CUTTYHUNK

Reprint from copy
found in
Attic of The Old Church House
now owned by Wyatt Garfield
Reprinted to be sold
for the benefit of
The Cuttyhunk Library

Printed by
BRADBURY-WARING, INC.
New Bedford, Mass.

CUTTYHUNK.

By Arthur Cleveland Hall

Twenty miles south of New Bedford, where Buzzards Bay opens into the broad Atlantic, lies Cuttyhunk. The little island is almost unknown now, but it played an important part in history nearly three hundred years ago. Here was located the first settlement by Europeans on New England shores, if we except the coming of the Northmen to Vineland. The ruins of the house the settlers built could still be seen early in the present century, and the information obtained from Cuttyhunk in 1602 was most useful in inducing the English emigration to New England which followed. While “Good Queen Bess” was yet alive, and but fourteen years after the Spanish Armada dashed itself to pieces on the British coast, Captain Bartholomew Gosnold “did set sail from Falmouth, on the five and twentieth of March, 1602, being Friday, in a small bark of Dartmouth called The Concord, holding a course for the north part of Virginia.” There accompanied him “32 persons, whereof eight (were) mariners and sailors, twelve proposing upon the discovery to return with the ship for England, the rest to remain there for population.”

Among these bold voyagers, two, “Gabriel Archer, gentleman and journalist,” and M. John Brereton, wrote accounts of the expedition. In the following pages these old manuscripts, of necessity much condensed, are followed as closely as possible.

The names of the ship’s company, so far as they are known to us, were Bartholomew Gosnold, commander; Bartholomew Gilbert, second officer; Robert Saltern, who was afterwards a clergyman; Gabriel Archer, gentleman and journalist; John Angel, William Streete, John Brereton, Robert Meriton and —— Tucker.

“The wind favored us not at first, but enforced us so far to the southward, as we fell in with St. Mary, one of the islands of the Azores; but holding our course directly from thence we made our journey shorter (than hitherto accustomed) by the better part of a thousand leagues. Yet were we longer in our passage than we expected, for that our bark being weak, also our sailors few and they none of the best, we bear (except in fair weather) but low sail. Besides, our going upon an unknown coast made us not over-bold to stand in with the shore but in open weather.

“On Friday, the 14th of May, early in the morning, we made the land, being full of fair trees, the land somewhat low, certain hommocks or hills lying into the land, the shore full of white sand, but very stony or rocky. And standing fair along by the shore, about twelve of the clock the same day, we came to an anchor, where eight Indians in a Basque shallop with mast and sail, an iron grapple and a kettle of copper, came boldly aboard of us; one of them appareled with a waistcoat and breeches of black serge, made after our sea fashion, hose and shoes on his feet. All the rest were naked, saving near their waists sealskins tied fast like Irish dimmie trowsers.

“These people are of tall stature, broad and grim visage, of a black swart complexion, their eyebrows painted white; their weapons bows and arrows. It seemed by some words and signs they made that some Basques of St. John de Luz have fished or traded in this place, being in the latitude of 43 degrees.

“Coasting along to the southwest, we came to anchor near a great cape, where in five or six hours we had pestered our ship so with codfish that we threw numbers of them overboard again; and surely I am persuaded that there is upon this coast better fishing than in Newfoundland, wherefore we named the place ‘Cape Cod.’

“Sailing round about this headland almost all the points of the compass, we were come at length amongst many fair islands, all lying within a league or two one of another, and the outermost not above 5 or 7 leagues form the main. Coming to an anchor under one of these, Captain Gosnold and some others of us went ashore, and going about it, we found it to be four English miles in compass, the place most pleasant, but without house or inhabitant. The chiefest trees of this island are beeches and cedars, the outward parts all overgrown with low, bushy trees three or four feet in height, which bear some kind of fruit, as appeared by their blossoms; strawberries, red and white, as sweet and much bigger than ours in England; raspberries, gooseberries, whortleberries and such an incredible store of vines, as well in the woody parts of the island, where they run upon every tree, as on the outward parts, that we could not go for treading upon them; also many springs of excellent, sweet water, and a great standing lake of fresh water an English mile in compass, which is maintained with the springs running exceeding pleasantly through the woody grounds, which are very rocky. This island we named ‘Martha’s Vineyard’ [now No-man’s-Land, a desolate island just west of the present Martha’s Vineyard]. Here also we saw great store of deer, diverse fowls in great plenty, also great store of pease, which grow in certain plots all the island over; and on the north side we found many huge bones and ribs of whales.

“The four and twentieth of May we set sail and doubled the cape of another island next unto this, which we called Dover Cliff [now called Gay Head, at the west end of Martha’s Vineyard], and then came into a fair sound, where we rode all night. The next morning we sent off one boat to discover another cape that lay northwest of this, between us and the main, from which were a ledge of rocks a mile into the sea, but all above water and without danger [now known as the “Sow and Pigs” reef]. We went about them and came to anchor in 8 fathoms, a quarter of a mile from the shore, in one of the stateliest sounds that ever I was in [Buzzards Bay]. This called we Gosnold’s Hope, the north bank whereof is the main, which stretcheth east and west. This island Captain Gosnold called Elizabeth’s Isle [now Cuttyhunk], where we determined our abode.

“It containeth many pieces or necks of land, which differ nothing from several islands, saving that certain banks of small breadth do like bridges join them to this island. In mid-May we did sow (for a trial) in sundry places wheat, barley, oats and pease, which in 14 days were sprung up 9 inches and more. The soil is fat and lusty, and the sowing or setting is no greater labor than if you should set or sow in one of our best prepared gardens in England. This island is full of high timbered oaks, their leaves thrice so broad as ours; cedars straight and tall, beech, elm, holly, walnut trees in abundance, hazle-nut trees, cherry trees, sassafras trees, great plenty all over the island, a tree of high price and profit; also divers other fruit trees, some of them with strange barks of an orange color, in feeling soft and smooth like velvet. In the thickest part of these woods you may see a furlong or more round about.

“On the northwest side of this island is a stage or pond of fresh water, in circuit two miles, on the one side not distance from the sea 30 yards, in the centre whereof is a rocky islet containing near an acre of ground full of wood, on which we began our fort and place of abode disposing itself so fit for the same. This lake is full of small tortoises, and exceedingly frequented with all sorts of fowl, much bigger than ours in England. Also in every island and almost in every part of every island are great store of ground-nuts, 40 together on a string, some of them as big as hen’s eggs; they grow not two inches underground, the which nuts we found to be as good as potatoes. Also divers sorts of shellfish, as scollops, muscles, cockles, lobsters, crabs, oysters and wilks, exceeding good and very great.

“But not to cloy you with particular rehearsals of such things as God and Nature hath bestowed on these places, in comparison whereof the most fertile part of England is but barren,—we went in our light horseman from this island to the main, right against this island some two leagues off, where coming ashore, we stood a while like men ravished at the beauty and delicacy of this sweet soil; for besides divers clear lakes of fresh water, meadows very large and full of green grass, even the most woody places do grow so distinct from one another upon green grassy ground as if Nature would show herself above her power, artificial. Immediately there presented unto us Indians, men, women and children, who, with all courteous kindness, entertained us, giving Captain Gosnold certain skins of wild beasts, which may be rich furs, tobacco, turtles, hemp, artificial strings colored, chains and such like things as at the instant they had about them.

“These are a fair conditioned people, who being emboldened by our courteous visage and some trifles which we gave them, followed us to a neck of land which we imagined had been severed from the main; but finding it otherwise, we perceived a broad harbor or river’s mouth which ran up into the main, and because the day was far spent we were forced to return to the island from whence we came, leaving the discovery of this harbor [probably New Bedford harbor] for a time of better leisure.

“The next day, being the first of June, we employed ourselves in getting sassafras and the building of our fort on the little island in the lake before mentioned. On the following day we wrought hard to make ready our house for the provisions to be had ashore to sustain us till our ship’s return, in building whereof we spent three weeks, covering the house with sedge, which grew about this lake in great abundance. Now, on the fifth of June, as we continued our labor, there came unto us ashore from the main 50 savages, stout and lusty men, with their bows and arrows; among them there seemed to be one of authority, because the rest made an inclining respect unto him. The ship was, at their coming, a league off, and Captain Gosnold aboard, and so likewise Captain Gilbert, who almost never went ashore, the company with me (Gabriel Archer) only 8 persons. These Indians in hasty manner came towards us, so as we thought fit to make a stand at an angle between the sea and the fresh water, being loath they should discover our fortification. I moved myself towards him 7 or 8 steps and clapped my hands, first on the sides of my head, then on my breast, and after presented my musket with a threatening countenance, thereby to signify unto them either a choice of peace or war; whereupon he using me with mine own signs of peace, I stepped forth and embraced him; his company then all sat down in a manner like greyhounds, upon their heels, with whom my company fell a bartering. By this time Captain Gosnold was come with 12 men more from aboard, and to show the savage seignior that he was our captain, we received him in a guard, which he passing through saluted the seignior with ceremonies of our salutations, whereat he nothing moved or altered himself. Our captain gave him a straw hat and a pair of knives; the hat a while he wore, but the knives he beheld with great marveling, being very bright and sharp; thus our courtesy made them very much in love with us.

“On the seventh the seignior came again with all his troop as before, and continued with us the most part of the day eating and drinking with us. The rest of the day we spent in trading with them for furs, which are beavers, luzernes, martins, otters, wildcat skins, very large and deep fur; black foxes, coney skins of the color of our hares, deer skins, very large; seal skins and other beasts’ skins to us unknown. They have also great store of copper, some very red and some of a paler color; none of them but have chains, earrings or collars of this metal. They head some of their arrows herewith much like our broad arrow-heads, very workmanly made. Their chains are many hollow pieces cemented together, each piece of the bigness of one of our reeds, a finger in length, 10 or 12 of them together on a string, which they wear about their necks. Their collars they wear about their bodies like bandeliers a handful broad, all hollow pieces like the other, but somewhat shorter, 400 pieces in a collar, very fine and evenly set together. Besides these they have large drinking-cups made like sculls, and other thin plates of copper made much like our boar-spear blades. The necks of their pipes are made of clay hard dried; the other part is a piece of hollow copper, very firmly closed and cemented together. All of which they so little esteem, as they offered their fairest collars or chains for a knife or such like trifle; but we seemed little to regard it. Yet I was desirous to understand where they had such store of this metal, and made signs to one of them with whom I was very familiar, who, taking a piece of copper in his hand, made a hole with his finger in the ground and withal pointed to the main from whence they came. These Indians call gold wessador, which argueth there is thereof in the country.

“They strike fire in this manner: Every one carrieth about him in a purse of tewed leather a mineral stone (which I take to be their copper), and with a flat emery stone, (wherewith glazers cut glass and cutlers glaze blades) tied fast to the end of a little stick, gently he striketh upon the mineral stone, and within a stroke or two a spark falleth upon a piece of touch-wood (much like our sponge in England), and with the least spark he maketh a fire presently. We had also of their flax, wherewith they make many strings and cords, but it is not so bright of color as ours in England. I am persuaded they have great store upon the main, as also mines and many other rich commodities which we, wanting both time and means, could not possibly discover.

“These people, as they are exceeding courteous, gentle of disposition and well conditioned, excelling all others that we have seen, so for shape of body and lovely favor I think they excel all the people of America; of stature much higher than we; of complexion or color much like a dark olive; their eyebrows and hair black, which they wear long, tied up behind in knots, whereon they prick feathers of fowls in fashion of a coronet; some of them are black, thin bearded; they make beards of the hair of beasts, and one of them offered a beard of their making to one of our sailors for his that grew on his face, which, because it was of a red color, they judged to be none of his own. They are quick-eyed and steadfast in their looks, fearless of other’s harms, as intending none themselves; some of the meaner sort given to filching, which the very name of savages (not weighing their ignorance of good or evil) may easily excuse. Their garments are of deer skins, and some of them wear furs round and close about their necks. They pronounce our language with great facility; for one of them one day sitting by me, upon occasion I spoke, smiling to him, these words: ‘How, now, sirrah, are you so saucy with my tobacco?’ which words (without any further repetition) he suddenly spake so plain and distinctly as if he had been a long scholar in the language.

“Many other such trials we had, which are here needless to repeat. Their women (such as we saw, which were but three in all,) were but low of stature, their eyebrows, hair, apparel and manner of wearing like to the men, fat and very well favored, and much delighted in our company; the men are very dutiful towards them.

“And truly, the wholesomeness and temperature of this climate doth not only argue this people to be answerable to this description, but also of a perfect constitution of body, active, strong, healthful and very witty, as the sundry toys of theirs cunningly wrought may easily witness. For the agreeing of this climate with us we found our health and strength all the while we remained there so to renew and increase as notwithstanding our diet and lodging were none of the best, yet not one of our company (God be thanked) felt the least grudging or inclination to any disease or sickness, but were much fattter and in better health than when we went out of England.

“But after our bark had taken in much sassafras, cedar, furs, skins and other commodities as were thought convenient, some of our company that had promised Captain Gosnold to stay, having nothing but a saving (i. e., money-making,) voyage in their minds, made our company of inhabitants (which was small enough before) much smaller, so as Captain Gosnold, seeing his whole strength to consist but of twelve men, and they but meanly provided (with victuals), determined to return for England, leaving this island (which he called Elizabeth’s Island) with as many true sorrowful eyes as were before desirous to see it. So the 18th of June, being Friday, we weighed, and with indifferent fair wind and weather, came to anchor the 23d day of July, being also Friday (in all bare five weeks) before Exmouth.”

In an appendix to the account of John Brereton, which he addressed to Sir Walter Raleigh, is “A brief note of such commodities as we saw in the country notwithstanding our small time of stay.” These are classed under trees, fowls, beasts, fruits, plants and herbs, fishes, colors, metals and stones. It is rather amusing to find under fish “whales, tortoises, seals, lobsters, crabs, muscles, wilks, cockles, scollops, oysters” and, last of all, “snakes four feet in length and six inches about, which the Indians eat for dainty meat, the skins whereof they use for girdles.”

Cuttyhunk to-day is greatly changed from the fair, wooded island discovered in 1602. The stately trees have passed away. In 1858 not one was growing there; not even a decaying stump could be seen above ground. But now there are a few silver-leaf poplars near the houses on the east of the island; and two or three fruit trees, solitary survivors of many planted, still struggle through the cold blasts of winter. Long, low sand bars, deeply strewn with sea-worn stones, connect the different parts of the island as of old, and off to the west the reef of “Sow and Pigs” spouts like a geyser in a storm. Rocky hillocks, interspersed with steep little valleys, where six or seven hundred sheep find pasture, decline gradually to a fresh water pond on the northwest, where Gosnold’s Islet rises green above the blue water. The identity of the places visited by the bold voyagers of 1602 can scarcely be doubted, so minute and exact was their description of them. Early in this century the cellar of Gosnold’s house and fort were distinctly to be seen; but unfortunately since then the ground of his little island has been ploughed over and cultivated; so that hardly a vestige of the ruin remains. Possibly a careful excavation would again reveal portions of the cellar which Dr. Belknap, the historian, found on his visit to the island in 1797.

In 1817 several members of the Massachusetts Historical Society visited the Elizabeth Islands (Gosnold’s name for Cuttyhunk having since been transferred to the entire group), and an account of their visit may be found in the fifth volume of the North American Review, from which I make the following extract:

“In the western end of the pond is a high islet surrounded by a rocky margin and covered with a very rich soil.... The stump of a red cedar stood near the shore, and we brought home a piece of it as a remembrance of our expedition. On the northern bank of the islet, about ten yards from the water, we found a small excavation overgrown with bushes and grass, on one side of which were three large stones in a row at the distance of three feet from each other, having under them other stones of the same size lying in the same direction. Between these were smaller stones, which appeared by their form and smoothness to have been taken from the beach. In another slight excavation twenty yards south of the former, near the centre and highest part of the islet, were similar stones, but very few in number and not disposed in any apparent order. On digging in other parts of the islet we found more of the same kind. We conjectured that the first excavation was all that remained of Gosnold’s cellar and the latter a part of the trench dug for the purpose of forming the fort.”

The desirability of some simple monument to commemorate this first European settlement in New England, and in memory of Bartholomew Gosnold, who died August 22d, 1607, and was buried in an unknown grave at Jamestown, Virginia, has often been suggested. Nearly three hundred years have passed, and at present Gosnold’s Island is adorned with a deserted henhouse.

None of the Elizabeth Islands retain their primitive appearance, except Naushon, the largest of them. Here noble forests of beech, oak and other trees cover the land, while the wild grape and other vines grow luxuriantly among the branches. The islands have all preserved their Indian names, which have been put into rhyme:

Cuttyhunk is contracted from the Indian name Poocutohhunkounoh, which may mean Place of Departure. Quawck was the Indian name for Gosnold’s Islet. A lofty promontory running out from the north of Cuttyhunk was called by the Indians Copicut, or Cappiquat, meaning thick, dark woods. This name it still bears. Canapitset is the name for the passage between Nashawena and Cuttyhunk. Nashanaw was the collective aboriginal name for the whole group, and probably means Our Father’s Islands.

The modern visitor to Cuttyhunk will find much to reward him if he has eyes and ears to know the sea and the rocky, wreck-strewn shore; if he loves to feel the salt wind blow, full of life, from the bounding waves, and will watch the play of light and shade on the rainbow-colored cliffs of fair Gay Head.

After a storm at sea great waves roll in around Cape Cod and Martha’s Vineyard and hurl their “thunderous snow” upon the rocks of Cuttyhunk; often when all is fair o’erhead. Sometimes one may see great billows driving in to the shore in the very teeth of a northeast gale, which cuts the foam from off their crests and tosses it, a wind-blown sheet of sparkling spray, far out behind each charging wave.

The island affords almost nothing to do; but the beauty of it is the visitor to Cuttyhunk does not want to do anything. First impressions are likely to be amusing. A harbor without a wharf, a village without a street, country without a tramp—such is Cuttyhunk. The coming of the mail steamer is the event of the week, in the summer the event of each day. Entering the harbor a number of small catboats are seen, standing on and off, ready to convey passengers and baggage, live stock and freight—whatever comes their way—through “the narrows” into “the pond,” where a landing can be made. The channel runs close to a long, low sand spit, covered completely with heaps of wave-washed stones and shattered wreckage.

“Mamma, what is that horrid thing with teeth?” asked a trembling little girl, as the boat swept toward a great, black, jaw-like wreck of a schooner’s bow, high and dry on the rocks.

When the tide runs out through “the narrows” and a head wind is blowing the island expressman comes into service before the baggage is put ashore. Over the stones and into the rushing water go the stout horse and wagon, a rope is heaved from the boat, and, thanks to the harmonious action of sail and horsepower, the boatload is soon safe beside the little dock in the quiet “pond.” Landing, you cross a bit of sea marsh by a narrow, raised causeway of boards. If two fat men meet here at high tide a retreat or a bath must follow.

Such minor difficulties avoided, the way (made largely of old ship planking) leads to the foot of the hill on which the straggling village rests. Here a short halt gives time to let down the bars from a gate and the party proceeds upwards a hundred yards or more to where a short flight of ship steps mounts securely beneath the wide, upright plank of a board fence. The upper planks have been removed, and a little agility and caution will enable the stranger to pass on his way rejoicing. Next you ascend to a partial opening in a stone wall, and higher still some strictly natural stone steps, surmounted by a swinging gate.

Once on the other side, you have attained the goal of your desire, and are in the heart of the little settlement of perhaps twenty houses. Gates still confront you on every side, gates adorned with relics of many an old wreck and swinging open by aid of weights,—a heavy ship’s pulley block or the shackle to an anchor. But the ways are free to all—the island dogs are as amiable as their kind-hearted owners—and, arrived at last under some hospitable roof, one learns the good results of sea breezes and recent gymnastics in satisfying a voracious appetite with delicious lobster, fish, fresh vegetables and many imported delicacies.

Meanwhile the distribution of the mail is progressing at the postoffice,—a whitewashed shed in the rear of one of the cottages. Here, before a large assemblage of the islanders, the postmaster or his wife calls off the names of fortunate recipients, letter by letter, and then the meeting adjourns until time for the next mail. If you do not happen to be present, and no one brings your mail, you can step into the deserted postoffice and look for yourself over the pile of letters yet uncalled for. No one thinks of locking up anything on the island. Why should they, when all are honest and almost everybody related, so that secrets are all in the family?

Fifty years ago, when New Bedford and Fairhaven had almost four hundred whale ships, the Cuttyhunkers’ business was largely pilotage. Seven men earned a good living in this important work; and there are still several pilots hailing from the island. Many a deed of daring or narrow escape from death one hears from their lips.

Two of them were sailing one very foggy day in the Sound, when suddenly a schooner’s bow loomed up right above them. “Catch hold for your life!” one pilot called to his fellow and leaping on to the martingale, made his way quickly to the deck, where it required about a minute to make the astonished crew understand that they had run down a pilot boat and must lend a hand to rescue the other pilot. They found him clinging to the bowsprit chains, with just his head above water, and soon hauled him aboard. Next day the pilots, left on the lightship, discovered their boat bottom up, righted her, bailed her out, and went back to business as if nothing had happened.

One pilot has named his fishing boat the Never Budge. Another catboat is called the Mikado, which, so a fisherman said, “is the title of some big official, I don’t remember just where. Hold on a bit. Yes, it’s Switzerland, that’s where it is.”

The islanders are great borrowers. If a man is building a shed or doing anything for which some materials have failed to arrive from the mainland, he goes round among “the neighbors” till he finds “suthin’ that’ll do,” and borrows it. A favorite Cuttyhunk story relates how a man, buying salt to cure his fish, purchased two bags full, one for use himself and one to lend friends. When any salt was borrowed it was always returned and put back; yet the bag for lending was empty almost as soon as that for home consumption.

Lobstering is now the principal business of the islanders. Formerly a successful man could lay by one thousand dollars besides supporting himself during a good season, which lasts from March till late December. The years vary greatly; 1896 was the worst on record. In late September one man said he had not cleared twenty-five dollars over expenses. An old lobsterman said he had seen a steady decrease in the number of lobsters caught during the last twenty-two years. Laws have been passed to remedy this, fining anyone with lobsters under ten and a half inches long five dollars for each “short lobster” in his possession, but the laws are hard to enforce.

One grizzled Cuttyhunker lives half the year in an old warehouse just above ordinary high water. In storms or very high tides everything on the ground floor is awash; but the old salt said: “I don’t mind that nothin’. The salt water has been swashin’ round me all my life.” All his household goods are safely stored away in the upper story underneath the eaves. A ladder with a rope hand-rail affords ready access. One long window has a canvas shutter, fastened by rope lanyards when the wind blows too strong for comfort.

“I like ter live down here,” said he. “It’s so handy to my work. I start off lobsterin’ sometimes ’tween three and four o’clock in the mornin’, and eat just a bite before startin’. Get in nigh on ter two in the arternoon, hungry as a bear. Don’t want ter have to climb way up to the village and wait to have things cooked. Here everythin’ is handy, right by the dock. I eat whatever’s ready while I’m cookin’ suthin’ more,—or when my wife’s here, she cooks it.”

He is a strong, honest, quick-witted specimen of a Yankee fisherman grandfather, weighing a hundred and eighty pounds, working early and late, owning a farm in the centre of Martha’s Vineyard and an orange grove in Florida. But he says: “There ain’t nothin’ in farmin’ nowadays. The wife she says wool is sellin’ for only twelve an’ thirteen cents a pound. Think on it!” As for the orange plantation, he declares: “I won’t never git my money back again”; but in winter he goes down South to “have a look at it.” The dock just in front of his warehouse is taken up in the autumn, the props knocked from under it, and all tied up and anchored as securely as possible on the bank; but the winter storms play havoc with it nevertheless.

Cuttyhunk has a neat little schoolhouse, a church and a library of three hundred books. The school is in session three-quarters of the year, and the church the other quarter; for it is only in the summer that the islanders can have a minister, or, more properly speaking, a young man who hopes some day to become a minister. The stores are in private houses and closely connected with the kitchen department. If the good housewife gets tired of keeping certain things for sale, a neighbor will undertake to supply them next season. The candy store moves often, occupying a dark closet now in this house, now in that.

Forty or fifty people live on the island all winter, fourteen households, besides the men at the life-saving station. Most of the hard work comes in the spring, summer and fall. In winter the men make lobster pots, smoke, play cards, lie around and take things easy. Almost all the islanders come from old New England stock. They are strong, courageous and hard-headed, slow to make friendships and slow to break them; true as steel to those they love, and hospitable to all who come to them.

Until two years ago no horse had reached Cuttyhunk. The island turnouts were two-wheeled carts, drawn each by a stout donkey. Cows, sheep, turkeys and hens roam freely almost everywhere. Old fishnets are hung on poles to protect flower-beds and choice bits of kitchen garden. With the exception of the few acres in and around the village, the whole island (of between six and seven hundred acres) is owned by the Cuttyhunk Fishing Club. “The farm” is rented out for five hundred dollars a year, but of late it has not been a success, although corn and other vegetables grow well. The reason seemed to be, as one of the natives expressed it: “The man who runs the farm won’t make nothin’ outin it. Cause why? He hain’t got no headpiece.”

The clubhouse stands on a bold bluff looking off on the broad Atlantic to the southwest and across Vineyard Sound, that highway of ships, to where Gay Head rises glorious from the waves. In 1864 some New York gentlemen discovered that striped bass could be caught from the rocks of Cuttyhunk. A club was soon organized, and the clubhouse erected. Its walls are decorated with paintings of great fish caught; but the bass have decreased very greatly in numbers since the early seventies, when nearly seven thousand pounds of the striped beauties were landed in a single year. The largest bass on record weighed sixty-four pounds. But even should the fish desert the island entirely, there is little danger of the club members following. Most of them are well on in years, and regard Cuttyhunk as one of the most delightful of places for a summer’s rest. One old Texan has spent twenty-two successive seasons at the club. Another member has never failed to appear in the last thirty-two years. Behind the clubhouse a really beautiful garden glows with many-colored flowers, and long rows of healthy vegetables give evidence that the club table is not neglected. On the south a well-kept lawn reaches down to the edge of the cliff; and a fine spyglass, mounted on its tripod, invites to watch the passing ships.

But the central point of interest to Cuttyhunk visitors is apt to be the life-saving station, established by the United States government in 1889. As early as 1847 the Massachusetts Humane Society had erected stations on the Elizabeth Islands, supplied with approved life-saving appliances, for the use of the brave islanders, who would not brook the sight of fellow mariners shipwrecked and perishing before their eyes without an attempt at rescue.

Many are the crews whose lives these stout-hearted volunteers have saved at the risk of their own. In February, 1893, when the brig Aquatic was wrecked on the “Sow and Pigs” reef, five of the six members of the volunteer crew perished in their attempt to reach the vessel. That was a terrible day for Cuttyhunk.⁠[1]⁠

But a few nights before, a four-masted schooner, the Douglass Dearborn, was wrecked on the rocks to the southward and her half-frozen crew rescued with great difficulty, one by one, in the breeches-buoy. The life savers were worn out by their exertions. Suddenly came the terrible news: “A brig wrecked on Sow and Pigs—the sea will break her up before morning!” In haste the undaunted islanders made their way to the west end of Cuttyhunk, where blazing torch-lights on the wreck flared out of the darkness, above the seething combers, raging in to the shore. “No boat can live in such a sea,” said a brave old salt. “Oh! yes, she can,” answered Tim Akin, Jr., and he called for volunteers. Five men stepped out and the surf-boat was quickly launched. Slowly she staggered forward, up and down amid the waves. Captain Tim was a man who never knew fear. “Come on, boys,—ain’t this fun!” he shouted from his place at the steering oar. Just then, close by the brig, a gigantic comber overwhelmed them and the men upon the wreck saw four ghastly faces upturned to theirs as the gallant rescuers, clinging to their overturned boat, were borne swiftly past, helpless, into darkness and death. One man, Josiah Tilton, was carried by the waves toward the brig’s stern. The bight of a rope was flung him and he was saved, yet he alone of the life savers could not swim.

Contrary to all expectation, the brig held together until the following noon, when all aboard her were rescued from the foretop where they had taken refuge. The men had wrapped the topsails about them and crouched under the lee thus made. But they were drenched by the icy seas, and their clothes were frozen stiff in the biting wind gusts. A little longer exposure would have ended their lives. A fund of $30,000 was subscribed and divided among the families of the drowned heroes, and the Canadian government made a grant of $1000 for the same good purpose,—for the wrecked brig hailed from St. John, N. B. The men who perished had rescued many a shipwrecked crew. Their rewards were sometimes $3, sometimes $5, and never more than $15 per man. Cuttyhunk is a rough mother and rears strong and fearless sons. The voice of duty is strong within them and courage is as the air they breathe.

A generous emulation exists between the government station men and the other islanders to see who shall before-most in the noble work of saving life. At the present time there are, as an old lobsterman said, “three humane buildings” on Cuttyhunk. “The Captain” who has charge of them has invented many a useful life-saving apparatus, and has medals from Paris and Havre commending his work. He has on exhibition at the Board of Trade building, Gloucester, Mass., a model of a life-saving car, to be built of aluminum bronze. Its general adoption by coasting vessels would result in the saving of many lives. The captain’s interest in his invention is purely philanthropic, for he has never applied for a patent.

At the government station seven or eight men are always on duty, except during June and July. All night long and every foggy day they patrol the cliffs and stony sand reaches along the west and south shores. Each man carries two Coston signals, whose bright red glare has warned many a ship approaching too near the dangerous coast or given promise to wrecked mariners that help is not far distant.

In the handsome station, finished in hard polished wood and kept as neat as wax, two big surf-boats are ready for emergency, mounted on their long carriages and supplied with oars, life-preservers, ropes and other necessaries. The beach-cart is there loaded with hawser, shot-lines, Lyle gun and ammunition. There are the breeches-buoy, the life-car and all things needed to send a strong rope out to the wreck, along which rope when fastened to the mast the breeches-buoy or life-car makes its perilous way through dashing surf and blinding spray safe to the welcoming shore.

On the last July night, just before the men go on duty, a dance is usually given at the life-saving station. The home of life-cars and surf-boats is bare, save where upon the walls lanterns, life-belts, blocks and tackles serve half as ornaments, half as a sombre setting for the bright, girlish faces and the muscular, sunburnt men, who look so well in their uniforms of blue and white. Through the great open doorway a group of spectators can be dimly seen, leaning against a life-car, standing, or sitting upon coils of rope, while beyond the sea drags the pebbles over the singing beach and the half moon rides through a cloudless sky. Promptly at twelve o’clock the fiddle and the banjo, those instruments of Cuttyhunk gaiety, cease. Two guardsmen take clocks and signals and start on their four-hour watch, which is to continue every night and foggy day through cold and sleet and driving rain until the summer comes again. These men receive sixty dollars a month; and some of the islanders speak of the life savers as having “a good berth and an easy time of it.”