CHAPTER II.
At Crosby’s Tavern.
The tavern kept by Master Thomas Crosby at Eastham was thronged on the evening that Hoppy Mayo and his comrade, Win Knowles, were expected to arrive from Boston. Crosby’s cellar was nearly empty of the cheering liquor that helped the male inhabitants of the town to bear the hardships of the woeful condition to which they were reduced by the fortune of war, and the fresh consignment which was known to be on the way was eagerly awaited. It must not be inferred from this that the population was inclined to riotous living. On the contrary, the people were of an orderly and peace-loving, nature, but the advocates of total abstinence had not yet made much progress on Cape Cod, and in accordance with the custom of their fathers, the men of Eastham were not averse to taking a friendly gill in company with their neighbors who met for gossip and entertainment under Crosby’s hospitable rooftree.
Master Peter Walker, of whom it has been told by the historian that his wit was keen and his learning great, occupied his favorite seat by the huge chimney-place, which, however, was fireless at this season. Master Walker was a blacksmith by trade, and a poet by choice. Selectman Harding Knowles and his colleagues on the Board were there. Much attention was paid to the opinions of Squire Knowles who was a gentleman of great dignity and knowledge of affairs. “Uncle” Jabez Rich, retired schoolmaster, feeling somewhat the burden of his ninety years, sat opposite Master Walker. Uncle Jabez had a wonderful memory and was fond of telling of his stirring adventures during the old French wars. The rest of the company was made up of citizens engaged in various occupations; artisans, farmers, fishermen and shipmasters. The latter were chafing under the enforced idleness caused by the enemy’s blockade of the coast. Captain Jared Higgins was especially emphatic in condemning President Madison for challenging the might of England on the high seas when the United States had no navy capable of meeting the numerous squadrons of Britain. Captain Jared was a staunch supporter of Governor Caleb Strong of Massachusetts and voted for him on every occasion that the anti-war governor sought office. Partisan feeling ran high in those days and heated argument was not uncommon at Crosby’s. However, private opinions were forgotten when it came to presenting a solid front to the enemy.
The township of Eastham was part of the ancient territory of the Nauset Indians. It was settled in 1644 by Thomas Prence, later governor of Plymouth Colony, who, accompanied by the famous Deacon John Doane and a chosen party of colonists, purchased land from the Nausets and made their homes in the locality. These first settlers of Eastham were men of high character. The men who formed the gathering at Crosby’s tavern on the evening of which we write were mostly descended from the pioneers who faced the wilderness and the savage in search of freedom to worship God in their own way, and their descendants had inherited this love of liberty and sturdy spirit of independence. Men of pure English stock predominated, but on the features of a few could be traced the evidence of mixed descent. The dark-eyed maidens of the Nausets had not been found unwilling to share the white man’s lot, and though the red man had vanished from the district, a dash of his blood remained to tell of some forgotten romance in the olden days. Strong-bodied, self-reliant citizens were these people of Eastham. Their mode of speaking was clear and incisive, denoting a high degree of intelligence. Many of them had acquired in the great school of world-wide experience a polish of manner and a courtliness of bearing that became them well.
The well-worn arguments on the questions of the day were threshed out vigorously until the night was well advanced. Still no sign of the voyagers and a general feeling of uneasiness as to their fate became manifest.
“Something must have gone wrong with Win and Hoppy,” remarked Obed Sparrow. “They should have been here long ago.”
Peter Walker winked at Crosby. “Neighbor Sparrow is getting anxious about the stock in hand, Master Crosby,” insinuated Peter.
“Well, Master Walker,” replied mine host, “Obed has good reason to feel anxious about it, if that’s what’s in his mind. My last hogshead of Jamaica is running low.”
“Oh,” Peter put in slyly, “you may be doing Obed an injustice. Perhaps he’s thinking about the molasses. Mistress Sparrow is famed for her cookies, you know.”
Everybody laughed. “What was that rhyme of yours on the subject, Peter?” inquired Squire Knowles.
“If it wouldn’t hurt Obed’s feelings,” replied Master Walker, “I might give you a verse or two, if only to help pass the time.”
“Let’s have it, Master Walker!” cried several in chorus.
“Well, neighbors, it isn’t very good poetry, but it’s good rhyme and it’s a tribute to Mistress Sparrow’s accomplishments.”
Master Walker cleared his throat and began:
Cheers and laughter greeted this sally and Master Walker was urged to continue. Obed was particularly clamorous for the rest of the verses. He loved to hear his good wife praised.
“Aye, it is just like your blood, Peter,” muttered Uncle Jabez. “I remember well when Jonas Walker kept the camp in goodhumor that time before Louisburg. We were in the Fourth company of Gorham’s Regiment, and Elisha Doane, our captain, used to say that Jonas Walker was the life and soul of the regiment. Colonel Shubael Gorham often had Jonas to amuse the officers when they supped in the Colonel’s tent.”
“Those were stirring times, Uncle Jabez,” said Squire Knowles.
“Aye, Squire; there were fine men in that regiment. I have seen Captain Joseph Thacher, of Yarmouth, go right through an embrasure into the Grand Battery while the bullets were thick as hail.”
“You must tell us the story some time, Uncle Jabez. Master Walker might get offended if we don’t listen to the rest of his poem.”
“It’s getting late, neighbors,” said Peter. “Some other time I’ll finish it.”
Harding Knowles and Peter Walker went home together.
“Peter,” said Harding, “if Hoppy and Win do not arrive during the night we must conclude something serious has happened. I sincerely trust they have not been captured.”
“I’m afraid that’s just what has happened, Harding,” replied Peter. “That runner from Provincetown told me last week that the British seemed to be up to something new. He said Raggett hadn’t been ashore for a week, and that seemed strange, as Raggett was fond of stretching his legs over the dunes.”
“I fear there is bad work ahead for us, Peter. Hoppy is hotheaded, you know, and he’ll be apt to give offence to those fellows at whose mercy we are. ’Tis said they are going to levy tribute on the Bay towns, and God only knows how we are to meet it. The Committee of Safety has been considering the matter. Some are for fighting it out; others consider that course unwise as we have no armed force to signify.”
“I plainly see we are in a bad fix, Harding, but we can only wait and hope for the best. Raggett’s been pretty good about it up to this and if he’s changed, it must be due to orders from London.”
“That’s so, Peter. The National government little realizes the hardship of our position, and even if it did, we have no naval force for the protection of the Cape. The scattered units of our navy are doing great work but the British are in overwhelming numbers. The loss of the Chesapeake last year was disheartening.”
“Well,” replied Peter, and there was fire in his eye, “you know, Harding, what Lawrence said on that occasion: ‘Don’t give up the ship!’ Keep that in mind, Harding, and we may yet bring the bully of the Bay to terms.”
“Let’s hope for the best, Peter. Good night.”
“Good night, Harding.”