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CAPE COD
and ALL the
PILGRIM LAND

A Monthly Magazine Devoted to the Interests of
Southeastern Massachusetts


Entered as Second Class Matter at the Post Office at
HYANNIS, MASS.


JUNE 1922
Volume 6, Number 4


PUBLISHED BY
THE CAPE COD PUBLISHING CO., Inc.
HYANNIS, MASS

Lemuel C. Hall, Editor    Charles L Gifford, Business Mgr

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: Frontispiece--DANCING ON THE SANDS]




CONTENTS


FROM THE PUBLISHER'S DESK

FRONTISPIECE--Dancing on the Sands

THE PORTAL OF THE CAPE--L.C. Hall

WHERE SHALL I SPEND MY VACATION

WELLFLEET--Edward L. Smith

A SQUEAK FOR A LIFE--P.T. Chamberlain

CAPE TROUT STREAMS.

OCEAN TRAVELS--Emma M. Pray

EDITORIALS

"CONCLUSIVE EVIDENCE"--E.M. Chase

"BY HEART"--Lillian E. Andrews.

"BY TELEPHONE"--E.M. Chase.

FALMOUTH INNER HARBOR

"BASS RIVER"--Arethusa

CAPE COD NOTES

A DELAYED LETTER

A MILLION QUARTS OF STRAWBERRIES

       *       *       *       *       *




FOR AUTO TOURISTS


The following tourist routes from Boston to points in Pilgrim Land
will be found useful to autoists:


BOSTON TO BUZZARDS BAY VIA BROCKTON

0.0  Park Square, westerly on Boylston Street, bearing left on
Huntington Avenue at Copley Square.

1.1 Turn right on Massachusetts Avenue and bear left on Westland
Avenue.

1.4 Pass through entrance to Fenway, curving left and bearing right
at Y.

1.6 Y, after crossing stone bridge, keep left.

1.9 Y, bear left across stone bridge; turning right and crossing
Brookline Avenue.

2.9 Y, bear slightly left, crossing Brookline Avenue.

3.3 Cross Huntington Avenue and enter Jamaica Way.

4.4 Jamaica Pond on right; bear right on Pond Street, but at Y keep
left on Jamaica Way.

5.9 After passing Arnold Arboretum on right, jog right and left into
Morton Street, passing under railroad and continuing on Morton Street,
to

6.3 Y, keep right on Morton Street.

7.9 Turn right on Blue Hill Avenue and follow trolley to

9.1  Mattapan Square. Straight ahead over bridge, bearing left on
Blue Hills Parkway.

9.5 Y, turn left and follow trolley on Brook Road.

10.2 Junction of five roads, turn right on White Street.

10.5 Through five corners, running into Reedsdale Road.

11.1 Four corners, turn right on Randolph Avenue, with trolleys.

17.4  Randolph, five corners, bear right with trolley.

19.5  Avon. Pass monument on left, follow trolley.

23.4  Brockton. Straight ahead on Main Street.

27.8  W. Bridgewater. Turn left at monument, following trolley.

30.5  Bridgewater. Straight through.

39.1  Middleboro. Turn left with trolley.

50.6  Tremont. Follow trolley.

54.4  Wareham. Straight ahead, turn left with trolley over bridge.

57.1  E. Wareham. Turn right at garage; cross railroad at Onset
Junction; follow trolley.

58.4  Onset. Follow trolley.

61.1  Buzzards Bay.


BUZZARDS BAY TO PROVINCETOWN

0.0  Buzzards Bay  station on right; straight ahead, avoiding left-hand
roads.

5.4 Three corners, turn right over canal bridge.

5.7  Sagamore. Straight ahead, turning left at end of road.

8.0  Sandwich. Curve left.

19.4  Barnstable. Straight ahead.

22.9  Yarmouthport. Straight ahead.

27.4  Dennis. Straight ahead.

32.8  Brewster. Straight ahead.

39.7  Orleans. Straight ahead.

43.5  Eastham. Straight ahead.

52.7  Wellfleet. Straight ahead around curves.

57.6  Truro. Straight ahead.

67.5  Provincetown.


BUZZARDS BAY TO PROVINCETOWN VIA FALMOUTH

0.0  Buzzards Bay. Railroad station on right; go straight ahead.

0.7 Turn right over bridge across canal; turn sharp right at store.

3.5  Monument Beach. Turn left, passing railroad station; straight
ahead.

16.4  Falmouth. Turn left at park.

26.2  Mashpee. Straight through.

32.7  Marston Mills. Bear right up grade.

34.0  For Cotuit, bear right.

35.3  Osterville. Y, bear left through irregular four corners.

37.1  Centerville. Straight ahead, but at end of road, turn left.

42.0  Hyannis. Straight ahead.

47.1  S. Yarmouth. Turn sharp right and cross bridge.

48.5  W. Dennis. Straight ahead, bearing right at Y.

51.0  W. Harwich. Straight ahead.

53.8  Harwichport. Straight ahead.

60.4  Chatham. Just before reaching village, turn left at white church.

69.1  Orleans. Bear right at irregular four corners and follow macadam
road to

96.9  Provincetown.


SAGAMORE TO PLYMOUTH

Keep straight ahead after crossing canal bridge. Good road all the
way to Plymouth.


BOSTON TO PLYMOUTH

0.0  Boston. Park Square. Follow route given above to Mattapan Square.

9.1  Mattapan  Square. Straight ahead over bridge, bearing left on
Blue Hills Parkway. Y, turn left and follow trolley on Brook Road,
cross Central Avenue and bear left on Brook Road. End of Brook Road,
curve left to Adams Street.

12.4  E. Milton. Cross railroad and keep straight ahead.

14.7  Quincy. Washington Square, curve left with trolley.

21.1  Hingham. Railroad station on right; straight ahead with trolley
to Y at top of grade, bear right on Summer Street, leaving trolley.

26.1  Cohasset. Railroad station on right; four corner, straight ahead.

27.9  N. Scituate. Cross railroad; straight on to

38.2  Marshfield. Turn right on Moraine Street.

46.8  Kingston. Cross railroad, follow trolley to

51.2  Plymouth.

"Y" means the fork of two roads.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE--The map plainly shows the routes that can be taken by
automobiles on the Cape. The red lines show state highways and
macadam roads. Any road marked in red can be safely taken. Patronize
the garages, hotels and stores on this sheet. THEY ARE RELIABLE AND
GOOD.

[Transcriber's Note: Map missing from original text.]

       *       *       *       *       *




FROM THE PUBLISHERS' DESK

THE MAN WHO WANTS TO DO IT ALL


You're to blame if your mind is wasting time. It does the work you
select.

Fill your head with trifles and there'll be no space for big things.
Hack ideas occupy as much room as thoroughbred inspirations.
Unimportant details frequently require as much attention as
constructive plans.

Proportion is the sixth sense and without it the other five are
practically useless.

Apply your days discreetly--don't do anything which you can hire
somebody else to execute for you. Concentrate on paying propositions.
Aside from the arts and fine crafts, nobody ever got far
single-handed.

Delegate the lesser duties to assistants. Let them make an occasional
mistake. If you're saving your thoughts for the responsibility of
management a few inaccuracies in the organization won't amount to
much.

Differentiate between incidents and issues.

One can't lead and follow simultaneously.

Rely on subordinates. You can't be the whole works.

As the head of the concern, you're the highest priced employee.
Figure your hour value and invest it accordingly. Triphammers may
drive tacks, but not profitably. The operation is too expensive for
the return.

Thoroughness is an admirable quality when intelligently exercised,
but a folly when the game isn't worth the candle.

You're a good bargainer but you make bad deals despite the
concessions secured if the final terms represent a reduction which
does not cover the cost of your energy.

You can hire folk to handle most interviews and satisfy the demands
of the average caller.

Correspondence clerks can read and answer the greater part of the
mail.

One letter in twenty deserves your consideration--the nineteen are
merely routine communications which should never come under your
notice.

Study the future; observe the trend of events--weigh conditions.
Success is the servant of forethought and you won't be able to
measure possibilities except you have free moments to reflect and
scheme.

Get the dimes out of our eyes and find where the thousands are
located.

Engage experts to purchase supplies and run systems--reserve
yourself for decisive matters; that's real economy.

Hold the throttle--watch the gauge and signals or there will be a
wreck and you'll be in it.

Stick to your cab, keep the schedule. The engineer who tries to be
fireman, conductor and brakeman as well, is headed for a smash.




"THE PORTAL OF THE CAPE"

L.C. HALL


The present town of Bourne can claim many interesting facts about
its early history although not for 200 years after the coming of the
Pilgrims did it become a separate town. It was included within the
limits of the town of Sandwich until the comparatively recent date of
1884.

In 1622 Governor Bradford visited the Indian village of Manomet, so
called in their language, but which became corrupted into Monument,
a name by which the place was long known. It is probable that the
reason of the visit was partly for the purpose of establishing a
short cut between Buzzards Bay and Plymouth, via the Manomet (or
Monument) River.

[Illustration: THE PORTAL OF THE CANAL]

This river, now obliterated by the Cape Cod canal, had its origin in
Great Herring Pond in the Plymouth woods and flowed by a rather
circuitous route into Buzzards Bay at a point near the present
railroad bridge over the canal.

It was in 1627 that the colonists established a trading post on the
banks of this river, the exact point being known and marked. It was
on the south side of the river a short distance south of the Bourne
bridge spanning the canal. This structure was built for the purpose
of facilitating their intercourse with the Narragansett country, New
Amsterdam (New York), and the shores of Long Island sound. By
transporting their goods up the creek from Scusset harbor (Sandwich)
and transferring them to what is now Bournedale by land, they
reached the boatable waters of the Manomet (or Monument) river and
the open waters of Buzzards Bay.

Governor Bradford says; "For our greater convenience of trade, to
discharge our engagements, and to maintain ourselves, we built a
small pinnace at Manomet, a place on the sea, twenty miles to the
south, to which by another creek on this side, we transport our
goods by water within four or five miles and then carry them
overland to the vessel; thereby avoiding the compassing of Cape Cod
with those dangerous shoals, and make our voyage to the southward
with far less time and hazzard. For the safety of our vessel and our
goods we also there built a house and keep some servants, who plant
corn, raise swine, and are always ready to go out with the bark--which
takes good effect and turns to advantage."

The first communication between the Plymouth colony and the Dutch at
Fort Amsterdam was through this post. With a ship load of sugar,
linen and food stuffs, De Razier, the noted merchant, arrived at
Manomet in September, 1627, and Governor Bradford sent a boat to
Scusset harbor to convey him to Plymouth. There the trading was done
and the first merchandising venture of New England consummated.

In 1635 a tidal wave swept over this part of the Cape on the 15th of
August, destroying the trading post and partially filling the river
with sand.

When the white men came Bourne contained other Indian hamlets beside
Manomet. At the south was Pokesit (Pocasset) and still to the south
was Kitteaumut (Cataumet), while to the north of all these was
Comasskumkanit, the home of the Herring pond Indians.

Bourne is the first town reached when driving Capeward. After
passing through Wareham from the west and nearing Buzzards Bay, Cape
Cod and the town of Bourne is entered after passing over the new
concrete bridge over Cohasset Narrows, the most northerly arm of
Buzzards Bay. This fine concrete structure, completed last year at
an expense of about a quarter of a million dollars, is really the
"Portal of the Cape," although there is another way to reach it from
the direction of Plymouth, also passing through the town of Bourne.

[Illustration: YACHT RACE IN BUZZARD'S BAY]

The village of Buzzards Bay is a railroad junction point and there
the Cape Cod canal makes its exit into Buzzards Bay. Thence to
Bourne proper is only about a mile. Bourne, the village, is
intersected by the canal and is connected by the highway bridge over
the canal. There are two main highways following the course of the
canal. The one on the north side follows its course most of the way,
passing the village of Bournedale, thence to Sagamore, by crossing
over the easterly canal bridge. The other road is on the south side
of the canal and the two join at Sagamore village, where a single
main road runs to the Sandwich line and the central and lower Cape.

Southerly the town extends toward Falmouth and along the line of the
Woods Hole branch railroad lie the summer resort villages of
Monument Beach, Pocasset and Cataumet. These resorts are popular
from their sightly location along the shores of Buzzards Bay. The
views are entrancing, the waters of the bay are suitable for warm
sea bathing and boating is here a sport that is at its best. Back of
these villages lie woodlands extending easterly to Sandwich and
Mashpee.

Among the pioneers of Bourne are recognized Ebenezer Nye, John Smith,
Elisha Bourne, John Gibbs, Jr., Benjamin Gibbs and others who
followed them. The land was purchased from the Indians and permanent
homes were early established there.

In 1717 a unique proposal was made in the General Court for the
assessment of the towns on the Cape for the building and maintenance
of a fence from Peaked Hill cliffs on the Massachusetts bay side to
the head waters of Buzzards bay on the other side, to keep the
wolves of Plymouth county from invading Barnstable county where they
destroyed sheep and caused other destruction. Had the project gone
through it would have been a practical fencing off of the entire
Cape from the rest of the continent.

Probably the thing of greatest interest to tourists today in the
town of Bourne is the Cape Cod canal. It completely bisects the town
along its eight mile course through the land and is of never failing
interest to all strangers. Traffic passing through, consisting of
tugs towing barges, colliers, of large and small tonnage, freight
boats and occasional government craft can be seen at close view from
the highways on either side and from the bridges that span the canal.
The opening and closing of the two huge jack-knife bridges is seldom
without interested spectators during daylight hours.

At night the canal is brilliantly lighted along its banks and the
passage through of the big New York boat is a sight that attracts a
great many people. The value of the canal to the system of national
defense was demonstrated during the war and a bill is now before
Congress for the purchase of it and for its operation by the war
department. Probabilities point to much greater development under
government ownership when it will probably be widened and deepened
and there is a possibility that locks will be installed to regulate
the rushing current that now more or less hampers navigation.

The people of Bourne foresee advantages to their town through these
contemplated developments and hope for the establishment of a
landing place which will provide terminal facilities for steamers
handling passengers and freight.

[Illustration: SCENE FROM "PAGEANT OF CAPE COD" HELD AT BOURNE]

Aside from its extensive summer business along the shores of
Buzzards bay and its popular colony at Sagamore Beach on Cape Cod bay,
Bourne has comparatively little commercial activity. One large
manufacturing plant exists at Sagamore where the Keith Car and
Manufacturing Company is located and gives employment to a large
number of men. There freight cars are built and repaired under the
management of Eben S.S. Keith, a former member of the Governor's
council and one of the leading citizens of the Cape.

Bourne enjoys the distinction of being a former summer capital of
the country. When Grover Cleveland was president of the United
States he established his summer home at Gray Gables, near Buzzards
Bay village, and there was transacted the government's business
during his stay there. Gray Gables is still owned by his widow
although it is no longer occupied by her.

Another distinguished resident of Bourne was the late Joseph
Jefferson, the veteran actor, whose palatial residence "Crows' Nest"
on Buttermilk bay was one of the show places of the section. In a
little cemetery, just over the town line in Sandwich his body now
reposes, marked with a huge bowlder which he picked out during his
life time to mark his grave. Mr. Cleveland and Mr. Jefferson were
close and intimate friends and companions upon fishing trips about
Cape Cod territory.

Bourne, not "that bourne from whence no traveller returns," but
Bourne, the "Portal to Cape Cod," is a large and interesting town.
Within its limits abide many summer residents, occupying large and
small cottages and estates of refinement and beauty. It has many
drives of sylvan beauty, through shaded roads, by emerald ponds, and
over hills and through vales, commanding views of placid and
glimmering Buzzards bay and the broad reaches of Cape Cod bay on its
northerly side. Like other Cape Cod towns, it has a history of
maritime adventure behind it and a glorious future as a summer
resting place before it. The possibilities of its shores have
scarcely begun to be developed.

We need not admonish all who visit Cape Cod to "see Bourne" for
those who visit the Cape cannot possibly escape it unless they come
by boat or flying machine. In order to reach the Cape, Bourne must
necessarily be encountered and those who tarry there will find the
time well spent.

[Illustration]




WHERE SHALL I SPEND MY VACATION


Where shall I spend my vacation? This is the question that thousands
of people are asking themselves today. Since half the fun of a
vacation is the anticipation of it, the planning of it is something
that needs to be given consideration.

It might be asked, "why take a vacation?" and that question might be
answered by asking, "Why sleep, and why eat?" for vacations are
necessary parts of peoples' lives and those who have never known the
joys of them have never truly lived.

Vacations help to keep people young, they help to broaden their
views and renew their bodily and mental vigor.

[Illustration: SOME TYPICAL CAPE COD COTTAGES]

A vacation does not necessarily have to be expensive. Any change of
environment will do, but it is much more pleasurable to meet new
scenes and breathe new atmospheres. Whether one depends upon the
trains for transportation, or the boats, or automobiles and whether
one stops at the hotels, at the boarding houses or camps, depends
largely upon one's circumstances and inclination.

Ideas of vacations vary. Some delight in visiting the most sumptuous
hotels, to indulge in social intercourse and to enjoy complete
relaxation. Others like to live the strenuous life, to rough it in
camp and woods and field.

No matter what the desires are all of them can be culminated upon
Cape Cod.

So the answer to the question of our caption is, "spend it on Cape
Cod."

In a little more detail it may be said that Cape Cod has all the
attributes of an ideal vacation spot. It can be reached over smooth
highways which present no difficulties to the motorist. It can be
reached by train or boat, or even by flying machine if one so desires.
When reached a variety of entertainment may be found to suit all
tastes. There is Old Ocean everywhere, surging restlessly upon the
shores or lying placid in the bays and inlets. Those who enjoy
boating and bathing can indulge in those pleasures to their heart's
content. If they enjoy beautiful scenery, green trees, blue waters,
level spaces or hilly vistas, Cape Cod has them all.

If they wish to stop in modern hotels, to receive service of the
most exuberant kind, to be entertained royally, the hotels of Cape
Cod will answer their purpose.

If they like to fish, to camp, to live an out door life, indulge in
golf, tennis, or other games, Cape Cod can furnish them with the
opportunity.

If they search for the quaint and curious they can find it; if they
want to visit a section rich in Colonial history, to visit spots
where the Pilgrim Fathers trod, Cape Cod is the only place where
such can be found.

To particularize as to the attractions of different parts of the
Cape the following brief summary may serve to help solve the
vacation problem.

Provincetown--At the tip end of the Cape, except for a narrow
strip of land entirely surrounded by water. It has all the
attractions of an island and none of its disadvantages. The town is
quaint in its architecture, unique in its surroundings and especially
attractive to artists who form a large part of the summer colony
there. It is the summer rendevouz of the North Atlantic fleet of the
U.S. Navy and the home port of a large fishing fleet. It has excellent
hotels, and rooms and board may be obtained in many private families.
It may be reached by boat from Boston, by train or by automobile.

Truro and Highland Light--Highland Light is located upon a high
bluff overlooking the broad Atlantic in the town of Truro. The
topography of Truro is distinctive and picturesque with sand dunes,
rolling hills and salty marshes. Golf links and good fishing.

Wellfleet--Wellfleet is a pretty village in which there are good
hotels, a land locked harbor, and plenty of shell fish. Many summer
residents have their homes there and it is a favorite camping place.

Eastham--A town on the lower part of the Cape, quiet and pastoral.
An ideal place for campers and cottagers.

Orleans--By many considered one of the prettiest places on Cape
Cod. Has hotels and can provide for many boarders in private families.
A fine place for boating and picnics.

[Illustration: WHARVES AT PROVINCETOWN]

Brewster--A quiet and peaceful rural town bordering on the bay.
Contains many beautiful ponds within its limits and provides
excellent bathing and fishing.

Chatham--A summer resort town of growing popularity. Has several
first class hotels and numerous cottages. It is located at the elbow
of the Cape, fronts on the Atlantic ocean and has many safe bays and
inlets for boating and bathing. It is noted for its golf links and
is destined to become the summer center for golfing enthusiasts.

Harwich--Consists of numerous villages all of which are
attractive for summer residence. It borders on Nantucket sound, has
fine beaches, summer hotels and cottages. It has a community life in
summer that is not surpassed anywhere.

Dennis--This town reaches entirely across the Cape and is split
up into several villages. On the south side it is bordered by
Nantucket sound and on the north by Massachusetts bay. Has excellent
summer hotels and good bathing and fishing.

Yarmouth--A town with quiet and shady streets, sloping shores
and many old residences. One of the historic towns of the regions
and presents a variety of attractions.

Barnstable--The county seat and largest town on the Cape.
Attractions exceedingly varied. Noted for the excellence of its clams.

 Hyannis--Known as the Metropolis of the Cape. It is a center for
summer business. Here are to be found excellent hotels, good stores
and attractive tea rooms. Its main street is lined with summer stores
which are branches of New York and Boston's exclusive shops.
Adjacent to it are Hyannisport, a summer colony of fine residences.
Centerville, Craigville, said to have the finest beach in New England,
Osterville (called the little Newport), and Cotuit, one of the
prettiest spots along the shores of Vineyard Sound. This region is
growing more and more popular every year as the summer home of
people of wealth and refinement and presents all the attractions of
resorts which cater to the diversion of vacationists.

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.

A shade of homesickness came over me as I saw the North Star for the
last time but I was soon interested in the Southern Cross of which I
had heard so much. I wish I could describe some of the beautiful
colorings shown in the tropical sunsets. I missed the twilight
effects as seen at home, for as quickly as the sun goes down,
darkness closes in. As I was enjoying my evening walk with the
Captain at one time, a small boy who had been sent to sea apparently
with the idea of getting him out of the way, came to me and said,
"Wouldn't you like some  Youth's Companions  to read? I have lots of
them." At that time I had more of a juvenile than a matronly air and
I presume he thought they would furnish me with appreciative reading
matter. He had not then learned that he should not speak unless
spoken to. One day on being told to make a rope fast he replied,
"I did hitch it." An order to let go a brace was answered by the
question, "Which string do you mean?" At one time he was placed on
duty to open and close shutters during squally weather and the
officer told him to use a good application of soap and water before
coming aft. When the novelty of his new duty had worn off and he had
rather forgotten why he had been placed there the officer called to
him and said, "What did I tell you to do?" "Wash myself, sir," was
the reply. It was a long while before he could obey an order without
replying and at the same time to remember his "Sir" when a reply was
necessary.

As we approached the equator it could be seen that some special
interest in the voyage was being taken among the sailors and we
learned that three of them had never crossed the line before and
that an initiation of so doing was about to take place. The crew
assembled at the bow of the ship and at the blowing of a trumpet by
one of their number, Neptune appeared inquiring the name of the ship,
where she was bound, etc., and announced that he would like to pay
her a visit. Before his apparent arrival a staysail had been
fastened to the rigging and filled with water. A bucket had been
filled with a mixture of lamp black and grease with a few other
combinations, while a razor, a foot or more in length, had been made
by the carpenter. As soon as Neptune and Amphitrite--two sailors
fantastically dressed--appeared, the candidate for crossing the line
was blindfolded and brought before them. A number of absurd questions
were asked the candidate and he was finally ordered to be shaved,
which was done by applying the mixture with an old paint brush and
shaving it off with the razor. He was then thrown backwards into the
sail of water and I was much surprised to see how good naturedly the
men took so many surprises--for we had an excellent view from the
quarter deck, of the whole entertainment. We heard afterwards that
it was considered a great success, also that one of the men had been
watching through a glass for the equator, seeming to think that a
straight line passing through the center of the earth should
certainly be seen. He thought he surely saw it when a hair was drawn
tightly across a spy glass without his seeing it and the glass then
given to him.

In one of his rambles about the decks, on a moonlight night, one of
our passengers told me of some of the tattooes he had seen on the
arms of different sailors. One had his mother's gravestone, with a
weeping willow over it; another had the Goddess of Liberty remarkably
well done. The large number of different sketches was really quite an
entertainment. That reminds me of an engraved whale's tooth which I
have in my possession and which was given to my grandfather in
Nantucket many years ago. A full rigged ship with every rope, even to
the smallest one, is carved upon it, with the engraver's name and the
name of the ship. It is now nearly a hundred years old and among my
most prized possessions.

We soon sighted the Island of Fernando Norouha which is a penal
settlement for the convicts of Brazil. This island is about six miles
in circumference and two thousand and twenty feet high. It had a
rocky barren appearance with nothing to be seen but a few birds
around it. About thirty miles from this island are the Martin Van
Rocks, three hundred feet high. In the south Atlantic we sighted the
group of Tristan Da Cunha Islands which had a very gloomy, foggy
look. Tristan is inhabited by English people and I have been told
that the women are particularly handsome there. In this region it is
very chilly and damp and though the thermometer stood at fifty-five
degrees it seemed much colder. At this time we began to prepare for
the heavy weather of our Easting, as the run across the Indian Ocean
is called. New sails were bent and everything battened down. The days
were very short, the sun rising at about half past seven and setting
at five o'clock. We usually made the run about forty degrees south in
order to get better winds. What a dreary outlook it was! Nothing but
sky and water with waves which were mountains high. The only bit of
life outside of our ship's company was a number of birds of a
different nature from any I had ever seen and they followed the ship
day after day. Cape pigeons and albatross were in large numbers. We
caught many of the latter and measured them. I remember one weighing
thirty pounds and measuring fifteen feet from tip to tip of the
wings. Cape hens about as large as good sized turkeys, ice birds, and
many other small birds. I enjoyed feeding them and it was very funny
to watch them tumble over each other in their efforts to get
something to eat. Such a noise as they did make with their
squabblings! Many sharks were caught and I never knew a sailor to
have any compunctions about disposing of these man-eating creatures.
A shark line was towed astern at different times and one day it took
the combined efforts of five men to haul one in. Whales, all of
ninety feet in length, stayed about the ship several days at a time.
We saw many sun-fish which are a light gray in color. They have one
large fin out of the water and are very hard to harpoon.

Once in a while another ship would come in view and if near enough
we always spoke to one another by our flag code. This was always an
interesting event. Certain sentences given in the code book would be
represented by certain flags, each flag representing a letter of the
alphabet. The questions usually asked were, "Where are you from?"
"Where bound?" "How many days out?" and then a wish for a pleasant
passage. My experience in running down the Easting has always been
the same and I have made the trip a number of times. I have heard of
ships running across the Indian Ocean with royals set but whenever I
have been, we have had a succession of heavy gales. In thirty-six
degrees fifty minutes south and Lon. twenty-nine degrees fifty-nine
minutes east a heavy gale sprung up which gradually turned into a
hurricane. The barometer was falling fast when I retired and at
eleven o'clock it stood at 28.50. I have merely to close my eyes now
and I can hear the wind as it shrieked and roared about us. We ran
before those mountainous seas with but one thought and that to keep
them from breaking over the ship. All hands were on deck all night,
each one lashed, with the exception of those who were between decks
passing out oil cases which were broken open and thrown overboard by
those on deck. Fifteen hundred cases were used that night with good
effect. The seas were as high but the oil prevented them from
breaking over the ship. During the worst of the gale one man was
washed overboard but his loss was not discovered for nearly twenty
minutes, and even if it had been, nothing could have been done to
save him in such tremendous seas. Clark Russell says that the
grandeur and sublimity of the ocean can be best seen on a yard arm
during a gale of wind, but somehow I have not been able to make
those words applicable to the gales through which I have passed.
Through our ninety degrees of Easting I had but little exercise. The
lee side of the cabin usually found me with my books, work and
numerous small articles for ready use. I think the most exercise I
had during those days was when I tried to dress, as it was almost
impossible to stand in one spot any length of time on account of the
rolling and pitching of the ship. With a firm stand I would place
myself in front of my mirror, only to gradually slide away across
the room to a lounge where I would sit down, then I would climb back,
and with as much speed as possible do what I could before
disappearing again. In a length of time I was able to make my toilet,
and when made it was not changed during the day in those latitudes.

They were certainly strenuous days, but we were well and had good
appetites for the excellent meals which were served to us by our
capable Chinese steward and cook. The doings and sayings of our
cabin boy would fill a book, but he was trustworthy and attended
faithfully to our wants. One night after I had retired, a heavy
thunder storm came up which might have caused us considerable
trouble had not our usual strict discipline been carried out. Having
become so used to confused sounds on deck I did not realize that the
ship had been struck by lightning, though I heard a sound which in
my dozing condition I laid to something falling down in the bathroom.
When the Captain came in to ask if I were all right I sleepily said,
"Why not? I think something has fallen down." He did not tell me
until morning that the ship had been struck and had caught fire aloft.
By changing the course the sparks were made to fall overboard while
men were sent aloft to cut away the blazing fragments. About ten
minutes before the vessel was struck, a dozen men were aloft furling
a sail just where the lightning struck us, and when the storm was
over it seemed a special act of Providence that we still had these
men with us.

I have so often been asked what  could  we possibly have to eat that
would be appetizing for such lengthy voyages. We always carried fowl
in large numbers and it was very seldom that we did not have fresh
eggs enough for our table during the voyage. Potatoes, onions, and
lemons we always had in abundance and they were very important items
of our food. The following is one of the menus served to us on quite
a stormy day as we were running across the Indian Ocean. For
breakfast: baked beans, fish balls, brown bread, hot biscuits, tea
and coffee. For dinner: soup, roast chicken, cold tongue, boiled
potatoes, squash, and onions, English pudding, hard sauce, and coffee.
For supper: warm biscuit, cold chicken, cold tongue, fried potatoes,
cake and tea. In fine weather our menus were more elaborate and I
never knew any one to complain of being hungry aboard ship while I
was going to sea.

After eighty-seven days of such sea life I was aroused one morning
to go on deck and see if I could see anything that looked like land
and saw what at first seemed to me to be a small cloud in the
distance about thirty miles away. As the morning wore on, the
Australian coast gradually loomed up before us, the land first seen
proving to be Cape Bridgewater. We sighted Cape Otway in the
afternoon, the lighthouse being plainly seen in the evening, and
such a beautiful evening as it was! Not a cloud in the sky! The
stars shone like diamonds and the reflection on the water of the
beautiful moon put a finish to the charm of a perfect night. The
Southern Cross was almost directly over us, while in close proximity
to the moon was the brilliant Venus. We remained on deck very late
that night to enjoy our beautiful scene. During the evening a very
pretty phenomenon took place when the sky became a brilliant red,
like the reflection of a fire, forming an arc through which the
stars could be plainly seen. It remained thus for some time, until
it gradually changed into a white light, the Southern Lights or
Aurora Australis as the change is called.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE OLD TOWN CRIER]




EDITORIAL


PROSPERITY IS HERE


Whatever may be the situation throughout the country, Cape Cod shows
evidences of prosperity that cannot be overlooked. In fact, dull
times on the Cape are a thing of the past and each year sees a
steady growth, increasing land values and larger summer population.

While the Cape has not increased very fast in permanent population
it has shown a remarkable advancement in wealth and prosperity.
Lands that a few years ago had little value have been developed,
cottages and homes have been built, agricultural interests developed
and all along the line the Cape has moved steadily forward.

This year there has been a great many real estate changes, shore
colonies are being opened up and builders are busy everywhere
supplying the demand for more summer homes.

All signs point to the fact that the Cape is at that stage in its
development where it is becoming widely and favorably known as a
summer resort region. Its business facilities are increasing, the
quality of its stores improving and from a more or less provincial
community it is developing into a region second to none in
prosperity along the New England coast.

It has been widely and extensively advertised and although it has
not boomed as have some of the southern resorts its growth has been
more steady and sane and it is devoid of those inflated values which
are apt to be followed by a depression in so many cases. The Cape's
growth has been a conservative one and therefore a permanent one.

Again we wish to warn prospective lot buyers upon the Cape not to
have dealings with real estate agents of the type known as "land
sharks." The reputable agents are well known and can be depended
upon to give a square deal, but there are get-rich-quick men who
stand ready to take advantage of the unwary and sell them sand lots
among the dunes and locations among the scrub oaks, remote from
habitations and worthless for any purpose. Beautiful prospectus and
misleading blue prints do not afford a sufficient basis for lot
buying and personal investigation is as needful here as anywhere else.
Cheap land is apt to be dear at any price and unless one personally
investigates what is being offered it will be well to go slow.

There are plenty of real seaside bargains left on the Cape. In the
vicinity of the popular resorts land values are apt to be high, but
there are numberless localities that have not yet been developed
that present good possibilities and the seeker after a summer home
can find such localities without much trouble and a very little
money will buy land suitable for their purposes amid surroundings
that are congenial, scenic and healthful.

Among the hundreds of new cottages that are being built upon the
Cape this season are those ranging from the simple cottage costing
only a few hundred dollars and those which are destined to be
pretentious summer homes, but whether hundreds of dollars are spent
or thousands all are assured pleasant, healthful environments with
opportunities for rest and recreation unsurpassed.

We predict a brilliant future for our region. It is just beginning
to be understood and appreciated. Its advantages are becoming known
and its attractiveness understood.

       *       *       *       *       *




HABITS AND THE GAME


Your habits will determine largely whether you give or take orders.

Is it your habit to shirk responsibility--to "pass the buck"--whenever
possible? If so, you will never be the "boss." One man has no one to
whom he can pass the buck. That person is the chief. Accept and
welcome responsibility. Have the courage to face the consequences of
your acts and decisions.

Develop self-confidence, not egotism. Let that confidence be founded
on experience, study, common sense, and careful work.

Indulge in retrospection. Examine decisions that you have made, in
an attempt to develop the faculty for reaching conclusions on tenable
grounds quickly, Quick decisions expedite the processes of business
and inspire confidence in one's co-workers. The man who does not know
his mind cannot guide efficiently the mental or physical energies of
others.

Are you careless? Do you permit to pass unquestioned points about
which you are uncertain? Do you take it for granted that these
things will "get by" or that they never will be noticed? Again you
are shifting the burden, expecting that someone will do the work you
should have done. That carelessness will militate against  you to
prevent your elevation to an executive position. The boss cannot be
careless and hold the respect of his associates or his position.

Success comes to the one who plays the game. There is no royal road
to it, or chance about it. It comes from eternally plugging at it,
by study and concentration and an absence of the fear of making a
mistake. A mistake is not such a frightful thing as many imagine. An
honest mistake can be readily changed into a success many times. The
fear of making mistakes frequently deters a weak man from going ahead
where another will study well the situation, form a conclusion, and
go ahead.

Your own character and habits determine whether you are a leader or
a follower.

       *       *       *       *       *




GET AFTER THE BILLBOARDS


If your town has not yet taken action against the billboard nuisance
it is time that it did. Have a strong town by-law passed and see that
it is enforced. There is no question that public sentiment is against
the billboard. They should be made outlaws upon the highways. State
legislation has been enacted against them, but its effectiveness has
been tempered by the timidity of those charged with the enforcement
of the laws to destroy the "property values" that is claimed for
them. Public sentiment, rightly used, can do more than laws.
Offending billboard advertisers can be shown that such advertising is
injudicious and in time they will voluntarily give it up.

By law, billboards can be debarred from localities possessing unusual
scenic beauty. The Mohawk Trail and Cape Ann are examples of the
application of this principle. Cape Cod has just as great claims. Its
scenic beauty is marred and destroyed by the glaring monstrosities
that greet the traveler everywhere. Let them be removed and an
irritating offense against the nerves and asthetic senses will be
removed.

The only way to get rid of the billboards is to act.

       *       *       *       *       *




HELP THE CAUSE


In certain ways the whole community can be helped by concerted
action. The interest of the whole is the interest of all. Anything
that tends to help others will help you. Just now a question of
importance is the further development of Cape Cod by the
establishment of terminal facilities on the Cape Cod canal. This will
cost money, but it will be money well expended. If we wait for
someone to do the developing for us we will have to wait a long time.
The state is ready to do its share, but it wants the locality itself
to do a part. A canal terminal is the one thing needful to make the
canal of local advantage. We have the opportunity and we should grasp
it. It is a case where local conservatism should be forgotten and
every community should help bear the burden of an expense that will
assist in the development of Cape Cod as a whole.




CONCLUSIVE EVIDENCE

E.M. Chase


"Willie."

"What."

"Is that the way to answer your mother?"

"Yesum, I mean nomum."

"I want you to stay out in the front yard where you can watch my
flower garden this afternoon. I have planted some flower seeds out
there and I want you to keep the neighbors' hens way. Your father is
going to put a wire netting around the garden as soon as he can get
a chance."

"Why not ask the neighbors to keep their hens at home?" mildly
inquired Mr. Brown.

"I have told them time and time again, but the Bakers say it must be
the Jones' hens and the Joneses say it is the Bakers' hens. As a
matter of fact all their hens come over, but I don't want to make a
fuss, I can't afford to lose the only two neighbors I have."

"But ma, I promised Ned I'd go fishing with him."

"You had no business to promise anything of the kind, now go out
there and say no more about it."

It was a warm spring day, just the right kind of weather to go
fishing or rambling through the woods or playing marbles with the
other boys or to do almost anything except stay in the front yard and
watch neighbors' hens. Willie thought himself much abused and cast
about for a means of escape. He dared not run away; he had tried
that before and the memory of the results was rather painful. A
shrill whistle interrupted his bitter thought and a moment later Ned
came in view carrying a fishing rod, basket, and can of bait.

"Hello, Bill, ain't yer ready yet?"

"Can't go."

"Tough luck, what's the trouble?"

"I gotta stay here and keep the hens out of ma's garden."

"Why don't yer cut it, you can stay away from home until late then
your ma will get worried and be so glad when you show up she won't
whip yer."

"Not on your life, I did once. I never got home 'til long after dark.
Mother licked me good for running away then pa whoppoped me for
scaring ma, nope, I've learned my lesson."

"Gee, Bill, it's dirt mean, but I'll tell you what I will do, I'll
come back and play marbles with yer if the fish don't bite good."

"I wish the old hens was in Tophet. Say, Ned, ain't got a book yer
could let a feller have, have yer?"

"Sure, one of the latest. I just finished it and it's a corker. I
promised Joe Hykes he could take it next but you will have time to
read it this afternoon and Joe is off playin' ball."

Willie grabbed the book eagerly. It had an alluring cover, the
design was worked out in bright red, brilliant yellow and poisonous
green and it represented a man in the act of killing a young and
presumably beautiful woman. It was of the dime novel variety
entitled "Conclusive Evidence," just the thing to appeal to the
imaginative Willie. Soon all thought of hens slipped from Willie's
mind, his heart beat rapidly, he breathlessly followed the hero's
thrilling adventures, he almost shed tears when the girl who had
helped the hero outwit the villain was found mysteriously murdered.
With keen interest he watched the authorities carry the hero to jail.
He was first in the audience at the trial, he drew a long breath
when only circumstantial evidence could be brought out, his heart
sank when the villain rushed into the court room and cried out that
he had conclusive evidence, his hopes went down, a sharp pain
assailed him in the shoulder, he thought the villain had grabbed him,
he jumped up and--in place of the court room, prisoner, judge, jury,
witnesses, interested onlookers, etc., he saw his mother standing
beside him and--horrors--a dozen or more hens blissfully digging in
the loosened earth of the garden.

"Where did you get that book, Willie?"

"It was lent to me, ma, don't tear it ma, don't tear it, it ain't
mine, ma--"

"That will do, Willie, it is not fit for you or any other boy to read,
now you come in the house and go to bed."

"But ma, it is only four o'clock and I'm hungry and I won't let 'em
in the garden again, ma, please can't I stay out here, ma?"

"You do as I told you without further delay."

All alone in his room, confined to his bed by the stern mandates of
his mother, with everything out of doors calling him, Willie could
not sleep and then when darkness fell hunger gnawed at his vitals and
sleep refused to put an end to his misery. He counted to a thousand
then half drifted into the land of dreams. A wicked little green imp
whispered in his ear. "Conclusive Evidence," whispered it so loudly
Willie awoke, then he thought, or tried to think of some plan of
revenge on his heartless mother. He could think of none that would
not return to himself fourfold, then he reasoned that after all it
was not so much his mother's fault as the neighbors for keeping hens
that would not stay at home. Perhaps the little green imp came and
whispered into his ear again, I don't know, but how else account for
Willie's queer actions?

He slipped quietly out of bed, paused to listen at the door of his
mother's room but heard no sound. Reassured, he crept noiselessly
down the back stairs into the kitchen, out through the rough room
into the shed where the corn was kept. He filled the pockets with
hen corn, the bright moonlight shining in through the window gave
him all the light he needed, until his pajamas looked as though they
had the bubonic plague. Still moving with extreme caution, he went
into the kitchen again, secured a pan into which he put his corn; he
then proceeded to fill the pan nearly full of water. He listened but
all was quiet, so he ventured even into the pantry where his mother
kept the cookie crock. He again filled his pockets, this time with
cookies. His night work over he carried the pan containing the corn
and water to his room, put the pan as far under the bed as possible
to avoid discovery, then seated himself by the open window to enjoy
his lunch. His father, who never seemed to get around to things, had
not mended the screen that belonged in Willie's window so Willie sat
with his head as far out of doors as the size of his body would
permit and ate his cookies. He was wise enough not to leave
tell-tale crumbs.

Willie slept well and soundly after his midnight adventures and in
the morning appeared at the breakfast table promptly. He ate enough
to make up for what he had missed the night before, then enough to
last until noon time. When he finished his mother said:

"Now Willie, go out and watch the garden again, your father did not
get around to putting up the netting yesterday, and mind, if I catch
you reading another book you will not get off as easily as you did
yesterday."

"Yesum."

Willie first made a trip to his room, then to the sewing room.

"What are you doing, Willie?" came the maternal voice.

"Nuthin', just lookin' for my cap, I'm going out now."

Once more out where he could watch the hens, Willie proceeded to
unload his pockets. He brought to light some sheets of paper, a
pencil, a large needle, a spool of black linen thread and all of the
soaked corn he had been able to put in his pockets.

He tore the paper in strips about an inch wide and three inches long.
On each slip he wrote, "Please keep us home." On the other side,
"Conclusive Evidence."

He cut pieces of string, linen thread, about six inches long, some
longer. With the aid of the needle he threaded a piece of corn on
one end of each string, on the other end he tied one of the slips of
paper. When all were finished he scattered them broadcast over and
about the garden.

"Willie, come to dinner."

No Willie appeared on the scene.

"Willie, dinner is ready."

Still no sign of the lad and his mother started after him with a
queer look in her eye.

Strange was the sight her eyes beheld as she came around the corner
into the front yard. Hens fled before her approach but such funny
looking hens; they all had more or less tags flying from their bills.
They had swallowed the corn but the strings and tags were beyond
their ability to masticate and they blew out defiantly in the breeze.
One tag had become loosened and Mrs. Brown picked it up and read the
scribbled words. While she was thinking just what she ought to do to
Willie, Mrs. Baker came across the yard, bristling like a frightened
porcupine.

"What have you been doing to my hens?" she demanded.

Mrs. Brown, like the efficient woman she was, saw her opportunity
and rose to the occasion.

"Your hens, Mrs. Baker, why nothing. I have been in the kitchen all
the morning until I just came out to call Willie to dinner. Willie
has been keeping the hens out of my garden, not your hens, you know
you have assured me your hens never come over here."

Thinking discretion the better part of valor Mrs. Baker suddenly
remembered something that needed immediate attention and she
hastened to attend to it.

Mrs. Brown watched her out of sight, smiling in appreciation of the
genius she had raised, then she turned and confronted Mrs. Jones,
coldly angry.

"What do you mean, Mrs. Brown, by tagging my hens until they look
like a mark down sale?"

"What are you talking about, Mrs. Jones? Your hens couldn't have
been over here could they? I am sure neither Willie nor I have been
out of the yard."

"I smell something burning."

In spite of the fact that the Jones homestead was quite a distance
and the wind in the direction to blow all odors in the opposite
direction Mrs. Brown did not try to detain her. Neither did she
punish Willie, in fact she gave him an extra piece of pie for dinner.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Browns, Joneses and Bakers are still on the best of terms, but
Mr. Brown never put the wire netting up and yet Mrs. Brown plants
her garden with never a thought of neighbors' hens.

Incidentally Willie and Ned have developed into first class fishermen.




BY HEART

LILLIAN E. ANDREWS


Captain Enoch Burgess went down Mapleville's main street at a rate
of speed that threatened to break all records. The tails of his
linen coat stood out like the sails of a Gloucester fisherman
homeward bound with a "full bin fare." He stamped up Abner Crowell's
walk, and slammed the kitchen door.

Abner was weeding onions. He stared after the captain curiously.
"Looks like squally weather," he commented. "I wonder what's sent
Enoch on his beam ends like that."

As Abner bent with a grunt to his task, his wife came hurrying
toward him, her apron strings flying like distress signals.

"Abner," she demanded excitedly, "did you ever hear of Captain
Enoch's havin' fits?"

"No, I dunno's I ever did," replied Abner, twitching up an
enterprising wild mustard.

"Well, he's havin' one now," insisted Mrs. Crowell. "He come trampin'
in an' says, 'Git right out o' my way, Mis' Crowell,' an' now he's a
pacin' up an' down his room like a caged hyeny. You leave them
onions, an' go an see what under the canopy ails him. I'll stand at
the foot of the stairs ready to run for help, if he should be
dangerous."

Abner groaned. Reluctantly he brushed the dirt from his knees, and
went into the house. Captain Enoch's heavy steps jarred the floor of
his little room. Three times Abner knocked. Growing wrathful at
being ignored, he applied his lips to the key-hole.

"Hey, there," he bellowed. "You gone clean crazy, Enoch? It's only
me--Abner--open the door!"

Captain Enoch opened the door so suddenly Abner nearly fell over the
threshold.

"I didn't hear you," apologized Captain Enoch. "I dunno's I'd heard
a fog horn. I'm going loony, I guess."

Despondency suddenly overcame him. He sat down abruptly. "I'm afraid
I'm love cracked," he groaned despairingly.

"Love cracked!" repeated Abner in blank astonishment. "Wall, I snum!
Love cracked!"

Captain Enoch glared at him ferociously. "Stop that parrotin'," he
commanded. "If you dare to grin, I'll larnbast you good an' plenty."

As Abner appeared properly subdued, he went on explanatorily.

"I've be'n callin' on M'lissy Macy reg'lar whenever I've be'n ashore
for the last ten years. M'lissy makes the best doughnuts I ever e't,
an' I calculated we'd be married sometime, though I ain't never
mentioned it special. But when I went to call on M'lissy this
afternoon, there set Tom Peters in the big rockin' chair holdin'
M'lissy's yeller cat an' lookin' as cheerful as a rat in a shipload
of cheese. It come over me all at once what a marryin' critter he is.
The old punkin'-head's had two wives already, ain't he?"

"Three," corrected Abner. "He's be'n a widower once an' a grass
widower twice. Mebbe he's gittin' lonesome again. You'll have to git
up your spunk and do some courtin'. Why don't you pop the question?
It hadn't orter be so awful hard after you be'n goin' to see M'lissy
ten years."

"You talk like a nincompoop," snapped Captain Enoch. "I never asked
a woman to marry me in my life. How be I goin' to know what to say?
S'pose you tell me how you asked Mis' Crowell."

Abner's face turned as red as Captain Enoch's. "Wall, I--er--er," he
stammered.

"That's about what I expected," said the captain sarcastically.
"I s'pose Mis' Crowell did the askin' and you didn't dare to say 'No.'"

Abner glanced toward the door where a board had creaked faintly.
"She--she didn't really ask," he remarked hastily, "but she was
pretty good at understandin' what I was thinkin' about."

"If M'lissy understands, she's careful not to let me know it," said
Captain Enoch sadly. "Mebbe she's afraid of being bold. Just to
think of proposin' makes me feel as if somebody was pourin' cold
water down the back of my neck."

Abner had a sudden flash of memory. "Why don't you learn a regular
proposal that nobody can find any fault with an' say it right off
like sayin' a piece?" he asked. "Pegleg Brierly used to have a book
in his dunnage that had all kinds of proposals printed in it. 'Guide
to Courtship and Matrimony' was the name of it. Pegleg said he
didn't have any notion of fallin' in love, but if he should happen to,
he didn't cal'late to be caught nappin'. He's livin' down on the
back road now, and he's still an old bach. If he's kept the book,
mebbe he'd sell it, or lend it to you."

The change from despair to hope brought the captain to his feet.
"Abner, if you'll git me that book, I'll give you twenty-five dollars,"
he promised earnestly. "But mind you don't tell what you want it for."

"I won't tell anybody that don't know about it already," declared
Abner with perfect truthfulness. "I'll have to be awful di-plo-mat-ic,"
he went on, "or Pegleg will be sure to suspect something. And I pity
you an' M'lissy if he got hold of the real reason why you wanted it.
Pegleg can scatter news faster than a pea dropper can drop peas."

With his clam hoe and bucket under his arm, Abner appeared at the
door of Pegleg's shanty the next afternoon.

"Thought I'd dig a mess o' clams for supper," he explained casually,
"an' seeing's I was passin', I dropped in. Some time since you an'
me crossed the line on the old Almeda, ain't it?"

"A matter of twenty year," agreed Pegleg.

"Them was great days," reminiscenced Abner. "Do you remember how we
used to read your 'Guide to Courtship and Matrimony'? I was thinkin'
about it only yesterday."

Pegleg grinned. "I paid fifty cents for that book," he remarked.
"An' I ain't never had any real use for it. I've got it now in my
old dunnage bag."

"I'd kind o' like to see it, if it's handy," suggested Abner.
"The tide's risin', but I guess I've got a few minutes to spare."

Pegleg disappeared into the shanty and returned after some time with
a dog-eared volume, minus a portion of its pages, and with the edges
of the remainder strangely scalloped.

"Th' pesky rats has be'n chewin' it," he complained loudly.
"They've clean e't up the first chapter."

Abner drew a secret breath of relief. The "How to Propose" chapter
was not the first one. Eagerly he turned the battered volume over.

"If you 'll sell it, I'd like to have it," he remarked carelessly.
"Half of the pages is e't up, so I s'pose you'll sell it for half
price."

"Make it thirty-five cents an' you can have it," bargained Pegleg.
"The rats ain't gnawed into the readin' so awful bad, only in the
first chapter."

"Wall, thirty-five then, as you're an old shipmate," conceded Abner.

Pegleg looked at him shrewdly, as he laid down three dimes and a
nickel.

"I didn't know but mebbe you was buyin' it for Captain Burgess," he
hazarded. "He's boardin' to your house, an' folks say he's courtin'
M'lissy Macy."

"Folks is always sayin' things," responded Abner. "Mebbe Enoch might
know a 'Guide to Courtship and Matrimony' from a last year's pill
almanac, if somebody showed him."

Once around the corner of the beach from Pegleg's shanty, Abner
danced a hornpipe, shocking a flock of gulls.

"Thirty-five cents from twenty-five dollars leaves twenty-four
dollars and sixty-five cents," he calculated swiftly. "And I'll get
a mess of clams beside. The papers will be mentionin' me as a
financier pretty soon."

"Did Pegleg suspect anything?" was Captain Enoch's first question
when Abner returned in triumph.

"Oh, he suspected," replied Abner jubilantly. "He wouldn't be Pegleg
if he didn't. But I didn't help him any, and he looked dreadful
disappointed. You can eat your chowder in peace, if you ain't so
love sick you've lost your appetite."

"It ain't hurt my appetite a mite," retorted the Captain. "And I
ain't goin' to let it. Let's see that book. I want to find out how
much I've be'n cheated."

With trembling fingers Captain Enoch turned to the chapter of
proposals. "'How to Propose to a Fat Lady,'" he read. "Humph!
M'lissy ain't fat. 'How to Propose to a Lady of Dignity and
Refinement. 'That sounds more like it. But the big words are thicker
than a school of mummychogs."

"Read it out loud," urged Abner.

Captain Enoch put a long forefinger on the first line and cleared
his throat.

"'Dear and esteemed lady,'" he began, "'it is with deep respect that
I venture to introduce the subject of matrimony in your presence.
You are my ideal of womanhood and your smile is more precious to me
than the Kohinoor.' What's the Kohinoor?" he asked, pausing.

"Skip it," suggested Abner. "I ain't no 'cyclopedia. Go on."

"'It is with painful trep-trep-trepidation that I bring my suit
before you.'"

Captain Enoch paused again. "'Suit?'" he repeated. "I don't see how
that fits in. What's a suit got to do with a proposal?"

"Mebbe it's a hint that you might want your clo's mended after you
was married," decided Abner. "Anyway, it sounds all right the way
it's wrote. Stop a stoppin'. You never'll git it read, if you don't
keep goin'."

Thus adjured the captain proceeded. "'Oh, dear one, beloved lady of
my dreams, my own--' There's a blank place. It says under it, 'name
of lady.'"

"Wall, say M'lissy," interjected Abner.

Captain Enoch's bronzed countenance was the color of a tomato on a
tin can, but he went on valiantly, "'My own M'lissy, come to my arms,
and fill my measure of happiness to overflowing by promising to
become my wife, and I will shield and protect you from all the
storms of life.' It ends like an advertisement for umbrellas," he
complained.

"It don't do no such thing," contended Abner vigorously. "It's a
real high-toned proposal and any woman ought to be satisfied with it.
The man that wrote that must have known an awful lot about women.
Now you go ahead and learn that proposal and there you be all ready
for the parson."

"Yes, 'there I be,'" mimicked the captain ungratefully. "It would
take a college professor to say them words fast, and I'm only a
plain sailor man."

But in spite of his sarcasm the captain attacked his self-appointed
task with the grim determination that had made him respected in
every port wherever the big deep water tramp, of which he was the
proud master, had dropped her huge mudhook.

The steamer was laid up at Boston, having a splendid collection of
tropical barnacles scraped from her stout hull. If it had not been
for the barnacles, the captain would not have been ashore.

For a week the captain studied strenuously, hardly allowing himself
time to sleep. Abner offered to assist him at rehearsals and every
afternoon he drilled Captain Enoch diligently. He was a firm
disciplinarian and insisted upon his pupil's being letter perfect.
Book in hand, he corrected the captain vigorously.

"It's 'es-teemed lady'" he admonished the captain. "You said 'steamed.'
M'lissy ain't cooked. An' you stutter yet when you come to that word
right after painful. Can't you say it plainer?"

"'Trep-trep-trepidation,'" stammered the captain again.  "Say it
yourself," he dared Abner.  "I'll bet you can't do no better."

"I ain't tryin' to say it," Abner reminded him with dignity.
"If I was I'd make it out someway. I wouldn't be beat by any word
ever put in a dictionary. You're doin' better," he complimented the
captain, after the sixth recital. "Mebbe you'll git it after awhile."

But when Captain Enoch felt that his monitor was most needed and had
begun to look hopefully forward to a one hundred per cent rehearsal,
Abner took a sudden notion to go sword fishing.

"The time to go sword fishin' is when sword fish are due," he
insisted with Solomonic wisdom. "I'm going to be off Nantucket
shoals by daybreak to-morrow."

"But how be I goin' to git along without you to boost me on that
proposal?" demanded the captain. "If you had any feelin' at all, you
wouldn't leave me just when I need you most."

Abner considered the situation for some moments.

"I got it," he declared joyfully. "Buy a phonygraft an' some blank
records an' keep sayin' that proposal just the same as you do to me.
You can hear yourself poppin' as plain as you can hear a bell buoy
ring-in'. It takes me to plan things," he added with becoming pride.

Captain Enoch went to Boston and visited his vessel, as he told
Mrs. Crowell when he returned. Also, he visited the "phonygraft man,"
a circumstance he failed to relate.

When Mapleville's express agent delivered at the Crowell home a
large bundle addressed to Captain Enoch Burgess, the captain
smuggled it surreptitiously upstairs, closed the windows of his room
and stuffed the key hole with a wad of paper.

It was some hours before he succeeded in mastering the various
adjustments of the phonograph, and ventured to hear himself
"pop." Listening with critical intentness, he discovered that two
sentences were missing. Grimly he tried again. The word that had
been so long his stumbling block suddenly showed its vindictiveness
once more.

"'It is with painful trep-trep-' darn it!" repeated the phonograph
with startling distinctness.

Wrathfully the captain snatched the record and hurled it under the
bed. A number of others soon kept it company. The next day the
captain went to Boston again. This time even the phonograph dealer
was astonished at the number of blank records Captain Enoch demanded.

With reckless abandon the captain proceeded to use the new supply of
records. Dripping with perspiration from the heat of his
closely-shut room and from his strenuous mental exertion, he finally
came to the last one, and word by word and sentence by sentence
heard himself make an absolutely correct and flawless proposal to
Miss Macy.

Solemnly the captain wiped his brow. "I declare I wish Abner could
hear it," he remarked proudly. "There ain't a single mistake, big
words an' all. It ought to please M'lissy, if anything will."

At the thought of Melissa Captain Enoch's honest heart began to beat
faster. He threw open his window with all the eagerness of a lover,
and looked over toward Melissa's old-fashioned house with its
comfortable veranda and wide chimney.

His bronzed face turned suddenly white and he gripped the window
sill with all the strength of his powerful hands. Two men were
turning in at Melissa's gate. The short fat man was Thomas Peters,
the tall thin one the village clergyman. To Captain Enoch the fact
that Peters and the minister were calling upon Melissa together
could mean but one thing. Hours and years of the captain's life
seemed to pass, as he watched the two men go slowly up Melissa's
gravel walk. When the door closed behind them, he turned about,
dazed and trembling. He was breathing hard like a man at the end of
a race. Half an hour later he had packed his bag and paid his board
bill, leaving Mrs. Crowell in a state of bewilderment and curiosity
that was sufficient to disturb her peace of mind for many a day.

From Boston the tramp had wallowed her way around the Horn to San
Francisco and back again as far as Rio Janiero when Captain Enoch
received his first mail from home. A travel-stained letter, bearing
Abner Crowell's cramped handwriting, threw the captain into a sudden
panic.

"I don't know whether to open it, or not," he debated nervously.
"I want to know what's in it, an' I'm scared to find out. I'm a good
mind to throw it overboard and forget I ever got it."

Curiosity finally overcame his dread. The letter was encouragingly
brief.

"'Dere Enoch,'" he read. "'I'd like to know what you blowed up an'
went off the way you did for. Abner Crowell." "P.S. Mrs. Crowell
sends her respecks, and Miss Melissa Macy her regards, if you want
'em. A.C." "P.S. Number two. All you need, Enoch Burgess, is about
ten inches more on your ears. A.C.'"

"'Miss Melissa Macy,'" repeated Captain Enoch. "He would have said
Mrs. Peters, if she was married."

The captain leaped to his feet and rushed on deck. A boat was just
leaving the steamer's side, the mate sitting placidly under an awning.

"Hey, wait," roared the captain wildly. "I'm goin' to git our
clearance papers," he shouted, as the astonished mate ordered the
boat back. "I ain't goin' to hang around here waitin' for a lazy
planter to git a cargo of coffee aboard. I don't care if there ain't
any more coffee in the world; folks can drink tea. I'm goin' home as
quick as steam can take me."

Lights were beginning to shine in the homes of Mapleville when the
captain came to the end of his long journey. A shining path
stretched temptingly from Melissa's windows to the gate and the
captain followed it eagerly.

Back of the crimson geraniums and the canary's cage he could see
Melissa sitting at a low table. The yellow cat occupied the big
rocker. It was all so pleasant and home-like a lump rose in the
captain's throat. He decided to steal quietly in and surprise Melissa.
But at the door he stopped as suddenly as if he had been shot. A
deep bass voice was uttering words that sounded strangely familiar.

"'Dear and esteemed lady,'" he heard. Cautiously he tip-toed across
the hall. A phonograph was on the table in front of Melissa. As he
bent forward the proposal "to a dignified and refined lady" came to
an end. Tenderly Melissa put both arms about the shining horn of the
phonograph and kissed it!

The sight was too much for the captain. With one bound, he cleared
the threshold and entered the cosy sitting room.

"M'lissy Macy," he declared boldly, "I ain't goin' to have you
wastin' kisses on an old phonograph when I'm right here. Where'd you
find that record, M'lissy?" he asked at last.

Melissa blushed delightfully. "Mis' Crowell heard you and told me
you was practisin' how to propose and, after you went away, I went
and got every single one of them records," confessed Melissa.
"I've played 'em over and over, even the 'darn it!' one. I know that
proposal by heart."

"So do I," responded Captain Enoch grimly, as he salvaged another
kiss. "I've be'n a reg'lar old putty-head," he admitted with
unsparing honesty, "but if you'll promise to teach me, I'd like to
learn a whole lot more by heart."

"I'll do my best," promised Melissa mischievously.




BY TELEPHONE

E.M. CHASE


Time--Very recently.

Place--A flat in Back Bay.

"Bessie Lane, where in the world did you drop from?"

"The station just now and I'm famished."

"I haven't a thing for lunch but you take off your wraps while I
attend to things."

"There, I've ordered a delicious lunch and it will be here in
fifteen or twenty minutes. What a handy thing a telephone is."

"Oh, yes, very handy indeed."

"Why the sarcasm, my dear Bessie?"

"You seem to forget that I live in the country."

"But not out of reach of 'phones, Bessie."

"No, but we are on a sixteen-party line with eighteen other
subscribers. Not long ago I went to the dentist and had a tooth
treated. The next morning I awoke with a toothache. About the middle
of the forenoon, nine-thirty to be exact, I thought I would call up
the dentist to find out if the treatment ought to make my tooth ache.
I gave the bell a vigorous ring--"

"Why should you ring a bell to telephone?"

"My dear citified Annie, we do not run our universe by electricity
as you do in the city, and it is our only means of attracting
'central.' I rang the bell, put the receiver to my ear and heard, 'I
am using the line.'

"I mumbled an apology, waited a few minutes and tried again. It is
unpleasant to have the bell ring in your ear, so out of courtesy to
the other subscribers I gently lifted off the receiver, put it to my
ear and heard, 'That cottage by the shore will suit--'

"Fifteen minutes later I tried again and please remember my tooth
was paining all the time. I listened, the line was quiet, I called
central and asked 'One nine ring two four please.'

"'That line is busy.'

"Well, I thanked my lucky stars that I have a good supply of patience.
After five minutes I tried again. I listened to see if the line was
busy and heard, 'Killed by an automobile, all mangled to pieces.' Too
horror stricken to realize I was listening to conversation not
intended for my ears I listened on. The details fairly made my blood
run cold and the unknown speaker had the most tragic voice I ever
heard. She continued, 'It was terrible, I almost fainted, it was one
of my best roosters, too!'

"Just then a neighbor brought in my mail and I spent a few minutes
reading letters and looking over the morning  Post  but the
persistent tooth reminded me and I tried again. Wonder of wonders I
got the dentist's office and asked if the dentist was there. 'No, he
is not here just now but he will be back in a few minutes, shall I
tell him to call you?'

"'If you will, please, this is--'

"'I knew your voice instantly, Bessie, and I'll tell him.'

"I waited and waited, then waited some more, then I tried again.
'Get off the line, somebody else wants a chance to use it. You there,
Jim?'

"I was almost in despair. When I was sure my snappy friend had had
time enough to transact all the affairs of the Nation I made another
attempt but I listened once more, rather than butt in again,
listened and heard, 'Just the sweetest shade of green, you know--'
Trials of Job, I was getting out of patience, to put it mildly. I
gave the crank a vicious turn but the same party was still talking,
she said sweetly, 'I guess someone wants the line.' I assured her I
did, it was a case of life and death. 'Someone dead, oh dear, is it
any one I know?'

"Thoroughly exasperated I called central and demanded, 'one nine
ring two four.'

"'Line busy.'

"I made up my mind never to use a 'phone again, or try to when my
own number rang. I grabbed the receiver off the hook and thought my
trial was over, for of course I knew it was the dentist at last. 'Is
this you, Bessie? Did you know Jennie Knowles has broken her ankle?'

"'No, I didn't, and I don't care if she has broken her neck, I want
the line.'

"Of course my rudeness lost me a friend for a while, until I saw her
and made ample apologies, but I made my last attempt and was
connected with the dentist. I told him about the toothache; it took
some time as I had to explain three times that I was using the line
but I did it. 'Does it ache very badly? Can't you stand it until
to-morrow? Then the treatment will desensitize it sufficiently and I
can work on it without hurting you at all.'

"'Oh, no, it doesn't ache at all, I called you up to hear your voice,
certainly I can stand it, I've stood much worse trials.' I slammed
up the receiver, looked at the clock and it was two-fifteen. Too late
to attend the lecture in the library so I went out and called on
Alice, yes, indeed, I repeat, telephones are very handy and save
lots of time."

"Here is our lunch, we're in the city now, come on, Bessie."




FALMOUTH INNER HARBOR


Twelve years ago on May 11, 1910, the H.W. Miller, the first
two-masted schooner came into the harbor, then known as Deacon's Pond,
now Falmouth Inner Harbor. Other smaller vessels had been in, but
this was the first which marked the commercial use of the basin.

A harbor in this place had been talked about for several years, but
the first legal action was taken in the February town meeting of 1906,
when a committee of five men: Geo. W. Jones, Charles S. Burgess, Asa
L. Pattee, Nathan S. Ellis and Charles A. Robinson were appointed to
look into the matter and carry out the wishes of the town.

Joseph Walsh was our representative in Boston, and presided at the
meeting, acting as moderator.

Heman A. Harding, then senator from the Cape district, acted as
legal adviser for the State.

There were many meetings of the committee and interested citizens,
and among the latter A.W. Goodness, A.B. Clough and W.E.A. Clough
were untiring in their efforts and were largely responsible for the
success of the project.

On January 20, 1907, the Harbor and Land Commissioners called for a
hearing "for building jetties and dredging to make a boat harbor at
Deacon's Pond, Falmouth."

The first plan was drawn by Frank W. Hodgdon in September, 1907.

The first appropriation made for the cost was $25,000 from the State
and $10,000 from the Town.

The lower part of the land dredged was purchased on July 13, 1804,
from Abram and Lois Bowerman by Watson Jenkins, Joseph Mayhew,
Stephen Davis, Consider Hatch and Joseph Davis, Jr., and used as a
site for salt works by the whole or part of them. On August 1, 1805,
the same Abram and Lois Bowerman deeded additional land to Joseph
Davis, Jr., and on June 17, 1816, the same parties sold more land to
Nymphas Davis, the son of Joseph, Jr.

As Joseph Davis, Sr., the father of Joseph, Jr., was then a deacon
in the Congregational church, the name was gradually changed from
the old name of "Bowerman's Pond" to "the deacon's pond" and it
finally became Deacon's Pond. Later, when the name did not locate
the harbor sufficiently, it was officially changed to "Falmouth
Inner Harbor."

There were formerly two outlets from the pond into Vineyard Sound,
and some of the old deeds refer to the East and West rivers. There
was also a ditch across the marsh, probably through the land now
owned by Edward Gallagher.

In 1870-1 the land about the pond and also "Great Hill" was sold by
George H. Davis, the son of Nymphas Davis, to the Falmouth Land and
Wharf Company, and remained in its possession several years, later
becoming the property of G. Edward Smith, the president of the
company.

In 1888 Mr. Smith sold the beach, extending from the line of the
Falmouth Wharf Company west to the land now covered by the harbor,
to George H. Davis.

One of the old rivers had long since been filled and the other
changed its course so often through the beach that the town was
obliged to set stone posts to define the middle line and establish a
definite boundary.

When the land was finally acquired by the State, the channel was cut
through the land of the widow of George H. Davis on the eastern side
and a small triangular piece on the western side belonging to
Henrietta F. Goodnow.

On February, 18, 1909, the harbor and Land Commissioners advertised
another hearing in regard to the "Improvement of Deacon's Pond Harbor"
and still another on February 24, 1910.

After these hearings had been held and improvements made, the
channel was wide and deep enough to permit schooners to enter.

However, the sand drifted in and on March 11, 1911, there was
another hearing called in regard to removing a "shoal at the
entrance to the harbor" and about 32,000 cubic feet of earth was
then removed.

Since then other deepenings have been made until now, during the
summer season, it is a common sight to see some sixty boats of all
descriptions lying in the water.

In 1921 the harbor was further improved by extending the jetty on
the west side about 200 feet into Vineyard Sound.




BASS RIVER


  There's a gently flowing river,
    Bordered by whispering trees,
  That ebbs and flows in Nobscussett
    And winds through Mattacheese.

  Surely the Indian loved it
    In the ages so dim and gray,
  River beloved of the Pale Face
    Who dwell near its banks today.

  Lovely it lies in the moonlight,
    A silver scroll unrolled,
  And glorious when the sunset
    Turns it to molten gold.

  Yet we love it when the mist clouds
    Hang over it like a pall;
  No less when the hand of the Frost King
    Holds it in icy thrall.

  In all of its moods and changes
    We joy in its billows salt,
  With the deep strong love of a lover
    Blinded to every fault.

  Always its gleaming beauty
    Raises our thoughts from the clod;
  Up, up to the crystal river,
    That flows from the Throne of God.

  They pass on,--the generations,--
    Thou stayest, while men depart;
  They go with thy lovely changes
    Shrined in each failing heart.

  Beautiful old Bass River!
    Girt round with murmuring trees;
  Long wilt thou flow in Nobscussett.
    And wander through Mattacheese.

  ARETHUSA.

       *       *       *       *       *



A CORRECTION

The article in our May issue, "Automobile Tour of Cape Cod," was
written before the advent of automobiles to Nantucket, and therefore
did not take account of the fact that autos are now not only allowed
but plentiful there. The fact that the article was not up to date
escaped the attention of the editor.




CAPE CODE NOTES

 The Harwich Independent  says: Indications are that the coming
summer will be another record breaker along our shores. A big
building boom is on in cottages now under construction, and we are
to have new comers from New York, Boston, and other places. Cottages
for rental are being rapidly taken.

       *       *       *       *       *

Artist George Elmer Browne left America for France the first of May
with a class of 40 pupils. Mrs. Browne and Miss Hallett will
accompany him for the summer. Provincetown will miss the Brownes
this summer, but wishes them a pleasant and successful season abroad.

       *       *       *       *       *

Charles A. Atwood, night operator in the Sagamore telephone exchange,
has been awarded a Theodore N. Vail medal for his services on the
occasion of a night fire in the building where the exchange is
located, March 27, 1921, when he made his way through the smoke to
the switchboard and gave the alarm first to the Keith Car Works and
next to the local fire chief. After that he was overcome by the smoke,
and the staircase was on fire when he was revived. He got back into
the operating room after that and remained on duty the rest of the
night.

       *       *       *       *       *

William Ellis and his son George were hunting driftwood along the
beach in the neighborhood of Peaked Hill bars, at the Provincetown
end and came on a sack lying in the tidewash, which was found to
contain 200 pounds of gamboge. It is thought their find came from
the wreck of the ship Peruvian, which met its fate on those shoals
Dec. 26, 1872, as no other vessel has since been wrecked there which
had gamboge as a part of its cargo. The gamboge was said to be in
perfect condition, in spite of its long immersion in the sea water.
Gamboge is a resin, orange red in color, but yellow when in powder
form. It was used in medicine as an emetic and artists, especially
those using water colors will recall it as a yellow pigment.

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. B.D. Eldredge of Harwich passed his 90th birthday on Monday, May
1st. This extreme age has dealt very lightly with the Doctor whose
general appearance is much the same as when many years younger, but
his step and carriage show some infirmity. He is destined to add
another decade of life, and the many congratulatory greetings
extended to him by friends voiced that prediction. Doctor Eldredge
is still in professional practice.

       *       *       *       *       *

The "Emperor Jones," Eugene G. O'Neill's, of Provincetown, drama, has
been produced in Boston. The Provincetown players may be said to have
done themselves well by presenting as a maiden effort in Boston, this
play by O'Neill in which Charles Gilpin plays the leading role. "The
Emperor Jones" is O'Neill's first offering to Boston theatre world
although he learned his trade at Prof. Baker's Harvard 47 Workshop.

       *       *       *       *       *

In a stock judging contest at the Massachusetts Agricultural College,
Amherst, recently, Lawrence High School of Falmouth won second place,
scoring 1100 out of a possible 1200 points. Eight teams competed in
the contest, with 54 competitors for individual prizes. The team from
the Lawrence High School was composed of Arthur Briggs, Edward Briggs
and Harold Dushane, and these young men are to be congratulated upon
their ability as judges of live stock. They deserve special credit
for the reason that the other teams competing were selected from much
larger schools than Lawrence High. Mr. Williams, who is taking the
place of Mr. Hawkes as agricultural instructor, accompanied the boys
to Amherst, the party making the trip by auto.




A DELAYED LETTER


In looking over some old manuscripts the other day the editor came
across the following letter which is so full of longing for the
country of the writer's ancestry that we publish it herewith, just
as it was written in 1918:

Denver, Colorado.

"A state of Maine man, Mr. Dana, has just handed me a copy of your
magazine of December, 1917. Because I am a Cape Codder marooned in
the Rocky Mountains for 40 years, though I started to run away to sea
when I was 8 years old--man proposes, God disposes. I read it through
from stem to gudgeon including the poetry and the advertisements. My
ancestor, Thomas Baxter, Yarmouth, Mass., married the daughter of
Capt. John Gorham, Temperance Gorham Sturgis, widow of Edmund
Sturgis, Jr., Jan. 26, 1879. He was a lieutenant under Capt. John
Gorham in the great swamp fight, King Philip's war, and that part of
Maine (then Massachusetts) called Gorham, was set off to them for
services against the Narragansett Indians.

"With such ancestry, followed by worthy descendants, don't you think
I have a love for Cape Cod sand? Capt. Gorham's wife was Desire
Howland, daughter of John Howland of the Mayflower and the first son
of Thomas, John Baxter, married Desire Gorham, June 11, 1706, and
with his two brothers built the old mill at Hyannis of which it is
sung:

  "The Baxter boys they built a mill,
  And when it went, it never stood still.
  And when it went it made no noise,
  Because 'twas built by Baxter's boys."

"I hope to pass my last years in my cottage in South Dennis and to
quote from Edna Howes' poem on page 23, entitled 'Who's Worrin'?'

  "Cod and haddock, boned and white,
  A drying on their flakes,
  There's none can beat the cod fish balls
  That mother only makes.
  And clams and quahogs, scallops, too,
  A layin' close at hand
  A waitin' and a longin'
  To be dug from out the sand."

"My word, Edna, you make my mouth water!

"On page 11 you say that no Canadian lynx or wild cat has been seen
on the Cape for 100 years. Make it about 50 years instead, because
there was a catamount in South Yarmouth woods in 1867 and I think I
saw it--and I could prove it if George Thatcher was alive and had
his memory with him.

"How I would enjoy being out in a cat boat off Hyannis, or Dennisport,
or North Dennis. Say! if the bluefish haven't been all caught by the
time I get there I will certainly try my luck. I would rather catch
rock cod, or perch, or tautog, than fill a creel with brook trout,
under any conditions, any day in the year; but then you don't care,
and I don't care if you don't--but I do."

                        Yours truly,
                            JOHN N. BAXTER.




A MILLION QUARTS OF STRAWBERRIES


Cape Cod strawberries are destined to become as famous as her
cranberries, her fishing, and her renown as a summer resort. One
million quarts of them left her fields the past season! And the
industry is still growing!

Cape Cod leads New England in the magnitude of this industry and
Falmouth holds the honor of being the home of the Cape Cod
strawberry.

There are in Falmouth something over two hundred acres in
strawberries, and these acres extend over an area of between six and
seven square miles. The berries for the most part are grown on land
cleared from woods within the past fifteen years. New land is being
cleared each season and the territory is becoming more and more
extensive, the industry expanding and Falmouth as a specialized
farming center more and more prominent.

The sturdy pioneers of this industry in Falmouth are Portuguese
people who drifted to the section from nearby industrial centers
like New Bedford and Fall River and who later persuaded their
friends and relatives from across the sea to join them in this land
of plenty. They are splendid people, hard working, thrifty and
industrious, and make most excellent citizens. Although but few have
had the opportunity to attend school, they are most intelligent
farmers, ready and willing to adopt methods that will financially
improve their business. The majority are, however, limited in land
area and many times are obliged to crop their small farms to excess,
for strawberries are the main cash crop, and very few who have more
recently come here have the necessary funds to acquire much land or
equipment. The acreage in berries will vary from one-half an acre to
four acres. Cultural methods are practically all hand work. The land
is cleared by hand, plants set and runners placed by hand, fertilizer
applied by hand, hand hoed, hand weeded and naturally hand picked.

The rows are set 4-1/2 to 5 feet apart, plants 14 to 15 inches in the
row. The matted row system is used, but instead of allowing runners
to set at will, each one is placed. The beds are raised six inches,
rows when fully set are from 3-1/2 to 4 feet wide. Pine needles are
used for a mulch mainly because they were handy at first, clean of
weeds and easy to apply, but the pine needle is getting more and
more obsolete, like the tallow candle, and unless the grower changes
his method of mulching or else uses a motor truck and goes a long
distance he is out of luck in the future.

The industry has seen hard times and about six years ago it was
doubtful if it could survive. Growers were working as individuals
and selling their berries and buying their fertilizer, crates and
baskets. It was not uncommon for one grower to ship his season's
crop to as many as seven or eight different commission houses. This
all led to confusion. The commission man could not depend on a
steady and sure supply. By splitting up a crop in this way the
grower actually competed with himself. Finally, by necessity, he was
forced to combine with his neighbor and pool a common interest. The
growers were guided into a co-operative association, to a large
degree, by the assistance of Mr. Wilfrid Wheeler, then Secretary of
the State Board of Agriculture.

Mr. George C. Lillie was employed as manager, and right from the
start the association rallied and has been gaining ground ever since.
At present this association, known as the Cape Cod Strawberry
Growers' Association, numbers ninety-eight men. They are
incorporated, hold shares in the association, and sell their berries
through one commission house instead of seven or eight.

There are two grades of berries sold, only one of which carries the
association stamp. Each member has a number which is placed on his
crate and about 80 per cent of the crop is shipped under the stamp
of the association. The members are paid on Wednesdays and Saturdays
during the shipping season. They also pool their fertilizer order of
over 200 tons, as well as that for crates and baskets. Payment for
these commodities are deducted from returns on the berries. Last
season the association shipped about seventy carloads of berries.
This is probably over two-thirds of the entire output for Falmouth.
Each car holds about 170 80-quart crates, and practically half are
shipped in iced cars. The berries leave Falmouth at 9 p.m. and
arrive in Boston at 6 a.m. They are there distributed to various
points, some going, we understand, as far north as Bangor, Maine.

The varieties grown are Echo, Howard 17, Abington and King Edward.
The first named are more common, but indications point to a rapid
change to the Howard 17. The Echo berry has proved a splendid variety
for this section, as it stands up so well under shipment. The Howard
17 is nearly as good a shipper, but considered a better quality berry
and does nicely on our Cape soils. The picking season is from three
to four weeks. Pickers are usually paid 2 cents a quart, and a good
picker will make from $3 to $4 a day. Five thousand quarts is
considered a fair yield per acre for the section.

The members of the association do not put all their eggs in one
basket, however. They grow besides strawberries, turnips, corn,
potatoes, carrots and raspberries for cash crops. Turnips follow
strawberries in volume and last fall the members shipped about
twenty-five carloads.--_Falmouth Enterprise_.