A Visit to Tangier Island
Much has been written and more has been said about Tangier Island, Accomack County, Virginia. Five miles long and four miles wide this Island was placed in the blue waters of the Chesapeake Bay by the benevolent hand of the Great Architect of the Universe. As the crow flies, Tangier is separated by thirty miles of water from the Western Shore of Accomack County. It is estimated that 1500 people live in peace and harmony on this restful water and sun-kist place, which was named Tangier by none other than Captain John Smith.
We will not enter into vain repetitions about the quaint customs and traditions of the Island. Alas newspaper reporters and writers of fiction have given the impression that Tangier people are odd, different, resentful of the intrusion of strangers and what not. We received a warm welcome. It is true that there are some grave yards in front of the homes on Main street, that Main Street itself is not wide enough to allow an automobile to pass and that many of the homes, like Venice, can be reached by boat through tiny canals leading to the back yard. It is also true that there are no cows, horses or mules on Tangier. Well, what about it? These very things give Tangier an air of peace, of restfulness and of old fashioned quietude not found elsewhere. The virtues of the direct descendants of Shores, Crockett, Parks and other colonists from the old English families attracted me more than the odd things which always go with island life. Visitors to England will tell you that the British themselves are different from the people of the Continent of Europe. But England rules the waves and the sun never sets in England's possessions. The English speaking world leads!
Readers of the "Enterprise" have heard of the beautiful women of the Island. They are beautiful, for a man must be blind not to notice that. But I want to inform the women who read this that the men of Tangier are handsome. We have met them and we have talked with them. They are erect, with that ruddy, healthful complexion that only salt water and sunshine can impart. Graceful chaps these! Used to the rolling and pitching of their boats, from the moment they can walk until their backs are bent with old age, they stride with firm step and with faith in God. We met several men over six feet tall, limber and well-proportioned.
Everything reminds one of fish and of water. Whereas the people on the Peninsula discuss and cuss the potato, on Tangier one hears all about fish and more fish and still more fish. We met a freckle-faced boy who had a day off from school. We queried: "Why is it you are not in school?" The thirteen year old lad with tar on his fingers and salt in his hair replied: "I am painting my bateau!" Fishnets form the enclosures around the chicken yards, to keep preachers out. Anchors may be seen in back yards and on tombstones. Stores sell propellers and other marine supplies. In several homes we saw pictures of the Gospel Ship with all sails set. The sails are adorned with scripture quotations pointing the way to the eternal harbor of rest. The street (Main Street is the only street) is paved with oyster shells. Little boys were sailing their fishing boat model, getting their early training in handling boats. A man talked to his neighbor about some piping: "There is two fathom of water in the pipe." Crossing an inlet our companion cautioned us, for behold in the middle of the narrow bridge was an opening to let the most of the boats through as they pass. Said he: "You see, when the boats pass through the 'gut' they don't have to lower their masts." Boots, boots, boots on every hand. Enough rubber is used on Tangier to keep New York automobiles in tires for a long time. Small wonder all this reminder of the sea, for the deep is to the good people of Tangier what the soil is to the farmer. It's their bread and meat.
Pessimists take notice! You have heard it said that trap or pound net fishing has exhausted the fish supply of sea and bay. According to the oldest inhabitants there is more fish in Chesapeake Bay than in any previous year in their recollection.
That the people of Tangier are deeply religious is evident. We looked on the Sunday School roll and read the following figures: Enrollment 600, attendance last Sunday 488. No trouble to fill this Methodist Church. We attended midweek prayer meeting. It was a tonic for jaded nerves. Such singing we have never heard. That eloquent preacher Strickland, who is an expert rod and reel fisherman, amateur carpenter, radio fan and musician, has a voice we will not soon forget. Pipe organ tones come out of this throat. This interesting lover of humanity needs no organ or piano to lead him on. Wonderful harmony when these people sing. It is the clear air. Can it be the tang of the sea? Is it inherited from the British? Deep bassos, high sopranos carrying the tenor part, an occasional low alto, the natural tones of children's voices, they all lifted the ship of Zion high over the bar and the breakers into the harbor on wings of song. The old hymns were favorites. Between prayers, exhortations and testimonies interrupted by hearty shouts of Amen and Bless the Lord, someone would start an old chorus. Here are two of them: "In Heaven we'll be free, from this vain world of sin" and "Oh, you must be a lover of the Lord, or you can't get to Heaven when you die." Some of the old saints beat time with their feet, swaying their saintly heads on the perfect rhythm of the music. At the close of the service there was an all around handshaking. If any preacher has lost his grip on God, let him attend divine service at Swain Memorial Methodist Church. Crime and vice cannot thrive in the soil of such religious fervor. An occasional visit to the mainland, the daily parade of the young people on Main Street, the innocent conversations in the country stores after the day's toil, the music of three hundred Victrolas and radios help to pass away the time when there is no church service and no fishing. We have seldom seen such painstaking care of property. Here they do not wait for spring to clean house. They clean every day. We have tasted of their hospitality and want to come again. When a more adequate water supply is furnished and the electric plant is finished, Tangier will be as up to date as any place on the Eastern Shore. A new school building is badly needed, but the teaching is of the highest quality, we were told.
Who would expect to find a shirt factory here? Eight yeas ago the Keagon Grace Company, of Baltimore, Md., owners of a number of factories decided to open another establishment and after much thought determined that Tangier Island was the logical place. The convenient transportation facilities already in effect by means of the B. C. and A. steamers twice a week and the reliable girls, who rather work at home than on the mainland, are making this factory a model. The efficient manager, W. H. Crockett, raised on Tangier, introduced us to the intricacies of shirt making. Some 60 girls were at work in the cheerful surroundings of this modern factory. The materials which are furnished by Western Mills are turned daily into 125 dozen dress and work shirts as well as rompers of different qualities and styles. The demand for these goods is greater than the supply. What miracles have been wrought since Howe invented the sewing machines. 18 different operations are required to complete a shirt. Did you ever hear of a "bumping machine?" Poor old bachelor, you had better move to that Island, for that bumping machine fastens bachelor's buttons to clothes. What a Paradise for men who have never been kissed. Other machines put twelve stitches through buttons in a jiffy and still other machines make double and triple seams. That the employees are contented is proven by the fact that some have been there since the factory was opened.
The town is well governed. We met the mayor in overalls. His name is George Cooper. A tall manly fellow he is, the son of Squire Cooper, who taught this young mayor the ways of righteousness and whose name and deeds are not forgotten. The councilmen are young and progressive. Under their administration Tangier is forging to the front in every way. They are keen and alert.
Legal affairs are attended to by Noble H. Dize, notary public, who draws up deeds and issues marriage licenses. If any reader fails to meet Noble, he will miss the treat of his life, for Noble is an entertaining, well-informed conversationalist. Last but not least mention should be made of Patrick Henry Benson, Republican and not ashamed of it. Pat is a talking man. To hear him tell of his visit to the Mayflower when Teddy Roosevelt greeted him in his characteristic way, his meeting with Admiral Dewey on his flagship and his conversation with Woodrow Wilson is worth a trip any day. Pat knows what is going on in the world. We want to meet him again. Our only regret is that we could not stay long enough to meet more interesting characters, for the world is full of them and Tangier is no exception.
We returned to Crisfield on the "J. C. Stevens," mailboat, steered the sturdy craft part of the way and had a final glimpse of some islanders when we saw them unloading their fish within a stone's throw of the mailboat landing. They told us that shad wholesaled for four cents a pound, and that croakers (hard heads) were not worth selling at all. But the gentlemen in a retail fish store told us that fish was high and suggested that we buy the nicest fish in the house for $1.50. The devil is afraid of Tangier, for God's people are strong there, but the middleman plays the deuce.