Quaint Chincoteague
A recent trip to one of the quaintest places in the State of Virginia, Chincoteague Island, proved to be of more than passing interest. As many of the readers of the "Enterprise" have never had the privilege of visiting the island, scattered as they are throughout the State and elsewhere, we will take them on a personally conducted tour on the sea of printer's ink. We trust that none may get seasick, for salt water and land are inseparable here. The very air is laden with salt and the soil is saturated with it.
According to Jennings Cropper Wise in his "Early History of the Eastern Shore of Virginia," Chincoteague was first prospected and granted to one of the colonists in 1670 by James II. Edward Noble Vallandigham in a fascinating book entitled: "Delaware and the Eastern Shore" asserted that "this was a patent typographical blunder, for James did not come to the throne until 1685." The latter author continues to say that "the island must have been peopled in some measure by whites before 1670, it was an attractive spot easily reached from the mainland, and offering much in its own soil and in the natural opportunities of its surrounding water."
We do not agree with some who would give the impression that Chincoteague is still living in the dim past and behind the times. To the contrary, we find the town and the people progressing in every way. Approaching from the mainland of Accomack County after a four mile ride over a chain of bridges and causeways, we were halted at the end of the long drawbridge by an official, employed by the Chincoteague Toll Road and Bridge Company. He, like Matthew of the New Testament fame, "WAS SITTING AT THE RECEIPT OF CUSTOM." Did I say sitting? No this brother was not sitting, he was standing and a forbidding line with a truce flag stopped all traffic until the toll was paid. This is right, for the connecting link between the town and mainland, which was built some two years ago by Capt. John Whealton, will prove to be more and more the greatest blessing that has ever come to these parts. This costly highway must be paid for!
Eight miles long and two miles wide with a population of between thirty-five hundred and four thousand, Chincoteague can be crossed and recrossed in comparatively short time. The long main street with its attractive homes, fine banks, stores and water front, opens into side streets which led to the heart of the rugged island. The town may well boast of its excellent banks, its modern high school building, said to house the largest rural school in Virginia, its post office, churches and halls. Some of the homes would grace any city. The stone M. E. Church is so well appointed that the people may well be proud of it. The other churches are equally prosperous and reach large constituencies. Several denominations are represented in this God fearing community.
As we traveled down the necks leading from the town proper, we wished that the walls might speak and tell of the early colonists, dancing at even tide to the music of fiddlers while Indians peeped through the thickets.
In front of one of the homes on Main Street, we saw two peculiarly shaped articles. Exclaimed one of the visitors: "I wonder what these propellers are kept in the yard for." We informed him that they were whale bones. They surely looked like propellers. Thus it is, everything reminds one of the tang of the sea. Men in boots, boys in boots, motor and sail boats, discarded deck houses, clam and oyster boats, a sail boat on dry land with mast and centerboard still in her, with a hole as big as a good sized table in her bottom, the smell of fish, tar, and oakum, white shell roads glistening in the brilliant sunlight, bits of nets, long poles for pound nets, anchors, oars, figure heads of wrecked ships in the old graveyard, all of these are but voices of the deep.
We met a boy swinging a bucket on the little finger of his right hand, on his way to the inevitable water. We queried: "How much can you make in one tide, clamming?" His reply: "From three to four dollars if I have luck." Clamming, oystering, tonging, turtling are not found in Webster's Dictionary but are heard every day a thousand times in this fascinating place. Who would like to be a clam on the shores of Chincoteague Island?
Just now the people on the island are somewhat in the valley for the recent oyster scare closed the oyster market for a season. But Chincoteague will come back. The fresh water supply of the present time not being satisfactory to the Government, steps are being taken to pipe water from the mainland. A stock company has already been organized and it [is] hoped that this will relieve the situation, and that the old place will bloom like a rose once more.
The patient reader will permit one more reminiscence. As we went from wharf to wharf, we came upon a New Jersey fishing schooner. We were immediately invited into the snug after cabin of the "Hilda Mabel" of Wildwood, N. J. Capt. Charles Colberg, the owner, naturalized Swede, was a delightful subject for an interview. For more than forty years this grizzled son of the sea has been in the land of his adoption. From his boyhood days he has followed the sea and "has never made a dollar ashore."
Built of oak and pine, this study schooner, as clean as a pin on deck as well as below, is a fine sample of American boat craft. As many as eleven hands can be accommodated in her. In the after cabin, we looked at the 65 H. P. Lathrop engine, just installed by the skipper and his hands. Eight shining cylinders give the schooner from eight to ten miles speed when sails are not in use. The engine was installed at the cost of $2,400. What handy fellows these Swedes are. They install and repair engines, mend sails, make their own dragnets, in short, they can do nearly anything that is to be done without having to call on expensive help from shore. We looked at the charts tucked away under the deck of the vessel and inquired about the navigation end of the fishing business. We sail entirely by dead reckoning, with the help of lead and compass, we can make any port on this coast. We know this coast all the way from New York to Florida." Month after month winter and summer, these daring fishermen follow the finny tribe, using dragnet or baited line, as the occasion may require. It's all a gamble. Sometimes one good haul pays a week's wages of all hands, sometimes a gale of wind chases the little craft into some cove. Sometimes the old man heaves her to; it is a game of eternal viligence. Always the uncertainty, but ever the excitement of the chance to win. During the great war Capt. "Charlie" went out just the same. One time a torpedo boat came along side warning the crew of the presence of German submarines at the time of the landing of the Deutschland at Newport. "Take down those running lights" ordered the Commanding Naval Officer. Do you want the submarine to get you?" "I will not," replied Charlie, "do you want us to drown like cats with all the lights out." The lights stayed on until the catch was safely brought to land. Sometimes the rum runners get after the "Hilda Mabel," although her skipper-owner is not interested in that trade. Once he was chased into port by a "chasser," only to find that fish and nothing else was in her cargo. When the officer in charge of the rumchaser boarded the Hilda Mabel, he found that Charlie was an old friend of his, having come to these waters for over thirty years.
As we went down to the forward cabin, underneath the forecastle head, I said: "How in the world can you sleep in these bunks, when she is rolling and pitching," "Oh well, you can brace your feet against that beam and hold you hand to the rope there and you can sleep alright. The only time you have to watch yourself is in a calm when she is rolling in a heavy swell, then you may bump your head." Capt. Charlie handed me a copy of the Atlantic Fisherman and my eyes fell on this story:
CAPT. DUNSKY and SAM COLE LOST WITH REPUBLIC
Bound home with 50,000 pounds of halibut and 20,000 salt fish, the Gloucester schooner Republic, was rammed in the fog by an unknown three or four-masted schooner off Cape Sable on the night of February 15. The fishing schooner was sunk and her skipper, Captain Pete Dunsky, and one of the crew, Samuel Cole were lost.
A heavy rain with thunder and lightning, prevailed at the time, and it was only possible to see a short distance away. The big schooner loomed out of the mirk right on top of the fisherman, catching her with a big mudhook under the port bow and ripping off the planking almost the full length of the vessel.
In a twinkling the Republic's deck was flooded as she was hove down, and her starboard dories floated away. Then the ghastly hull of the bigger schooner disappeared again in the fog. Men of the fisherman shouted for the other vessel to pick them up, but the big schooner gave no heed.
Four dories were launched and seventeen men clamored into them. Captain Dunsky and Samuel Cole missing. It is believed that they were washed overboard when the schooner was hove down by the rushing water.
The four dories made Cape Sable Island without mishap.
It was a sad loss to Gloucester and a great one to the whole industry. Captain Dunsky and Samuel Cole were both good, upstanding courageous fishermen with splendid records.
Landlubbers do not appreciate these sturdy men of the sea. Good luck, Charlie, we hope to meet you in the Haven of Rest some happy day!
Since returning from old Chincoteague, I have wondered why not more pilgrims make a visit to this quaint old place? here's wishing the island good luck and much prosperity.