On a cold and windy day the lighthouse looks so pretty with the blue ocean.
Taking a walk on Shore Road the other day the Eastern Point Lighthouse looked so pretty.
Clarence Manning Falt (1861-1912) 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.
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.”Clarence Manning Falt
Have you seen this rock face profile?
photo caption: The Watcher
Have you walked past this balancing skinny topper?
Poem titles and links for the photo grid below:
(take time to enlarge the photos!)
Falt poems from nature (without photographs) from this volume and worth a read
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. -Clarence Manning Falt, 1894, in Gloucester, Ma.
Bluets, photo courtesy Justine Vitale
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.
This one was dedicated to Winthrop L. Marvin* (1863-1926), author of The American merchant marine; its history and romance from 1620 to 1902, also published in 1902.
“…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.
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
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 In th’ early dawn ere th’ doors unlock, Then it’s crick, crick, crick, an’ it’s crock, crock, crock An’ it’s ho an’ hi fer th’ blocks ter talk In 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 high Then 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’ brink Ter shape out th’ course an ter careful think In 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’ NIPPERWOMAN I SEE her black shawl mid th’ butts Clutched tight erpon her breast, I see her black cloud full uv ruts Er shamin’ off its best, I see her pinched an’ wrinkled face Er quizzing uv th’ crew, An’ this ter-nigh is ole Mart Place, That once wuz Marthay True. I see her lookin’ down th’ deck Ter git some welcome nod, Or still perchance th’ courage beck Ter put her feet erboard. I know her arms are tired out Er holdin’ uv th’ string, Fer ev’ry one is knitted stought Ter pace th’ haddickin’. Oh, Marthay True uv long ergo, Could you have looked ter see Yer 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 fling Yer, stranded wreck uv Time, Ter sell with ev’ry knitted ring Er 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 prayed Fer 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 call Jest tears fer memory. Oh, Marthay True, God wot that thou Meet luck with all th’ fleet, An if er kind word will endow I’ll speak it quick an’ neat. I know er fisher’s tender spot Is 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 gold Ter 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 sea Ter 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.
GAFFIN' FISH W’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 listid T’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-star Sunburs’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 simple An’ 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.
|Born||August 1861, Gloucester, Mass.|
|Father||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
|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
|Grave||family plot, Mt. Pleasant Cemetery|
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)
A June Morning – arch yes to my ear, and interesting catalogue of flora and fauna then
With a headline sounding like a poem or song, this memorable Gloucester Christmas eve tale by Tom Herbert was published in the Boston Globe in 1893. Local mentions: Main Street, Duncan Street, Western Banks, sch. Star of the East, Eastern Point lighthouse, Thacher’s Island, Ten Pound Island, and codfish.
A fun read aloud for Christmas eve.
“Such a dread as I have of your going away so late in the fall,” said pretty Mollie MacDonald to her lover. “And remember we are to be married Christmas eve.”
“Why it’s only a three weeks’ trip, Mollie, to the Western banks,” said mcAchen, “and you would not like to have me loafing around Gloucester and have my ‘chummies’ laughing at me. Then you know, too, I am shipped in the famous Star of the East and we will sail at daybreak.”
“But what about the engagement ring, Angus? All our friends know we are to marry and when you are 300 miles from Gloucester a little token, which I would war on my finger, would often remind me of you and remind me to pray for your safe return, for you know December is a treacherous month for fishermen.”
“I forgot that, Mollie, and now every store on Main Street is closed, but here is a silver band my mother wore,” said he, as he placed the ring on her finger.
“And here’s my mother’s engagement ring,” said Mollie: “a hoop of gold with two hearts. Don’t lose it, for I hold it as sacred as I do your love.”
“I’ll bring it back to you if I live to make the trip. But I must hurry, as most of the crew are on board and a dory will be sent ashore at 1 o’clock for the lads that stop to kiss the girls they love goodby, and I will do the same.”
So they parted, he going down Duncan Street, and on arriving
At the Steamboat Wharf
met a half dozen of his shipmates. Then all went on board and turned in.
That night it breezed up from the northwest. It grew colder, and as the barometer gave evidences of a coming storm, Capt. “Bill.” who skipped the craft, roused the “boys” out before daybreak to sight the anchor. Half an hour later the schooner passed Eastern point lighthouse.
Away scudded the schooner before the fast freshening gale under a single reefed foresail, the swash of the seas as they spurted in through the lee scuppers fast forming ice on the deck.
Once clear of Thacher’s island, all hands turned to fit new fishing gear, and the conversation started, turned to the prospects of the trip.
“Some of the ‘killers’ found fish plenty on the eastern edge,” said one, but Capt. Billy had planned his trip to fish in 90 fathoms of water, near the spot where he had “rafted” in a big trip the year before.
Angus was one of the “afterguards,” as the fishermen term those who bunk in the cabin, and while “fitting” his trawls he was very quiet and especially thoughtful when he revolved the gold band on his finger.
His usual buoyant manner had departed. He was ill at ease and very slow at tying on the hooks.
Once he dropped the lines to the floor and lifting his mattress took out a book as if to read, but he was gazing
On the Photograph
of pretty Mollie Macdonald.
The run to the banks was a quick one, and when the proper surroundings were found the anchor was let go and plenty of “scope” payed out.
That night all hands baited up their trawls which were set at daybreak, and the first haul resulted in a catch of 8000 pounds of cod, every dory coming alongside the schooner loaded to the gunwale.
Angus brightened up at the prospect of a quick trip and a big check.
During the second night on the fishing grounds something happened which later came near costing Angus his life.
All hands were in the gurry kids dressing the fish, and as it was a breezy time all hands worked with a will to get the fish below and batten down the hatches.
After supper extra strads were wound around the cable, the anchor light set on the forepeak halyards, the decks cleared and extra lashings placed on the dories.
When everything was made snug the watch took the deck to keep a bright lookout for vessels that might strike adrift and foul the schooner.
In the cabin sat Angus, who remarked that “it was going to be a nasty night,” and stepping to the after part of the cabin raised his hand to adjust the guide hand of the barometer when he noticed that the ring was gone.
Lantern in hand he rushed to the deck and searched, but no sign of the ring, and when he came down below great tears of sorrow coursed down his bronzed cheeks.
His shipmates looked but did not ask the cause of his sorrow, for Angus was a strong man and might take offense.
Kneeling beside the transom near his berth he
Reached for the Book,
and after gazing on the picture of Mollie for a moment turned and said:
“Boys, I’ve lost her ring, it was gold with two hearts; it was our engagement ring; she gave it to me the night we sailed from Gloucester and I promised her that if I lived I would bring back the ring, but now it is gone.”
That night the wind blew a gale; Angus turned in, but not to sleep.
Towards midnight he was seen going about the deck with the lantern looking for the ring, but he did not find it and had to be coaxed to go below by his shipmates. When he was called to his watch on deck he only raved about the lost ring.
At daybreak all hands were on deck awaiting the word of the skipper to go and haul their trawls, which were set a short distance from the vessel.
Two dories had been launched, and then the captain said, “Hoist those dories in, it is not a fit day to put a dog in a dory, let alone a man.”
While the starboard gang were busy getting their dory aboard, Angus asked his dorymate if he would go and haul trawls, and receiving a positive no, cast off the painter, jumped into his dory, and rowed for his flag buoy half a mile distant.
The seas ran high, and like a cockleshell the dory drifted to leeward on the crest of every wave.
The crew saw that he did not reach the windward end of the trawls, but later could discern him hauling from the lee ends.
Was he mad was the question with the crew, and would he live to haul the trawls and return to the schooner?
Being anchored, there was no possibility of the vessel rendering assistance unless to
Cut the Cable
and try and pick the frantic man up, but that would not do, especially when he took his life in his own hands without the consent of the skipper.
For an hour they watched him from the deck. Then came a snow squall which shut out their view and when it cleared the dory was not in sight.
Ten days later the Star of the East sailed into Gloucester with her flag at half-mast, and on the end of the Fort wharf stood Mollie. She looked paler and thinner than when Angus and she parted not quite three weeks before, and with lips parted she gazed at the incoming craft.
The ever anxious crowd had congregated, and as the schooner tacked in towards Ten Pound Island, an old wharf hand said: “Why, that’s the Star of the East! I wonder who she’s lost.”
That was sufficient for the poor girl to hear. She knew by the slow beating of her heart that Angus was not on board, so she sorrowfully wended her way homeward to find consolation in prayer.
When the sad news reached her she quietly said: “Angus must have lost my ring or he would be here and well.”
‘Twas the old story that the skipper told, “lost while attending the trawls.”
When the snow shut out the vessel from Angus’ view he began to realize his danger and hauled away like mad; then came a fastening on the bottom which would not give way to his strong arms and the trawl parted.
Oars were of no use except to keep the head of the dory up to the sea, and when the snow cleared off he was miles from the vessel.
He was hungry and thirsty, but he thought not of death; his one thought was of Mollie and the lost ring.
All that day he drifted before the gale that moderated at sundown, but no vessel could he see, look where he would.
That night he rowed to keep his blood in circulation, and at sunrise saw a sail five miles away.
Towards evening he was almost insane from thirst, but thinking a moment, he remembered having heard of men who found fresh water in the belly of a cod.
To rip open a codfish was but the work of a minute, then holding it so that not a drop of the precious fluid would escape, he drank.
It tasted brackish, but was better than none. Then he cut out the “poke” that he thought would be more palatable than the flesh.
What possessed him to cut it he never could tell, but when it was laid open with the knife there was
The Hoop of Gold
with two hearts, the ring he lost while dressing fish in the gurry kid on the vessel.
Clutching the ring he forgot his hunger and thirst, his only thoughts were of her who was his promised bride.
After kissing the cherished treasure again and again, he unbuttoned his oil jacket and in the top vest pocket over his heart he placed the ring.
“Now I will live, and, with the help of God, keep my promise,” he said.
The sea had gone down, and as no vessel was in sight, he lashed the flag of his buoy to an oar, and having lashed it in an upright position, he coiled himself up in the bow and was soon fast asleep.
How long he slept he knows not, but it must have been six hours, for he was suddenly awakened by the dory tossing about in a peculiar way.
Raising himself he saw a large steamer close by. The crew seemed to be making ready to lower boats, then he waved his sou’wester and got an answer in return.
Directly he was alongside of the ship and soon on board, where he was well cared for by the captain of the English freighter that had experienced heavy gales, was short of coal and was bound to Halifax to get a new supply.
In two days from that time, Angus was bound to Boston by rail, and after arriving took the evening train for Gloucester and sent a messenger to Mollie to say that he would fulfill his promise, marry her that same night, Christmas eve.(The end.)
“Loss of a Ring Nearly Cost McAchen His Life. Adrift Off the Banks, He Found It In the Belly of a Codfish. Arrived in Gloucester in Season to Marry His Mollie Christmas Eve” by Tom Herbert, Boston Globe; Dec 25, 1893. On page 6, with obits and other news. Herbert published a similar read in 1890 which I’ll post Christmas day.
Sacred cod indeed!
The schooner Star of the East that fished out of Gloucester for years was built in 1867 in Boothbay Maine by Joseph Bearse. In 1882 the average number of vessels and tonnage enrolled: 483 vessels (423 to Gloucester- 353 schooners, 4 sloops, 1 yacht, 6 teamers and 59 boats) 17, 809.75 tonnage.
A few years later, a true Christmas eve event in Gloucester was reported in the Boston Globe 1898 Dec. 24
Fishermen’s Christmas: Good Cheer Provided in Gloucester for men Away From Home
Christmas was celebrated this evening at the Fishermen’s Institute on Duncan Street in a unique manner. Chaplain E. C. Charlton of the Institute invited the fishermen of the city away from home to become his guests, and to the number of several hundred they responded.
Men of all the northern nationalities were comprised in the audience, some wearing boiled shirts, others with their sea clothes on, but all were welcomed alike. There were two Christmas trees. A Short entertainment was given while Mrs. Charlton, wife of the chaplain, was busy at a table cutting cake which had been donated. This with hot coffee was passed around.
Comfort bags were donated by the King’s Daughters from all over the union were given every fishermen present and went into hands where they will be appreciated. They contain articles which will prove very useful to a sailor. Bags of confectionery, apples, etc were passed around, and altogether the fishermen’s Christmas was highly appreciated.
Late on Friday afternoon the fog started to roll in.
Scenes from around the eastern end of Gloucester – churning seas, leaden clouds, and great puffs of wind – the waves weren’t super, super huge at 4pm but there was still great crashing action over the Dogbar.
Eastern Point Lighthouse from Shore Road. As we took our walk yesterday getting some exercise and vitamin D and of course social distancing.
At sunset this evening, the skies cleared for a bit and one could see the snowstorm departing in an easterly direction, while more squalls were beginning to blow ashore from the west. The nearly half-Moon was rising over the marsh through the clouds. Swells along the backshore were larger than average, but nothing nearly as dramatic as the waves during a nor’easter. Perhaps the waves were bigger on the other side of the Island.
Although I didn’t get a snapshot, the small flock of Wild Turkeys was leaping about at the base of a bird feeder, hungrily looking for food. Which was actually pretty funny because grace is decidedly not a characteristic shared with these large-bottom birds. I wished I had a handful to give them.
Photos from 10:00 this morning, about half an hour before high tide.