Chincoteague Surfers to the Rescue

Last Friday, as the huge nor'easter loomed over the east coast, Potomac School from McLean, Virginia, made a senior class trip to the Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge and Assateague National Seashore.  Two members of the senior class decided to brave the surf, with a gale force wind blowing and dangerous riptides closing the beach.  The two seniors were caught by the flowing water, and were rescued by five local surfers - Jordan West, Ray Wimbrow, Lee Kleckner, Bruce Sharp, and Frank Kern.  Local Fish and Wildlife servicemen and women, as well as members of the Chincoteague Emergency Medical Services and the Volunteer Fire Company were on the scene.  The two students were taken to Peninsular Medical Hospital in Salisbury, Maryland for treatment of exposure.

NASA Wallops Island Rocket Explodes

The Antares rocket with the Cygnus cargo spacecraft was due to be launched last night - but 10 minutes before the launch time, a sailboat intruded into the restricted waters around Wallops Island, Virginia.  Tonight, the launch countdown went off without a hitch, but 6 seconds after liftoff, the rocket exploded.  The rocket was carrying 5,000 pounds of supplies and laboratory equipment to a rendezvous with the International Space Station and the six astronauts aboard it.  NASA will hold a press conference tonight on NASA Television to discuss the "mishap."
   Since the Wallops Flight Facility has been sending rockets into space, folks have gathered along the Eastern Shore and on Chincoteague Island to view the launches.  This was the first night-time launch of the Antares, and quite a few people had traveled to the shore and islands to one.  Reports are that no one was harmed by the explosion, but there are many reports of blown out windows in cas and trucks, as well as a few windows in near-by houses.  There was a report that a search was underway in the Chicken City Road area of Chincoteague due to reports of large debris in the area.  People who were watching the launch at the Curtis Merritt Memorial Harbor on the south end of Chincoteague Island reported feeling "fine particles" hitting their faces and arms after the explosion.
   Chincoteague Emergency Services states that there is no known damage on the island.
  I'm just happy that no lives were lost and dwellings were undamaged....

Just before ignition...

Six seconds after ignition

Ten seconds after

Fifteen seconds past...

Chincoteague Island - News, Happenings, Approximate Swim Time

You can't tell that I love my Mother's hometown, can you?  How can you find a better place?  It's an island; the local seafood and locally grown food is totally fresh; there is the National Seashore on the next island; there is a National Wildlife Refuge on the next island; one can easily use a bicycle to travel all over both islands, Chincoteague and Assateague;  there are museums, a library, bookstores and wonderful shops available; one can rent a bike, a boat, a kayak, a canoe, or a moped to get around; the island trolley service is available; one can bird-watch, pony-watch, or people-watch; one can camp out, or rent a house, condo, motel or hotel room, or stay at a bed and breakfast; swim at the beach, or at your motel/hotel....  read in the shade or the sun; listen to the waves or lap of water against a bulkhead and hear the cries of the seabirds; catch your own supper; eat in or eat out....  Your choices are endless.
   Besides being named the "Happiest Seaside Town" by Trip Advisor.com, Chincoteague can also claim, as of yesterday, to be the home of the Best Ice Cream in the United States - Kelly Conklin's Island Creamery has been named as having the best ice cream, again by TripAdvisor.com.  Of course, I highly recommend several businesses on the island, besides the Island Creamery...  The Horse With No Name Studio and Gallery on Main Street, The Purple Pony, each and every established restaurant, Captain Barry's Back Bay Tours (and Sunset Cruises), Pony Tails Salt Water Taffy, and Sundial Books, to name a few.  I usually stay with relatives, when I'm on the island, but having stayed at two establishments, I can highly recommend the Refuge Inn and Dove Winds.
  The Pony Auction will begin at 8 a.m. on Thursday, a week from today.  Consulting the tide charts, the Chincoteague Volunteer Fire Company and the US Coast Guard are advising visitors that slack tide, the only time it's safe for the ponies to swim the Assateague Channel, will occur between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m. on Wednesday, 30 July. That means a long wait in hot sun and high humidity for those waiting on the Chincoteague shore to see the Pony Swim.  If you decide to go early to get a good viewpoint, please remember to take plenty of sunscreen, mosquito and/or fly repellent, a shady hat, sun glasses, and plenty of water and/or Gatorade (or an equivalent) - drink frequently, and hopefully you won't need an ambulance ride due to heat exhaustion.
   The 27th Annual Chincoteague Blueberry Festival will begin tomorrow, 25 July, and will continue until Sunday evening.  Admission is $5 per day for adults, $8 for a two-day pass, or $10 for a three-day pass.  Children under 12 have an admission fee of $1.  Any thing and everything you can imagine that can be prepared and cooked with blueberries will be available.  There are also more than 100 artists who will be displaying their arts and crafts for sale, as well as day-long musical entertainment and the wandering Jamel the Magician.  The Festival is open from 9 a.m. until 4:30 p.m. and is held at the Chincoteague Community Center.
   With Pony Penning happening on July 30, 31 and August 1, the Chincoteague Volunteer Fire Company's Carnival will be open every evening (except Sunday) from Friday, 25 July,  through Saturday, 2 August.  Most folk call our Carnival "quaint" - there are lots of  food booths (fries, hamburgers, clam and oyster fritters, pizza, hotdogs, pies, fried softcrab sandwiches) - and lots of booths with skill and chance games, there's a Bingo area, and the Carnival rides - a Ferris wheel, The Whip, a carousel, and many others.  There are also a lot of raffle items up for grabs - a quilt, a Chincoteague pony, usually a boat, motor and trailer, a motorcycle, riding lawn  mower, and more.  For many years, the Carnival was where cousins held reunions and caught up on family news, because it was regarded as "Homecoming Week."
  (Can you tell that I want to be there?)

The Horse With No Name Studio & Gallery, Chincoteague

If taking a wonderfully informative and hands-on boat-ride around Chincoteague with Captain Barry's Back Bay Cruises is not your cup of tea, and if you are artistically inclined, then I highly recommend a visit to The Horse With No Name Studio and Gallery, located at 4163 Main Street.  Dawn Tarr is a local artist; Zebie Z Hursh is a local photographer and artist.  The two fantastic ladies have teamed up, and this is their third (or fourth?) year running the Horse With No Name.  This studio and gallery sells artwork made (or, in the case of photos, taken by, edited by, matted and farmed) by local artists only; which is different from most of the other art galleries and studios on the island.  I always stop in and purchase something from the shop - a necklace, a photo, a painting, something carved, a bracelet.  I always see much more than I can actually afford, but I can usually get at least one item - but I always seem to leave at least ten more items that I really, really would like to purchase....

They'll even paint your vehicle!

Assateague and Chincoteague Views, Misty & Grandpa Beebe

Ducks and ducklings frequently slow traffic on Chincoteague Island - STOP for ducks crossing!

Sunset at Black Duck Drain on Assateague Island

The Assateague Lighthouse at the beginning of a just completed renovation project

Chincoteague stallion Prince (registered as Tornado's Prince of Tides)

Misty and Grandpa Clarence Beebe (Misty is standing on her stool, to shake hoofs)

Life On Chincoteague (Part 4): From the New York Sun of 11 May 1890

(The New York Sun was a daily newspaper, published in New York City, New York, from 1933 until 1950. It was one of the most influential American newspapers through the early twentieth century; and was the first successful penny daily paper in the United States.  It was known for it's witty, humorous treatment of news, a clear style of journalism, and the occasional sensational approach to scandals.)

  **Please excuse any out-of-date or derogatory terms that are used.  This is a true, uncorrected transcription of the original newspaper article. **  This account is signed  by John R. Spears:

  "The immigrants, or new Chincoteaguers, are not like the natives. Most of them are from New Jersey and Maryland and a few from Long Island. They were attracted here by the oysters, and they have come in such numbers that they dominate the community. And yet, although not to such manners born, they build little homes much like those the Chincoteaguers live in, and fall into Chincoteague habits of dress and food to a curious extent, and only when the oyster business has tonged and dredged out a fortune, and they have got too old to fully appreciate a different manner of life do they try to adopt anything better. That the immigrants come here expecting to make the island a temporary home, to be abandoned for the old home when enough money has been accumulated, is plain from the condition of Chincoteague village. The narrow and unkempt streets and the little ill-kept homes are those of the temporary sojourners. Yet, even if the home should be a temporary one, it is all but incredible that people should be so careless of the simplest sanitary laws. Not only are the kitchen slops and garbage thrown into the streets or on the sandy lots, as already told, but there is a cesspool in every yard and in half the yards wells for drinking water. These wells are nowhere to exceed ten feet deep, and many are but six. They are often less than two rods from cesspools. The deaths numbered 43 last year out of a population of 2,300. Parts of the town are too new to have as yet become very unhealthy.
  There were 450 voters at the last election, of whom 80 were Mahone Republicans: of 55 colored men, 40 were Republicans. There are three schoolhouses, for which seven teachers are employed at an annual expense of $3,000. The money paid to Chincoteaguers who man the life-saving stations, the lighthouses, the lightship, the Custom House, and the Post Office amounts to over $22,000 a year.
  The people live well in the village when they wish to do so. Roast beef of good quality sells for eight cents a pound, and most food products at equally low rates. There is no printed bill of fare at the Atlantic Hotel, but George the colored lad of 12, who is head waiter and staff in one, stacks up about each plate the following or an equivalent, for breakfast, which is the lightest meal: Ham and eggs, beefsteak, broiled yellow legs, fried oysters, fried shad, poached eggs, biscuit, light bread, cream toast, canned peaches, sweet milk, and coffee. Griddle cakes hot off the range are served at short intervals during the meal. The butter is good and yellow unlike Southern butter commonly. The guest who does not make a square meal cannot blame the hotel.

  There is no jail on the island, nor is there much use for one. Not until August 1886 was anyone murdered on the island so far as anyone knows.  Theft is unknown.  During the summer of 1886 William Freeman, a young man of 25, was employed on the farm of Timothy Hill, formerly a Cape Cod man, and probably the wealthiest man on the island. Freeman fell in love with Jennie, the 18-year-old daughter of his employer. Jennie did not discourage the suit, but when the old folks learned of it they shut off his flow of sentiment harshly. Freeman grieved over this day and night, but was not the sort of fellow to carry his sweetheart into a flying bateau some windy night and sail for the mainland and a parson, as many a better man has done, but he grew desperate, and finally went hunting Bill Bunting of whom he was jealous. Failing to find him,he went to the home of the girl next day, and found her there with her mother. He carried a gun and a revolver, and without parley opened fire. The girl fell dead and the mother received two bullets in her body. At that a brother of the girl's came running from a neighbor's. Seeing him, young Freeman put the revolver to his own forehead and blew his life out with the last cartridge in the revolver. The mother recovered.
  There was another homicide a year ago last summer. George Lewis, mate of the Winter Quarter Shoal lightship met William C Dryden, an oysterman in the village here, and got to arguing in the presence of others about the depth of water at a certain stage of the tide at a certain place of the beach. From argument they went to insults, then to blows, and then to weapons. Dryden was the quicker and stabbed Lewis so that he died. Dryden was arrested, had a hearing before the magistrate, and was sent to the county jail to await the course of the law. He escaped from the jail and is now at large. He is known to be living in Delaware the people say, but Lewis had no relatives to push the matter, and the State authorities never offered any reward, and so no effort has ever been made to bring him to justice.

  The bay in which Chincoteague lies is one vast oyster bed. A part of the bay  is a natural bed, but every available foot is now taken up and planted. Of the value of this industry to Chincoteague, some idea may be formed when it is known that up to April 1 this season 43,501 barrels of oysters and clams had been shipped by rail, via the Widgeon, to Northern cities, and that by the end of the season few short of 50,000 will have gone forward. They have roughly an average of $4 a barrel, or $200,000 cold cash, to a community of 450 voters. Besides these, many were shipped North by sloop and schooner in cold weather. The estimated number varies from 20,000 to 30,000 barrels. The lower estimate being made by the railroad men. It is fair to suppose that 20,000 barrels went by water. The heaviest shippers forwarded from 2,000 to 7,000, and took in from $20,000 to $28,000 each. It is asserted by the oystermen themselves that after allowing for every expense oysters cost the planters a dollar a barrel. Some three or four planters have therefore received incomes of $10,000 to $20,000 each bed the past season. The majority of men on the island, however, are laborers, and the few capitalists reap the harvest.
  The beds are planted with seed oysters gathered from natural beds along North Hampton county, from James River and Chesapeake Bay, and from Albemarle Sound. The seed oysters cost from six to ten cents a bushel at the natural beds,and a regular fleet of sloops and schooners is now employed bringing them here and selling them at from twelve to sixteen cents a bushel. From 500 to 800 bushels are spread over an acre of land under water, and since the bay is for the most part shoal three to eight feet deep and the bottom good, a vast territory is covered. The oysters are left down until the second season to grow and so each planter tongs up the oysters on but half his area every year. The yield this year has been excellent. Thus a man who planted 1,800 bushels of seed on a three-acre patch tonged up 2,800 bushels, which he sold for $3,300 net, making a clear gain of $1,100 per acre. The produce from an acre of dry land on Chincoteague could, perhaps, be sold for $50 net, that being the profit made on sweet potatoes on like land on the peninsula.
  The difference between tools used by men in the same occupation at different points along the Atlantic coast is interesting. On Long Island the oystermen use a round-nosed yawl rigged with a single sprit sail when gathering oysters. On Chincoteague they use a scow, and it is what might be called a cat yawl in rig. There is a sail forward that is of the shape of a catboat sail, though spread with boom and sprit, instead of boom and gaff. The mainsail is a leg of mutton. A fifty-foot boat in the seed oyster trade has the same rig with a rib added. The size of her sail is simply enormous, and the oystermen "carry on" like Captains of clipper ships. But the rig is very safe, for in the case of a squall down comes the big foresail, and there the boat lies with the leg o' mutton to keep her head to the wind. The Long Islander's yawl costs $100; the Chincoteaguer's scow $50.
  The men who work on the beds as laborers are paid from 10 cents a bushel when tonging on unworked beds in September, to 40 cents a bushel when scraping the gleanings off in May. They make all the way from $2 to $4 a day. With the wintery wind howling over the bay, and the salt water skimming over with ice in the bottom of the boat, they earn all they get. It is a hard life, but a man with energy and ambition can become a capitalist and get into business for himself more readily than in any occupation where so little training is necessary to acquire skill needed as in this.
  
  The readers of THE SUN who are interested in forest and stream, and so read the reports from game resorts, have very often seen the name of Chincoteague. In the seasons Chincoteague furnishes rare sport for the few who come to it. The bay, the glades, and the marshes afford feeding and nesting land for untold millions of wild fowl while the flight of shore birds and snipe are at times wonderful. The yellow legs have been flying for two weeks, and the English snipe for over a week. By the time this article is in print the season for shore birds will be fairly open. On a cloudy day, with a good stiff southwest wind the Chincoteague gunner digs a hole in a sand hill over on Assateague or at the southern end of Chincoteague, and, setting up his decoys, sits down and whistles. His tune is not from an opera either comic or serious though it is the prelude to tragedy. He mimics the cry of the willett and the curlew, and the neighborly flocks above, seeing a flock on the sand, are deceived by the cry and down they swing and flutter til bunched just above the decoys. Then the gunner turns loose the blasts of powder and shot right and left, killing sometimes dozens with a single charge, while the rest go screaming away.
  After June, when the shore bird flight is over - indeed, before it is over, the weakfish begin to bite in the bay, and later, the bluefish off shore, and later still, a few striped bass may be had in the natural ditches through the marshes. But the chief fish is the weakfish, and they are taken on hook and line by the hundred an hour.
  But the glory of Chincoteague as a sportsman's resort begins in November. The storms of fall have by that time driven the wild fowl thus far on their journey south. Then the Chincoteaguer scours up his old rusty shotgun, daubs fresh paint on his home-made decoys, draws on double flannels, and rowing out on the shoals where the water is 24 to 30 inches deep, sticks s lot of fresh-cut brush up in the mud so that a little grove large enough to conceal him and his skiff is made. Then he spreads out his decoys, goes back to his blind, and lies down and waits. It is a warm, bright day when all wild fowl does not come to him who waits. Redheads, black ducks, mallards - all sorts of ducks and geese and brant as well - come to the decoys, though canvasbacks are very scarce. Sink boxes or batteries are also used. W D Sharpley, Jack Snead, and Capt. Pruitt of the Widgeon stand at the head of the local gunners. Although a few men come here from Philadelphia and Wilmington, there is no such thing as a club house on the bay, and few sportsmen seem to realize what a resort this is for wild fowl.
   Wallop's Island, below Chincoteague, has recently been purchased by a club of gentlemen at Pottsville, Pa., of which O Beecher of Pine Grove, Pa. and W K Woodbury of Pottsville are leading members. They gave $8,000 for the island, which is about seven miles long and nearly a mile wide. They have built a pier and wharf at an expense of $5,000 and William Conant of Chincoteague has a contract for building an $8,000 club house this summer. The island is a delightful place. The surf does not roll on a finer beach anywhere than at Wallop's Island. The presence of this club will serve to quicken the game constables to a sense of duty and stop the unlawful practice now prevalent of shooting wild fowl at night by jack light.
   An interesting feature of Chincoteague is the presence of great numbers of tamed wild geese. When the Chincoteaguer wings a wild goose he saves it alive if he can. His flock is very often added to in another way. Seeing and hearing the tamed geese the wild fellows often come down to them and make friends as well as to enter coops where feed is provided generously when such visitors are expected. The wild goose thinks that is the greatest luck he ever did see, and concludes he will stay there all night. Before morning his wings have been clipped and he stays longer. Meantime the food has been so good he does not care very much about going away anyhow, and so there he stays till old age or a Christmas dinner carries him off. Flocks of from thirty to fifty exist here. The wild ones cross with the tame. The hybrids are called mungrums by the natives and are highly valued because a mungrum yields three times the weight of feathers that a tame goose does and twice the weight of a wild one. The hybrids lay eggs, but the eggs will not hatch.
  
  When the Chincoteaguer grows lugubrious and the world seems turned against him, and he has but one friend who is a stranger willing to  listen, the tale of the great storm is told. It was long ago in 1821 - when the houses were few and small, that the storm came on. The clouds off to southward gathered thick and black one morning, the wind fell, the air grew oppressive, and as the day wore away the silence and the gloom and the sky off to the sea became terrifying. The gulls and the wild fowl took alarm and fled to the glades, where all night long their cries were heard; but when day broke every sound died out.  Then the people with ghastly fear saw that the sea had receded for miles off shore. They were not kept long in suspense. While they stood looking a vast cloud of water and wind was hurled in from the sea. The pines of Assateague, the water in the marshes, and everything in its path on Chincoteague were swept up and carried away to who knows where. Then a roar as of thunder was heard seaward by those who remained, and the sea, in a wave higher than the sand hills and higher than the trees that had covered them, came foaming in over its bed,over the beach, over the hills, over the marshes, across the bay and far up on the sloping ground of the mainland miles away. How many were lost and where the bones of the dead found resting place no one knows but the story of two marvelous escapes is told by those whose houses stood at the north end of the island out of the track of tornado and wave. Old man Hickman gathered his little grandson in his arms as the wind storm came. The walls and roof of the house fled away with the wind, leaving the two unharmed. Then came the deluge and unconsciousness, and when the wind resumed its sway the old man, with the boy still in his arms and safe, was lying in the brush on King's Bush Marsh on the mainland a mile inshore from the bay.  A man named Andreas, with his family of a wife and eight or nine children, was carried off by the wave. The neighbors found Andreas some hours later hanging by his belt in a tree 20 feet above the ground half a mile from where he started. His family were never heard from.  Chincoteague lies just awash. When another such storm comes more than 2,000 people will be found in the path of the tidal wave.

  The aged Chincoteaguer is proud of the fact that he is spry. Uncle Ken Jester, who celebrated his 75th birthday in the lively manner already described, is a fair sample of a number of others. He will break the wildest pony, scull a bateau when a common man would fear the sea and dance at an oyster roast with a vigor that takes the shine off of many a younger blood. Martin G Connor is another young man of the same age. The Birch family has four boys in it whose ages are 62, 67, 76, and 79. They have no notion of giving up the oyster business for twenty years yet, anyhow. Their sister, Mrs. Eliza Thornton, at 72, is as spry as they are. Another sister, Mrs. Mary Watson, met an untimely death recently at the age of 83. David and Isaac Daisey are, at 75 and 78 respectively, able to do a good day's work, as a day's work is counted in this easy-going climate. People will be surprised if the two do not live to be as old as their mother, who died at 93. More than a score of people on the island are nearer 70 than 60, though not yet 70. And all this in a community of 450 voters. Nor is account taken of three or four colored people whose ages are uncertain.

Life on Chincoteague, Part 2

Spears

John R.

Sun

New York

May 11, 1890"

** Again, this is a word for word transcript of a newspaper report written and printed in 1890. Please do not hold the use of the common word for African-Americans at that time against me, personally. **
This is the last of four parts of the article.  I hope you enjoy reading it.

(And, just for fun, Martin G Connor, mentioned in the article, was my mother's great uncle.)

Life on Chincoteague (Part 3): From the New York Sun of 2 & 11 May 1890

(The New York Sun was a daily newspaper, published in New York City, New York, from 1933 until 1950. It was one of the most influential American newspapers through the early twentieth century; and was the first successful penny daily paper in the United States.  It was known for it's witty, humorous treatment of news, a clear style of journalism, and the occasional sensational approach to scandals.)

  **Please excuse any out-of-date or derogatory terms that are used.  This is a true, uncorrected transcription of the original newspaper article. **  This account is signed  by John R. Spears:

 "Old Randle Mason kept the first hotel on the island. The house, which faced the bay, did not differ in size or appearance from the other dwellings, but in 1855 Randle hung up a sign and made people who came from the main land welcome for a consideration. His place speedily became popular, far and near, because of the frolics held there under the name of oyster roasts. There are features about an oyster roast that are exceedingly attractive to the wilder sorts of the Virginia peninsula even to this day. 
  Old Randle would announce a roast some weeks in advance, generally naming some such holiday as Washington's birthday, for in this climate the weather can ordinarily be depended on save in January. When the day and the people came many bushels more of oysters than could be eaten were to be found beside the Mason house, and a huge stack of pine chunks as well, in the old-fashioned fireplace within, and over a broad hearth made of stones without, big fires were made with the chunks, and then the roasting began. Oysters fresh from the sea water cooked in the corner of a big fireplace, or on red-hot rocks out of doors have a flavor found nowhere else, but the oysters were not the chief attraction for old Randle's family consisted entirely of girls, and it was a large, good-looking, harum-scarum family. Moreover there were the choicest products of Virginia and West India stills, the latter smuggled in by the sloops that then traded to Jamaica and other ports down that way.
  As the oysters began to sizzle and sputter under the heat the old man brought out the jugs and stood them on a table with tin cups and tea cups in bountiful array. With every oyster a drink was the hilarious custom, and here was no exclusion of the gentler sex from the ring about the liquor table.
  Finally, inspired by the flavor of the oysters, the fiddlers drew their instruments from blue cotton bags, screwed and scraped at keys and strings for a while in discordant notes, and then, with a musical twang and a thump of cowhide boots, called for he opening dance! Oh, the reel and the quadrilles. Oh, the jigs and breakdowns! Such grace when bowing "Honors to yer pardners." Such vigor and enthusiasm when told to "Balance all." Such hearty embracing at the call of "Swing." And when each dance ended the young man always led out his palpitating partner, first of all to the jug-burdened table and then to a seat. Everywhere present, to smooth rustled tempers and keep the fun going, was old Randle. Every where present, to see that no young man sulked for lack of a sweetheart, were Randle's buxom daughters. Without let, break, or hindrance, the afternoon and the night wore away until even Chincoteague muscles and brains could stand up no longer under the influences of fatigue and liquor, and then down the young folks dropped wherever the end of the last dance left them, indoors or on the dooryard green, and went fast to sleep.

Life on Chincoteague, Part 1

Spears

John R.

Sun

New York

May 11, 1890

Life on Chincoteague, Part 2

  It is scarce necessary to say that the Chincoteaguer of the present day would not smuggle -- at least nothing worse than a few sloop and schooner loads of seed oysters from North Carolina water, contrary to the law in such case made and provided. Besides, he couldn't if he wanted to,for the reason that there is a Custom House on the island, and the Collector would seize the smuggling craft if he knew anything about it. But in the old days long ago the Custom House was over on the Chesapeake side of the peninsula, and things were different. The Chincoteaguer was not rich enough to own a whole sloop, but he had an interest in one now and then, and commanded her. He knew every inch of water along this much indented coast,and in handling sloops he had no superior. Besides, no sharper, swifter sloops were ever built for merchant service than those launched on the Chesapeake Bay. Loading his craft with hoop poles, staves and shingles, the Chincoteague skipper sailed away for Matansas, or Santiago, or Jamaica, and after a while came back, and running into some inlet, tarried there for a night or two or three, and then came up in the bay here, and anchoring near the mainland went off to the Custom House and reported his return "in ballast." The collector always came over and examined the sloop, poked his cane into the sand ballast, which to any other eyes might have looked suspiciously fresh, drank freely from a bottle of superior rum, smoked excellent cigars, and went away. Then the Chincoteague skipper went back to his inlet for a night or two or three after which he loaded oysters in bulk for New York or Philadelphia. Oysters in those days covered a multitude of rum barrels and the old Chincoteaguer chuckles to this day as he tells of outwitted customs officials.

 

  When the stranger comes to Chincoteague and makes the acquaintance of such typical old natives as J. A. M. Whealton, Martin G Connor, and Uncle Ken Jester, the first thing they will say to hime is that their ancestors lived on the island before the independence of the United States, and fought in the war of the Revolution for American freedom. J A M Whealton's father, Joshua, and his Uncle Daniel were wounded in battle then; Connor's father was taken from his sloop by a British press gang, served three years on a British man-o-war, and then escaped to fight for Washington. Uncle Ken's father, John, was in a Virginia regiment. In all a dozen or in battle then more men, about half the voting population of the island at the time, were in the American service. The traditions of their deeds, told over and over, made the Chincoteaguers revere the old flag as few others in the South did. Then, too, the Chincoteaguers were oystermen and coasting sailors rather than farmers, and traded to New York and Philadelphia for their merchandise, which they bought with oysters. Their only business interest with the State of which they were a part was through the sale of ponies, while of sentimental interest there was little or none.

  When the ordinance of secession passed at Richmond, was sent to the people for ratification, Chincoteague turned out to the man to vote, and every man save one, Joseph Hill by name, voted against the ordinance. J A M Whealton, as Justice of the Peace, kept the registry of the votes, and was right glad he had preserved them before three months had passed.

  Having voted to stay in the Union, the Chincoteaguers hoisted the American flag to a pole 110 feet high that had been erected in honor of Bell and Everett. The peninsula was overwhelmingly rebel, the flag was seen from the mainland, and a committee came over and warned the Chincoteaguers that the "Yankee flag" must  come down or the terrors of war would burst over the island. Justice of the Peace Whealton, as the leading citizen, heard the spokesman of the committee with gravity, and then, stroking his long beard, said: "Gentlemen, Jinkatig did not secede. We hoisted that flag and it don't come down 'less we go with it, but so long as we have a dram of powder and an ounce of lead and are able to use them that flag stays."  And there it did stay, and there was never an hour when the American flag could not be seen there until after Lee surrendered.

  Meantime forty-eight men from the island fought for Uncle Sam - a larger proportion of the male population than any other Northern state sent to the war. The islanders had a deal of trouble about supplies at first for they were beset by the rebels on shore and the Federal cruisers at sea, but Justice of the Peace Whealton, as the capitalist of the island, sent George W P Smith with the registry of votes on the secession ordinance to Washington, and he brought back permits signed by A. Lincoln for fourteen Chincoteague vessels to trade to New York and Philadelphia. Then the steamer Louisiana came and anchored in the bay to keep off the rebels, and Gen. Lockwood came down and occupied the peninsula with Union forces,and thereafter peace reigned, high prices for oysters prevailed, and the Chincoteaguers drank whiskey and danced with a vigor and frequency unknown before.

  It should not be supposed that because the Chincoteaguer got hilarious at the oyster roasts he was irreligious. From time out of mind the Methodists and Baptists have counted many Chincoteaguers among their numbers, and every year the presiding elder of the Methodist district came over with two or three evangelists and a host of mainland citizens and held a camp meeting. No better place for a camp meeting than a pine-covered ridge on Chincoteague could be asked for. The sand, carpeted with pine needles, made a perfect woodland floor. The boughs of the trees interlacing over head made such domes and archways as no cathedral ever boasted, and shut out the sun and softened its rays till twilight prevailed at noonday. The wind sighed through the forest in dirges, At night the dark vaults were lighted up by huge fires of pitchy pine.

  Standing there while the lurid flames dared up till the ghostly limbs above appeared and then died away till all was dim and uncertain, only to blaze again, the evangelist in solemn voice, portrayed the terrors of hell until, wrought up by their superstitions, the audience swayed to and fro and wept and shrieked in a wild delirium. Then, when the excitement rose to a dangerous point, the skillful preacher, to change the mood, started some old chorus like "No man shall hindah me,for I love Jesus," or "We are goin' home to die no moah," and thereupon with shouts of "Glory" the whole throng rose and sang til the arches rang to their voices. There was no doubting the Chincoteaguer's religious enthusiasm while it lasted.

  Three years ago the influx of mainland church people had become so great that the natives were far out-numbered, and then a wave of prohibition sentiment swept from the shore out across the bay. The church people united, speakers were brought over from the mainland, meetings were held by night in the churches, and parades by day n the streets. Numbers of oystermen who had squandered their money in liquor repented, and told over and over again how mean and wicked they had been and how good they had become since they stopped drinking, and thanked God amid a chorus of amens that they were not as bad as some other folks. Then an election was held under the local option law of the State and Chincoteague cast 38 votes in favor of licensing liquor dealers to about 300 against it.

  A most interesting old native is Kendal Jester. For no one knows how many years Uncle Ken has met the stranger who visits the island with one set of expressions. He introduced himself to me as he has done to every other visitor: "My name's Kennaljester."

  "Glad to meet you, sir."

  "I drinks a little whiskey, sometimes."

  "Indeed! Will you have some now?"

  "Reckon. Doctor says gots drink quart'er days keep away bilious - drink quarter in pint - never have bilious."

  And he does it. He has no trouble getting it. He came down the other day to celebrate his seventy-fifth birthday. By noon he had taken his daily allowance and concluded to carry a bottle home to his wife so she could help celebrate. But he was driving a half-wit pony, and in his exuberance of youthful spirits Uncle Ken dropped the reins as he started away, that he might drink the health of a friend who happened along. There upon the pony ran away up the street, with Uncle Ken sitting bolt upright, whooping like a boy at a baseball match, and having almost as much fun as he did at oyster roasts in his youth. People expected to see him tipped out and killed, but when the pony had kicked the thills and dashboard to pieces it got away, was captured again, and Uncle Ken mounted and rode home bareback in triumph. If there is any place where prohibition does not prohibit it is on Chincoteague, the overwhelming vote in its favor to the contrary notwithstanding.

  In many rural communities the dead are buried in sequestered spots on the farms on which they have died. In Chincoteague a public cemetery was provided. Winding along between two spacious glades is the backbone of the island, known to the natives as Rattlesnake Ridge. It terminates at the lower end in a sandy bluff that is perhaps the highest land of either Assateague or Chincoteague. Barren of trees and covered only with sparse wiry grass, it is about as desolate a spot as ever overlooked the sea. Here for 200 years the dead of Chincoteague were buried. Figureheads and other carved timbers from the wreckage that sometimes washed ashore often served in place of tombstones, but at other times plain boards or uncarved stones were used. A more appropriate burial place for the rude and uncouth old native of Chincoteague could scarcely be found. But the wind and the ceaseless roll of the sea have well nigh obliterated the old graveyard, laying bare many an old skeleton as they tore the sand away, while the influx of new peoples, who have brought new ideas and new wealth, will soon,with time's aid, obliterate the native Chincoteaguer."

** Again, this is a word for word transcript of a newspaper report written and printed in 1890. Please do not hold the use of the common word for African-Americans at that time against me, personally. **

This is the third of  four parts of the article.  I hope you enjoy reading it.

Life On Chincoteague (Part 2): From the New York Sun of 2 May 1890

(The New York Sun was a daily newspaper, published in New York City, New York, from 1933 until 1950. It was one of the most influential American newspapers through the early twentieth century; and was the first successful penny daily paper in the United States.  It was known for it's witty, humorous treatment of news, a clear style of journalism, and the occasional sensational approach to scandals.)

  **Please excuse any out-of-date or derogatory terms that are used.  This is a true, uncorrected transcription of the original newspaper article. **  This account is signed  by John R. Spears:

  "A line of railroad controlled by the Pennsylvania Company runs down the eastern shore of the peninsula and terminates on a pier in a queer little community called Franklin City, on the shores of the bay in which Chincoteague lies.  The train, for there is but one a day,reaches Franklin City early in the afternoon.  It finds there a little tug of a steamer called the Widgeon, waiting to ferry the wayfarer over the water to Chincoteague.  The steamer has a low hull, with a narrow engine house amidships, and a hurricane deck propped upon stilts about six feet above the main deck.  On the upper deck is a seven-by-ten cabin and a pilot house, and a bench running around the outside for use in fair weather.  Sitting up here, the traveller watches the roustabouts, who are white, and Capt. Pruitt himself,trundle the merchandise from the car to the steamer, and then, after a few toots to call in the passengers who may be loitering in Franklin City stores, away she goes like a great fat duck - and not much faster.  It is said to be a seven-mile run across the bay, and it takes the Widgeon just an hour to swim it.

  As the steamer approaches the island the distinctive characteristics of the people appear. Dozens and scores of the kind of little shanties in which colored people live in the rural districts of Long Island and New Jersey are to be seen, and it is not without a mental shock that the New Yorker notices that the occupants are almost in variably white. Scattered about among these shanties are perhaps a dozen or more houses of a style of architecture and finish that would be creditable in any village near the metropolis.  Surprising as this mixture appears, the wonder of the visitor at the sight becomes little if any short of amazement on landing.  The main street literally follows the coast of the bay, winding along about 100 feet from the water's edge and following the crooks and turns very faithfully.  From this street at intervals side streets run at various angles.  The main street varies from 30 to 60 feet in width, apparently at the whim of the property owners facing it.  The side streets are from 10 to 10 feet wide.  The streets have never been either paved or graded.  They are the universal dumping ground for house sweepings and refuse, save only where a vacant lot adjoins a dwelling; in that case the refuse goes on the vacant lot because it is handier to the kitchen.  Tin cans, torn paper, old rags, odds and bits of bones, bottles, and oyster shells, especially oyster shells, appear everywhere, but the bones are invariably dry and clean of meat or muscle, for the pigs that run the street have a watchful eye for such things.  It is along such lanes as these that the handsome residences seen from the steamer are to be found.
  Both sides of the main street are pretty well lined with stores, and these vary in size and style more than the dwellings do.  Some of these buildings are so old that the moss-grown shingles are dropping to pieces rotten.  Some are so new that only the  first coat of paint has been applied, and the shingles are bright with the color of the original cedar.
  Standing around, singly and in groups in front of these stores, or straggling along the streets, or sitting in chairs tilted back against the front of the big hotel, can be seen fair specimens of the present population of Chincoteague.  The population can be divided on one line into two classes - the native and the imported. It is greatly to the sorrow of the native class that the immigrants have become so numerous in recent years as to crowd the natives very hard in more respects than one.  By another division of the population there are the producers and the non-producers, the producers being without exception oystermen, while a majority of the non-producers, so-called, being capitalists, have their money invested in some way in the oyster business, and so those who are strictly non-producers are very few in numbers.  Chincoteague is founded on oysters; it lives, moves and grows rich on oysters; it even gets fat on them; but this assertion must be limited to the immigrant class.  The native Chincoteaguer does not get fat, though now and then one, like old Uncle Ken Jester, becomes rotund on abundant whiskey.
  The native Chincoteaguer has long, bony legs, a gaunt body, long,dangling arms, long, skinny fingers, a long, wrinkled neck that sprouts out from between his shoulders like a tangent from a curve; a head of long, wriggly hair, and cheeks that are as hollow as his chest is concave.  The hair under his chin grows undisturbed.  On his upper lips, chin, and cheeks it is chopped off by the wife with scissors, ordinarily, but on state occasions, such as election days and at pony round-ups, he shaves himself, and it is a shave that is so close in spots as to draw the blood and so far away in others that the hair is left in broad patches undisturbed. His eyes are watery, his teeth scattered and worn, his breath redolent of strong drink and tobacco. How in the world it happens that the daughters of such men should be sweet-faced and of rounded forms, often voluptous and how these girls who are so charming at 18 or 20, should be shriveled and cadaverous at 30, is one of the things not fully understood, but these are the facts.
  The Chincoteague man was raised on homespun trousers cut high in the waist and short in the leg, a shirt that was short in the arm and opened as low in front as the evening dress of a society woman, a soft hat that rose to a peak on top of the head. He would be glad to wear that sort of a dress now, but he cannot afford it. It takes so long to raise the flax, and hackle, spin, and weave the product that the time can be devoted to oysters much more profitably. He now buys store clothes of such ample widths and folds as to the body and scantiness as to length of arm and leg, and of such diversity of colors, checks and stripes that either Solomon or Joseph in all their glory could hold a candle to him. But it is in his footwear that he takes a special pride. In the season, and that means while oysters can be shipped, the feet of the Chincoteaguer are encased in rubber boots that may be drawn up to his hips. But though they may be, they seldom are. The pliable tops are turned down half way below the knee, and then turned and drawn part way up again, and there they hang in such wide folds that the Chincoteaguer must needs straddle. Just imagine a man six feet tall, stooped and gangling, with boots whose rolling tops measure a foot across, straddling along the street, with his arms swinging in unison with his legs; then you have the native Chincoteaguer in all his pride.
  The wife of the old native is to be seen about the streets on every pleasant day. She comes to town riding in a cart. The cart has wheels 5 feet in diameter, with tires 3 1/2 inches wide. It has thills or shafts like those of the garbage carts of New York, only they are longer. Between these thills stands the team, a cow or an ox or a pony or a mule, just as the owner happens to own one or the other. If it is a cow, it has to keep its neck stretched to prevent the ends of the thills chafing its horns.  Seated on a board laid across the box of this cart is the woman, dressed in a calico gown and a sun bonnet, while sitting about her feet are four or five of the younger children - say from a third to a half the number of the family. The wife is gaunt and worn; the children are fat and good looking.
  The homes of the Chincoteaguers are built on one model; it is that of the dry goods box. They were originally of logs, but for the last thirty years or so are made of lumber. They have a single room with a low attic above, reached by a cross between a ladder and a stairway. A doorless cupboard in one corner holds a few dishes. A pot, a frying pan, a coffee pot, and a few basins and pie tins are piled behind a rusty stove. In one corner stands the bed. No such bed as that, probably, can be found in the metropolis. The bedposts are as thick as a common stovepipe. Huge timbers serve as rails, and the bedding rests on a rope that is stretched criscross around pegs in the rail. But the most noticeable feature of all is the stock of feather beds. They swell up like hay in a New England mow. Winter and summer the Chincoteaguer must have a soft bed, and his idea of softness is in no way so well met as by abundant feathers. The thought of such a bed in such a climate as this is in August is enough to make a Northern man gasp, but there the Chincoteaguer sleeps content. The children sleep on the trundle bed and on feather beds on the floor in the attic.
  The Chincoteaguer is exceedingly hospitable. He will share his well-feathered nest and his pork, corn bread, and coffee for such is his diet, with a stranger at any time, and be heartily glad of the opportunity. If the stranger will only take a drink from the ever-present whiskey bottle and then sit down and chew tobacco and spit in the stove hearth while the old woman sits by in the old wooden rocking chair and smokes a stone wall pipe with a fish pole stem, the comfort and pleasure of that family is complete. But it takes a stranger with iron nerve and stomach to stand the ordeal.
  Living in an isolated hut on an isolated patch of land, with no books, no newspapers, and no schools or teachers, the tendency of the Chincoteaguer's mind was inevitably toward a belief in the supernatural. The wind sighing through the pine, strange voices from the sea, strange calls from across the meadows, strange lights that danced above the stagnant water in the glades - all came to him as manifestations and tokens of the spirit world. Old Elisha Bloxom, living a mile below the village, went one day down the beach to help discharge the cargo of a beached vessel - wrack the ship, as they say here. Coming ashore the yawl was capsized, and Elisha was struck on the head by the boat, stunned, and drowned. Some thought his mates should have saved him. In a short time they were sure of it, for the soul of the old man, they said, could not rest in the grave they dug for him in the sand hill overlooking the sea. Sounds that were unaccountable were heard in the old house. The widow and her children moved out and a family of immigrants, who knew not Elisha, moved in. Before the year of their lease was up they moved out, unable to stand the nightly visitations. That was eight years ago, but no tenant has lived there since, while the belated wayfarer on the old road that leads by the house runs by it with hastening step and bated breath, fearful lest the old man appear to seek vengeance for his untimely death.
  For many years Widow Zippie Tulle lives in a little hut near Jamestown, on the mainland. Old Nigger Dave Blake lives alone in the swamp near Horntown, also on the main. Neither priest nor secular ruler ever exercised a stronger sway over parish and subject than these ignorant old conjurors over the minds of the old Chincoteaguers. Did husband suspect his wife or wife her husband of loving another, they believed, good souls, that the erring one was bewitched. Did the husband become petulant or the wife peevish unexpectedly, so that quarrels followed, the evil eye had fallen upon that household. Did aches and pains or distress of any sort come; did the cholera affect the pigs, or murrain the cow or some other disease the ponies, or green gill the oysters, the powers of the evil spirits were at the bottom of it all. There was but one hope for relief. Widow Zippie or Nigger Dave must be consulted. The Chincoteaguers went over the bay in their dugouts by the dozen at times to see thee two conjurors. The widow held the hands of those that applied to her, examined the skull of a drowned sailor found on the beach, mumbled over the dried heart of a frog, and made the sign of the cross again and again with a wand made of a serpent's skeleton bound together with human hair plucked, she said, by unseen spirits from the heads of those who had offended her. This done, she gave to the applicant a powder wrapped in black paper, and with that for a charm the distressed one went away comforted.
  Old Nigger Dave's process was more mysterious still. The visitor found the old man in the hut in the swamp rolling a ball of unknown composition on a shaky table. To and fro, round and round, the old darky sent the ball, while he bent his whitening head above it and whispered words which no one understood. Not infrequently the visitor would not be allowed to either explain the cause of the visit or ask a question; he must stand in silence while that ball rumbled about on the table till the old colored man was ready to stop it. Then, to the amazement of the Chincoteaguer, the old conjurer would tell in a solemn voice all about the trouble that had brought his visitor to the hut in the swamp. Surely, the powers of darkness must have told him about it, and impressed with that belief the Chincoteaguer paid the price, took the proffered charm and went away to obey the injunctions of the conjurer to the letter.
  The fame of old Dave as a healer of domestic woes became wider than the confines of Chincoteague or Accomack county. In the plenitude of his power he brought the one complained of before him when the complainant was absent, and by his mysterious knowledge of facts and his awful threat extorted the truth, and then said such commands on both husband and wife as invariably healed the difficulty; for faithfulness and kindliness, one toward the other, followed on the commands of the old negro. Though he practiced the black arts he did for the Chincoteaguers what neither judges nor juries nor religion could do. There was a deal of hearty sorrow in many homes that he had made happy when one morning a visitor in distress went to the little old hut in the swamp and found old Dave sitting by the table with his face down on one arm, and the conjuring ball in his hand. He did not move when the visitor entered, nor answer when spoken to, nor was he ever able to again set the ball rolling in the interests of either health or peace for he was dead. The widow Zippie had died before him, and no one has arisen to take their places. The preachers came to the island of Chincoteague with their prayers and sermons, but while the old Chincoteaguer will attend, and listen, and believe, he will not be wholly comforted."

** Again, this is a word for word transcript of a newspaper report written and printed in 1890. Please do not hold the use of the common word for African-Americans at that time against me, personally. **
This is the second of three or four parts of the article.  I hope you enjoy reading it.

Chincoteague's Captain Barry's Back Bay Cruises

 I admit up front that Captain Barry Frishman is the husband of my cousin, Aleda - but I think that I can write an honest opinion of Barry's cruises.  Barry is a member of the Chincoteague Island Charterboat Association, and he has run cruises and tours in the waters surrounding Chincoteague for at least 20 years.

I have never heard a derogatory remark made about Captain Barry, his boat, or his treatment of clients.  He's a happy-go-lucky soul, and especially enjoys teaching youngsters (and adults) about the marine and island ecology systems - and why they are so important to the United States, and the world, as a whole. His day cruises are fun, entertaining, and very educational.  They can be very hands-on, or you can sit back and watch your friends and family enjoy the cruise.
   Captain Barry's website may be viewed at: http://www.chincoteague.com/captainb/
   Information regarding prices and times are on the site, or you can call the reservation number - (757) 336-6508.   The e-mail address is:  captainchincoteague@gmail.com
   And you can always "Like" him on FaceBook at:  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Captain-Barrys-Back-Bay-Cruises/155032211287774

   Barry's Champagne Sunset Cruises are quiet and private affairs - and the scenery is wonderful.

Captain Barry and his boat

A family in the Assateague Channel with Cap'n Barry (right)

Cap'n Barry fooling around - marsh mud and seaweed wrap, anyone?

Placing a small net out at the beginning of the cruise

Jellyfish are common catches

Dolphins may be seen

And, while Cap'n Barry does not guarantee seeing Chincoteague ponies on Assateague, there is always a high possibility of it happening...

I endorse any cruise, boating, or fishing opportunity with Captain Barry.  He's the best. Period.

Cycling, Lance Armstrong, and Drugs

It's a beautiful day outside: sunny with a light breeze, and the temperature is currently 65 degrees.  I have had breakfast, done my grocery shopping, taken care of my kits, and visited and cared for Ooch and the Thore girls.  Lovey is sleeping in the cat tree and Nedi is lying on the tiles, just inside the patio door.  I ran into one of my cabby buddies who drove me up to North Boulder and back, and we discussed the "rolling closures" that will be taking place in the streets around Boulder due to the US Pro Cycling Challenge being here today.  -  The city is expecting more than $8 million in income from today's race - it runs through Boulder twice, and there's a day-long cycling Expo at the Pearl Street Mall.  And it seems a shame that all of the garbage about Lance Armstrong has hit the news while (a) he is cycling in Aspen, and (b) the US Pro Cycling Challenge is being held in Colorado.  Lance Armstrong never failed a drug test; he never tested positive for any banned or illegal substance.  But now, several years after his last Tour de France win, other racers say he was "doping" - and he has been stripped of his titles and winning records only by hear-say evidence from other athletes who were beaten by him.  It seems a little fishy to me....
  Three silly teen aged girls are in critical condition after "experimenting" with prescription drugs and large doses of Tylenol in Virginia.  They all took varying doses of prescription Xanax, Zoloft, codeine, and an unidentified drug used to battle Parkinson's disease, as well as 20 to 50 tablets of Tylenol apiece.  After two of her friends passed out, the third was barely able to call 911 and tell the dispatcher that they had taken "lots of drugs..."  It just amazes me that anyone would do such a thing - with so many side-effects warnings being shown on the TV when drug companies try to garner new patients for their prescription drugs.  As a kid on Chincoteague, I wasn't aware of a drug problem, but since the mid-1970's, it seems to have exploded exponentially.
   Today I have a Redskins game to watch, and tomorrow is a double-header, with the Broncos first and the Jets following.  At least it's nearing the beginning of football season, again!