Friday, August 28, 2015

Jim Baughm

A hand-made wooden cross rests on the altar in the sanctuary of the Ocracoke Methodist Church.  The cross was constructed by Homer Howard, and painted gold by his wife, Aliph.  The cross was made out of salvage from the ship on which island native, James Baughm Gaskill (1919-1942), served and lost his life. The cross stands today as a memorial to James Baughm Gaskill, 3rd mate in the  USS Maritime service.


















Jim Baughm's ship, the Caribsea, was torpedoed and sunk off shore by a German U-boat on March 11, 1942.  Shortly after the sinking, Christopher Farrow, James Baughm's cousin, found his  framed license cast up on the ocean beach. Later, the ship's nameplate and other debris washed up at his family's dock, at the old Pamlico Inn.   

Ship's Nameplate in NPS Visitors Center






Although Jim Baughm was lost at sea, and his body never recovered, his family erected a marker in the family cemetery behind the lighthouse.
















The epitaph is a quotation from Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem, "Crossing the Bar."

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep,
Turns again home.

This month's Ocracoke Newsletter is the story of whale and porpoise fishing on  the Outer Banks. You can read the story here: http://www.villagecraftsmen.com/news082115.htm.

Thursday, August 27, 2015

Watering Holes

Last month I mentioned the Outer Banks wild ponies. Visitors to the island often wonder how these small horses traditionally found water to drink. After all, there are no fresh water streams, ponds, or springs on Ocracoke. Besides, marsh ponies eat great quantities of salt marsh grass, so they need to drink water about every three hours.

Photo by Charlie F on Yelp














Sometimes, of course, rain puddles provide fresh water for the ponies. When that source of water is not available the horses have learned to dig drinking holes by pawing at the sand with their hooves. They tap into the rainwater runoff that is stored in a shallow "freshwater lens" that floats above brackish underground water.

This month's Ocracoke Newsletter is the story of whale and porpoise fishing on  the Outer Banks. You can read the story here: http://www.villagecraftsmen.com/news082115.htm.

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Darius Green and His Flying Machine

I just finished reading David McCullough's new book, The Wright Brothers. It is a fascinating account of two men who had intelligence, mechanical abilities, perseverance, and above all, vision. As we know, on December 17, 1903, Wilbur and Orville Wright, from Dayton, Ohio, made the first ever piloted machine that took off under its own power, achieved full flight, continued forward with no loss of speed, and landed at a place as high as that from which it started. And they accomplished this remarkable feat, the beginning of the age of flight, at Kitty Hawk, on the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

McCoulough recounts the many 19th century scoffers who declared unequivocally that "man will never fly." And he quotes portions of an 1869 poem that ridicules the attempt to soar like the birds. I had never heard this delightfully comic poem. Below is the first stanza. For those interested I quote the entire poem at the end of this post. Enjoy!

Darius Greene and His Flying-Machine (1869) by  John Townsend Trowbridge, 1827-1916.

If ever there lived a Yankee lad,
Wise or otherwise, good or bad,
Who, seeing the birds fly, didn't jump
With flapping arms from stake or stump,
Or, spreading the tail
Of his coat for a sail,
Take a soaring leap from post or rail,
And wonder why
He couldn't fly,
And flap and flutter and wish and try -
If ever you knew a country dunce
Who didn't try that as often as once,
All I can say is, that's a sign
He never would do for a hero of mine.

This month's Ocracoke Newsletter is the story of whale and porpoise fishing on the Outer Banks. You can read it here: http://www.villagecraftsmen.com/news082115.htm.

Darius Greene and His Flying-Machine (1869) by  John Townsend Trowbridge, 1827-1916.

If ever there lived a Yankee lad,
Wise or otherwise, good or bad,
Who, seeing the birds fly, didn't jump
With flapping arms from stake or stump,
Or, spreading the tail
Of his coat for a sail,
Take a soaring leap from post or rail,
And wonder why
He couldn't fly,
And flap and flutter and wish and try -
If ever you knew a country dunce
Who didn't try that as often as once,
All I can say is, that's a sign
He never would do for a hero of mine.

An aspiring genius was Darius Green;
The son of a farmer, age fourteen;
His body was long and lank and lean -
Just right for flying, as will be seen;
He had two eyes as bright as a bean,
And a freckled nose that grew between,
A little awry - -for I must mention
That be had riveted his attention
Upon his wonderful invention,
Twisting his tongue as he twisted the strings,
And working his face as he worked the wings,
And with every turn of gimlet and screw
Turning and screwing his mouth round too,
Till his nose seemed bent
To catch the scent,
Around some corner, of new-baked pies,
And his wrinkled cheeks and his squinting yes
Grew puckered into a queer grimace,
That made him look very droll in the face,
And also very wise.

And wise he must have been, to do more
Than ever a genius did before,
Excepting Daedalus of yore
And his son Icarus, who wore
Upon their backs
Those wings of wax
He had read of in the old almanacs.
Darius was clearly of the opinion
That the air is also man's dominion,
And that, with paddle or fin or pinion,
We soon or late shall navigate
The azure as now we sail the sea.
The thing looks simple enough to me;
And if you doubt it,
Hear how Darius reasoned about it.

"The birds can fly an' why can't I?
Must we give in," says he with a grin,
"That the bluebird an' phoebe
Are smarter'n we be?
Jest fold our hands an' see the swaller
An' blackbird an' catbird beat us holler?
Doos the little chatterin,' sassy wren,
No bigger'n my thumb, know more than men?
Just show me that!
Ur prove 't the bat
Hez got more brains than's in my hat.
An' I'll back down, an' not till then!"
He argued further: "Nur I can't see
What's th' use o' wings to a bumblebee,
Fur to git a livin' with, more'n to me; —
Ain't my business
Important's his'n is?
That Icarus
Made a perty muss —
Him an' his daddy Daedalus
They might 'a' knowed wings made o' wax
Wouldn't stand sun-heat an' hard whacks.
I'll make mine o' luther,
Ur suthin' ur other."

And he said to himself, as he tinkered and planned:
"But I ain't goin' to show my hand
To mummies that never can understand
The fust idee that's big an' grand."
So he kept his secret from all the rest,
Safely buttoned within his vest;
And in the loft above the shed
Himself he locks, with thimble and thread
And wax and hammer and buckles and screws
And all such things as geniuses use; —
Two bats for patterns, curious fellows!
A charcoal-pot and a pair of bellows;
Some wire, and several old umbrellas;

A carriage-cover, for tail and wings;
A piece of harness; and straps and strings;
And a big strong box,
In which he locks
These and a hundred other things.
His grinning brothers, Reuben and Burke
And Nathan and Jotham and Solomon, lurk
Around the corner to see him work —
Sitting cross-legged, like a Turk,
Drawing the waxed-end through with a jerk,
And boring the holes with a comical quirk
Of his wise old head, and a knowing smirk.
But vainly they mounted each other's backs,
And poked through knot-holes and pried through cracks;
With wood from the pile and straw from the stacks
He plugged the knot-holes and caulked the cracks;
And a dipper of water, which one would think
He had brought up into the loft to drink
When he chanced to be dry,
Stood always nigh,
For Darius was sly!
And whenever at work he happened to spy
At chink or crevice a blinking eye.
He let the dipper of water fly.
"Take that! an' ef ever ye git a peep,
Guess ye'll ketch a weasel asleep!"
And he sings as he locks
His big strong box: —

"The weasel's head is small an' trim,
An' he is little an' long an' slim,
An' quick of motion an' nimble of limb
An' ef you'll be
Advised by me
Keep wide awake when ye're ketchin' him!"

So day after day
He stitched and tinkered and hammered away,
Till at last 'twas done —
The greatest invention under the sun!
"An' now," says Darius, "hooray fur some fun!"

'Twas the Fourth of July,
And the weather was dry,
And not a cloud was on all the sky,
Save a few light fleeces, which here and there,
Half mist, half air,
Like foam on the ocean went floating by
just as lovely a morning as ever was seen
For a nice little trip in a flying-machine.
Thought cunning Darius: "Now I shan't go
Along 'ith the fellers to see the show.
I'll say I've got sich a terrible coughl
An' then, when the folks 'ave all gone off,
I'll hev full swing fur to try the thing,
An' practise a little on the wing."
"Ain't goin' to see the celebration?"
Says brother Nate. "No; botheration
I've got sich a cold - a toothache - I
My gracious - feel's though I should fly!"
Said Jotham, "Sho!
Guess ye better go."
But Darius said, "No!
Shouldn't wonder 'f you might see me, though,
'Long 'bout noon, ef I git red
O' this jumpin,' thumpin' pain 'n my head."
For all the while to himself he said: —

"I tell ye what!
I'll fly a few times around the lot,
To see how 't seems, then soon's I've got
The hang o' the thing, ez likely's not,
I'll astonish the nation,
An' all creation,
By flyin' over the celebration!
Over their heads I'll sail like an eagle;
I'll balance myself on my wings like a sea-gull:
I'll dance on the chimbleys; I'll stand on the steeple;
I'll flop up to winders an' scare the people!
I'll light on the liberty-pole, an' crow;
An' I'll say to the gawpin' fools below,
'What world's this 'ere
That I've come near?'
Fur I'll make 'em b'lieve I'm a chap f'm the Moon;
An' I'll try to race 'ith their ol'balloon!"
He crept from his bed;
And, seeing the others were gone, he said,
"I'm gittin' over the cold 'n my head."
And away he sped,
To open the wonderful box in the shed.

His brothers had walked but a little way,
When Jotham to Nathan chanced to say,
"What is the feller up to, hey!"
"Don'o'- the's suthin' ur other to pay,
Ur he wouldn't 'a' stayed tu hum to-day."
Says Burke, "His toothache's all 'n his eye!
He never'd missed a Fo'th-o'-July,
Ef he hedn't got some machine to try."
Then Sol, the little one, spoke: "By darn!
Le's hurry back an' hide 'n the barn,
An' pay him fur tellin' us that yarn!"
"Agreed!" Through the orchard they creep back
Along by the fences, behind the stack,
And one by one, through a hole in the wall,
In under the dusty barn they crawl,
Dressed in their Sunday garments all;
And a very astonishing sight was that,
When each in his cobwebbed coat and hat
Came up through the floor like an ancient rat
And there they hid;
And Reuben slid
The fastenings back, and the door undid.
"Keep dark!" said he,
"While I squint an' see what the' is to see."

As knights of old put on their mail -
From head to foot an iron suit
Iron jacket and iron boot,
Iron breeches, and on the head
No hat, but an iron pot instead,
And under the chin the bail,
(I believe they called the thing a helm,)
Then sallied forth to overwhelm
The dragons and pagans that plagued the earth
So this modern knight
Prepared for flight,
Put on his wings and strapped them tight
Jointed and jaunty, strong and light —
Buckled them fast to shoulder and hip;
Ten feet they measured from tip to tip
And a helm had he, but that he wore,
Not on his head, like those of yore,
But more like the helm of a ship.

"Hush!" Reuben said,
"He's up in the shed!
He's opened the winder — I see his head!
He stretches it out, an' pokes it about,
Lookin' to see 'f the coast is clear,
An' nobody near; —
Guess he don' o' who's hid in here!
He's riggin' a spring-board over the
sill!Stop laffin,' Solomon! Burke, keep still!
He's a climbin' out now — Of all the things!
What's he got on? I vum, it's wings!
An' that 'tother thing? I vum, it's a taill
An' there he sits like a hawk on a rail!
Steppin' careful, he travels the length
Of his spring-board, and teeters to try its strength.
Now he stretches his wings, like a monstrous bat;
Peeks over his shoulder; this way an' that,
Fur to see 'f the' 's any one passin' by;
But the' 's on'y a caf an' goslin nigh.
They turn up at him a wonderin' eye,
To see — The dragon! he's goin' to fly!
Away he goes! Jimminy! what a jump!
Flop — flop — an' plump
To the ground with a thump!
Flutt'rin' an' flound'rin' all 'n a lump!"

As a demon is hurled by an angel's spear,
Heels over head, to his proper sphere —
Heels over head, and head over heels,
Dizzily down the abyss he wheels —
So fell Darius. Upon his crown,
In the midst of the barn-yard, he came down,
In a wonderful whirl of tangled strings,
Broken braces and broken springs,
Broken tail and broken wings,
Shooting-stars, and various things;
Barn-yard litter of straw and chaff,
And much that wasn't so sweet by half.
Away with a bellow fled the calf,
And what was that? Did the gosling laugh?
'Tis a merry roar from the old barn-door.
And he hears the voice of Jotham crying,
"Say, D'rius! how do you like flyin'?"

Slowly, ruefully, where he lay,
Darius just turned and looked that way,
As he stanched his sorrowful nose with his cuff.
"Wal, I like flyin' well enough,"
He said; "but the' ain't such a thunderin' sight
O' fun in 't when ye come to light."
I just have room for the MORAL here:
And this is the moral — Stick to your sphere.
Or if you insist, as you have the right,
On spreading your wings for a loftier flight,
The moral is - Take care how you light.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Ablewhackets

For fifty years I have kept a copy of Mutiny on the Bounty on my book shelf...but never read it. A few days ago I spied the entire trilogy (Mutiny on the Bounty, Men Against the Sea, and Pitcairn's Island), and decided I must read these classics. The pages are yellow and brittle, but the books are wonderfully written.

In chapter IV ("Tyranny") of Mutiny on the Bounty I came across this paragraph: "We had supped and were passing the time at Ablewhackets—a game I have never seen played ashore. It is commenced by playing cards, which must be named the Good Books. The table is termed the Board of Green Cloth, the hand the Flipper; the light the Glim, and so on. To call a table a table, or a card a card, brings an instant cry of "Watch," whereupon the delinquent must extend his Flipper to be severely firked [beaten or struck] with a stocking full of sand by each of the players in turn, who repeat his offense while firking him. Should the pain bring an oath to his lips, as is more than likely, there is another cry of "Watch," and he undergoes a second round of firking by all hands. As will be perceived, the game is a noisy one."


















I had never heard of Ablewhackets, but imagined my ancestors playing the game aboard sailing ships. I wondered what the rules of the card game were. I discovered several descriptions of the procedures, but no explanations of the game itself.

"ABLE-WACKETS. blows given on the palm of the hand with a twisted handkerchief, instead of a ferula [a flat ruler with a widened end, formerly used for punishing children]; a jocular punishment among seamen, who sometimes play at cards for wackets, the loser suffering as many strokes as he has lost games." (From the 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue by Capt. Grose).

"Able-whackets. A popular sea-game with cards, wherein the loser is beaten over the palms of the hands with a handkerchief tightly twisted like a rope. Very popular with horny-fisted salts." (From The Sailor’s Word-Book, by William Henry Smyth, 1867.)

This is what I learned from http://www.worldwidewords.org/weirdwords/ww-abe3.htm: "None of the many descriptions explain the card game itself. Though it was clearly of secondary importance in the gulling of the unwary, it must have had some rules, but we’re never told what they were."

I have come to believe that ablewhackets could be played with many different card games. Perhaps innovative versions were created regularly as sailors whiled away long hours at sea.

Stephen Brennan relates this story ("Davy Jones's Gift" by John Masefield) in his 2011 book, The Best Sailing Stories Ever Told:

"And each of them had a hand of cards, and a length of knotted rope-yarn, and they were playing able-whackets. Each man in turn put down a card, and swore a new blasphemy, and if his swear didn’t come as he played the card, then all the others hit him with their teasers."

I suppose this is more than any of our readers wanted to know about ablewhackets (the name probably derives from "able-bodied seaman" [a rank in the merchant marines] and "whack" [to strike forcefully with a sharp blow]), but it is an entertaining glimpse into nautical history.  

This month's Ocracoke Newsletter is the story of whale and porpoise fishing on the Outer Banks. You can read it here: http://www.villagecraftsmen.com/news082115.htm.

Monday, August 24, 2015

1950s Visit to Ocracoke & Portsmouth

In the mid-1950s Ken Burke made his first visit to the Outer Banks. He was a sophomore at the University of Richmond, and was on semester break. He and a buddy got their car stuck in the sand "just below Virginia Beach" and had to be pulled out by a Coast Guard bulldozer. At Oregon Inlet they slept on the ground (it was sleeting), waiting for the ferry next morning.

Not until the next year did Ken and his friend venture all the way to Ocracoke. Highway 12 had not yet been built on Ocracoke, so they planned to walk from Hatteras Inlet to the village. Fortunately, a Coast Guardsman offered them a ride in his 4-wheel-drive vehicle. Ken relates that, "Interestingly enough, as we went down the beach, there were cattle actually standing in the surf. Not ponies, but cattle."

A fall storm ("coming out of the southwest") forced them to find shelter in the "old USA Navy concrete lookout tower for submarines [see photo below]."

















The next day they walked into Ocracoke Village.

But Ken had heard about Portsmouth Island, and he was determined to get there. In April of 1957 he and two more friends returned to Ocracoke. They booked passage on the mailboat Aleta, and were met in the channel by Tom Bragg who introduced them to Portsmouth.  They spent three days, the beginning of his love affair with that most isolated Outer Banks village.

(The above information comes from an interview conducted by James White, and printed in the Summer, 2015 issue of Doctor's Creek Journal, published by The Friends of Portsmouth Island.)

You can read Ken Burke's 1958 Honors Thesis,  "The history of Portsmouth, North Carolina, from its founding in 1753 to its evacuation in the face of federal forces in 1861," here: http://scholarship.richmond.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1410&context=honors-theses.

This month's Ocracoke Newsletter is the story of whale and porpoise fishing on  the Outer Banks. You can read the story here: http://www.villagecraftsmen.com/news082115.htm.

Friday, August 21, 2015

Whale & Porpoise Fishing

Many people are unaware that Outer Bankers engaged in whale and porpoise fishing as recently as 1926. You can read about these enterprises in our latest Ocracoke Newsletter at http://www.villagecraftsmen.com/news082115.htm.










You will even learn why the island's northernmost creek is called Try Yard Creek.

Thursday, August 20, 2015

Horseshoe Crab

This past weekend Amy, David, Lachlan, and I were enjoying a beautiful Sunday afternoon at the South Point. Lachlan was exploring the edge of a deep pool connected to the ocean when he shouted for me to come see a large horseshoe crab.


















David took this 31 second video of the giant arthropod making his way back to deeper water.



This month's Ocracoke Newsletter tells the delightful story of the 19th century "Stovepipe Hat" wreck. It has been told for years in books & magazines, but it probably never happened. You can read the story (and my research) here: http://www.villagecraftsmen.com/news072115.htm.