and the Maritime Provinces. I 95 



CHAPTER VII. 



Gape Cod Way. 



By CHARLES HALLOCK. 



Cruising along the chain of Elizabeth islands, and through Vineyard 

 sound, Cape Cod way, the favored yachtsman may drop in, by invitation, 

 at Pasque island, or Cuttyhunk, and fish for striped bass from points of 

 rock ; or he may keep away for Vineyard Haven or Wood's Holl, to the 

 right and left, and try his " land tacks " among the summer girls who dip 

 in the surf. But if it is grapes he wants, he '11 get none ; nor vines, either. 

 Martha's " Vineyard," as the charts have it, seems to be a misnomer or 

 an anachronism. Romancers may contend that grapes were abundant on 

 the tight little island when Gosnold discovered it in 1602 ; but whatever 

 was then, is not now. Neither vines nor wines are found. There is no 

 aroma, or even suspicion of Tokay or Falernian about her wave-washed 

 precincts; the sands bear witness! but rather " an ancient and fish-like 

 smell," which is perhaps most noticeable when the tide is out, or the wind 

 blows fresh from the south'ard. Prohibition reigns supreme, and there 

 is neither saloon nor " speak-easy " in the entire domain. As an old skip- 

 per declared to me, on the Edgartown wharf: " The only vintage I ever 

 heard of here was balm-of-gilead buds soaked in rum, which the old 

 sailors used to take to sea with 'em to cure sprains and bruises." Yet, 

 Hudibrastically speaking, I have always fancied that I could detect a trace 

 of old port about the time-honored harbor ; an intimation of mine which 

 the ancient mariner received with a sardonic smile. 



More than once, in the columns of my old Forest and Stream, which 

 sportsmen have learned to know so well, have I recalled some vivid remi- 

 niscences of those flush times, fifty years ago, when Edgartown was all alive 

 with whaling vessels, just in from the Pacific, or "up for the ice," and the 

 ring of the jolly " yo-heave-ho " was heard in the roadstead of vessels get- 

 ting under way ; of which some part may be interpolated here, to the 

 pleasure, perhaps, even of those who have read the lines before. Jack 

 Tar was metaphorically in clover then, and the atmosphere was heavy with 

 fumes of whale oil. Smells were not discriminated, if the purse were only 

 full. Ambergris or blubber, 't was all the same ! 



Fortunes were sometimes made in a three years' cruise. Hopeful 

 apprentices did not so much mind "crossing the line " on their way via 



