CHAPTER IX.
Allusion has been made to the embargo and to the Yankee shrewdness which evaded the watchfulness of government officers whose duty it was to prevent departures from port. The following narrative, for the incidents in which I am indebted to Capt. Charles C. Doten, illustrates the shrewdness to which I referred.
During the Embargo, Plymouth’s fishing fleet was laid up in the docks, and the owners found themselves cut off from the trade with the West India Islands. The catch of fish from the Grand Banks could not be sold to advantage for want of this market, and after being cured remained stored in the fish houses.
England and France then being at war their West India dependencies were subject to blockade, and as a consequence provisions which could be run into the ports of either nationality, commanded high prices. With such a temptation it was not strange that there were found adventurous men in fishing ports to hazard the loading of vessels with dry fish, and disregarding embargo penalties of our own government, surreptitiously depart “for the West Indies and a market.”
Plymouth was not lacking in this sort of enterprise, and the writer proposes to sketch one or two of the “run-a-ways,” to show the character of the men of those days who a little later did the country good service as “privateersmen” when the war between the United States and England was fought.
Anticipating that these attempts to break the embargo would be made in spite of stringent regulations, orders were given to the customs officers at every port to keep strict watch and prevent vessels from going to sea. Accordingly at Plymouth, Water street was nightly patrolled, and a guard boat well manned, and in charge of Capt. Joseph Bradford, was stationed in Beach channel to intercept any outward bound vessel which might succeed in getting away from the wharves. With these precautions it would seem to have been difficult to evade successfully the minions of the law and run out a cargo of fish in defiance of all the Federal government could do to prevent it, yet it was done.
The first schooner was the Hannah, lying at Hedge’s, now known as Pilgrim wharf, which then had two or three warehouses on it, one of them containing fish. On a dark night an industrious gang of men quietly loaded the vessel from the warehouse, but unluckily, before their work was completed, the tide fell so that the Hannah grounded, and could not get to sea that night as intended. Next day the custom house officers noted that the vessel did not rise buoyantly with the tide, so going on board they lifted the hatches, and at once discovered “what was the matter with Hannah.”
Felicitating themselves that they had caught their mouse, and determining that there should be no escape, they stripped the vessel “to a girtline,” that is, they removed all her sails together with the running and standing rigging, leaving nothing aloft but a single block on each mast through which a line was rove for the purpose of hoisting a man when the craft was to be re-rigged. All the gear was carted away, and, while the fish were left on board, the Hannah being absolutely reduced to bare poles, the officials were perfectly certain that they had made it impossible for her to take her cargo to the West Indies. Of course the laugh went round town at the expense of the defeated owners, and the officials were “cocky” over their smartness. Weeks went by and the incident passed out of mind, the deeply laden Hannah meantime lying in her berth and daily rising and falling with the tide. All the same her voyage to Martinique was made up, her captain and crew engaged, and the man who was to rig and take her out of dock had his gang picked for the purpose, and only awaited his opportunity. This man was Capt. Samuel Doten, father of our townsmen, the late Major Samuel H. and Capt. Charles C. Doten, one of the most energetic shipmasters of his day, whom nothing ever daunted, and who liked nothing better than a bit of dare-devil business, being perfectly competent for anything pertaining to seamanship or calling for executive ability. These qualities were well known in this town, so naturally he was “in it” with the Hannah. Capt. George Adams, another old sea dog, was his right-hand man in the part he had to do, and there were two or three others, who could handle a marlinspike and make a knot or seizing as well in darkness as at noonday.
Capt. Doten lived at the foot of the Green, on what is now Sandwich street and kept a boat on the south shore near the place, where he afterwards built the wharf, now owned by Capt. E. B. Atwood. The long waited opportunity came one night with a howling southeast rain storm, from which the Water street watch sought shelter in one of the stores. There the officers with pipes and toddy made themselves comfortable, while right before their noses the Hannah’s decks were alive with her own crew, and Capt. Doten’s gang of riggers, who had come alongside in boats. A loft which contained the gear of another vessel, likewise clean stripped by her careful owner, so her rigging might not get weather worn in the months of the tie-up, was broken open and the shrouds and stays were carried on board the Hannah. Capt. Adams was the man to go aloft and put the eyes of the rigging over the mast heads, and Capt. Doten arranged for a system of wooden tags to be tied to the pieces as they went up, so that by feeling the notches cut in the tags, Capt. Adams would know whether what he received belonged on the starboard or port side. So it was also with the blocks and halliards, and all being understood, Capt. Adams took his place in the sling tied in the end of the girtline, and was soon hoisted to the crosstrees. The hours passed, but before daylight the Hannah was rigged, halliards rove fore and aft, and sails bent, though both rigging and sails were too large for her, belonging as they did to another vessel of greater tonnage. Capt. Doten had met this difficulty in the case of the standing rigging, which was too long, by turning up the ends of the shrouds over hand spikes used for shearpoles, and passing the lanyards from the deadeyes at the rail also over the handspikes, his deck men then setting taut with the watch tackles they had brought, and seizing all off securely. The sails were made smaller simply by putting in a reef.
All was now ready, and the Hannah cast off and dropped down to the end of the wharf. Capt. Doten, who was a good pilot for the harbor, took charge, and with the hoisting of the jib the vessel quickly fell off before the wind and ran directly along the shore for High Cliff, there then being no Long wharf in the way. This course was taken to avoid the guard boat which was supposed to be patrolling the channel along by the Beach, the usual way of leaving the port. It was the top of high water and there was little likelihood that with proper care the vessel would touch anything. At High Cliff Capt. Doten ordered the mainsail set and pointed the Hannah’s nose for the open sea. Then giving the helm to her captain, whose name the writer unfortunately has never heard, he gave the course to steer, and the schooner went romping down by Beach Point at a pace which left no chance for the guard boat to intercept her, when from away up Beach channel Capt. Bradford descried the fleeting sail. Before getting far down the harbor Capt. Doten and his men wished the Hannah and her crew a successful voyage, and jumping into their boat towing alongside were, before the early morning, snugly stowed away in their respective homes. Of course there was great excitement when it was found the bird had flown, and instantly the conclusion was reached that “Sam Doten had run away with the Hannah,” so the officers at once repaired to his house where his wife was unconcernedly getting breakfast, and Capt. Doten, having apparently just arisen, was leisurely dressing. The officers were greatly surprised at finding him and he equally surprised to learn from them that the Hannah had got away, nor did he hesitate to express his gratification that the custom house gang had been so thoroughly outwitted.
The Hannah made an excellent run to the West Indies and arrived safely at Martinique, where she sold her fish at $20 per quintal of 112 pounds and the vessel also was disposed of, the aggregate sum which ultimately got around to her owners being a very handsome one for the venture.
The Hope and the Cutter.
The brig Hope was the next Plymouth vessel to “run the embargo.” She belonged to William Holmes of this town, and loaded a cargo of dry fish at Provincetown, where she was seized by the customs officers of that port, and anchored in the harbor, with a revenue cutter commanded by Capt. Thomas Nicolson of Plymouth lying near at hand to prevent her from going to sea. Under these circumstances her owner induced Capt. Samuel Doten, who had “assisted” in the Hannah adventure, to become the principal in “cutting out” the Hope from under the guns of the revenue vessel.
Selecting his crew, Capt. Doten took charge of the brig and waited for things to come around to his liking. What he wanted was a smart northeast gale, which is a fair wind out of Provincetown, though of course a pretty rough affair to contend with in the open bay, and against which he would have to work his vessel out past the Cape after getting clear of the harbor. No abler or more daring seaman ever trod a deck, and, whatever the chances, Capt. Doten was ready to take them, so when one night the weather shut in “nasty” with indications of the wished for gale the next day, he made his preparations. A mooring line was run out aft to keep the brig’s head toward the harbor mouth, so that her square sails should immediately fill before the wind when hoisted. On the yards the gaskets keeping the furled sails in place were nearly cut off, so that while they still preserved the shape, they would part and allow the topsails to be hoisted without having to send men aloft to loose them as usual when getting under way, much depending on gaining a few minutes over the cutter at the start. Vessels of those days had hemp cables, and Capt. Doten meant to “cut and run” when the decisive moment came.
With the morning the gale was piping smartly, and it never occurring to the captain of the revenue cutter that a vessel would attempt to go to sea in such a blow, he took his gig with her crew and went ashore. The ebb tide left the boat on the beach while Capt. Nicolson and his men were up town, and meanwhile the sympathetic Provincetowners, ready to help the Hope, stole the thole pins and an oar or two. This was the favorable moment, while the cutter was disabled for want of her commander and several men, for whose return on board she would have to wait, so Capt. Doten cut his cable and stern mooring line, quickly hoisted and sheeted home his fore topsail, and was moving down the harbor before the lieutenant in charge of the cutter realized the situation. Seizing a musket he fired at Capt. Doten, who was at the Hope’s helm, but made a bad shot. Then he let go a big gun at the brig, which also was poorly aimed, and did no harm. It served, however, as a signal for Capt. Nicolson to come on board, if he needed more than the evidence of his eyes. The town was immediately alive with excitement, for the seafaring men took in the whole plan and shouted with delight over its boldness and sheer sailor-like daring. Men hindered more than they helped while pretending to assist in getting the boat down to the water, but at last, with her captain on board again, the cutter got into full chase, firing her bow guns at the brig in hope of crippling her spars if doing nothing more damaging. Provincetown has rarely seen anything more exciting than that running fight, and the story is told there even to this day, as the writer can vouch, having himself heard it from an old sea dog over there within a few years.
The Hope was a good sailer, and soon doubled round the long, sandy point at the harbor mouth, across which the cutter still continued firing, the shots sending the sand into the air in clouds as they skipped over the beach.
After getting outside, Capt. Doten made more sail for the better handling of his vessel, and one of his men, William Stacy of Boston, went aloft to loose a to’gallant sail. Just as he reached the crosstrees and gripped the shrouds for further ascent, a shot passed so close to him that, holding by his hands, the wind of it strung him out like a flag. Getting his footing again he yelled: “A good shot, try it again,” and went on with his duty.
The cutter soon got into the open bay where the sea was so rough that her firing became entirely ineffectual, and she could only chase. Capt. Nicolson, however, was one of the plucky kind and meant to do his full duty by keeping the Hope in sight if he could do nothing more. The gale became fiercer, and the sea rougher as the two vessels got from under the lee of the Cape, and that night the cutter was forced ashore near Scituate and wrecked, but with no loss of life. Capt. Doten, with a loaded vessel under him, which he knew how to handle, made better weather of it, and succeeded in beating the Hope out past Cape Cod against the storm, and in a day or two was running for the West Indies, intending to make Martinique.
All went well until nearing his destination, when one afternoon a big British frigate poked her nose out from behind an island right across his path and fired a gun for him to heave to. There was nothing for it but to obey, and a boat with a boarding party was soon alongside. The officer wanted to know where the brig was bound, to which Capt. Doten replied, “West Indies and a market.” “You mean Martinique, don’t you?” said the officer, “and let me tell you that had you got in there the Frenchmen would have given you $25 a quintal for your fish; but you will do well as it is, for I’m going to send you into the English island of St. Lucia, and our people will give you $16.” “Very well,” answered Capt. Doten, “I’ll go to St. Lucia then.” “Yes,” replied the officer, “I’m sure you will, as I’m going with you, for you Yankees are altogether too smart and slippery to be trusted alone, with $9 on a quintal of fish difference as to where you land them.”
So the Hope went into St. Lucia, where Capt. Doten sold both fish and vessel, and later he found his way home with $25,000 in Spanish doubloons, a large part of the sum being sewed into his clothing, and the writer has heard the Captain’s wife tell of letting him into the house at about two o’clock one morning, and of their sitting up in bed together, ripping out the gold pieces and tossing them into a shining pile, of which “Hope told a flattering tale.”