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19th Century documents
Table of Contents for Dwight's 4
volumes.
Journey to Provincetown
from
Travels in New England and New
York.
4 volumes.
Timothy Dwight
Volumes I and II were published in 1821, volumes III and IV in 1822.
New Haven Connecticut: Timothy Dwight
This was republished in 1969 by the John Harvard Library, Belknap Press
of
Harvard University, edited by Barbara Miller Solomon, with the
assistance of Patricia M. King. The text here was taken from the
Harvard edition. The language has been modernized—I don't know
to what extent. There is an extensive introduction by Solomon, as well
as many pages of
explanatory notes.
Each volume has a map near the front detailing the paths taken in that
volume's Travels.
The details of Dwight's life are mainly from Solomon:
Rev. Timothy
Dwight (1752-1817) was not an
ordinary traveler. During the time he
made his travels, from the 1790s to 1815, he was President of Yale, the
most prominent Congregational theologian in New England, an active
Federalist, and perhaps the most important man in Connecticut. In
writing this book, he was
consciously trying to sway European public opinion, which believed
then, as now, that Americans were just money-grubbing, ignorant,
violent barbarians. ...
The volumes have many chapters, each subdivided in Letters. Posted here
is the Cape Cod section of Journey to Provincetown,
from Volume III, pp 46-72, which includes the end of Letter VIII, and
all of Letters IX to XI. Context indicates he made this trip in 1800,
although there is also additional later information from census
reports, other publications, and correspondents. Dwight's chapter
titles are rather misleading—he certainly did make it to Provincetown,
but that specific location wasn't the point of his trip. Journey to
Provincetown begins in New Haven, and takes 8 Letters to wind its
way along the Connecticut shore into Rhode Island, then into
southeastern Massachusetts. Cape Cod gets 3 and a fraction Letters. The
return trip goes through Plymouth, into the towns surrounding Boston,
and back to northeastern Connecticut through southern Worcester county,
Massachusetts, in 4 Letters.
Table of Contents for Dwight's 4
volumes.
Timothy
Dwight - Appletons
Timothy
Dwight - encyclopedia.com
posted April 2004
Journey to Provincetown
Helburne Woods—Westport—New Bedford—Its
situation, commerce, and settlement—Attack on Fairhaven by the British
in 1778—Gallant defense of the place by Major
Fearing—Rochester—Wareham—Proposed canal across the
peninsula of Cape Cod—Sandwich
Country between Sandwich and
Barnstable—Barnstable—Yarmouth—Saltworks of Cape Cod—Observations on
the extent of this manufacture—Difficulties of
Christianizing the Indians—Dennis—Harwich—Orleans
Eastham—Truro—Provincetown—Beach grass, its
utility—Soil very thin and blown away from the white sand
beneath—Manners and habits of the inhabitants of
Provincetown—Its
fisheries and harbor—Wellfleet—Return to
Harwich—Innkeeper
Return to Sandwich—Mission among the Indians at
Mashpee—Visit to the Rev. Gideon Hawley, the missionary—Description of
the peninsula of Cape Cod—Its soil, population, etc.
Thursday, November 25th, we left New Bedford early
in the morning, and rode to Sandwich, thirty miles; through Rochester,
twelve; and Wareham, thirteen. On our way we visited a manufactory of
twine at the head of the harbor and about four miles from the town. It
is the property of Mr. Rotch, and will cost, it is said, forty thousand
dollars when completed. It [p 47] contains five stands of quills, each
of which spins thirty pounds of flax per day, and a twisting machine
which easily twists all that is spun. One hundred and fifty pounds of
flax, therefore, are converted daily into twine at this manufactory, or
46,950 pounds in twelve months. Sewing twine only is spun at present
and is said to be of a good quality, but it is intended soon to spin
that which is designed for netting. The flax is chiefly imported from
Connecticut. This was an application of water machinery to the
convenience of man which I have not before seen.
Soon after we passed the Acushnet, we entered upon
the great sandy plain which forms the southeastern region of
Massachusetts. Between New Bedford and Rochester it is tolerably firm.
Thence to Wareham it becomes lighter, and the road heavier. From
Wareham to Sandwich the horse may be said to wade. The forest
throughout this region is principally formed of yellow pines. Oaks are
however interspersed in New Bedford and Rochester. The soil in
Rochester is principally hard and furnishes a good road.
Rochester consists of scattered plantations. The
soil, so far as we had opportunity to see it, is thin and indifferent.
Around a decent church we saw several well-looking houses, and a number
of others in different parts of the. township.
Rochester was incorporated in 1686, and contained in
1790, 2,644 inhabitants; in 1800, 2,546; and in 1810, 2,954.
Wareham, on the road, is almost merely a sandy
plain, except a few
spots lying chiefly along the streams. The soil, which is light and
thin, lies immediately upon a stratum of white sand, from half an inch
to eight or ten inches in thickness. Beneath this lies another stratum
of yellow sand, descending below any depth to which it has been
explored. As all this country is formed in the same manner to
Provincetown with few and small interruptions, I shall have occasion
hereafter to resume this subject.
The Congregational church in Wareham is decent; but
neither this, nor the church in Rochester, has a steeple.
The lands in this township near the ocean are said
to be much better than those on the road.
Wareham was incorporated in 1739, and in 1790
contained 854 inhabitants; in 1800, 770; and in 1810, 851.
Between Wareham and Sandwich we crossed the neck, or
isthmus, which
connects the peninsula of Cape Cod with the main. Two streams from this
peninsula empty their waters into Barnstable Bay on the east and
Buzzards Bay on the west, whose headwaters are very near to each other.
A scheme has long since been projected, and often been brought up to
the view of the public, for making a canal to connect these two waters,
of sufficient depth to admit vessels of considerable burden and thus
save them the voyage round Cape Cod, which at some seasons of the year
is not a little hazardous. The design is accompanied by the following
very serious difficulties. The expense [p 48] as estimated by
several successive surveyors will be very great. There is no harbor at
the entrance in Barnstable Bay to secure vessels aiming at the canal in
tempestuous weather. This evil is radical, and can be remedied only by
an expensive mole at this spot. If the canal should be guarded with
locks, it would in the winter be frozen, and thus preclude all
navigation at the time of the greatest exposure. If the canal should be
left open, it is believed that a sand bar would be formed at one of the
entrances. The importance of this work, however, is so great that it
will probably be one day attempted. During five months out of the nine
in which it would be open, easterly storms more or less prevail. Many
vessels are lost, and a great mass of property is sunk in the ocean.
The commerce of Boston and other towns on the eastern shore of
Massachusetts would also be rendered so much safer and easier that it
could not fail of being greatly increased. Perhaps there never was a
spot in which such a work was more necessary, or in which it would be
more useful to mankind, than in this. The distance between the
navigable waters of these two bays is five miles.
The soil of Sandwich is much better than that which
we saw at Wareham. The surface is an interchange of hills and valleys,
which, though not beautiful in themselves, were particularly agreeable
to us after having languished over so extensive a plain. These, to a
considerable extent, are moderately well covered with earth. The
meadows were often brilliant. The arable land bears good crops of the
grains common to the country, and among them of wheat, which not
uncommonly yields well. The maize was small, but the season had been
very dry and stinted its growth. Generally the crop is good. A stranger
surveying this ground would suppose from its appearance that vegetation
of every kind must be greatly inferior to that which really exists.
There are several good orchards in this town and one cidermill, the
only one on the peninsula.
The town of Sandwich is built on the northern, or,
as it is commonly called, the western side of the isthmus, on a hill of
considerable height. The most compact part of it surrounds a clear,
pleasant looking pond. From this water runs a handsome stream, on which
stands a gristmill. The church is an ancient building, as are also many
of the houses.
A considerable salt marsh along the shore of the bay
yields the
inhabitants a large quantity of hay, which is valuable both as fodder
and as manure. Near it is a small harbor, called the Town Harbor,
where, and in some other inlets belonging to the township, about thirty
vessels are employed in the coasting business, especially in carrying
wood to Boston.
The general appearance of Sandwich is not
unpleasant, and from the high
grounds there is a fine prospect of the bay and of the neighboring
country. There is a small academy, containing at this time a
considerable collection of students.
Sandwich is divided into two parishes. It was
incorporated in 1639, and in [p 49] 1790 contained 1,991
inhabitants; in 1800, 296 dwelling houses and 2,024 inhabitants; and in
1810, 2,382. There is one Society of Friends and another of Methodists
in this township.
The inhabitants of Sandwich have very civil, decent
manners. Since we were on this ground there has been a considerable
revival of religion in the congregation of the Rev. Mr. B.
Country between Sandwich and
Barnstable—Barnstable—Yarmouth—Saltworks of Cape
Cod—Observations on the
extent of this
manufacture—Difficulties of Christianizing the
Indians—Dennis—Harwich—Orleans
Dear Sir,
Monday, September 29th, we left our friends in
Sandwich and rode to Orleans, thirty miles; through Barnstable, twelve;
Yarmouth, sixteen; Dennis, twenty-one; and Harwich, twenty-five.
The country from Sandwich to Barnstable is hilly and
in a great degree bare, bleak, and desolate: the inhabitants having
universally cut down their forests and groves and taken no measures to
renew them. The soil is thin and unproductive and furnishes very little
that is sprightly to enliven the scene. The road is in many places worn
through the soil down to the yellow sand, and is deep and very heavy.
The hills succeed each other so rapidly and the acclivities and
declivities are so sudden as to render the traveling very laborious. It
ought to be mentioned, however, that in the valleys and toward the bay
a number of meadows alternate the prospect pleasantly. The views from
the heights are frequently extensive and interesting. The streams are
few and small. The houses on the road are neither numerous, nor, except
in a very few instances, of much value.
Barnstable lies at the bottom or the southern
extremity of
Massachusetts Bay. The township extends across the peninsula, which
here is from five to nine miles wide, and about eight miles from
Sandwich to Yarmouth. A noble prospect is seen from the high grounds,
consisting of the town and neighboring country. A very extensive salt
marsh, at that time covered with several thousand stacks of hay; the
harbor, a mile wide, and four or five miles long; a long, lofty, wild
and fantastical beach, thrown into a thousand [p 50] grotesque
forms by the united force of winds and waves; and the bay, bounded on
the north only by sky, on the east by the peninsula of Cape Cod, and on
the west by the eastern shore of Massachusetts; Plymouth Point, a very
long beach running several miles into the bay, and Duxborough Point,
another beach of considerable extent, and lapping upon that of
Plymouth, are conspicuous and very pleasing objects in this view.
The soil in Barnstable is plainly richer, as the
situation is better, than that of Sandwich. The forest growth in both
townships is chiefly oak and yellow pine. The land produces good crops
of maize, rye, and other grains, a good deal of flax, and a great
quantity of onions. On some grounds and in favorable seasons, wheat
grows well. Salt hay is furnished by the marshes in abundance.
The town is built on the northern declivity of a
range of hills running near the middle of the peninsula. The greater
part of the houses stand on the road; taken together they are superior
to those of Sandwich. Many of them are neat, and several exhibit proofs
of wealth and taste. The public buildings which we saw were a
Presbyterian church and a courthouse, the latter decent and well
repaired, the former disagreeable to the eye. The church is unusually
low, while the tower of the steeple is disproportionately high,
appearing as if made for some other building and by accident annexed to
this.
Barnstable was incorporated in 1639, and is the
shire town of the county which bears this name. This distinction it
acquired in 1635 [sic]; and, although situated near the western end of
the
peninsula, has quietly retained it ever since. From this source the
manners of the inhabitants have received some degree of polish, and
their morals some injury. Many of the inhabitants are seamen, and a
greater part farmers.
Barnstable includes two parishes and three
congregations: two Presbyterian, and a small Baptist. In 1790, the
number of inhabitants was 2,610; in 1800, 2,964; houses 408; and in
1810, 3,446.
From Barnstable to Yarmouth the road is deep and
heavy like that last described.
The soil of this township is inferior to any which
we had seen except some parts of Wareham. Here we were first witnesses
of that remarkable phenomenon, so interesting to the inhabitants of
this peninsula, the blowing of the sand. I shall describe it hereafter.
The houses in Yarmouth are inferior to those in
Barnstable, and much more generally of the class which may be called
with propriety Cape Cod houses. These have one story and four rooms on
the lower floor, and are covered on the sides, as well as the roofs,
with pine shingles, eighteen inches in length. The chimney is in the
middle immediately behind the front door, and on each side of the door
are two windows. The roof is straight. Under it [p 51] are two
chambers, and there are two larger and two smaller windows in the gable
end. This is the general structure and appearance of the great body of
houses from Yarmouth to Race Point. There are, however, several
varieties, but of too little importance to be described. A great
proportion of them are in good repair. Generally, they exhibit a tidy,
neat aspect in themselves and in their appendages, and furnish proofs
of comfortable living, by which I was at once disappointed and
gratified. The barns are usually neat, but always small.
At Yarmouth also may be said to commence the general
addiction of the people on this peninsula to fishing. Born and bred at
the verge of the water, they are naturally tempted to seek for plenty
and prosperity on the waves, rather than glean a pittance from the
field. From this source is derived their wealth and much of their
subsistence.
In Yarmouth we first found the saltworks which are
now beginning to engross the attention of the people on this peninsula.
During the Revolutionary War, many persons, here and
elsewhere along the coast, applied themselves to the business of making
salt. The process consisted in evaporating sea water from large boilers
by fire. The quantity obtained in this manner was necessarily small,
and the consumption of fuel great. It was therefore given up at the
ensuing peace, but the subject was not absolutely forgotten. A Mr.
Kelly, having professedly made several improvements in the means of
accomplishing this business, obtained a patent about two years before
this journey was taken for making saltworks on the plan now generally
adopted in this region. Of these the following is a description.
Vats of a number suited to the owners design, twenty
feet square, and ten or twelve inches in depth, are formed of pine
planks, an inch and a half thick, and so nicely joined as to be
watertight. These are arranged into four classes. The first class or
that next to the ocean is called the water room; the second, the pickle
room; the third, the lime room; and the fourth, the salt room. Each of
these rooms, except the first, is placed so much lower than the
preceding that the water flows readily from it into another in the
order specified. The water room is filled from the ocean by a pump
furnished with vans or sails and turned by the wind. Here it continues
until of the proper strength to be drawn into the pickle room, and thus
successively into those which remain. The lime with which the water of
the ocean abounds is deposited in the lime room. The salt is formed
into small crystals in the salt room, very white and pure, and weighs
from seventy to seventy-five pounds a bushel. The process is carried on
through the warm season.
After the salt has ceased to crystallize, the
remaining water is suffered to freeze. In this manner a large quantity
of Glauber's salt is obtained in crystals, which are clean and good.
The residuum is a strong brine and yields a great proportion of marine
salt like that already described.
p
52
To shelter the vats from the dews and rains, each is
furnished with a hipped roof, large enough to cover it entirely. The
roofs of two vats are connected by a beam, turning upon an upright post
set firmly in the ground, and are moved easily on this pivot by a child
of fourteen, or even twelve years. To cover and uncover them is all the
ordinary labor.
The marine salt made here is sold for seventy-five
cents a bushel; and the Glauber's salt, at from six to ten cents a
pound. At these prices the saltworks were supposed by the several
persons with whom we conversed to yield an annual profit of 25, 26, 27,
30, and 33 1/3 per cent on the principal employed. If
this estimate is
not excessive, the business must certainly be better than most others.
It is useful, permanent, liable to few accidents, secure of a market,
incapable of being overdone, and unattended with any material expense
either for labor or repairs. In ordinary cases a child can perform the
labor of a considerable establishment, and the repairs are almost
confined to the roof and the pieces of timber by which the works are
supported. If these were smeared with oil and Spanish brown, or
lampblack, they would last a long time. The brine itself secures the
vats from decay.
The people of Dennis, the town immediately east of
Yarmouth, began this business. The improvements of Mr. Kelly were
represented to me as contested and doubtful. Whatever the truth may be
concerning this part of the subject, the people of Dennis have the
merit and ought unquestionably to have the honor of commencing
efficaciously this useful employment.
The sight of these works excited in my mind a train
of thought which
others perhaps will pronounce romantic. I could not easily avoid
thinking, however, that this business might one day prove the source of
a mighty change in the face of this country. The American coast, as you
know, is chiefly barren, and of course thinly inhabited. It is also
almost everywhere low and level; and, therefore, while it is unsuited
to most other employments, is remarkably fitted to this. Why, then, may
it not be believed that many thousands of persons may one day be
profitably employed in making salt along the immense extent of our
shore? Why may not comfort and even wealth be easily, as well as
usefully, obtained here by great multitudes who otherwise might hardly
earn a subsistence? For aught that appears, this business may be
followed with success and profit to an extent which it would be very
difficult to define. A small capital is sufficient to begin the
employment with advantage. The demand for salt is at present very
great, and is every year increasing. There are (1811) seven millions of
inhabitants within the United States; within a moderate period there
will be seventy. The West Indian sources from which we principally
derive this necessary article of life are now more than sufficient. The
time is near in which the demand will exceed the supplies from that
quarter. To what means can the inhabitants of this country so naturally
betake themselves as to those which I have specified. Will they not of
course erect works of this nature in succession [p 53] from St.
Marys to Machias? Will not comfort, therefore, and even affluence
spring up on sands and wastes which now seem doomed to everlasting
desolation? Will not towns and villages smile in tracts which are now
condemned to gloom and solitude? May not multitudes who habitually
spend life in casual and parsimonious efforts to acquire a bare
subsistence, interluded with long periods of sloth and drunkenness,
become sober, diligent, and even virtuous, and be formed for usefulness
and immortality?
About forty years since, there stood within the
limits of Yarmouth an Indian church, in the neighborhood of which,
called Indian Town, resided a small congregation of praying Indians, of
the Pokanoket, or Wampanoag tribe. This was among the last relics of
the efforts successfully made by our ancestors for the conversion of
the Indians to Christianity. From the obstinate belief which
extensively prevails that these people can never become Christians
until they shall have been first civilized, one would naturally suppose
the trial never to have been made, or to have been made without any
success; yet, history informs us that our ancestors spread the religion
of the Gospel among them with as few obstacles and as happy effects as
were perhaps ever known to attend efforts of the like nature among any
barbarians since the early days of the church.
From Major General Gookin, a perfectly
unexceptionable witness, we learn with certainty that in the colony of
Massachusetts Bay there were in his time eleven hundred praying Indians
in fourteen villages. In the colony of Plymouth, there were at the same
time, including those of all ages, not far from six thousand. In
Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket, there were perhaps fifteen hundred
more. When to these we add those in Connecticut, the number may be
estimated at not far from ten thousand. These facts perfectly refute
the opinion that there is some peculiar difficulty attending the
conversion of Indians which is inherent in their character or manners.
It cannot, however, be denied that the attempts which have been made in
modern times to spread the influence of the Gospel among them have in a
great measure been unsuccessful. Two great causes have in my
apprehension produced this effect. The first of these was the general
persuasion excited by Philip that the English were enemies to the
Indians and were embarked in a general design to possess themselves of
their lands. This persuasion appears to
have spread by the
agency of that sagacious chieftain throughout the greatest part of New
England, in a manner remarkably rapid and efficacious. So firmly were
the Indians satisfied of the hostility and sinister designs of the
colonists that the impression has never been effectually erased.
Whenever our people approach them, therefore, they are met with
apprehension and dislike, strongly cherished by the sense of their own
inferiority and diminution, and of the population and power of the
Americans. The other cause of this difficulty is found in the character
and conduct of those who are called Indian traders. These are a class
of men who for a long period [p 54] employed themselves in
exchanging coarse European goods, and ardent spirits, muskets, powder
and ball, flints, hatchets, knives, and some other commodities with the
Indians for furs and peltry. Sometimes they resided among them
permanently, and sometimes occasionally; and in either case acquired
often considerable ascendancy over them. Generally, they were men of
loose lives, as well as of loose principles. In their trade they were
greedy and oppressive, and in their ordinary conduct licentious. A
great part of their gains arose from the sale of ardent spirits, a
business to the success of which the vice, particularly the
intemperance, of the Indians was, indispensable. Against Christianity
and its missionaries, therefore, these men arrayed themselves, and made
on the minds of their customers the most unfavorable impressions
concerning both. At the same time, they themselves were white men, and
in the view of the Indians were of course Christians. With
Christianity, therefore, these ignorant people almost necessarily
connected the unprincipled and profligate lives of the traders, as
being often the only, and always the prominent, examples of what they
supposed to be the proper effects of the Christian religion. (The same
effects are produced in the minds of the Hindus by the loose
lives of the British inhabitants of Hindustan. The most solid, the most
operative objection brought by them against the Christian religion, and
that which is obviated with the greatest difficulty, has been derived
from this source. The Mexicans made the same objection, and as they
thought irresistibly, against the religion that was taught them by the
Spaniards. The inhabitants of Tanjore, after having been a short time
witnesses of the life of Schwarz, never thought of questioning either
the reality or the excellence of his religion.)
To these great causes must in certain cases be added
a third, which sometimes was not inferior to either in its efficacy: I
mean, the very censurable character of that class of men who usually
plant themselves upon the frontier of the English settlements, a class
composed principally of the foresters heretofore described. These men
almost of course alienate the minds of the Indians from everything
adopted by the colonists.
Independently of these causes, there is nothing in
the Indian character which can rationally discourage efforts for their
conversion. They are savages it is true, and a savage life is hostile
to religion; but how often has Christianity triumphed over this
obstacle. What I especially intend is that there is nothing of a
peculiar nature in their circumstances which would make their
conversion more hopeless and difficult than that of other savages. Of
this, decisive proof is furnished in the facts which have been already
stated. A strong illustration of the same proof is also exhibited in
the remarkable success of the excellent Brainerd, who at Grossweeksung
converted by his preaching, so far as the human eye can judge,
seventy-five Indians out of one hundred to the faith and obedience of
the Gospel within twelve months. What minister can boast of greater
success in any congregation [p 55] of civilized life! Such a fact is a
flaming proof that the difficulty here complained of does not lie in
the mere character of these people.
Yarmouth was incorporated in 1639. In 1790, it
contained 2,678 inhabitants, Dennis being then included within its
limits. In 1800, Yarmouth alone contained 1,727; and in 1810, 2,134. Of
Dennis we saw little except the ground on which we rode, and occasional
extensions of our prospect over the neighboring country. Of the houses
and inhabitants we saw few, and those distinguished by no peculiarity.
A considerable part of the road from Yarmouth to Orleans, where we
lodged, is hilly and unpleasant. The soil is principally lean; the
verdure, faded prematurely; the forests, which in Dennis extend along
the road in one place three miles, are low and unthrifty; and the
surface, though sufficiently varied, destitute of beauty. The views of
the bay and the tidy, comfortable appearance of the houses are here
almost the only objects which can gratify the eye of a traveler. On the
northern shore the soil is said to be better. Rye, Indian corn, and
onions are said to grow well, and are cultivated in greater quantities
than are necessary for the consumption of the inhabitants.
The highest land in the county of Barnstable is
Scargo Hill in this township.
The following account of the saltworks in Barnstable
County is taken from the Collections of the Historical Society of
Massachusetts, Vol. VIII, page 138.
| In |
No. of works |
No. of feet |
| Dennis |
47 |
33,800 |
| Yarmouth |
4 |
16,630 |
| Barnstable |
14 |
11,717 |
| Sandwich |
4 |
2,702 |
| Falmouth |
4 |
1,900 |
| Harwich |
21 |
18,600 |
| Chatham |
6 |
11,500 |
| Orleans |
11 |
3,080 |
| Eastham |
12 |
9,100 |
| Wellfleet |
2 |
180 |
| Truro |
1 |
700 |
| Provincetown |
10 |
11,404 |
|
136 |
121,313 |
You are to be informed that these feet denote the
area of the several vats contained in each saltwork; and that a foot
has here a singular meaning, and denotes ten actual feet. The real
amount of the whole area of the vats erected on this peninsula was in
the year 1802, 1,213,130 square feet. It was calculated that these
works would yield annually 40,438 bushels of marine salt and 181,969
pounds of Glauber's salt, worth in the whole $41,701.56: of [p
56] which the marine salt, valued at 75 cents a bushel, amounts
to $30,328.50; and the Glauber's salt, valued at 6¼ cents per
lb., to $11,373.06.
Captain John Sears, of Dennis, was the first and
principal author of this method of manufacturing salt, and is to be
considered as one of the benefactors of his country, particularly as he
persevered in bringing the design to perfection in spite of the sneers
and ridicule of his neighbors, weapons often employed in a very
shameful, though successful manner to discourage useful inventions.
There is a flourishing village on Bass River,
running between Yarmouth and Dennis on the south side of the peninsula.
Dennis was incorporated in 1793. In 1800, it
contained 188 dwelling houses and 1,408 inhabitants; and in 1810, 1,739.
Harwich presents a handsomer aspect than any other
town after
Barnstable. It is situated on an easy declivity towards the south, and
has a tolerably good soil. The verdure was more vivid, and the
agriculture more successful. The houses are generally such as have been
already described. (In the year 1803, the township of Harwich was
divided, and the first
parish incorporated by the name of Brewster. This is the part through
which we traveled. In the year 1790, the township contained 2,392
inhabitants; and in 1800, 2,987. In the year 1810, the present Harwich
contained 1,942; and Brewster, 1,112: 3,054.)
Orleans is not greatly distinguished by anything
from Harwich, except that it is much inferior in pleasantness of
appearance. The soil also is lighter and apparently less productive. On
Pocket [Pochet] Neck, however, lying upon the south, it is much better
than in
the main body of the township, and on Pocket [Pochet] Island in
Pleasant Bay is
still better. In the body of the township twelve bushels of maize and
eight of rye are the average crop; on the neck, from fifteen to twenty
of maize and from eight to twelve of rye; and on the island, twenty
bushels of maize without the aid of manure. Old men and boys are
principally the husbandmen; the middle aged and young men are chiefly
employed in fishing. Clams are the bait used by the fishermen, of which
from six hundred to a thousand barrels are collected here in a single
season. In this business many poor people find employment and
subsistence. Very little wood grows in this township. Imported wood and
peat are the fuel of the inhabitants. The township is divided into
scattered plantations.
Orleans was formerly a part of Eastham, and was
incorporated in 1797. In 1800, it contained 1,095 inhabitants; and in
1810, 1,248.
I am, Sir, yours, etc.
p 57
Eastham—Truro—Provincetown—Beach
grass, its utility—Soil very
thin and blown away from the white sand beneath—Manners and
habits of the inhabitants of Provincetown—Its
fisheries and
harbor—Wellfleet—Return to Harwich—Innkeeper
Dear Sir,
We left our comfortable inn in Orleans, September
29th, and rode to Provincetown through Eastham, Wellfleet, and Truro:
thirty miles. When we had proceeded half a mile on our journey, the
road turned to the north, and thence to the northwest, this spot being
the elbow of the peninsula. In Eastham the surface became a perfect
plain, and the peninsula so narrow that we had a full view of
Massachusetts Bay and the Atlantic at the same time. The bay was
everywhere magnificent, and on the north was, like the ocean, without
limits. We were, therefore, presented with the prospect of two immense
oceans, separated only by a strip of land three miles in breadth. Few
spots on a continent unite two such objects in a single view.
In Eastham the cultivation of the earth was a point
of perceptibly less consequence than in Orleans. The soil was visibly
more barren; the fields were large, as if owned in common by many
proprietors; the fences were low, as if little danger was apprehended
from cattle; and large tracts were left unenclosed. All these
appearances increased until, at the distance of perhaps six miles from
Orleans, we entered a forest, composed at first of oaks, and afterward
of oaks and pines, still lower and leaner than any which we had seen
before. This forest lasts without intermission to Wellfleet, and with
very little to the borders of Truro. At first the ground is high, but
level. After we had traveled a few miles, it became broken into hills
and valleys. On the eastern side of this township, however, there is a
tract of very good land, containing about two hundred acres, probably
the best in this county, yielding, when well manured, from thirty to
forty-five bushels of maize and from twenty to thirty bushels of rye.
Generally, the land on the eastern side is better than that on the
western. More than one thousand bushels of maize are annually sent to
market by the farmers. Eastham was incorporated in 1646; and, including
Orleans, contained in [p 58] 1790, 1,834 inhabitants; in 1800,
Eastham alone contained 659, and both townships, 1,784; and in 1810,
Eastham contained 751.
Our journey through the forest mentioned above was
disagreeable. The surface was unpleasant, and the trees were destitute
of thrift and beauty. The road also became within a few miles a mere
bed of deep sand, through which our horses moved with excessive
difficulty. Yet, even in this forest we saw, planted at considerable
distances, tidy, snug houses, usually surrounded by a fence enclosing a
small piece of ground. On most of these were orchards of apple trees,
defended from the sea winds by a barrier of cherry trees or locusts.
Under these trees we had from time to time the pleasure of seeing
patches of verdure, not indeed very brilliant, yet very agreeable to
us, accustomed as we had now been for a great distance to fields
covered with a melancholy russet. These houses are almost all built in
valleys, surrounded by hills of considerable height, and defended by
the forests which cover them. A small barn is commonly built near the
house, in which is lodged the salt hay destined to be the food of one
or more cows. These animals, having never known better food, will, it
is said, live well on this fodder.
Our road passed Wellfleet on the right at such a
distance that we saw little of this town until our return.
Truro, i. e. the town, lies on the western side of
the peninsula, being built, like most of those through which we had
passed, upon the harbor. The principal concern of these people, you
will remember, lies with the ocean. The villages of Truro and
Wellfleet, and the houses scattered through these townships, are almost
entirely stationed in valleys, one of which toward the northern part of
the township runs across, or nearly across, the peninsula. On these low
grounds they find a better soil and security from the violence of the
winds. The hills, contrary to what is found almost everywhere else in
New England, are dry, sandy, and barren.
The general aspect of the township and of the
buildings which it contains differs in nothing remarkable from those
which have been already described. It includes two villages, one of
about forty, and the other of about thirty houses, together with
several hamlets and a number of scattered habitations. The houses have
the same tidy, comfortable appearance which has been heretofore
remarked, but are painted in fewer instances than in Yarmouth and some
other places. The church is large and decent, but without a steeple.
From the ground on which this building stands, there is a noble
prospect of the bay and the ocean. This view is frequently repeated in
the way to Provincetown.
In passing through this township we saw a few
melancholy cornfields, particularly toward the northern limits. The
corn hills formed by the hoe were all standing, as if the fields had
yielded their last crop and were finally forsaken. The fences appeared
to have been designed rather to mark the boundaries of the fields, than
to defend them against the intrusion of cattle. [p 59] Yet these lands
are said in ancient times to have produced fifty bushels of maize to
the acre, and from fifteen to twenty bushels of wheat.
Truro contained in 1790, 1,193 inhabitants and 165
dwellings; in 1800, 1,152 inhabitants; and in 1810, l,209.
From Truro to Provincetown our road lay chiefly on
the margin of a beach which unites it with Truro. The form of this
township, exclusively of Long Point, is not unlike that of a chemical
retort: the town lying in the inferior arch of the bulb, and Race Point
on the exterior, and the beach being the stern. Immediately before the
town is the harbor, commonly styled Cape Cod harbor, the waters of
which extend round the north end of Truro a considerable distance, and
are there terminated by an excessive salt marsh, which reaches some
distance into the last-mentioned township. Between this marsh and the
waters of Provincetown harbor on one side and the Atlantic on the other
runs the beach. From observing it in various places along the road from
Eastham, I was induced to believe that it borders the ocean from Race
Point to the elbow, and perhaps reaches still farther.
This remarkable object is an enormous mass of sand,
such as has been already described, fine, light, of a yellowish hue,
and the sport of every wind. It is blown into plains, valleys, and
hills. The hills are of every height from ten to two hundred feet.
Frequently they are naked, round, and extremely elegant; and often
rough, pointed, wild, and fantastical, with all the varied forms which
are seen at times in drifts of snow. Some of them are covered with
beach grass, some fringed with whortleberry bushes, and some tufted
with a small and singular growth of oaks. The variety and wildness of
the forms, the desolate aspect of the surface, the height of the
loftier elevations, the immense length of the range, and the
tempestuous tossing of the clouds of sand formed a group of objects,
novel, sublime, and more interesting than can be imagined. It was a
barrier against the ambition and fretfulness of the ocean, restlessly
and always employed in assailing its strength and wearing away its
mass. To my own fancy it appeared as the eternal boundary of a region,
wild, dreary, and inhospitable, where no human being could dwell, and
into which every human foot was forbidden to enter. The parts of this
barrier which are covered with whortleberry bushes and with oaks have
been either not at all or very little blown. The oaks particularly
appear to be the continuation of the forests originally formed on this
spot. Their appearance was new and singular. Few if any of them rose
above the middle stature of man; yet, they were not shrubs, but trees
of a regular stem and structure. They wore all the marks of extreme
age, were in some instances already decayed and in others decaying,
were hoary with moss, and were deformed by branches, broken and wasted,
not by violence, but by time. The whole appearance of one of these
trees strongly reminded me of a little, withered, old man. Indeed, a
Lilliputian of three score years and ten compared with a veteran of
Brobdingnag would [p 60] very naturally illustrate the
resemblance, or rather the contrast, between one of these dwarfs and a
full-grown tenant of our forests.
This stinted vegetation is partially and perhaps
justly attributed to the influence of the sea winds. The chief cause,
however, is undoubtedly the sterility of the soil. Throughout the whole
of this peninsula the forest trees and all others, even those in the
most favored spots, are unusually small. You will remember that, with
the exception of a thin soil and a few spots of salt marsh, it is
formed entirely of sand. In such ground no forest tree can grow either
with rapidity or vigor. All the trees and all their branches are blunt
and unthrifty in their appearance, and humble in their stature. The
water which nourishes them is received upon a mere sieve, which retains
it but for a moment and supplies them with a scanty, parsimonious
nurture. Accordingly, the trees are in the literal sense starved. On
the beach this evil exists in a peculiar degree. The hills on which
these remarkable vegetables stand are of very small compass, and the
water runs down their sides and oozes from their declivities. Hence,
the supply of nutriment is still less and the growth more stinted than
on the body of the peninsula.
On the driest and most barren of these grounds grows
a plant which I had never before seen, known here by the name of beach
grass. This vegetable bears a general resemblance to sedge, but is of a
light bluish green, and of a coarse appearance. On these sands, sterile
as they appear, it flourishes with a strong and rapid vegetation; and,
I believe, not at all or very rarely on any other ground; and, here,
one would naturally think nothing could grow.
From a Mr. Collins, now an inhabitant of Plymouth
and formerly of Truro, I received the following information. When he
lived at Truro the inhabitants were under the authority of law,
regularly warned in the month of April yearly to plant beach grass, as
in other towns of New England they are warned to repair highways. You
will observe that it was required by the laws of the state and under
the proper penalties for disobedience, being as regular a public tax as
any other. The people, therefore, generally attended and performed the
labor. The grass was dug in the bunches in which it naturally grows,
and each bunch divided into a number of smaller ones. These were set
out in the sand at distances of three feet. After one row was set,
others were placed behind it in such a manner as to shut up the
interstices; or, as a carpenter would say, so as to break the joints.
It was placed in this manner in order to prevent the wind from having
an open course through the grass in any direction, lest it should drive
the sand away. When it is once set, it grows of course and spreads with
rapidity. Every bunch enlarges, and with its seeds plants new ones
around it. The seeds are so heavy that they bend the heads of the
grass; and, when ripe, drop directly down by its side, where they
immediately vegetate. Thus in a short time the ground is covered.
Where this covering is found, none of the sand is
blown. On the
contrary, [p 61] it is accumulated and raised continually, as snow
gathers and rises among hushes or branches of trees cut and spread upon
the earth. Nor does the grass merely defend the surface on which it is
planted, but rises as that rises by new accumulations, and always
overtops the sand, however high that may be raised by the wind.
Within the memory of my informant the sea broke over
the beach which connects Truro with Provincetown (the eastern end of
which for three miles is within the limits of the former township) and
swept the body of it away for some distance. The beach grass was
immediately planted on the spot, in consequence of which the beach was
again raised to a sufficient height, and in various places into hills.
The wisdom and goodness of the Creator exhibited in
the formation of this plant in this place certainly claim the
admiration and gratitude of man. But for this single, unsightly
vegetable, the slender barrier which here has so long resisted the
ravages of the ocean had not improbably been long since washed away. In
the ruins, Provincetown and its most useful harbor must have been lost;
and the relief which the harbor and the inhabitants furnish to
multitudes of vessels in distress, and which no other place or people
could possibly furnish, must have been prevented. No other plant grows
on this sand. The purpose for which it seems to have been created, it
answers easily, permanently, and perfectly. Perhaps at some period at a
more advanced state of knowledge, when war shall have become less and
the advancement of happiness more the object of human pursuit, uses of
similar importance may be found for most, possibly for all other
objects, however useless they may be thought at present, and however
neglected in the inquiries of man.
The benefit of this useful plant, and of these
prudent regulations, is however in some measure lost. There are in
Provincetown, as I was informed, one hundred and forty cows. These
animals, being stinted in their means of subsistence, are permitted
often to wander at times in search of food. In every such case they
make depredations on the beach grass and prevent its seeds from being
formed. In this manner the plant is ultimately destroyed.
It has been a frequent opinion that this beach, and
not improbably the whole township of Provincetown, will one day, and
that at no distant period of time, be swept away by the ocean. I was
not able to obtain satisfactory information concerning this subject,
particularly as judicious persons differed entirely both as to facts
and probabilities. Some averred that the beach has been greatly
diminished within a moderate period. Others, particularly one, a
discreet man, insisted that what it lost on one side it regularly
gained on the other. It is now a mere line of sand, in several places
not wore than one hundred yards wide, and appears to the eye of a
stranger as if every vestige of it might be easily swept away within
two or three years.
From Truro to Provincetown the road and the scenery
are both singular. [p 62] Beside the beach and the salt marsh
already described the high grounds of Truro on the southwest exhibit a
prospect entirely peculiar. Bleak, barren and desolate, as if never
designed to be the residence of man, they are nevertheless divided into
fields, enclosed in the low, slender manner mentioned above, and
covered with short grass, now russet and melancholy. The soil, here
scarce an inch thick, has in spots spread over all these fields at
little distances been either blown or washed away, and left the white
sand immediately beneath it bare. These spots exactly resemble the
remains of a light snow chiefly melted and vanished, yet still
whitening the ground in many places and with perpetually differing
gradations of luster.
The road, except when the tide has declined, lies
along the southwestern margin of the beach in a mass of sand, through
which a horse wades with excessive fatigue. When the tide has
sufficiently fallen, a path is furnished by that part of the beach
which has been washed, better in our opinion than almost any which we
had found after we had left Rochester. The only objects in this tract
which can be called beautiful, except the water, are the naked hills of
sand. These in many instances are perfectly regular, graceful swells,
highly ornamented with fine waving figures of great elegance wrought in
the sand by the various motions of the wind.
Provincetown stands on the end of the peninsula, and
near the western limit of the beach. Race Point, the northern
termination of the peninsula, lies three miles farther north; and Long
Point, a hook extending from its western border, shoots out towards the
south four and a half. Between this hook and a beach connected with the
northwestern corner of Truro winds the entrance of the harbor, which is
thus completely landlocked and perfectly safe. The town is built on the
north side of the harbor, and on the southern margin of the beach. When
we were on the ground, it contained 140 houses, all, as far as we saw
them, of one story. They were new, neat, and comfortable, but are built
on a bed of deep sand and set upon blocks of wood. They are built in
rows, the first of which is complete; the second, immediately behind
it, broken with interstices; and the third, short and broken also. All
or nearly all of them face toward the harbor. There are a few
courtyards, but no other enclosures of any kind. Cellars, where they
exist, are built of bricks in a circular form to prevent the sand from
forcing in the walls by its pressure. It is said that there are two or
three gardens at some distance from the town, and some of the
inhabitants cultivate a few summer vegetables in their courtyards.
Almost all their food, except fish, is imported from Boston. Fish is
the only commodity of domestic use with which they supply themselves.
The earth is here a mere residence, and can scarcely
be said to contribute at all to the sustenance of man. All his support
and all his comforts are elicited from the ocean. To the ocean he
betakes himself as the only field of his exertions, and as if it were
his native element. The little children were [p 61] wading as
familiarly in the harbor as elsewhere they are seen playing in the
streets. Their sports and their serious occupations are alike found
there. Little boys managed boats of considerable size with the
fearlessness, and apparently with the skill, of experienced boatmen.
Every employment, except within doors, seemed to be connected with the
water and intended for the sea. To fish in every various manner, to
secure that which had been caught, to cure fish, to extract oil, and to
manage different sorts of vessels from the canoe to the ship engrossed
apparently the whole attention of the inhabitants.
The manners of all those whom we saw, of every age
and of both sexes, were very becoming, plain, frank, obliging, and
obviously sincere. Nothing was perceived of the roughness which I had
expected from a mere collection of fishermen and sailors. The inn in
which we lodged was kept by a respectable man who, with his whole
family, did everything which we could wish for our accommodation.
All these people appear to be industrious and
enterprising. They are said to be excelled by no seamen in their
resolution, skill, and activity. Many of them command ships belonging
to Boston and the other trading towns in its neighborhood. Many of them
also are said to amass wealth to a considerable degree; and some of
them retire into the interior, where they purchase farms of their less
industrious and less prosperous countrymen.
The fishery of Provincetown is an important object.
For some years the scarcity of whales has been such as to discourage
the whale fishery; but, as they have now become more numerous, they are
beginning to be objects of more attention. The cod fishery is pursued
with great spirit and success. Just before we arrived, a schooner came
in from the Great Banks with 56,000 fish, about 1,500 quintals, taken
in a single voyage: the main deck, as I was informed, being on her
return eight inches under water in calm weather. They also fish for
sharks, and take great numbers of them; for mackerel, horse mackerel,
haddock, etc. Herrings are also taken in prodigious quantities.
The harbor of Provincetown is very capacious,
secure, open at all times, and of good bottom. Its depth is sufficient
for ships of any size, and it will contain more than three thousand
vessels at once. Its importance is incalculable. The exterior coast of
the peninsula is peculiarly hazardous. The storms which prevail on the
American coast generally come from the east, and there is no other
harbor on a windward shore within two hundred miles. A vast number of
vessels are always plying in this commercial region, and thousands have
found safety here which would otherwise have perished.
About 37,000 quintals of codfish and about 5,000
barrels of herrings are annually caught by the people of Provincetown.
The herrings are about four dollars a barrel and codfish about three
dollars and a third, or twenty shillings a quintal.
p 64
Within this township there are two horses, ten yoke
of oxen, and one hundred and forty cows. These, except when they
purloin the beach grass, are fed from the marsh in the neighborhood.
All the inhabitants whom we saw, of every age, were
well clad; and no marks of poverty were discerned by us.
Provincetown contains a Presbyterian church. Mr.
P[arker], the present
minister, is much, and deservedly, respected by his people; and his
public labors are very generally attended. This, undoubtedly, is a
prime source of the sobriety and decency conspicuous among the
inhabitants. He was settled, as we were told, when there were only
seventeen families on the spot: the town having been in a great measure
deserted during the Revolutionary War.
A stranger born and educated in the interior of New
England, amid the varied beauties of its surface and the luxuriant
succession of its produce, naturally concludes when he visits
Provincetown that the inhabitants and the neighbors also must possess a
very limited share of enjoyment. Facts, however, refute this
conclusion. For aught that we could discern, they were as cheerful and
appeared to enjoy life as well as any equal number of their countrymen.
This indeed is easily explicable. Food and clothing, houses, lodging,
and fuel, they possess of such a quality and with so much ease in the
acquisition as to satisfy all the demands of that middle state in life
which wise men of every age have dignified by the name of golden.
Nature and habit endear to them the place in which they were born and
live, and prevent them from feeling what would be serious
inconveniences to a stranger. Their mode of life is naturally not
less pleasing than that of the farmer or mechanic, for no people are
more attached to their employment than seamen. The enterprise which
this life requires and the energy which it supplies render it less even
and dull, and are probably as well suited to the natural taste of man
as arts or agriculture. The situations of others they rarely see, and
are therefore rarely led to make irksome comparisons. The lawn, the
meadow, the orchard, and the harvest excite in their minds neither
wishes, nor thoughts. The draft of herrings, the fare of codfish, the
conquest of a shark, and the capture of a whale prompt their ambition,
engross their care, and furnish pleasures as entirely unknown to the
farmer as the joy of harvest is to them. To solitude they are
strangers. An active, enterprising life is scarcely molested by ennui.
Almost every day strangers visit Provincetown from different parts of
the world: for there is hardly any spot, except great trading cities,
which is more frequented by vessels of all descriptions than this. By
these they are furnished with business and intelligence, and with not a
few of those little varieties in thought and feeling which contribute
so much to the cheerfulness of life. Nor do they fail of enjoying a
conscious, uninterrupted superiority over mere landsmen. While most of
their countrymen have been chained to a small spot of earth, they [p
65] have traversed the ocean. While the husbandman has followed the
plow or brandished the sickle, the inhabitant of Provincetown has
coasted the shores of Greenland, swept the Brazilian seas, or crossed
the Pacific Ocean in chase of the whale. Who that has circumnavigated
the globe will not look down on him who has scarcely traveled out of
his native county, or spent life on his own farm?
The truth is, a great part of human happiness or
misery arises from comparison merely. Our misfortunes spring not from
our poverty, for we are rarely poor in such a sense as to suffer, but
from a perception that we are not so rich as others. To this spirit
there are no bounds. Alexander would have been contented with Macedon
had there been no Persia, with Persia had the Indus and the ocean
limited the Asiatic continent, and with the station of a man had there
been in his apprehension no gods. Where objects of superiority and
comparison do not exist, the pain arising from this source is not felt.
Such in a good degree is the situation of these people. Their lot is
the lot of all around them. They have little to covet, because they
possess most of what is seen and known. Happily, Providence has in
cases of real importance conciliated us, partially at least, to the
sources of our enjoyment. Were we naturally and generally prompted to
an universal comparison of our condition with that of others, how many
who are now satisfied would make themselves miserable because they were
not seated on thrones and wielding scepters. How many would pine that
they were not to glitter on the page of the historian and the poet. How
many would spend life in sighing for the fine enthusiasm of Spencer and
Beattie, the exquisite elegance of Addison and Vergil, or the sublime
raptures which thrilled in the bosom of Homer, Milton, or Isaiah.
Provincetown in 1790 contained 454 inhabitants; in
1800, 812; in 1802, there were 198 families and, by a proportional
calculation, 946 persons, rather less than five to a family; and in
1810, 936.
Wednesday, September 30th, we left our hospitable
and friendly inn, and rode to Harwich: thirty-five miles. We began our
journey at an early hour in order to take the benefit of a hard path
furnished by that part of the beach which is covered by the tide at
high water. For several miles we were presented with a fine view of the
Atlantic, now rolling against the shore under the pressure of a strong
wind with inexpressible grandeur. After we had ascended the high ground
on which stands the church of Truro, I was struck with the resemblance
between this spot and some parts of Scotland, as they are often
exhibited in description. "Bleak and barren," like "Scotia's Hills,"
(Beattie's Minstrel.) the country seemed to forbid the cultivation and
the hopes of man. Providence appeared in the very formation of the
ground to have destined it to accidental visitation or eternal
solitude. In spite of facts the imagination [p 66] irresistibly asked
who that could make his retreat would fix his residence here.
On this ground there is a handsome lighthouse,
stationed upon a mass of clay remarkable for its firmness, and not less
so for being found here. General Lincoln, a gentleman to whom his
country is indebted for many important services, superintended its
erection; and it is said to be contrived in a manner uncommonly useful.
On our way we passed through the town of Wellfleet,
and found the houses generally like those heretofore described, but
with more appearances of attention and taste.
Here we saw a collection of sand hills surrounding
the harbor. They were of different sizes and in some degree of
different figures, but were all obtuse cones, smooth, regular, and
elegant. Such a number, adorning a handsome piece of water, winding
beautifully until it opened with a vistalike passage into the bay,
were, after all the similar objects which we had seen, new and
interesting. No mass of earth is comparable to these hills for
regularity and elegance of figure and surface. Were they as cheerful as
they are regular, were they dressed with the verdure which so generally
adorns New England, they would be among the most beautiful objects in
nature.
At Wellfleet formerly lived Colonel Elisha Doane,
who amassed in this spot an estate of £20,000 sterling.
In 1790, Wellfleet contained 1,117 inhabitants; in
1800, 1,207; and in 1810, l,402.
At Eastham we changed our road a few miles before we
reached Orleans; and, after passing by the church, an ordinary building
in indifferent repair, entered a large sandy waste lying toward the
bay. Here about one thousand acres were entirely blown away to the
depth in many places of ten feet. Nothing can exceed the dreariness and
desolation of this scene. Not a living creature was visible, not a
house, nor even a green thing, except the whortleberries which tufted a
few lonely hillocks, rising to the height of the original surface, and
prevented by this defense from being blown away also. These, although
they varied the prospect, added to the gloom by their strongly
picturesque appearance, by marking exactly the original level of the
plain, and by showing us in this manner the immensity of the mass which
had thus been carried away by the wind. The beach grass had been
planted here, and the ground had been formerly enclosed; but the gates
had been left open, and the cattle had destroyed this invaluable plant.
The inhabitants were, I presume, discouraged, and yielded up their
possessions to ruin. When and where this evil will stop cannot easily
be calculated, for the sand spreads a perfect sterility in its progress
and entirely desolates the ground on which it falls. The impression
made by this landscape cannot be realized without experience. It was a
compound of wildness, gloom, and solitude. I felt myself transported to
the borders of Nubia, and was well [p 67] prepared to meet the sandy
columns so forcibly described by Bruce, and after him by Darwin. A
troop of Bedouins would have finished the picture, banished every
thought of our own country, and set us down in an African waste.
The day had now become very warm; the wind blew from
behind us; the sand was very deep; and our horses were obliged to move
slowly and with extreme difficulty. Nothing could better elucidate the
strength and beauty of that fine image of Isaiah, "a weary land;" and
to us "the shadow of a great rock" would have been inexpressibly
delightful.
The rocks on this peninsula terminated upon our road
in Orleans. They are the common, gray granite of the country.
We lodged at Harwich with a Captain A. This man had
been thirty years at sea and, as he informed us with emphasis, had seen
the world. Now he was the principal farmer in Harwich, and cut annually
from four to eight loads of English hay, (spear grass.) a greater
quantity, as he told us, than was cut by any single farmer further down
the Cape. A farmer in the interior, who cuts annually from one or two
hundred tons, may perhaps smile at this story.
I am, Sir, yours, etc.
Return to Sandwich—Mission among the Indians
at Mashpee—Visit to the Rev. Gideon Hawley, the missionary—Description
of the peninsula of Cape Cod—Its soil, population, etc.
Dear Sir,
The next morning, Thursday, October 1st, we rode to
Yarmouth, nine miles, to breakfast; and spent a considerable time in
examining the saltworks of Peter Thacher, Esq.1 Hence we proceeded to
Marshpee, or Massapee, fifteen, to dinner. In the evening we returned
to Sandwich, twelve: in all thirty-six miles. Our road was better than
on the three preceding days.
Mashpee is one of the few tracts in the populous
parts of New England
which are still occupied by the aborigines. A missionary has been
regularly supported here, with small interruptions, from the
establishment of this Indian colony by the efforts of Mr. Richard
Bourne, the first missionary. [p 68] This gentleman, with a
disinterestedness and piety highly honorable to him, obtained in the
year 1660 a deed from an Indian named Quachatissel and others to the
Indians of Mashpee, or, as they were then called, the South Sea
Indians, covering the tract which bears this name. The instrument was
so drawn that the land could never be sold without the consent of every
Indian belonging to the settlement. On this foundation he began a
mission to this place, and was ordained as a missionary in 1670. In
1685, he died; and was succeeded by an Indian preacher named Simon
Popmonet, who lived in this character about forty years; and was
succeeded in 1729 by Mr. Joseph Bourne, a descendant of Richard. This
gentleman resigned the office in 1742; and was followed by a second
Indian missionary, a regular minister, and a good, sensible preacher.
During his life two gentlemen were successively candidates for the
office; but, being powerfully opposed, neither of them was inducted. In
1758, the Rev. Gideon Hawley was installed as the pastor of these
people.
Mashpee is peculiarly fitted to be an Indian
residence. It lies on the sound, is indented by two bays, and shoots
into it several necks, or points, of land. It is also watered by
several streams and ponds. From these circumstances the inhabitants
derive abundant opportunities of supplying themselves with fish. It is
well covered with a forest, and therefore has long retained the game
which was the second source of their subsistence. It is also
sequestered in a great measure from that correspondence with the whites
which has been usually fatal to Indian settlements in this country.
The face of this tract is not unpleasant. It is
composed of plains, valleys, and hills, but is less unequal than
Sandwich or Barnstable. On our road we saw several English houses, all
of which were good buildings and exhibited proofs of prosperity. I have
nowhere seen quinces in such abundance.
The inn at which we dined was kept by a respectable
family, who entertained us with great civility and kindness. After
dinner one of my fellow travelers accompanied me to the house of Mr.
Hawley, with whom we had an interview, more interesting than words can
describe.
This gentleman was a most intimate friend of my
parents. From his youth he had sustained as amiable and unexceptionable
a character as can perhaps be found among uninspired men. He was pious
and benevolent, zealous and candid, firm and gentle, sedate and
cheerful, with a harmony of character equally uncommon and delightful.
Naturally, I believe, his disposition was ardent, his conceptions
strong, and his susceptibility exquisite. The points, however, were
worn down and smoothed by an excellent understanding and a peculiar
self-government. Equally removed from the phlegm of insensibility and
the vehemence of passion, his feelings were warm and yet temperate. Me,
whom he had not seen since I was a youth of eighteen, he regarded with
personal affection. To this he added the peculiar attachment which he
was prepared to place on me as a representative of my parents and my [p
69] grandparents on both sides, all of whom he remembered with the
strongest emotions of friendship, whom he had not seen for thirty
years, and whom he expected never to see on this side of the grave. The
expressions of genuine and virtuous attachment paint the heart at once,
in a manner perfectly understood and exquisitely felt, but they cannot
be copied. Perhaps they were never more happily exhibited, nor by a
mind which felt more, or in a manner more amiable and dignified.
Mr. Hawley had a favorite son, a young gentleman of
the greatest hopes, possessed of superior talents and learning, of
elegant manners, distinguished piety, and the best reputation. He had
lately come from the tutorship in Cambridge, and had been just ordained
to the ministry.
By all who knew him he was beloved and honored, and
most by those who knew him best. In the room over our heads he lay on
his dying bed, and had been expected to expire the preceding night. For
death he was, however, eminently prepared, and looked forward through
the curtains which hide the invisible world to scenes of a higher and
more refined nature, scenes suited to the elevated taste of an
enlightened Christian, with a serenity and confidence more dignified
than the loftiest conceptions of proud philosophy and the sublimest
dreams of sceptered ambition.
The pleasure with which the father of this good man
received me; the sympathy with which he recalled the friends of his
youth; the sorrow awakened by the situation of his expiring son, and
the setting of his fond, luminous hopes in the night of the grave; the
luster which played and trembled over this melancholy scene from the
mind of that son, brilliant with lucid hopes of immortal glory,
exhibited in their union and their alternations a picture wholly
singular, beautiful, solemn, and sublime. I beheld it with a mixture of
wonder and delight. To describe it is beyond my power. Into all these
subjects he entered familiarly and at once, and appeared equally ready
to go with his son, or stay behind with his remaining friends; to
protract his toil a little longer, or to be summoned to his account and
the reward of his labors, as it should please his Employer. He felt
deeply, but with a serene submission. He knew that he was chastened,
but found high and sufficient consolation for his sufferings in the
character of Him from whom the stroke came. To me he showed, in such a
manner as to put suspicion out of countenance, the affection of a
father; and, when we parted, he gave me a father's blessing.
If I may be permitted to judge, the emotions which
he discovered, and even those which he excited, were such as an infidel
or any other worldling, if he could enjoy or understand them, would
deeply envy. They were such as he would of necessity confess to be as
much brighter, nobler, and better than anything which he had ever
imagined before as the golden visions of enraptured poetry are superior
to the dull, cold relatives of this untoward life.
p 70
The young gentleman who accompanied me on this visit
was educated in the gay world and, as himself declared, sufficiently
addicted to its enjoyments; but he was entirely overcome by the scenes
of this interview. After we had left the house, he burst into a flood
of tears, which he had with great difficulty suppressed until that
time, and was unable to utter a word until we had almost reached the
inn. In broken accents he then declared that he had never been so
deeply affected in his life; that, although he had not before been
accustomed to think lightly of Christianity, he had now acquired new
ideas of its excellence; and that, should he ever lose them afterwards,
he should esteem himself guilty, as well as unhappy. Yet the whole
conversation had been rather cheerful, and everything which it involved
of a melancholy nature had been gilded and burnished by serenity and
hope.
As this excellent man died
a few years after the time here
mentioned, I will add those particulars concerning him which I have
been able to collect. In a letter to the author, dated April 29, 1801,
Mr. Hawley observes: "When you honored me with a visit on the 2nd of
October ult., my son, my son James, the son of my old age, the hope of
my declining years, was in the last stage of life; and he only survived
until the 8th at evening, when he expired. May my other children live
as he lived; and, when they come to die, may they die as he died. A
number of his church and congregation came forty miles to be present at
his funeral, which was attended by all the vicinity of ministers. The
Rev. Mr. L, of Falmouth, kept Sabbath with us on the
day after his funeral, and delivered a very suitable discourse on the
occasion.— James died at a time of life when men are generally lamented
in case their characters are
In a letter of September 2, 1802, he says: "I have
rather declined
since I had the honor and satisfaction to see you at my house, in
October 1800, a few days before my late James' death.—I am yet upon
duty—may I be faithful unto the death—the time is short; and the time
of my departure is at hand. My coevals are dead.
"For a man of seventy-five I have very few
complaints. In the early
part of life, my labors and sufferings were many and hard, and I did
but just survive my services (among the Indians and in the army) in the
year 1756. I came down to this place in 1757 expecting soon to end my
days, but was so far recovered as to be on my western mission in
1761—and as far as Chenango.
"I have lately written to your kinsman, the only
surviving son of
your late uncle, and president of Union College, deceased, concerning
his father in his puerile years when with me in the Indian country, and
how we came off in the dead of winter. I was six days in passing from
Onecho Yunghe to Cherry Valley with my two boys, and the four last days
with only ourselves, my Indians (not through disaffection, but fatigue)
having given out by the way. An Indian will hardly endure three days
fatigue in succession."
This eminent and faithful servant of the Lord died
on the 3rd of
October, 1807, in the eighty-first year of his age, and fifty-sixth of
his missionary labors. "On his death bed, he appeared perfectly
rational and tranquil. Speaking of his approaching dissolution and his
prospects of futurity, he observed, I have hope of acceptance, but it
is founded wholly on free and sovereign grace, and not at all on my own
works. It is true my labors have been many, but they have been so very
imperfect, attended with so great a want of charity, humility, etc.,
that I have no hope in them as the ground of my acceptance." ( See
Panoplist, 1807. )
When we arrived at the inn, we found two of our
companions had set out for Sandwich soon after dinner. It was near
sunset when we followed them. [p 71] The evening was calm and
beautiful; the country through which we passed was a forest, still and
solitary; and the moon, whose unclouded beams darted at momentary
intervals through the pines bordering our road, prolonged the serene
solemnity awakened in our minds during the afternoon, and formed a
happy conclusion of the affecting scenes which I have described. After
a delightful ride of twelve miles, we arrived at Mr. B's, and were
received with every proof of politeness and affection.
On the afternoon of the succeeding day, Friday,
October 2nd, we left this hospitable family and, accompanied by Mr. D,
rode to Plymouth: eighteen miles. At the house of Mr. H. the same
polite and friendly reception which we had experienced at Sandwich was
repeated.
As I have now bidden adieu to the peninsula of Cape
Cod, I will close my account of it with a few general observations.
This singular piece of land extends from the isthmus
which connects it
with the main to Race Point, as measured on the road, sixty-eight
miles. About half this distance, it runs eastward; and the remaining
half, principally northwestward. At Sandwich, where it is widest, it is
about seventeen miles in breadth, or if measured to the southwestern
extremity of Falmouth, about twenty. At Harwich it is about eleven, or,
if measured to the southern point of Cape Malabar, about nineteen. The
basis of this peninsula, constituting almost the whole mass, is a body
of fine, yellow sand. Above this is a thin layer of coarser, white
sand; and above this, another layer of soil, gradually declining from
Barnstable to Truro, where it vanishes. A considerable part of the
peninsula is still forested. Many of the inhabitants within the elbow
are seamen; beyond it, almost all. They are generally, perhaps as
generally as in any other part of the United States, in comfortable and
even in thrifty circumstances. Few decayed or unrepaired houses were
visible to us, and no peculiar marks of poverty. The inhabitants are
industrious and orderly. The vice principally complained of to us was
intemperance, and this chiefly in the western division. Every town has
at least one church; and, so far as I was able to learn, divine service
is, with few exceptions, generally and respectfully attended. Their
intercourse with each other by land is confined. There are no more
enterprising, active, skillful seamen perhaps in the world. Upon the
whole, this unpromising tract sustains more inhabitants and furnishes
them with more comfortable means of subsistence than a stranger would
be easily induced to imagine. In 1790, the county of Barnstable
contained 17,354 people; in 1800, 19,293; and in 1810, 22,211: a great
part of whom are like beavers, gaining their subsistence from the
water, and making use of the land chiefly as a residence. Those who
live beyond the elbow have been heretofore accused of plundering the
vessels wrecked on their coast and treating the seamen who escaped with
inhumanity. Instances of this nature may have happened. I am well
assured that the contrary character is to be attributed to them
generally, and that they [p 72] have often exhibited the most
humane as well as undaunted spirit in relieving their suffering
countrymen, and in aiding them to preserve the remains of their
shipwrecked property.
The country from Sandwich to Plymouth is a continued
forest, with a few solitary settlements in its bosom. The surface is
principally a plain, but at times swelling into hills. Wherever the
road lies on the shore, the prospects are romantic, but wild and
solitary. The forest is generally composed of yellow pines; the soil is
barren; and the road almost universally sandy, but less deep than that
which has been heretofore described.
We passed several places which in this region have
been kept in particular remembrance from an early period. Among them is
a rock called Sacrifice Rock, and a piece of water named Clam Pudding
Pond. On the former of these the Indians were accustomed to gather
sticks, some of which we saw lying upon it, as a religious service, now
inexplicable. On the shore of the latter the early colonists of
Plymouth held an annual festival, and made this food a part of their
entertainment. A great part of the tract is in the township of Plymouth.
I am, Sir, yours, etc.