According to the Boston Globe article from 1904, Delia Tudor was the first summer resident of the North Shore, who went to Nahant in 1820. It took until 1840 for arrivals in Beverly.
Mostly the article covers Swampscott, Nahant, Manchester and Gloucester tony neighborhood of Magnolia.
Longfellow (his home in Nahant burned by the time of the article) and Hawthorne (Swampscott) were here visiting the North Shore. “To the North Shore also came Lowell and Daniel Webster–despite his fondness for the South shore–Charles Sumner and Rufus Choate. The list, in fact, of masters of the mind who have worked, played and rested along the North Shore is a very long one.”
Excerpt about Magnolia | Gloucester
“Kettle Cove, Magnolia, which took its early name from the formation of the coast, joins Manchester. It is one of the most beautiful spots of the beautiful North shore, and , like many other localities thereabouts, has a witch legend connected with its history. Kettle Cove was settled in 1645, and was under the jurisdiction of Salem. in 1838 there were 14 houses in the cove, and a small schoolhouse, which was used for religious purposes whenever a minister chanced to come that way. it was here that the artist Hunt established his studio, and old barn, calling it the Hulks. In this vine covered studio some of his most famous pictures were painted including, The Headsman, Tom in a Felt Hat, and Gloucester Harbor. Near here is Rafe’s Chasm, where one may find an iron cross marking the place where Martha Marlon a young girl was drowned many years ago…
“The fashionable world has found these shores, and handsome summer homes now rise at every vantage point.”
“A Part of Manchester Shore, Near Magnolia” also known as Rafe’s Chasm
The Oldest House at Kettle Cove, Manchester, built in 1700
The Dana House, Magnolia
photos: Coolidge Point, Kettle Cove vista; Rafe’s Chasm by Falt; William Morris Hunt (1824-1879)- paintings mentioned in article and Willow Cottage. A Boston painter who studied with Millet, Hunt held plein air art classes –in Magnolia –in 1876. (old Kettle Cove village became ‘Magnolia’.) He transformed the barn into his studio in 1877.
“The barn was two stories in height, the lower portion being occupied by the van, a phaeton and a dog-cart, as well as by stalls for two or three horses. The upper room was known as the ” barracks,” and half a dozen cot-beds were ranged around the sides, as seats by day and beds by night.”
“The scenery combined much sketching material in a little space. In addition to a small beach there was a rocky shore of much boldness, and the cliffs were surmounted by well-wooded groves. One of its charms was a willow-road of rare picturesqueness, and there was a graceful variety of hill and dale. The fishermen at their work, the simple cottage folk, and a few artists were the only people to be seen. In less than ten years the place became a fashionable resort, and its artistic interest was gone.”
Helen Mary Knowlton, Hunt biography,1899
Willow Road, Magnolia, circa 1910 (Library of Congress)Brothers (2 of 4): Richard Morris Hunt portrait (artist, renowned architect), and probably portrait of his famous older brother, William Morris Hunt (Library of Congress). Richard helped with the Hulk design.Pine Woods, Magnolia (MFA, Boston)
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Thoreau observed bluets “about” May 20th. More than a week already this 2021 spring.
Mouse-Ear
“About the twentieth of May I see the first mouse-ear going to seed and beginning to be blown about the pastures and whiten the grass, together with bluets, and float on the surface of water. They have now lifted themselves much higher above the earth than when we sought for their first flowers. As Gerarde says of the allied English species, “These plants do grow upon sandy banks and untoiled places that lie open to the sun.”
Thoreau Wild Fruits
-Clarence Manning Falt, 1894, Gloucester, Ma.
THE BLUETS
In mosses green
A charming scene,
To me a sweet surprise,
In bright array
This fair spring day
The bluets greet my eyes.
Each dainty cup,
Is lifted up
With tints of heaven’s hue;
Each budding gem
A diadem
Bespangled with the dew.
Like tiny shields
Amid the fields,
On bodies, slim and frail,
They wave and bend
And sweetly send
The Welcome Spring’s All hail!
Where bright sunshine
By one divine
Can reach each fragile heart,
They lovely gleam
Like some sweet dream
And Joy’s sweet pulses start.
My better self
(The heart’s stored wealth)
Enraptured at the sight
On each sweet face
See’s Heaven’s grace
And life, immortal, bright.
On, tiny blooms,
When waking tombs
Lie buried ‘neath the snow,
And Death doth keep
Guard o’er thy sleep
And blust’ring winds they blow,
Backward apace
My heart will trace,
And bring, begemmed with dew,
‘Mid mosses green
The charming scene
Of you, sweet buds of blue.
One smell-
Amy Lowell
(do you have favorite lines?)
Lilacs, False blue, White, Purple, Color of lilac, Your great puffs of flowers Are everywhere in this my New England. Among your heart-shaped leaves Orange orioles hop like music-box birds and sing Their little weak soft songs; In the crooks of your branches The bright eyes of song sparrows sitting on spotted eggs Peer restlessly through the light and shadow Of all Springs. Lilacs in dooryards Holding quiet conversations with an early moon; Lilacs watching a deserted house Settling sideways into the grass of an old road; Lilacs, wind-beaten, staggering under a lopsided shock of bloom Above a cellar dug into a hill. You are everywhere. You were everywhere. You tapped the window when the preacher preached his sermon, And ran along the road beside the boy going to school. You stood by the pasture-bars to give the cows good milking, You persuaded the housewife that her dishpan was of silver. And her husband an image of pure gold. You flaunted the fragrance of your blossoms Through the wide doors of Custom Houses— You, and sandal-wood, and tea, Charging the noses of quill-driving clerks When a ship was in from China. You called to them: “Goose-quill men, goose-quill men, May is a month for flitting.” Until they writhed on their high stools And wrote poetry on their letter-sheets behind the propped-up ledgers. Paradoxical New England clerks, Writing inventories in ledgers, reading the “Song of Solomon” at night, So many verses before bed-time, Because it was the Bible. The dead fed you Amid the slant stones of graveyards. Pale ghosts who planted you Came in the nighttime And let their thin hair blow through your clustered stems. You are of the green sea, And of the stone hills which reach a long distance. You are of elm-shaded streets with little shops where they sell kites and marbles, You are of great parks where every one walks and nobody is at home. You cover the blind sides of greenhouses And lean over the top to say a hurry-word through the glass To your friends, the grapes, inside.
Now you are a very decent flower, A reticent flower, A curiously clear-cut, candid flower, Standing beside clean doorways, Friendly to a house-cat and a pair of spectacles, Making poetry out of a bit of moonlight And a hundred or two sharp blossoms. Maine knows you, Has for years and years; New Hampshire knows you, And Massachusetts And Vermont. Cape Cod starts you along the beaches to Rhode Island; Connecticut takes you from a river to the sea. You are brighter than apples, Sweeter than tulips, You are the great flood of our souls Bursting above the leaf-shapes of our hearts, You are the smell of all Summers, The love of wives and children, The recollection of gardens of little children, You are State Houses and Charters And the familiar treading of the foot to and fro on a road it knows. May is lilac here in New England, May is a thrush singing “Sun up!” on a tip-top ash tree, May is white clouds behind pine-trees Puffed out and marching upon a blue sky. May is a green as no other, May is much sun through small leaves, May is soft earth, And apple-blossoms, And windows open to a South Wind. May is full light wind of lilac From Canada to Narragansett Bay.
Lilacs, False blue, White, Purple, Color of lilac. Heart-leaves of lilac all over New England, Roots of lilac under all the soil of New England, Lilac in me because I am New England, Because my roots are in it, Because my leaves are of it, Because my flowers are for it, Because it is my country And I speak to it of itself And sing of it with my own voice Since certainly it is mine.
Amy Lowell (1874-1925) first published September 18, 1920 NY Evening Post; modernist compilation 1922 and numerous volumes thereafter
T. S. Eliot
call and response-
April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain.
T.S. Eliot New England opener The Waste Land, 1922
Clarence Manning Falt (1861-1912) by Catherine Ryan
Clarence Manning Falt was a Gloucester poet and photographer, a son of a Canadian immigrant & fisherman and a Gloucester mother & homemaker (born and raised in a fisherman generations family herself). They had seven children. The Falt family eventually purchased 172 East Main Street; Clarence and his surviving siblings continued to live there as adults. It’s a huge home.
photo caption: 172 East Main Street, Gloucester, Mass. An Edward Hopper drawing of this Gloucester house, which I identified, was gifted to the Minneapolis Art Institute and included in a travel exhibition highlighting major drawings from this famous repository.
Clarence Manning Falt clerked for various businesses on Main Street to support his art practice.
By the 1900 census, clerk was dropped from the “occupation” category, “Author” stood alone.
Falt photographed and wrote about Gloucester, where he was born and raised during the late 1800s. His work reflects his own personal experiences including the fishing industry of his parents’ world. The best ones connect readers to this world because of his talents and an insider’s careful observations. Some of the writing relies too much on tropes and can be a chore, though never as difficult as the jobs he portrays, and may stick with you just the same because he is successful in providing such accurate and detailed examples of the business of fishing and the beauty of Gloucester. Some poems rise to evoke a full and cinematic day at the docks and ideas to mull over.
POINTS OF INTEREST: GLOUCESTER IN SONG
Falt’s book of poems and photographs, Points of Interest Gloucester in Song, was published in 1894, the year after his mother died. He dedicated the volume to her. Examples of his original and stunning photographs are from the copy held in the collection of the Library of Congress which was digitized. The pairings aren’t always successful and one might long for more photos, as I have. A few appear to be source photos for vintage postcards.
“To those who have grown up from childhood amid the grandeur and solemnity of these scenes, to the stranger who has become familiar with them, may their hearts be quickened with a keener appreciation for, and a deeper sympathy with, all that has made Gloucester and its suburbs charming and historic.”
THE BLUETSIN mosses greenA charming scene,To me a sweet surprise,In bright arrayThis fair spring dayThe bluets greet my eyes.Each dainty cup,Is lifted upWith tints of heaven’s hue; Each budding gemA diademBespangled with the dew.Like tiny shieldsAmid the fields,On bodies, slim and frail,,They wave and bendAnd sweetly sendThe Welcome Spring’s All hail!Where bright sunshineBy one divineCan reach each fragile heart,They lovely gleamLike some sweet dreamAnd Joy’s sweet pulses start.My better self(The heart’s stored wealth)Enraptured at the sightOn each sweet faceSee’s Heaven’s graceAnd life, immortal, bright.On, tiny blooms,When waking tombsLie buried ‘neath the snow,And Death doth keepGuard o’er thy sleepAnd blust’ring winds they blow,Backward apaceMy heart will trace,And bring, begemmed with dew,‘Mid mosses green The charming sceneOf you, sweet buds of blue.-Clarence Manning Falt, 1894, in Gloucester, Ma.
Bluets, photo courtesy Justine Vitale
WHARF AND FLEET
Falt’s volume of poems and photographs, Wharf and Fleet: Ballads of the fishermen of Gloucester, was published in 1902. A copy of the book held at the University of California was digitized and uploaded in 2006.
“…Ever since 1713 Gloucester has been the peculiar home of the schooner, and this is now and long has been the unvarying rig of her unrivalled fleet of deep-sea fishermen. The first entry of a schooner in Boston’s commerce occurs in 1716, — “Mayflower,” Captain James Manson, from North Carolina. As Captain Andrew Robinson was a direct descendant of John Robinson who preached to the Pilgrims at Leyden, it is conjectured that this “Mayflower” was the fist schooner, the original Gloucester craft. Be this as it may, her useful successors are numbered by the thousands,…”
and re: the 100 days War with Spain:
“At the Gloucester recruiting station, in the early summer of 1898 , 76.5% of the men examined were accepted. At Boston the percent accepted was 14.5; at New York only 6. This means that in physique and intelligence the fishermen of New England are very much superior to the merchant sailors of the great seaports. So valuable a national resource as the deep-sea fisheries cannot be suffered to decline.”
*Winthrop Lippitt Marvin – U.S. journalist, and author; Civil Service Commissioner of Massachusetts; secretary of the Merchant Marine Commission
Back to Falt
Clarence Manning Falt was clearly proud of his parents and hometown and had a linguist’s ear and aptitude for the music of words. He studied public speaking and drama in Boston and New York. This book incorporates strongly stylized dialect deliberately, heavily.
“There is no distinct vernacular used, for the nationalities represented in this fishing port are so complex as to render that impossible, but there are many phrases in general use which I have endeavored to bring forth in these ballads. Born in this seaport city, with blood of seafaring people in my veins, the grandeur and pathos of this variable life have ever enthralled me.”
Clarence Manning Falt
More From his intro
Gloucester’s “population at the writing of this work is about 29,000. As a fishing-port, it is the largest in the world. Here can marine life be studied in all its phases. Here, lying at their moorings, will be found the up-to-date Gloucester fishing vessels, for the modern type of fishing vessel is t he pride and delight of a Gloucester skipper’s heart. He considers his stanch craft his ocean home. Indeed, these handsome vessels are as fine as the stately yachts that daily grace the harbor, for one would immediately note their fine sheer, perfectly fitting sails, clean decks, trim rig, and crews of able-bodied seamen, marking a wonderful and almost magical development from the primitive types of the quaint shallops, pinnaces, and pinkies of the olden days.
Gloucester harbor, like some might arena of old, is terraced with impregnable bastions of rugged hills and seared and time-furrowed cliffs…At night its beauty is unrivalled. Seaward its light-towers flash and gleam…the fleets glowing to port and windward, vying landward with the city’s brilliant reflections, sparkling with the shimmering glows of the wharf lights, the anchored fleets, and the inverted spangles of the stars of heaven… The wharf life has also developed marvelously. Every up-to-date method of prosecuting this industry is employed. This development has brought many new occupations and newer characteristics of the life. ”
Clarence Manning Falt, 1902 excerpt from his introduction Wharves and Fleet
A Matter of the Ear
“Packin’ Mack’r’l” — that does sound musical, and easily missed! How it makes me smile imagining Falt enlivened by the sights and sounds all about, fishing for just the right words and photographs; all the while diligently preserving a specificity of Gloucester’s fishermen’s dialect; a language all its own, encompassing many nationalities; one in which he was fluent and could translate and that he felt through his art. I wish that there was an audio recording of his reading aloud (or under his direction).
reminder comparable- post Civil War there was an uptick of slang dialects expressed in American writing, notably Tom Sawyer published 1876 and Huck Finn 1885(US)
Falt poem & photos- Gloucester sound and “see”scapes
SELECTION OF FALT’S POEMS
Many of the poems from Wharves and Fleet include vivid definitions tagged beneath which are delightful, personal and informative.
In building a wharf, the piles are first inserted into holes made in the dock, then after being carefully inserted and put in shape, they are driven down to a certain point by a heavy iron weight suspended from the top of the scow.
“Fly an’ spider”: figuratively used when the heavy iron weight (“th’ spider”) strikes the top of the pile (“th’ fly”). An old saying, long handed down by the fisher-folk**.
Notes from – Clarence Manning Falt
**have you heard this expression?
Ride stilts- “reflections of the piles at low tide. As the hawser lifts and drips and the crew hauls upon it, the phosper at night gleams most beautifully.
Notes from – Clarence Manning Falt
Dryin’ time after a heavy rain or spell of easterly weather, one of the most picturesque scenes of the harbor is the hanging of hoisted and half-hoisted sails from all sorts of crafts to dry in the coming forth of the sun.
Note about “Drying Time” – Clarence Manning Falt
Some of the poems I like most helped me learn about ancillary jobs and a bigger , tender portrait of this port.
GITTIN’ UNDERWAY
GITTIN’ UNDERWAYIn th’ early dawn ere th’ doors unlock,Then it’s crick, crick, crick, an’ it’s crock, crock, crockAn’ it’s ho an’ hi fer th’ blocks ter talkIn th’ early dawn e’er th’ doors unlock.Then it’s ho na’ hi fer th’ dreams ter die,Fer th’ crews an’ th’ bunks ter say good-by,Fer th’ yawn an gape, fer th’ stretch an’ sigh,In th’ early dawn ere th’ cocks crow highThen it’s ho fer doublin’ th’ Woolsey smocks,An’ twicein’ th’ toes in th’ home-knit socks,An cuddlin’ th’ ears up under th’ locks,An’ haulin’ down tighter th’ souwes’ chocks.Then it’s ho fer housin’ th’ rubber boots,An’ firmin’ th’ heart in th’ stiff oil suits,W’ile the cuddies blaxe, an’ th’ coffee goots,An’ th’ windlass creaks, an’ th’ horn it hoots.Then it’s ho fer grubbin’ an’ hi fer drink,Then shadder th’ gangway an’ meet th’ brinkTer shape out th’ course an ter careful thinkIn th’ early dawn w’ile th’ stars still blink.
“Block ter talk”: the hoisting of the sails.
“Woolsey smocks”: flannel shirts.
“Souwes’ chocks”: the flannel-line lappets
that are attached to the sou’westers.
“Housin’ th’ rubber boots”: pulling them on.
“Cuddies”: forecastle.
“Windlass”: it is located forward the foremast,
and is used in weighing up the anchor.
“Horn”: the hand foghorn.
“Shape out th’ course”: making the grounds
by chart and compass.
“Sou’wester”: a broad-brimmed oil-cloth hat
with ear-lappets lined with flannel.
-------
Clarence Manning Falt, Wharf and Fleet, 1902, Gittin’ Underway, p. 37-38
TH’ NIPPERWOMANI SEE her black shawl mid th’ buttsClutched tight erpon her breast,I see her black cloud full uv rutsEr shamin’ off its best,I see her pinched an’ wrinkled faceEr quizzing uv th’ crew,An’ this ter-nigh is ole Mart Place,
That once wuz Marthay True.I see her lookin’ down th’ deckTer git some welcome nod,Or still perchance th’ courage beckTer put her feet erboard.I know her arms are tired outEr holdin’ uv th’ string,Fer ev’ry one is knitted stoughtTer pace th’ haddickin’. Oh, Marthay True uv long ergo,Could you have looked ter seeYer rosy cheeks an’ eyes erglow Come cryin’ back ter thee,Could you have looked ter see each braid Thin twisted stran’s uv snow,I know yer would ter God have prayed Fer ankrige long ergo.Oh, Marthay True that bird-like sang,An’ twined th’ red rose high,An bade my boyhood’s heart ter hang Er love-light in thine eye,Could you have known th’ years would flingYer, stranded wreck uv Time, Ter sell with ev’ry knitted ringEr dead heart’s silent chime,Er Nipper woman in th’ cold,Unnoticed an’ forlorn,Mid fisher faces sad an’ bold, With hearts bruised like yer own,I know yer would ter God have prayedFer ankrige long ere this,Than rather been by Fate errayed Er thing fer chance ter kiss.O, Marthay True, we laugh an’ woo, An’ twine th’ red rose high,
An prate, an’ tell what we will do, With laughter in our eye;But way down in our hearts we know Time’s but er fickle thing,An’ ere life’s winds begin ter blow Come grief an’ sufferein’.Oh, Marthay True, we laugh an’ woo,An’ twine th’ red rose high,An prate, an’ tell what we will do,With laughter in our eye;But soon, too soon, our castles fall,Our gay ships drink th’ sea,An’ what should been joy’s merry callJest tears fer memory.Oh, Marthay True, God wot that thouMeet luck with all th’ fleet,An if er kind word will endowI’ll speak it quick an’ neat.I know er fisher’s tender spotIs ankered in his heart,Fer once with Christ they threw th’ lot,An’ hauled er goodly part.Oh, Marthay True, yer tale is told.Th’ hearts are tried an’ staunch,An, they have trawled er sum uv goldTer speed yer in joy’s launch.God wot that thou mayst happy be.Jest keep yer sad heart bright,An’ He will steer yer down Life’s seaTer find Hope’s port erlight.
Nipper woman: one of a class of women who knit
and sell to the crews of the fleet the woolen
nippers worn to prevent chafing of the fishing lines.
It is an industry pursued in the winter
and sold to the firms and the crews in the
early spring, at the fitting out or in the fall
at the “shifting of voyages.”
Nippers: when the trawl gets caught,
--“hung up,” in fishing vernacular,
--mittens are removed and the trawls
are hauled in with a pair of nippers,
bracelets of knitted wool or
cloth held in the palm of the hand,
creased to allow of a better hold of the line.
------Clarence Manning Falt, Wharf and Fleet, 1902 Th’ Nipper woman, p. 37-38
Woolen nippers from Gloucester on view at the Smithsonian were exhibited in the 1883 International Fisheries Exhibition in London. I think of Falt’s poem, Th’ Nipper Woman, above, when I see this display, and find it all the more poignant now picturing the women & men working the dock and sea and seasons at port. Intimate and full. Gentle and rough.
photo caption: Nippers. ca. 1880s. US Fish Commission. National Museum of American History, Smithsonian, Washington, DC
GAFFIN’ FISH
GAFFIN' FISHW’EN th’ tide is out er flirtin’,An’ fergits ter shut its door,An’ th’ happy clams are squirtin,Playin’ injine with the shore, An th’ kids are ripe fer junkin’,An’ fer skippin’ rocks an’ shells,An fer woodin’ an’ fer punkin’Bobbin’ bottles in th’ swells,An’ yer hear th’ rats er squalin’Frum th’ black cracks in th’ walls,An’ yer quiz th’ tomcats stealin’ Nearer, nearer ter th’ calls, An’ yer mark some ole trap histid,Like er giddy thing on cogs,With its body kind uv listidT’ward th’ black spiles an th’ logs,All togged up in robes uv coal tar,Yaller oaker, sash’s an’ bo’s,P’r’aps er crimson-pintid five-starSunburs’in’ its puggy nose,Like some poor, ole primay donnay Thet has wobbled all her say,Now shoved further ter th’ corner W’ile th’ daybute works her lay,P’r’aps er ole T.D. er puffin’ Frum er drollin’ mouth er stern, Use ter bluffin’, use ter cussin’, Use ter words I know yer’v hern,Then yer know time’s ripe fer gaffin’An’ fer puntin’ roun’ th’ docks,Fer it’s then th’ crews git chaffin’An’ er rattlin’ th’ pitchforks,Fer it’s then th’ strays go slippin’Frum th’ ole caps with er thud,An’ th’ guick gaffs raise ‘em drippin’Ter th’ sly punts frum th’ mud.Oh, it’s art ter watch th’ sneakin’Uv th’ puntin’ through th’ spiles,Oh, it’s art ter watch th’ peekin’Uv th’ gaffers an’ th’ wiles,Fer it’s thievin’ pure an simpleAn’ it’s skittish work at bes’,Though th’ cheek may wear th’ dimple,An th’ eye stan’ heaven’s tes’.Oh, it’s risky work er gaffin’, Full uv duckin’s, fights, an’ jaws,Full uv skuddin’, full uv chaffin’,Full uv haul-ups, full uv laws.Fer if caught, as sure as Moses,Yer’ll be chucked deep in th’ dump,W’ile th’ smells uv sweet June roses Won’t c’logne up th’ homeward slump.
When the trips are being taken out,
often many fish slip from the pitchforks
and sink to the docks. A class of young
men and boys then row around in little boats,
called punts, and gaff up the fish beneath
the wharves and sell them. It is an illegal
business, and if caught, they are subjected
to a fine and imprisonment.
It is operated at low tide.
“Ole trap histid”: the old-fashioned shore
boats that haul up on the dock flats for repairs.
"Pintid five-star”: an old-fashioned emblem
For decorating ends of bowsprits.
------Clarence Manning Falt, Wharf and Fleet: ballads of the Gloucester Fishermen, 1902
Gaffin’ Fish, p.39-41
For me, this one is a compelling balance: he carries water for the skippers and (less) for the gray market hustlers. It’s messy. His dad’s guiding hand on this one. Scroll back up and look at the “Th’ spider an’ th’ fly” photograph, the pilings and surface of the water. The images and words flow and force, back and forth. The pairings aren’t so cut and dry.
Cpt. Walter M. Falt (b. Canada April 18, 1823- d. Glouc. 1904) emigrated in 1845; fish dealer aka fish merchant 1870 census; skipper; master fisherman 1880 census; day laborer 1900 census misspelled as “Fault”, Cpt and Master Sea Foam 1878
Mother
Mary Carlisle Robinson (b. Glouc. 1826 – d. Glouc. 1893) parents married Nov. 30, 1847 “keeping house”
Resided family home
172 East Main Street, he and his siblings with their parents Edward Hopper drawing of this house in the collection of the Minneapolis Art Inst.
Day job
clerk for downtown businesses (drugstores on Main)
University
studied oration and acting
Occupation
“clerk” and “apothecary clerk” on earlier census “author” on 1900 census
6 siblings
dates on family headstone Marion, (1849 -1931) 1848? Walter P. (1851-1877) laborer 1870 census Julia Procter (1852-1924) Clarence M. (1861-1912) author 1900 census Austin C. (1866-1915) stevedore 1900 census Roland H. (1868-1870) Mary Taylor (1876-1917) 1874?
Published works
1894- Points of Interest: Gloucester in Song 1902- Wharf and Fleet: ballads of the Fishermen of Gloucester
Died
1912
Grave
family plot, Mt. Pleasant Cemetery
Under a Banner of Many Nations
Note from the author: Over the past week, I’ve shared Boston Globe Gloucester stories about immigrants: Swedish, Canadian, Italian, Sicilian, Portuguese , Irish, Scotch and so on. I thought of Falt’s books with each post.
Nations jump from the page when scanning vital stats documents, too- like this one from Gloucester birth registry 1868 – scroll over to the right through Occupation / place of Birth of Father/ place of Birth of Mother.
(To get the full experience, go big! The wordpress format reduces the size, however all photos in this post can be clicked, double clicked through, or pinch & zoomed to enlarge)
Captain Thomas Bohlin #3 “king pin among the halibut fishermen” (born in Sweden)
Captain Charles Harty tie for #2 mackerel “as a seiner his reputation has been made.”
Captain Solomon Jacobs #1 OG “widest known fisherman this country has ever produced…having started out as record beater, has had to live up to his reputation and has succeeded…” codfishery then mackerel seining – global expansion, lost everything & came back again “at the foot of the ladder. His old time luck had not forsaken him…” (born in England, brought to Newfoundland when a baby)
Captain Alex McEachern #7 high lines, particularly Grand bank codfisheries beat all records in 1897 (born Cape Breton)
Captain John W. McFarland tied for #2 “the only one to make two newfoundland herring trips, and marketed them in New York, on one season” (born in Maine)
Captain Andrew McKenzie #8 Iceland halibut and Newfoundland herring (born in PEI)
Captain Lemuel F. Spinney #5 “high line halibut catcher who is in the first flight of the “killers.” (born in Yarmouth, N.S.)
Captain Charles Young #6 halibut fleet -1895 record for most trips in one year (born in Copenhagen)
Captain Richard Wadding #4 halibut (born in England)
A June Morning – arch yes to my ear, and interesting catalogue of flora and fauna then
On this day, a rescue at sea, December 29, 1885. Boston Globe story presented accounts from both crews and was published January 2, 1886, (author possibly Tom Herbert)
DRIVEN TO THE SEA: In the terrible gale at Christmas Time. Facing Starvation and Cold on the Schooner Alaska. Timely Rescue by Hardy Men of Gloucester.
Still another is added to the long list of stories of terrible sufferings at sea and gallant rescues that will long make memorable the month of December, 1885. The schooner Clytie of Gloucester arrived in port Thursday night, with the schooner Alaska in tow, the latter vessel showing evidence of the trying ordeal through which she had passed. The story of the recue as told by Captain Courant of the Clytie, is one of thrilling interest.
“Tuesday morning,” said he, in his bluff, hearty manner, “just at daybreak, we sighted a vessel way off on the horizon. We could not make out shwa she was, or what she was doing. We couldn’t really make out whether there was anything the matter with her or not, she was so far away. I went up on the house with the glass. It looked then as if she was an anchor, but we knew that could not be so, as there was no bank there. By and by, as it grew lighter, and we worked up nearer, we saw the signals of distress flying. We were then under two reefed foresail, with bonnet off the jib. When we saw she was in distress we put two reefs in the mainsail and stood up for her. Remember all this time it was a howling hurricane. It was a different thing out there 150 miles at sea, with the great waves threatening to send us to Davy Jones’ locker every minute than what it is to tell of it here in comfortable quarters. When we got near the vessel we saw at once that it would be impossible to board her. So we laid by the rest of the day and all night, and the next morning, though it was still dangerous work,
We Got Out One of the Dories
and got aboard. I tell you it was a hard sight, and the story of terrible suffering from hunger and exposure was a pitiful one. The schooner was the Alaska from , N.B. She sailed Friday, with a crew of six besides the captain, but was met by a fearful gale when outside, and forced to drop anchor. The gale, however increased to such an extent that both cables parted, and the schooner drifted helplessly out to sea. From that time until Tuesday morning, when we discovered her in latitude 42 50 north, longitude 67 21’ west, she was driven about at the mercy of the wind and waves. Their provisions gave out, and death by starvation stared them in the face. They grew weaker and weaker, but still were obliged to do what they could to keep the vessel afloat. Their sails were gone, their decks swept with the waves, and they were drenched to the skin. The cold increased, and with it, their sufferings. Death must soon have ended all if we had not sighted them just as we did. But even under those circumstances the captain didn’t want to desert his schooner; he said she was all he owned in the world, and he had almost rather go down with her than lose her. There was, however, no water, no kerosene and nothing to eat on board, and the vessel was in a dangerous position. She had been loaded with hay and wood, but her deep load of wood had long ago been washed overboard. As I stepped on board the craft, which seemed just
Ready to Take Its Final Plunge,
the Captain stepped forward and said:
“Can you give me some men to help me work my vessel?”
“No, sir,” said I, as I glanced about the wreck; “in the first place, there isn’t a man aboard my vessel would take the risk of going with you.”
“And you won’t let me have even one man” said he in despair, as he began to see his last chance of saving his vessel disappearing.
“No,” said I, “I wouldn’t leave one of my men aboard this craft to take his chances with you if she was loaded with gold.”
He then offered me $100 for a man, but of course, I refused.
“I will,” said I, “do one of two things: I will take your crew aboard my boat, or I will put a crew aboard your vessel and try to work her in.” This last offer I made on condition that I should receive $1000 if I got the vessel in port safely. I was off on a fishing trip, and of course I couldn’t lose my voyage for nothing. It might pay me $1000, and it might not, but that was about fair for the loss of my voyage. He offered me $500 and then $700, but I told him I wouldn’t take $999; that $1000 was only the fair thing. He finally consented and signed the following agreement:
December 29, 1885
I hereby agree to pay the schooner Clytie the sum of one thousand dollars ($1000) to help save my vessel and crew. JOSEPH BISHOP.
Of course in doing even this I had to take my chances of losing my voyage, for we were in a dangerous position, and the chances of saving the vessel were poor. I told him I would take him into the first port I could. The wind was fair for the Nova Scotia coast, but it is a bad place there, and I told him I would try to get him into either Boston or Gloucester. I put six men aboard. The wind favored us, and here we are safe and sound.
“The names of my crew who ran down in the Alaska? Oh, they were Pat Foley, Dick Welch, King Silva, Frank Tijer, John Shea and John McNulty—a good set of boys they are, too.”
“How are the crew of the Alaska getting along?”
“Well, they suffered terribly, but will be all right in a few days. The mate is the worst off, his feet and fingers being frozen. It was a close call for them all, but you know we seafaring men have to take our chances.”
Captain Courant, sch. Clytie
A “Sully Miracle on the” Sea story! Now from the sch. Alaska point of view:
LASHED TO THE WHEEL: Experience of the Crew of the Alaska Given by Captain Bishop—Their Miraculous Escape
Captain Bishop of the schooner Alaska was found aboard his vessel, which is lying on the north side of Union wharf. When asked about his trip, he said it was the roughest weather he had seen for over thirty years.
“We started,” said he, “from Harvey, N.S., Christmas afternoon, with a deckload of cordwood and hay in the hold for James Stevenson of this port. It was blowing pretty hard at the time, but we supposed it would soon moderate. After running about two miles, and when off Grindstone Island, we decided to anchor, as the wind appeared to be increasing. We placed two anchors ahead and let out 210 fathoms of chain. At 2 o’clock the next afternoon the chains parted, and the vessel drifted into the Bay of Fundy. It was then snowing hard, the sea was tremendously high, and it was blowing a terrific gale from the northeast by east. It was impossible to carry any canvas, so we rode along under bare poles. At midnight the storm was fearful. The high seas washed continually over the decks, and the two men at the wheel had to be lashed, otherwise it would have been impossible for them to remain on deck. At 3 o’clock Monday morning we hove the vessel too by a peak in the mainsail. At 7 o’clock we were to north-northwest, with part of the three-reefed foresail and peak of the mainsail, the rest of the mainsail and two jibs having been blown away. At 3 o’clock that afternoon we found ourselves near the breakers, on the southern point of Grand Manan. In the meantime it changed from snow to hail and were then able to see ahead for the first time since Saturday. The first thing we saw was that we were going ashore inside of Gannet rock.
Our stern was close into the breakers when the keeper of the light motioned to us to steer to the south, which we did, and the vessel passed out safely. All this time the sea was mountains high and washing clear over the lighthouse.
The mate and two seamen had their hands and feet badly frostbitten, while my limbs were partially paralyzed Monday evening the wind veered around to north-northwest. At 10 o’clock Tuesday morning, when 130 miles east by south of Cape Ann, we met the fishing schooner Clytie, which towed us to this port. The Alaska had her boat and deckload carried away.
2019 article about the history of the (now deteriorating) Gannet lighthouse (yes, for the birds that were there) with interview of former lighthouse keeper: “The Gannet Rock lighthouse soars above a rocky islet off Grand Manan, an old beacon of light for fisherman. But the tower, built in 1831, is battered from years of neglect. It was abandoned in the early 2000s and stopped being maintained by the Department of Fisheries and Oceans in 2010. “
Winslow Homer, Ship building Gloucester Harbor, 1873
Same year as Clytie was built
Scenes of vessels/fishing industry in Gloucester harbor and accounts of winter storms
1876
Ten years earlier, “The December Gales of 1876” chapter from The Fishermen’s Own Bookcomprising The List of Men and Vessels Lost from Gloucester, Mass., from 1874 – April 1, 1882 AND a Table of Losses From 1830, together with Valuable Statistics of the Fisheries, ALSO Notable Fares, Narrow Escapes, Startling Adventures, Fishermen’s Off-Hand Sketches, Ballads, Descriptions of Fishing Trips, AND Other Interesting Facts and Incidents Connected with This Branch of Maritime Industry, Entered according to Act of Congress, 1882, Procter Bros., Lib of Congress
1902
Clarence Manning Falt
1920s & 1930s
Leslie Jones, others
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Good Morning Gloucester 