Somewhere around 1500 BC, people were running around Europe and parts of Asia speaking a language known to linguists as Indo-European. A group of folks, discovered by the Grimm Brothers, yes, those of fairy tale fame, shifted various sounds in their language about that time and began speaking something different from their neighbors. These people, clad in furs and steel helmets with horns and wings, were called "The Germanen," and this change in speaking became known as "the first sound shift." Why they made these shifts, no one knows. Perhaps the climate gave them perpetual head colds, perhaps a powerful warlord had a speech impediment. To keep one's position near the salt and one's head on one's shoulders, the socially mobile imitated his speech.
At any rate, the Grimm Brothers, when not soliciting gory stories from old ladies in the small villages around Marburg University, where they were studying, noticed some trends in different languages, one of which was the "p" sound. Apparently the Germanic people found the "P" sound to be not to their liking and changed it to the sound of "F". Thus the word "Pater" in Latin became "Fater" in the Germanic languages. And so the Germanic people went off to settle around Northern and Western Europe, there their languages morphed out into Norwegian, Danish, Dutch, German and, yes indeed, English.
Which brings us to intestinal gas . Take the simple, every day word "fart." While being vulgar and obscene to some, the very vernacular of flatulence is a striking example of the seismic linguistic change which led to our modern English. That simple word, in the Germanic tongues begins with "F," fis (I like that one, sounds like you get it from drinking too many carbonated beverages)is what the Swedes detect, while good Norwegian lytefisk causes a fjert. Sauerkraut gives the Germans Furzen, while we and the Dutch simply fart. Those people who kept the "P" like the Slavic and Romance languages view it differently. The Spanish do a pedo while their Italian cousins let fly a peto The French will waft a dainty pet, while the Czechs blast a prd and anything else that comes with it.
The point is, the next time you detect gas, and are disgusted by the vulgarity of it all, remember, what you are witnessing is the first sound shift in action.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Sunday, February 27, 2011
The Passing Of The Timberwolves
As is our custom now, my wife and I drove out to the assisted living facility where my parents now reside. On the table, along with other mail and magazines was a publication on slick paper, the size of an annual report, titled The Timberwolf Howl. Over the years, in different forms, be it tabloid newsprint or magazine, it would appear in our mailbox from time to time. It is the publication of the 104th (Timberwolf) Infantry Division Association.
The 104th, under the command of a rather flamboyant Maj. Gen. Terry de la Mesa Allen, was originally formed from men from Washington and Oregon and was sent to fight the Germans. My father, 90 day wonder lieutenant, joined it as a replacement while it was fighting in Holland alongside the British. In fact it was attached to the Brits, and so the rations and ammunition they received came through British supply channels. This caused some logistical problems, particularly in ammunition, which was not issued in clips for the M-1, but had to be broken down and individually loaded into the clips. Eventually the division was moved further south to team up with the American Army, fighting across Germany from Aachen, through Marburg, where I would eventually attend school at the university there, liberating the concentration camp at Nordhausen and on to link up with the Russians.
After the war, my father wanted to put what he had seen behind him, and avoided joining any veterans' organization. Nonetheless, I assumed he paid dues, and over the years received the Howl.
As I opened it, I read the inevitable. The 104th Timberwolves had had their last reunion, and the association was being disbanded, its assets being given over to a new one, The Timberwolf Pups' Association. “Pups” is what all us baby boomer offspring of these reluctant warriors were called as they settled back into civilian life.
It had to happen. The youngest of them would be in their mid to late 80's and there were too few physically up to traveling hither and yon about the country to attend.
It struck me as very sad. Not only is a piece of history fast disappearing, but as the generation ahead of you passes on, so too does a piece of your own life.
When I was small, these men were the young adults, the fathers who coached our elementary basketball teams, were our scoutmasters and were the hot dog cookers and burger flippers at those family gatherings that continue in our memory. They drove us to town to see Santa Claus at Christmas and read “A Visit From St. Nicholas,” before we tried to sleep on Christmas Eve. They helped us build tree houses, taught us to swim, how to catch grounders with our Scooter Rizzuto gloves, and how to make telephones out of string and tin cans.
Now those that are left are old, many infirm, and sadly many cannot even remember the great things they accomplished. Soon they will all be gone and the 104th and all the other men of that generation will be nothing more than ranks of moss covered stones. Their army will have passed into the shades of history.
Time passes, and soon my generation will be at that same point in its journey. I doubt that history will mark our passing as it will my parents' generation.
The 104th, under the command of a rather flamboyant Maj. Gen. Terry de la Mesa Allen, was originally formed from men from Washington and Oregon and was sent to fight the Germans. My father, 90 day wonder lieutenant, joined it as a replacement while it was fighting in Holland alongside the British. In fact it was attached to the Brits, and so the rations and ammunition they received came through British supply channels. This caused some logistical problems, particularly in ammunition, which was not issued in clips for the M-1, but had to be broken down and individually loaded into the clips. Eventually the division was moved further south to team up with the American Army, fighting across Germany from Aachen, through Marburg, where I would eventually attend school at the university there, liberating the concentration camp at Nordhausen and on to link up with the Russians.
After the war, my father wanted to put what he had seen behind him, and avoided joining any veterans' organization. Nonetheless, I assumed he paid dues, and over the years received the Howl.
As I opened it, I read the inevitable. The 104th Timberwolves had had their last reunion, and the association was being disbanded, its assets being given over to a new one, The Timberwolf Pups' Association. “Pups” is what all us baby boomer offspring of these reluctant warriors were called as they settled back into civilian life.
It had to happen. The youngest of them would be in their mid to late 80's and there were too few physically up to traveling hither and yon about the country to attend.
It struck me as very sad. Not only is a piece of history fast disappearing, but as the generation ahead of you passes on, so too does a piece of your own life.
When I was small, these men were the young adults, the fathers who coached our elementary basketball teams, were our scoutmasters and were the hot dog cookers and burger flippers at those family gatherings that continue in our memory. They drove us to town to see Santa Claus at Christmas and read “A Visit From St. Nicholas,” before we tried to sleep on Christmas Eve. They helped us build tree houses, taught us to swim, how to catch grounders with our Scooter Rizzuto gloves, and how to make telephones out of string and tin cans.
Now those that are left are old, many infirm, and sadly many cannot even remember the great things they accomplished. Soon they will all be gone and the 104th and all the other men of that generation will be nothing more than ranks of moss covered stones. Their army will have passed into the shades of history.
Time passes, and soon my generation will be at that same point in its journey. I doubt that history will mark our passing as it will my parents' generation.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
The Aroostook War: The Final Chapter
New Brunswick’s Provincial Governor Harvey demanded the recall of the American troops, by announcing that he had been given authority by the British government to occupy the area by force, if necessary. The State Legislature immediately responded by appropriating $800,000 and a draft of 10,343 militia to be made ready. By the next day, troops were already mustering in the streets of Augusta.
It was mid winter and bitterly cold. Uniforms issued to the militia provided scant protection against the snow and freezing temperatures, which often sunk to -20 to -30 in the battle zone. Thick red shirts and green jackets were issued, and within a week 10,000 troops were either present in The County or on their way. Taking lumber confiscated from Canadian operations, construction was started at Ft. Fairfield.
All this activity finally caught the attention of the Federal government. Congress authorized the President to raise 50,000 troops should Harvey make good on his threat and appropriated $10 million to pay for the operation. General Winfield Scott was placed in command of any future military operation. On March 5, he and his staff arrived in Augusta and took up residence in the Augusta House Hotel.
Scott’s first mission was to avert an armed conflict, and to that end, he started communication with both Governors Harvey and Fairfield of Maine. His letter to Harey stated that he was authorized the use of significant force, and was prepared to use it, but preferred not to. The Canadian, being of a like mind, not wishing to be the one to inflict war on the area, agreed to back off. Governor Fairfield then agreed that he would withdraw the militia and keep open the lines of communication. Thus armed conflict was avoided.
The question was discussed for several more years, apparently without further incident until Secretary of State Daniel Webster and the British Ambassador Lord Ashburton arrived at an agreement, written into the Webster-Ashburton Treaty signed on August 20, 1842. Maine accepted it’s current northern border with Canada and received $200,000 from the British government in compensation for lost territory. The US government also awarded the state $150,000 and was ceded land from Great Britain along Lakes Champlain and Superior.
The Aroostook War ended as all should, with no combat casualties. A Private Hiram Smith died of unknown causes and is buried along Rt. 2 in the Haynesville Woods. A number of soldiers stationed at the Hancock Barracks died of various causes, mostly disease, and are buried in Houlton. Several troops are reported to have gone into the woods on patrol and never returned. Whether they met their ends or took the opportunity to leave the service is unknown.
For further reading, the author recommends The History of Maine by John S.C. Abbott. Written in 1892, it is available online.
It was mid winter and bitterly cold. Uniforms issued to the militia provided scant protection against the snow and freezing temperatures, which often sunk to -20 to -30 in the battle zone. Thick red shirts and green jackets were issued, and within a week 10,000 troops were either present in The County or on their way. Taking lumber confiscated from Canadian operations, construction was started at Ft. Fairfield.
All this activity finally caught the attention of the Federal government. Congress authorized the President to raise 50,000 troops should Harvey make good on his threat and appropriated $10 million to pay for the operation. General Winfield Scott was placed in command of any future military operation. On March 5, he and his staff arrived in Augusta and took up residence in the Augusta House Hotel.
Scott’s first mission was to avert an armed conflict, and to that end, he started communication with both Governors Harvey and Fairfield of Maine. His letter to Harey stated that he was authorized the use of significant force, and was prepared to use it, but preferred not to. The Canadian, being of a like mind, not wishing to be the one to inflict war on the area, agreed to back off. Governor Fairfield then agreed that he would withdraw the militia and keep open the lines of communication. Thus armed conflict was avoided.
The question was discussed for several more years, apparently without further incident until Secretary of State Daniel Webster and the British Ambassador Lord Ashburton arrived at an agreement, written into the Webster-Ashburton Treaty signed on August 20, 1842. Maine accepted it’s current northern border with Canada and received $200,000 from the British government in compensation for lost territory. The US government also awarded the state $150,000 and was ceded land from Great Britain along Lakes Champlain and Superior.
The Aroostook War ended as all should, with no combat casualties. A Private Hiram Smith died of unknown causes and is buried along Rt. 2 in the Haynesville Woods. A number of soldiers stationed at the Hancock Barracks died of various causes, mostly disease, and are buried in Houlton. Several troops are reported to have gone into the woods on patrol and never returned. Whether they met their ends or took the opportunity to leave the service is unknown.
For further reading, the author recommends The History of Maine by John S.C. Abbott. Written in 1892, it is available online.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The War In The North Part 3
In June 1837 as a consequence of the closure of the Second US Bank, a determination was made that citizens in the disputed area had overpaid their taxes and were due a refund. To that end, a government agent was sent out to accomplish this. A zealous British constable arrested him and hauled him off to the nearest English jail. When he arrived, the local sheriff, alarmed at something so potentially inflammatory, promptly had him released. The Provincial Governor, Harvey, convinced the payments were in fact a bribe to keep the locals loyal to the United States, had the unfortunate man rearrested. A letter from President Van Buren eventually affected his ultimate release.
As tensions remained high, Governor Kent sent General Wood to inspect the fortifications along the Kennebec, Penobscot and St. Croix Rivers, and in a secret session, the Legislature authorized a force of 200 volunteers to drive out the trespassers, seize their equipment and destroy their camps.
In the County, meanwhile, things came to a dramatic head. On December 29, 1838 a group of New Brunswick men were spotted cutting timber on a local estate. When they returned on New Year’s Eve, they were met by an informal, hastily formed militia group, the Eaton Guard. Lines and weapons were drawn, probably with much shouting, cursing and testosterone laden threats. The sudden noise aroused a female black bear with her cub from their winter nap. Suddenly beset by an irate beast, the Canadians let loose a ragged volley. The Americans, sure they were being fired upon returned the favor, at which point they returned the favor. The Canadians immediately retired taking with them two wounded by the bear, but otherwise unscathed. Both sides probably ended the evening around a warm fire with a drop of the cure.
The first company of volunteers under a Captain Rines left Bangor on February 5, 1839 and reached Masardis on the 8th. Caught unaware, the New Brunswickers were captured along with their logging equipment and teams. Rines continued on to the mouth of the Little Madawaska, where the tables were turned and he was captured along with his men, loaded on a sleigh and hurried off to jail in Frederickton.
The remnants of his party retreated to Masardis where they began to fortify the place.
While the elated Canadians began arming a counter-force of about 300 men, Gov. Harvey issued a proclamation stating that sovereign British had been invaded and ordered out 1000 militia.
Things were now looking serious. Fifty more volunteers set out for the scene of action from Augusta.
As tensions remained high, Governor Kent sent General Wood to inspect the fortifications along the Kennebec, Penobscot and St. Croix Rivers, and in a secret session, the Legislature authorized a force of 200 volunteers to drive out the trespassers, seize their equipment and destroy their camps.
In the County, meanwhile, things came to a dramatic head. On December 29, 1838 a group of New Brunswick men were spotted cutting timber on a local estate. When they returned on New Year’s Eve, they were met by an informal, hastily formed militia group, the Eaton Guard. Lines and weapons were drawn, probably with much shouting, cursing and testosterone laden threats. The sudden noise aroused a female black bear with her cub from their winter nap. Suddenly beset by an irate beast, the Canadians let loose a ragged volley. The Americans, sure they were being fired upon returned the favor, at which point they returned the favor. The Canadians immediately retired taking with them two wounded by the bear, but otherwise unscathed. Both sides probably ended the evening around a warm fire with a drop of the cure.
The first company of volunteers under a Captain Rines left Bangor on February 5, 1839 and reached Masardis on the 8th. Caught unaware, the New Brunswickers were captured along with their logging equipment and teams. Rines continued on to the mouth of the Little Madawaska, where the tables were turned and he was captured along with his men, loaded on a sleigh and hurried off to jail in Frederickton.
The remnants of his party retreated to Masardis where they began to fortify the place.
While the elated Canadians began arming a counter-force of about 300 men, Gov. Harvey issued a proclamation stating that sovereign British had been invaded and ordered out 1000 militia.
Things were now looking serious. Fifty more volunteers set out for the scene of action from Augusta.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
The War In The North Part 2
The original settlers in the St. John Valley were Acadians, Brayons, who were nominally British subjects, but considered themselves, at least in their hearts, to be citizens of the Republique du Madawaska, which comprised the northwestern corner of New Brunswick within the disputed region. The more recent settlers to the Aroostook Valley were Americans coming up from the south.
In 1825, one such settler, John Baker, petitioned to have the area annexed to the State of Maine. To this end, he and his wife raised a homemade American flag at the junction of Baker Brook (named later for him) and the St. John River, which is now in the town of Ft. Kent. On August 10 he and a few others announced their intention to establish a formal Republic of Madawaska. Acting swiftly, the local British magistrate had Baker arrested on charges of conspiracy and sedition and jailed for two months until his fine of £25 was paid. And so passed the attempt at creating a separate republic. However in 1938 a flag was designed, which hangs in the city hall of Edmundston, NB, and the mayor assumes the honorary title of President of the Republic of Madawaska.
Meanwhile, in New Hampshire a similar situation developed on that state’s northern border, where the boundary was also in dispute. With both Canada and the United States sending in tax and debt collectors, the citizens formed the Republic of Indian Stream to stop it. In 1835, in response to a request from the Republic’s congress, the New Hampshire militia moved in and occupied the area. This request had followed an incident in which some of the Indian Streamers had “invaded” Canada to rescue a fellow citizen arrested for unpaid debt at a local hardware store. In the process, the “invaders” shot up the local judge’s home. Horrified, the British ambassador in Washington negotiated a settlement, and in 1840, the Republic of Indian Stream entered the U.S. as the town of Pittsburg, NH.
Back in Maine, as winter closed in, farmhands, freed from that work entered the woods as lumberjacks, becoming a source of contention as both Maine and Massachusetts moved to protect their resources.
In 1830, in an attempt to ease the growing tensions, the U.S. and British governments asked William, the King of Holland to arbitrate the dispute and develop a border suitable to both sides. His solution, which ironically, was very similar to the current border was accepted by the British, but rejected by Maine and Massachusetts because it gave away territory inhabited by tax paying Americans. As an incentive, to offset the loss, the Federal government offered one million acres from the territory that was to become Michigan. What Maine would have done with that if accepted can only be left to conjecture. And so the dispute remained unresolved.
In 1825, one such settler, John Baker, petitioned to have the area annexed to the State of Maine. To this end, he and his wife raised a homemade American flag at the junction of Baker Brook (named later for him) and the St. John River, which is now in the town of Ft. Kent. On August 10 he and a few others announced their intention to establish a formal Republic of Madawaska. Acting swiftly, the local British magistrate had Baker arrested on charges of conspiracy and sedition and jailed for two months until his fine of £25 was paid. And so passed the attempt at creating a separate republic. However in 1938 a flag was designed, which hangs in the city hall of Edmundston, NB, and the mayor assumes the honorary title of President of the Republic of Madawaska.
Meanwhile, in New Hampshire a similar situation developed on that state’s northern border, where the boundary was also in dispute. With both Canada and the United States sending in tax and debt collectors, the citizens formed the Republic of Indian Stream to stop it. In 1835, in response to a request from the Republic’s congress, the New Hampshire militia moved in and occupied the area. This request had followed an incident in which some of the Indian Streamers had “invaded” Canada to rescue a fellow citizen arrested for unpaid debt at a local hardware store. In the process, the “invaders” shot up the local judge’s home. Horrified, the British ambassador in Washington negotiated a settlement, and in 1840, the Republic of Indian Stream entered the U.S. as the town of Pittsburg, NH.
Back in Maine, as winter closed in, farmhands, freed from that work entered the woods as lumberjacks, becoming a source of contention as both Maine and Massachusetts moved to protect their resources.
In 1830, in an attempt to ease the growing tensions, the U.S. and British governments asked William, the King of Holland to arbitrate the dispute and develop a border suitable to both sides. His solution, which ironically, was very similar to the current border was accepted by the British, but rejected by Maine and Massachusetts because it gave away territory inhabited by tax paying Americans. As an incentive, to offset the loss, the Federal government offered one million acres from the territory that was to become Michigan. What Maine would have done with that if accepted can only be left to conjecture. And so the dispute remained unresolved.
Monday, January 3, 2011
The War In The North Part 1
If you journey to the roof of Maine, The County, as the residents proudly call it, the traveler is greeted by endless forest or rolling farmland reaching to the horizon. Across the rivers and valleys to the north and east nestle the farms and villages of New Brunswick. The people, be they Franco speakers or English tinge their accent with a Canadian lilt. The broad “A” and dropped “R” of what stereotypes Maine speech are absent. In this friendly and peaceful place it is hard to think that approximately 170 years ago the military might of Great Britain and the United States was in readiness to turn Aroostook County into a war zone.
The 1783 Treaty of Paris ending the Revolutionary War left the northern border between Maine, New Hampshire and Canada in doubt. Some interpretations brought the Maine border close to the St. Lawrence River Valley, which would have made land communication between the Maritime Provinces and the rest of Canada difficult. Others brought the border south of the St. John River into what is now Northern Maine. In 1815, after the British withdrawal from eastern Maine at the end of the War of 1812, a collaborative survey was accomplished to determine the eastern border of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts’ District of Maine and Canada along the St. Croix River. (See July-October 2010 Harpswell Anchor)
After the separation of Maine from Massachusetts in 1820, the latter still had claim to 50% of the public land in the disputed northern territory. In 1825 both states had agents in the area issuing timber permits, taking censuses and recording births, deaths and marriages in the St. John Valley.
Then in October of that year tragedy of epic proportions struck the region in the form of the Miramichi Fire, one of the three largest ever recorded in North America. 1825 had been a particularly dry year, and a Massachusetts timber agent traveling through the area recorded that it was initially sparked by lightning. A firestorm swept through New Brunswick destroying one third of the homes in Fredericton, and on October 7 the town of Newcastle (now Miramichi) was almost totally destroyed with only 12 out of 260 buildings left standing. Many residents took refuge, along with their livestock in the Miramichi River, but when the flames subsided 160 people were dead including the prisoners in the local jail. Estimates of casualties, including lumberjacks caught in its path were set at 3,000 souls, and 20% of New Brunswick’s forest was destroyed. The Provincial Governor’s journal noted that the damage was so extensive, the province’s very survival would come from timber in the disputed area to the west.
To be continued
The 1783 Treaty of Paris ending the Revolutionary War left the northern border between Maine, New Hampshire and Canada in doubt. Some interpretations brought the Maine border close to the St. Lawrence River Valley, which would have made land communication between the Maritime Provinces and the rest of Canada difficult. Others brought the border south of the St. John River into what is now Northern Maine. In 1815, after the British withdrawal from eastern Maine at the end of the War of 1812, a collaborative survey was accomplished to determine the eastern border of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts’ District of Maine and Canada along the St. Croix River. (See July-October 2010 Harpswell Anchor)
After the separation of Maine from Massachusetts in 1820, the latter still had claim to 50% of the public land in the disputed northern territory. In 1825 both states had agents in the area issuing timber permits, taking censuses and recording births, deaths and marriages in the St. John Valley.
Then in October of that year tragedy of epic proportions struck the region in the form of the Miramichi Fire, one of the three largest ever recorded in North America. 1825 had been a particularly dry year, and a Massachusetts timber agent traveling through the area recorded that it was initially sparked by lightning. A firestorm swept through New Brunswick destroying one third of the homes in Fredericton, and on October 7 the town of Newcastle (now Miramichi) was almost totally destroyed with only 12 out of 260 buildings left standing. Many residents took refuge, along with their livestock in the Miramichi River, but when the flames subsided 160 people were dead including the prisoners in the local jail. Estimates of casualties, including lumberjacks caught in its path were set at 3,000 souls, and 20% of New Brunswick’s forest was destroyed. The Provincial Governor’s journal noted that the damage was so extensive, the province’s very survival would come from timber in the disputed area to the west.
To be continued
Saturday, November 27, 2010
The Pirate Dixie Bull Part 2
Furious and desperate, after his loss, Bull gathered about him a small force determined to attack the French and gain compensation. There is no record of any success, nor was there probably any, as Bull soon looked for other means of regaining what he felt was his due.
In late summer or early fall, accompanied by a crew of 16 or more men “from the eastern settlements,” he sailed into Pemaquid Harbor in some stolen boats and attacked the fort. This fort, or rather a stockade, had been built in 1630 or ‘31 as a protection from the French as the Indians at that time had not presented a problem to the English there. As opposed to the swarming horde of my childhood imagination, they would not have sailed into the harbor with cannons blazing. Known to the people there as fellow traders, they would have rowed to shore uneventfully. The 16 men occupied themselves with rifling through the stores and the furs, taking anything of value. As they were weighing anchor to leave, one of the traders at the fort got off a lucky shot and killed one of Bull’s men, dropping him to the deck. As far as can be determined, that was the only casualty.
On November 21 1632, Governor Winthrop in Boston received a letter recounting the piracy.
Leaders of the coastal settlement jumped into action to apprehend the man who was now considered a pirate. The men of Portsmouth readied a fleet of four boats and took off in pursuit. Back in Massachusetts, Winthrop agreed, after meeting with his council on December 5, to send off a boat with 20 armed men to accompany the Portsmouth crew. Contrary winds, probably bitter northeasterlies, allowed the company to proceed only as far as Cape Ann from where they returned to Boston on January 2, 1633.
Meanwhile news arrived that the vessels from Portsmouth had made it as far as Pemaquid, where they were harbor bound for three weeks, by high, contrary winds as well.
With winter closing in, there was little enthusiasm to pursue the gang of pirates in the small, relatively open boats of the time, and there appeared to be no more activity on the part of the buccaneers either. That did not, however, prevent the spread of fear and rumor up and down the coast.
In January, the Portsmouth men stopped at Richmond’s Island off Cape Elizabeth on their return journey, long enough to apprehend three deserters from Bull’s crew and to hang an Indian named “Black Will” for the murder of Walter Bagnell, an unscrupulous trader, whose dishonesty had finally caught up with him.
In the spring, a half-hearted attempt was made to locate the pirate, Dixie Bull. But then the governor received a letter purported to be from him and his crew, which read, in part, “ We next proceed south; never shall we hurt any more of your countrymen-rather be sunk than taken.” It was signed “Fortune de Garde.” Not wishing to force a bloody confrontation, the search for Dixie Bull was called off.
Dixie Bull and his band were said to have sailed off to the east and were lost to history.
But where did they go, and did they bury a treasure trove on either Damariscove Island or Cushing Island, as local legends have said.
The answer to the second, is “probably not.” Both islands were inhabited at the time, so it would have been extremely risky to even stop there. Damariscove already had a year round fishing settlement when the Pilgrims arrived. In fact, in the spring of 1622, the Pilgrims sent a party there to procure food for the starving Plymouth colony, and were given a boatload of cod. Without this fish, the Pilgrims might not have survived. Additionally, the plunder from Pemaquid would have consisted mainly of staples and furs, not something one would leave behind.
Stories abound about the fate of the pirates as well. Did they sail to the south? Did they sail to the eastward and join up with the French? There is no evidence any of that happened. A popular poem of the 1600’s has Bull dying in a sword fight, and another that he was hanged in London. There are no records of any of that happening.
There is a record, however, that in 1648, Dixie Bull, of London, was released from his obligations of his apprenticeship to his brother. It would appear, then, that the frightful pirate, Dixie Bull, went on to lead a rather mundane life and probably died an obscure death.
For more information, the author recommends A Brief Account of the Wicked Doings of Dixie Bull by Jim McLain.
In late summer or early fall, accompanied by a crew of 16 or more men “from the eastern settlements,” he sailed into Pemaquid Harbor in some stolen boats and attacked the fort. This fort, or rather a stockade, had been built in 1630 or ‘31 as a protection from the French as the Indians at that time had not presented a problem to the English there. As opposed to the swarming horde of my childhood imagination, they would not have sailed into the harbor with cannons blazing. Known to the people there as fellow traders, they would have rowed to shore uneventfully. The 16 men occupied themselves with rifling through the stores and the furs, taking anything of value. As they were weighing anchor to leave, one of the traders at the fort got off a lucky shot and killed one of Bull’s men, dropping him to the deck. As far as can be determined, that was the only casualty.
On November 21 1632, Governor Winthrop in Boston received a letter recounting the piracy.
Leaders of the coastal settlement jumped into action to apprehend the man who was now considered a pirate. The men of Portsmouth readied a fleet of four boats and took off in pursuit. Back in Massachusetts, Winthrop agreed, after meeting with his council on December 5, to send off a boat with 20 armed men to accompany the Portsmouth crew. Contrary winds, probably bitter northeasterlies, allowed the company to proceed only as far as Cape Ann from where they returned to Boston on January 2, 1633.
Meanwhile news arrived that the vessels from Portsmouth had made it as far as Pemaquid, where they were harbor bound for three weeks, by high, contrary winds as well.
With winter closing in, there was little enthusiasm to pursue the gang of pirates in the small, relatively open boats of the time, and there appeared to be no more activity on the part of the buccaneers either. That did not, however, prevent the spread of fear and rumor up and down the coast.
In January, the Portsmouth men stopped at Richmond’s Island off Cape Elizabeth on their return journey, long enough to apprehend three deserters from Bull’s crew and to hang an Indian named “Black Will” for the murder of Walter Bagnell, an unscrupulous trader, whose dishonesty had finally caught up with him.
In the spring, a half-hearted attempt was made to locate the pirate, Dixie Bull. But then the governor received a letter purported to be from him and his crew, which read, in part, “ We next proceed south; never shall we hurt any more of your countrymen-rather be sunk than taken.” It was signed “Fortune de Garde.” Not wishing to force a bloody confrontation, the search for Dixie Bull was called off.
Dixie Bull and his band were said to have sailed off to the east and were lost to history.
But where did they go, and did they bury a treasure trove on either Damariscove Island or Cushing Island, as local legends have said.
The answer to the second, is “probably not.” Both islands were inhabited at the time, so it would have been extremely risky to even stop there. Damariscove already had a year round fishing settlement when the Pilgrims arrived. In fact, in the spring of 1622, the Pilgrims sent a party there to procure food for the starving Plymouth colony, and were given a boatload of cod. Without this fish, the Pilgrims might not have survived. Additionally, the plunder from Pemaquid would have consisted mainly of staples and furs, not something one would leave behind.
Stories abound about the fate of the pirates as well. Did they sail to the south? Did they sail to the eastward and join up with the French? There is no evidence any of that happened. A popular poem of the 1600’s has Bull dying in a sword fight, and another that he was hanged in London. There are no records of any of that happening.
There is a record, however, that in 1648, Dixie Bull, of London, was released from his obligations of his apprenticeship to his brother. It would appear, then, that the frightful pirate, Dixie Bull, went on to lead a rather mundane life and probably died an obscure death.
For more information, the author recommends A Brief Account of the Wicked Doings of Dixie Bull by Jim McLain.
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