818 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Oct. 14, 1905. 
The Provincetown Hoodoo. 
BY WILLIAM LAMBERT BARNARD. 
We’re not true Christians, 
So ’alf the parsons tell, 
' We’re silly, superstitious; 
, But I know bloomin’ well, 
■ . That when from East to West direct 
li Through all the seas you sail, 
W ' \ ou’ll see a lot of queerer things 
' Than Jonah and the whale. 
— The Limejuicer’s Philosophy. 
This is a true story. 
When one thus prefaces his narrative you have a right 
to be as skeptical as prosaic experience and lack of im- 
agination may warrant. Nevertheless, my story is a 
plain, unvarnished statement of facts. They may owe 
Their corelation and sequence to nothing more substantial 
than coincidence. But that is for you to decide. I 
cannot. 
It is true that long experience on the water and asso- 
ciation with men of the sea may have wrought in me a 
certain respect for the standard superstitions of their 
calling. I admit that I believe it unlucky to begin a 
voyage on a Friday, or the 13th of the month. Experi- 
ence has convinced me of that. Every time that I have 
started on a cruise on such a date I have been pursued 
by bad weather, foul winds, accidents and mishaps of 
every description. Why, I once — you know Mr. Kip- 
ling’s apology. But prior to the summer of igoi I had 
never placed any confidence whatever in the hoodoo 
superstition. I won’t say that I do now, that is, not 
fully. 
So much, by way of introduction, to convince you of 
my intention to relate the following facts with utmost 
candor and exact truthfulness. I have witnesses to bear 
me out in every statement, and I would willingly submit 
herewith a sworn affidavit that ivhat I am about to relate 
is “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” 
To present such an affidavit before my word has been 
challenged would be more likely, however, to excite your 
incredulity_ than to induce your acceptance of my story. 
I first visited Provincetown in July, 1901, when cruis- 
ing on a friend’s knockabout, Oeewah. Going ashore 
that Alfred might telephone his wife (have you ever 
noticed how married fellows cruise — from telephone to 
telephone, ringing up their better halves to shout, “I am 
all right, kiss Lottie, good-by”) we found that we must 
wait some time for him to get a clear wire. In order 
that I might see all that was “doing” on Provincetown’s 
main thoroughfare, generallv thronged with a kaleido- 
scopic throng of summer boarders, native Cape Codders 
and “‘Gees,” I took up a position on the front steps of 
the shop— perhaps “'store” is the more common word on 
the Cape. I was not aware that anyone had approached 
me, but suddenly felt a light touch on my shoulder and 
heard, in a small boy’s voice, “Say, Jack, you’re a nice 
fellow.” 
I could but admit the soft impeachment. 
“Say, Jack,” continued the freckled-faced, stubby- 
nosed youngster, again stroking my shoulder, “Say, Jack, 
you’re a nice feller ; gimme a cent.” 
I told the flatterer that I had nothing less than a dime. 
He wriggled a bit, shuffled the dust with his bare feet 
and, with an air that Caesar might have assumed when 
he crossed the Rubicon, said decisively: “Say, Jack, 
you’re a nice feller. If you hain’t got a cent, gimme the 
dime.” 
I hesitated, was about to yield, when suddenly the door 
of a store across the way flew open and a man called to 
me in alarm : “Hi there, that kid’s the town hoodoo. 
If he teches ye he’ll put a spell on ye, sure !” 
“Say, Jack, I ain’t no hoodoo. Folks only say I am,” 
wailed the urchin. I — well I had fled to the depths of 
the store. Not that I believed in a hoodoo, but I — well 
just because the doctors tell you that spinal meningitis 
is not' contagious you do not make it a point to consort 
with the victims of that disease. 
But mark the course of events. When we returned to 
our dinghy the ebbing tide had left her high and dry on 
the flats back of the New Central Hotel. Taking off our 
shoes and stockings we dragged the boat down over the 
mud and waded out with her until there was water 
enough to float her. In so doing I stepped on a broken 
bottle and cut my foot to the bone. That night I had an 
attack of asthma, a thing I had escaped for two years 
and had. never before suffered from when on the water. 
The next morning tog delayed our departure. We ac- 
cordingly dined ashore at Captain Smith’s hotel, where 
I swallowed a fish bone and had the most severe choking 
fit that I had ever experienced. 
When we did reach Newport. Alfred, instead of the 
extra trousers for which he had telegraphed, received a 
pair intended for a boy of five years. Alfred is over six’ 
feet arid weighs about two hundred. 
But, levity aside — throughout the remainder of our 
cruise we experienced nothing but fogs with either a 
gale or dead calm. Added to these mutual troubles I 
had more asthma and another choking fit. 
So, much for experience No. i. 
I did not .see Provincetown again for two years. But 
in 1903 I undertook to take a racing eighteen-foot knock- 
about from Boston to Bristol. On such a small boat, 
and one without a cabin, it was necessary to eat ashore 
as often as possible. So at Provincetown my companion 
and I sought the New Central Hotel. After a hearty 
meal we took possession of arm chairs on the hotel 
piazza and watched “the procession.” I was telling 
Chandler- about the hoodoo and iaughing with him. He 
thought me quite a romancer. 
Of a' sudden I felt a light touch on my shoulder and 
heard, iri a small boy’s yojee, "Sty, Tack, you’re a nice 
feller.”' ■ 
Chandler’s chair came down on all fours with a bang. 
There at my elbow was the self-same youth as before, 
unchanged, save by the addition of a few inches in 
stature, a few' more freckles, long trousers and a pair of 
shoes. 
Let me say here that it was apparently impossible for 
anyone to have approached us unobserved, for the piazza 
W'as railed, was some two feet above the street level, 
and we were sitting with our chairs tilted against the 
building. Yet there he was, and on the same quest. 
"Say, Jack, you’re a nice feller; gimme a cent.” 
“Now, look here, boy,” said I, “you put a hoodoo on 
me once, so don’t touch me again and — get out !” 
But he only smiled mournfully, stroked my shoulder 
again and began; “Say, Jack, I ain’t no hoodoo. Folks — ” 
Determined to show no fear of a mere superstition I 
picked him up, politely (there is such a thing as hurried 
politeness) lifted him over the rail and dropped him. 
I have heard all manner of men swear, but that young- 
ster — well, he rvas not artistic, but he w'as certainly 
voluble and forceful. 
On the way back to the boat I was glad that Mr. 
Horne’s thoughtfulness in providing a float for visiting 
yachtsmen had removed all possibility of treading with 
bare feet upon broken glass. 
The next morning we made a really remarkable run, 
as ^ far as Nausett, where, without warning, the wind 
switched around, headed us off and blew great guns out 
of a clear sky. We fought our way down to Monomoy, 
but had to anchor and spend the night on the shoals in 
a sea that necessitated the use of oil to keep the Ayaya 
from being swamped. Daylight brought no better con- 
ditions and we were reluctantly compelled to retreat to 
Provincetown. We reached there after having had but 
one meal, thirty minutes’ sleep and wet clothes most of 
the time in forty-eight hours. Arriving there. Chandler 
left me. He had “‘promised his parents,” he apologized, 
he was awfully sorry to miss the fun, but — he left. 
A long and tedious search ashore, during which I kept 
one hand on my sheath knife, secured a splendid man 
to finish out the trip with me. We had a beat to Mon- 
omoy in a double reef breeze, but rounded the point at 
dusk and were congratulating ourselves that we would 
soon make Hyannis, when the wind backed to southeast 
and at once blew a gale. We had to anchor and take 
it. I have written the reasons before, so will content 
myself with the bald statement that it blew sixty miles 
an hour all night; we were, pray remember, in a light-, 
built racing craft with a flat bow. I was washed over- 
board but did get back without injury — no thanks to the, 
hoodoo. 
In the morning we ran into Hyannis. After a day 
there we started again only to break our centerboard 
whip, which, as her centerboard did not come above the 
rabbet line, caused more delay, and repairs being im- 
possible we finished the trip with Ayaya in a semi-dis- 
abled condition. We arrived at Bristol too late to de-' 
liver the boat to the Herreshoff yard that night, but in 
time for Mr. Herreshoff to mistake me for a thief and 
treat me like one. 
I then for the first time told Sparks, my man from' 
Provincetown, of the hoodoo, describing his appearance. 
“What, that kid?” he queried. “Why, that’s Peleg 
Nye’s boy. Of course if he touched you that accounts 
for everything. When I get home I’ll kill him this time 
for sure.” 
Now, he knew the boy and whereof he spoke. 
So much for experience No. ,2. 
In June of the following year, 1904, my wife and I 
visited Provincetown on our boat, Sassoon. Observe 
that her name is composed of seven letters and a double ' 
“o.” This, according to a yachting superstition, is a very 
lucky combination. Those of you who recall the ex- 
ploits of the Papoose, Babboon, Gossoon, Rooster, 
Tunipoo, Harpoon, Dragoon, Lookout and Outlook will 
appreciate the force of this superstition. 
On going ashore I determined to keep my “weather 
eye peeled,” as they say. A few hours passed off serene- . 
ly. Then, while reading the inscription on the Pilgrim 
Monument in front of the town hall, I heard a familiar 
voice addressed to my wife, “Say, lady, you’re a nice ' 
lady.” (I had neither seen nor heard anyone approach 
us, and ray wife subsequently informed me that the first 
knowledge she had of the stranger’s presence was when' 
he suddenly spoke.) ; 
I looked up hurriedly, gave one gasp, seized Mrs. Bar- 
nard’s arm and started on a run for the wharf. Natur- 
ally enough, my wife was very much surprised and 
startled. 
“Did he touch you?” I asked. 
“He? Who?” 
“The hoodoo ; that boy.” 
“That poor little chap. No. What’s the matter?” 
“Nothing. But we’re going to go on board at once 
and sail at daybreak.” 
VVJnch we aid, and had no misfortunes thereafter. 
It may have been due to the Sassoon’s lucky name, it 
may have been because that boy did not touch either of 
us; it may be that he is not a hoodoo or possibly there 
is no such thing. But the only time I went to Province- 
town and escaped immediate trouble thereafter was the 
only time I escaped being touched by my freckled-faced, 
stubby-nosed tormentor. 
Were I facetious, like Mark Twain, I would tell you 
that if you doubted my word you could go to- Province- 
town and see the New Central Hotel and the Pilgrim - 
Monument. Being serious, however, I can only refer skep- • 
tics to the “Cruise of Oeewah” in the March, 1902, isSue ■ 
of the National Sportsman; “Hull to Bristol” in Forest - 
AND Stream, lume 62, Nos. i and 2, and “Little Trips 
Around Boston," in Forest and Stre.\m, Volume 63, No. 
26, or, if you vvisli to see a statement of .all the facts 
supported by. an affida\it, you can doubtless find my re- 
port before the twenty-fourth annual meeting* of the 
American Society of Psychic and Legendary Research, 
in the bound volumes of that Society’s reports, if you 
can find a set. 
_ As I said at the beginning, I can only chronicle the 
facts, I cannot explain them. Can you? 
Tacking Ship Off ’ Shore. 
(From Forest and Stream, Jan. 23, 1890.) 
The weather-leech of the topsail shivers, 
The bowlines strain, and the lee shrouds slacken, 
The braces are taut, the lithe boom quivers, 
And the waves with the coming squall cloud blacken. 
Open one point on the weather bow, 
Is the light house tall on Fire Island tlead. 
There’s a shadow of doubt on the captain’s brow, 
And the pilot watches the heaving lead. 
I stand at the wheel, and with eager eye 
To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze. 
Till the muttered order of “Full and by!” 
Is suddenly changed for “Full for stays!” 
The ship bends lower before the breeze, 
As her broadside fair to the blast she lays; 
And she swifter springs to the rising seas, 
As the pilot calls, “Stand by for stays!” 
It is “Silence all!” as each in his place, 
With gathered coil in his hardened hands, 
By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace, 
Waiting the watchword impatient stands. 
And the light on Fire Island Head draws near, 
As, trumpet-winged, the pilot’s shout 
From his post on the bowsprit’s heel I hear, 
With the welcome call of “Ready! About!” 
No time to spare! It is touch and go; 
And the captain growls, “Down helm! Hard down!” 
As my weight on the whirling si^olces I throw, 
While heaven grows black with the storm cloud’s frown. 
Hight o’er the knightheads flies the spray. 
As we meet the shock of the plunging sea; 
And my shoulder stiff to the wheel I lay, 
As I answer, “Aye, aye, sir! Ha-r-rd a-lee!” 
With the swerving leap of a startled steed, 
The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind, 
The dangerous shoals on the lee recede, 
And the headland white we have left behind. 
The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse, 
And belly and tug at the groaning cleats; 
The spanker slats, and the mainsail flaps; , 
And thunders the order, “Tacks and sheets!” 
’Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp of the crew, ' 
Hisses the rain of the rushing squall; 
The sails are aback from clew to clew, 
And now is the moment for “Mainsail haul!” 
And the heavy yards, like a baby’s toy. 
By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung; 
She holds her way, and I look with joy 
For the first white spray o’er the bulwarks flung. 
“Let go and haul!” ’Twas the last command, ' 
And the headsails fill to the blasts once more; 
Astern and to leeward lies the land, 
With its breakers white on the shingly shore. 
What matters the rain, or the reef, or the squall? 
1 steady the helm for the open sea; 
The first mate clamors, “Belay, there, all!” 
And the captain’s breath once more comes free. 
And so off shore let the good ship fly; 
Little care I how the gusts may blow, 
In my fo’castle bunk, in a jacket dry, 
Eight bells have struck, and my watch is below. 
Walter Mitchell (born in Nantucket, Mass., 1826). 
Tabloid Journalism. 
“We haven’i; an inch of room. Everything must be 
kept down,”' declared the managing editor, who was a 
staid and elderly personage. 
.' Next day he sent for one of the sporting reporters. 
“Here,” said the editor, handing a copy of the paper 
to the reporter, who had supplied reports of yacht 
races and horse races which had been held at a certain 
place out of town, “what do you mean by this?” 
The reporter read the paragraph indicated by the 
editor, and then asked: 
■““What’s the matter with it?” 
“What’s the matter with it?” snapped the editor. 
“You say yacht races were sailed here in the forenoon, 
and that the horse races were held in the afternoon 
over the same course. Don’t you see anything the 
matter with that?” 
“Oh!” said the reporter. “Well, you know you 
ordered e\ erything to be kept down, so there wasn't 
room to explain that the horse races were held on the 
beach when the tide went out.”— New York Evening- 
Globe. ® 
Recent Sales of Yachts.- — The steam yacht Nerita 
has been sold by the estate of the late William E. Cox to 
Col. S. J. Murphy, Jr., of Detroit, Mich., through the 
brokerage department of Mr. William Gardner. This 
boat is 143ft. over all, 120ft. waterline, i8ft. 4in. breadth. 
The sale of the bronze cutter yacht Neola, as mentioned 
last week, liy Mr. George M. Pynchon to Mr. J. Berre 
King, and the 40ft. gasolene launch Hornet, belonging 
to j\Ir, Richard T. Waimvright,- of Rye, N. Y., to Mr. 
Maurice Coster, of New York, were also arranged' 
through this same agency, 
