter's chappell and Crowch the bredthe onlie of Denge hundred, through which upon the verie shore, was erected a wall for the preservation of the lande. And thereof St. Peter's on the wall. And all the sea shore which beateth on the wall is called Walfleet. And upon that shore on, and not elswher, but up in Crouche creeke, at the ende of the wall, wher also is an ilande called commonlie and corruptlie Walled (but I take it more trulie Wallflete) Island, wher and about which ilande thys kinde of oyster abonndeth. Ther is greate difference betwene theis oysters and others which lie ypon other shores, for this oyster, that in London and els wher carieth the name of Walflete is a little full oyster with a verie greene finn. And like vnto theis in quantetie and qualitie are none in this lande, thowgh farr bigger, and for some mens diettes better."

From the above we may understand that Wellfleet oysters, which have been celebrated in the English markets for between three and four hundred years, might easily have led the settlers of Nawsett to believe that at Billinsgate, they had a new Wallfleet Oyster bed. The fact that Wallfleet oysters were marketed at Billinsgate, always the big fish market of the Londoners, and that our Wellfleet was at first known as Billingsgate, seems more than a mere coincidence.

The difference in spelling between the names "Wallfleet" and "Wellfleet" is not material. Barnstable; town, county and bay, take their name from Barnstaple on the coast of Devon. Norden, who was a highly educated man of University breeding, and a polished writer, varied the spelling of some words even in the same paragraph as witness "Crowch" and "Crouche," also "Ilande" and "Island." The diversified spellings of many of our common names is so marked as to be beyond comment except to note their wide variety, due to attempts to follow the peculiar phonetics of untaught individuals. In the one particular of "Well," who of us has not heard that word pronounced "W-a-a-l." when used as an interjection? All of which makes it seem inescapable from the theory that Wellfleet on the Cape is named after WALLFLEET on the coast of Essex, England.

A SQUEAK FOR A LIFE

1850

P.T. CHAMBERLAIN

"Whither bound?" said his wife to the captain one morn As he stood, oars and fish lines in his hands, "Outside Sandy Neck, to try fisherman's luck For bluefish, or mackerel or clams."

"Good luck and good-bye," said his fond loving wife, "The weather looks pleasant and fair, You'll be back at the landing on the full of the tide, And the children and I'll wait you there."

But when rounding Beach Point, with his good catch of fish, The captain was caught in a squall, Black clouds, wind and thunder, lightning and hail, While the rain in torrents did fall.

Quick he lowered his sail, but the wind snapped his mast, Away they went over the side. One gunwale under water, the other in air, Lifted high by the surging tide.

Then the captain braced himself as with sinews of steel, A hand on each gunwale places he, So he balanced and steadied his frail little craft, Rolling there in the trough of the sea.

His wife from the window saw his peril in the storm. And away to the landing she sped. Tied her white linen apron to a handy boat book, And waved it high o'er her head.

"Home, home for a lantern," to the laddie she cried. Home, home for the lantern ran he, Returning, he swung it, back and forth, to and fro, That his brave sailor father might see.

Soaked to the skin with the rain and the spray, His face as white as the foam, "Must I drown in sight of my wife," he said, "Must I die within reach of my home."

"For the sake of my helpless little ones, For the sake of my faithful wife. I pray Thee, O Lord, to forgive all my sins, Give me this one chance for my life."

Still darker grew the storm, black and green looked the waves, The shore line to the captain grew dim, But he knew by the lantern and the waving white flag, Where his loved ones were watching for him.

Three hours he struggled with the full flooding tide. Now the Channel Rock danger is o'er. One more stretch of water, some more dangerous rocks, Then the gleaming surf, then the shore.

"A rope, bring a rope," the kind neighbors shout, "A rope now the captain will save." They coiled a stout rope and with powerful hand, Flung it out o'er the turbulent wave.

Joy! Joy! he is saved! He clutches the rope, With cold, bruised and stiffening hand, A long pull, a strong' pull, and more dead than alive, Through the surf they draw him to land.

"Home, home for hot coffee," to the lassie she cried, Home, home for hot coffee, went she, Returning, brought coffee, dry clothing, warm food, A fleet-footed lassie was she.

But the kid, boylike, would investigate the boat, And so he climbed over its side. "Half full of water," he said, "not a bluefish or clam, Must have all floated out on the tide."

With boat hook and lantern, the kids travelled home, "Little sister, now what do you think, Hadn't we said, 'Now I lay me,' to the Lord every night? Would He let Pa and our dory sink?"

"No, no," said the lassie, "No, no, that ain't so, Naughty children very often are we, 'Tis 'cause Ma puts a Bible in Pa's chest of clothes Every time that he goes 'way to sea."

Gratitude profound, thanksgiving and joy Filled the heart of the loving wife, But the captain, a man of few words, only said, "Yes, a pretty narrow squeak for a life."

RICHES

C.A. COTTRELL

If I can leave behind me, here and there A friend or two to say when I am gone That I have helped to make their pathways fair, Had brought them smiles when they were bowed with care, The riches of this world I'll carry on. If only three or four shall pause to say When I have passed beyond this earthly sphere, That I brought gladness to them on a day When bitterness was theirs, I'll take away More riches than a billionaire leaves here.

CAPE TROUT STREAMS

The chronic trout fisherman is by nature secretive. He is loath to tell where he made his big catches and shrouds the location of the streams in mystery. If pinned down closely he will sometimes indicate a general locality but it is hard to get him to be more definite. The reason for this is obvious. He is zealous of his rights as a "discoverer" and feels that he is not obliged to share his knowledge with anybody. He won't take the risk of having the stream "fished out" by others than himself. The secrets of the location of gold strikes in the days of '49 were no more closely kept.

When the 15th of April comes around each year there are certain wise men who proceed to load up their automobiles with their fishing tackle and in the early morning turn Capeward. They have experiences of previous years to guide them and know certain brooks and pools where the speckled beauties await them. The wise ones know just where to throw their lines and the kind of bait that is sure to lure the denizens of that particular spot. For fishing is a science, as well as a sport requiring skill and judgment. The born fisherman seems to have an uncanny sense of piscatorial thoughts and almost instinctively can determine just the right thing to do and the right time to do it, while the mere amateur fisherman who only wets a line occasionally guesses whether to use a fly or a worm.

Yes, the Cape is a noted Mecca for trout fishermen, at least certain parts of the Cape. Within the confines of Bourne, Mashpee, Falmouth and Barnstable are many likely trout brooks and from them are annually taken many catches that gladden the hearts of the sportsmen.

These brooks run into the ponds and the sea, they run through marshes and woods. They abound in trout, of the square-tail variety, and those who know them keep their secrets closely.

Sometimes a fisherman exhibits a basket of fish that astonishes all beholders. Big speckled beauties they are and in quantity sufficient to satisfy any one.

Some of the biggest of them may be "salters," fish caught near the mouths of the brooks that run into the sea and weighing all the way from a pound to two pounds or more. There is authentic information that trout weighing more than two and a half pounds have been taken from these Cape Cod streams.

Unfortunately for the general public many of the brooks are "posted," but there are a lot of fishermen that "don't believe in signs" and when they see a sign of "no fishing here" they are apt to challenge the statement and some of them aver that there is very good fishing there indeed.

It is a matter of history that the Pilgrims found trout in the Cape Cod streams. It is a matter of fact that many of the brooks have been stocked by private individuals and by the state. Every year the fish in these stocked brooks increase in size and the sophisticated fishermen keep track of them from year to year. The state keeps a record of the stocking of streams and that information can be obtained and made use of.

At Sandwich the state maintains a trout hatchery where millions of eggs are secured. These eggs develop into fry and fingerlings and they are distributed throughout the state, the Cape getting its full share.

A visit to this hatchery is interesting. It demonstrates how the state strives to increase sport for its residents. Science and experience are exercised and the result is that the fishing advantages of the state are steadily increasing.

One of the chief drawbacks of having well stocked streams is the unsportsmanlike conduct of many fishermen. To them a trout is a trout regardless of its size and hundreds of small fish are taken from the streams that should be put back and allowed to grow for another year. There may be satisfaction for some in catching a large quantity of seven-inch fish, but there is a greater satisfaction in catching fewer in number and larger in size.

Many of the streams are suitable for fly-casting and experienced fishermen delight in that method of filling their creel. To cast a gossamer silk line with an alluring fly into the deeper pools and to feel the thrill of a strike as the fly flits over the surface is a joy that far outweighs the less spectacular method of fishing with worm or grub and dragging the trout from the water by main strength. There is a skill in fly-casting that comes from long practice and the fisherman who is expert in this method cares to use no other.

The trout is a shy fish and the blundering sportsman who goes stumbling through the underbrush, who allows his shadow to fall upon the pool, or who in other ways announces to the fish lurking under the bank that he is present with homicidal intent often wonders why it is that the results are so small for the amount of effort expended. He may aver that the stream is barren of fish when the fact is that his own clumsiness is responsible for his lack of success.

In other words there are all kinds of fishermen; to the victor belongs the spoils and the greater the skill the greater the spoil. We are not asserting that Cape Cod trout streams are as prolific as are some in more remote regions, they are fished too frequently for that, but any one wanting a day's sport will not find them entirely lacking and very often will proudly exhibit catches that will by no means be insignificant, even to the most experienced and enthusiastic fisherman.

* * * * *

"No sah, ah doan't neber ride on dem things," said an old coloured lady looking in on the merry-go-round.

"Why, de other day I seen dat Rastus Johnson git on an' ride as much as a dollah's worth an' git off at the very same place he got on at, an' I sez to him: 'Rastus,' I sez, 'yo' spent yo' money, but whar yo' been?'"

--Ladies Home Journal.

OCEAN TRAVELS

EMMA B. PRAY

Not very long ago, in one of the newspapers, I read of a lady who had traveled some thirty thousand odd miles in her life time, and the item set me to thinking of the many times I had traveled with my husband some years ago when he commanded a clipper ship on Eastern voyages. For Curiosity's sake I looked over my journals and found that in the few voyages I had made I had covered two hundred forty-nine thousand two hundred sixteen miles--but how it all came about is a long story.

When I was a young girl, if any one had told me that I should spend a certain number of years travelling about in Eastern countries, passing three or four months at a time on the ocean, I should have said, "What an idea! Here I am, born and brought up in a small New Hampshire town, in a family whose idea seems to be to keep as far away from the water as possible, and with no thought of ever crossing it, 'Unless,' as my father used to say, 'there should be a bridge built by which we could do so'."

In fact my knowledge of a ship and its belongings was nearly equal to that of the young lady who was about to make her first trip across the ocean with her father. Seeing the sailors about to weigh anchor she inquired why they were working so hard. Her father replied, "They are weighing the anchor, my dear." "How absurd! If the Captain wants to know the weight of the anchor why doesn't he have it weighed beforehand and not wait until we get ready to start and then keep us waiting for the men to weigh it?"

However, it is the unexpected that always happens, and one day I married a young sea captain from a seaport town. He was soon to sail for Australia, and to me such a trip was literally going to the ends of the earth. I feel sure that my parents never expected me to return. What preparations we made for that voyage! What pickles, preserves, cakes, and everything that would keep, were packed for me and sent aboard our ship which was lying in New York harbor!

Our cabins were beautifully fitted up with every convenience and comfort that we could have on shore. The saloon, or after-cabin, was finished in bird's-eye maple and satin wood veneering. Wilton carpets and furnishings of raw silk made a homelike and attractive room. Our stateroom, with large double bed, and our own private bath opening from the stateroom, left us nothing to wish for in the line of comfort. The second cabin, or dining quarters for the Captain and First Officer, was finished like the after-cabin, while forward of the two was the mess room for the Second and petty officers.

At last the day came on which we were to sail, and, realizing that I was not a born sailor, I made up my mind that I must make myself over into one, though the making over process proved to be nearly the death of me. For the first ten days I can recall but little outside of a promiscuous tumbling about of movable objects and, though urged strongly to go on deck I refused to do so, caring little whether I lived or died. However, one day I was literally taken up, carried on deck, and placed in a steamer chair, and from that time I recovered rapidly.

So many people have asked me if the time at sea did not hang heavily on my hands. What did I do? Was I not lonesome, homesick, and innumerable other like questions to which I have honestly replied that I was not lonesome or homesick. We purchased books by the hundred before sailing, and with a piano and flute, passed many pleasant hours. So much fancy work was always on hand that I have cared but little for it since. Whenever the weather permitted I walked two or three miles up and down the quarter deck, so many times up and back making a mile. Occasionally we took with us as passenger some young man whom we knew very well and who wished to take such a voyage. At one time a brother of mine, also one of the Captain's were our companions; two other times, young men from our own state proved to be excellent company, and to this day we enjoy nothing more than talking over our odd experiences in the different countries to which we traveled. Though I was the only lady on board I did not feel the lack of companionship of other women. A queer life it was! No one to come and no one to go, with nothing but the sky and water to be seen.

In two weeks time we had the N.E. Trade Winds and fairly flew along. Each day brought its own particular work aboard the ship, for a sailor is never idle. There is always something for him to do. Chafing gear, of which there is a large amount, is always being worn out and has to be renewed, sails made and repaired, work on rigging, tarring, painting, etc.

Perhaps the most interesting part of each day was the marking off of the chart at noon. At that time the Captain would work out his latitude and longitude, mark our position for the last twenty-four hours, and shape our course for the next twenty-four. We often towed lines for dolphin, and it was curious to see their change of color as they were hauled in. We had them baked occasionally and found them very fair eating. On opening one, at one time, it was found to be packed with flying fish which had been swallowed whole and which some of the sailors took out and had cooked for themselves, though for my part I should have preferred having the first eating of them. The flying fish which came aboard were usually served to me as they were considered a great delicacy. We caught many jelly fish or Portuguese men of war as they are sometimes called, and they were very curious to look at. They are of a jelly-like substance, with apparently no eyes or mouth, and are bluish in color. They have a pink crest and when the wind strikes them, as they float on the water, they rock and sway like a boat. Dangling from the lower part are many small feelers, some of which are short and thick, and others of great length, which they turn and twist rapidly about.