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IN THE 
 
 HEART 
 
 OF CAPE ANN 
 
 OR THE 
 
 STORY OF DOQTOWN 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES E. MANN 
 
 With Illustrations by Catherine M. Follansbee 
 
 GLOUCESTER, MASS. : 
 
 PROCTER BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 
 
 1 08 MAIN STREET 
 
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PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 These Dogtown Sketches were written ahiiost 
 wholly as the result of an effort to satisfy the curiosity 
 of the author as to the history, biography and tra- 
 ditions of the deserted village, their continuation and 
 publication being encouraged by the general atten- 
 tion they commanded. It is not claimed that they 
 are complete, l^ut it is believed they contain far more 
 information than has yet been published concerning 
 their subject. The writer desires to express his deep 
 sense of obligation to those who, before the publica- 
 tion of the matter originally prepared, and since, 
 have assisted by furnishing facts and reminiscences. 
 
4 PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 Thev have made it possible to get together a mass of 
 authentic history, where at first it seemed that at best, 
 only a few traditions were to be rescued from ol)liv- 
 ion. Of course nearly all the material is in the 
 memories of Cape Ann's aged people, and it has been 
 a source of unalloyed pleasure to sit by them and 
 listen to their discourses upon the days of long ago. 
 Among the precious memories of this year will be 
 those of many an hour spent in ancient kitchens, 
 while sweet-faced old ladies, often with sweeter voi- 
 ces, or men with whitened locks and time-furrowed 
 cheeks, recalled the stories told them by the fireside 
 by other dear old women and noble old men of a past 
 century. No wonder Gloucester has developed into 
 such an admirable and lovable a community, when 
 there still lingers among her people so many of their 
 honored progenitors. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 WHERE IS DOGTOWN ? 
 
 Ever since Goldsmith wrote his "Deserted Vil- 
 lage" there has been a weird, poetic and sentimental 
 charm about abandoned settlements, that has so ex- 
 erted itself over some minds that it has become a 
 pleasure to make the investigations incident to a cor- 
 rect understanding: of what manner of men found it 
 convenient or necessary to build habitations which it 
 afterwards became advisable to desert. Archaeologists 
 have given lifetimes, almost, to the imestigation of 
 the modes of life of the cliff dwellers of Arizona and 
 
6 The Story of Dogtozvn. 
 
 New Mexico. Tliere are comparatively few ruined 
 cities in America ; and even more rare are tlie in- 
 stances of deserted villages which were once inhabited 
 bv white men, the progenitors of people who are liv- 
 ing to-dav. It lias been the pleasure of tlie writer 
 during the past few months to acquaint many people 
 with their ancestors, in a figin\ative sense, for in the 
 heart of Cape Ann mav be found a village which 
 was once inhabited by the grandparents or more dis- 
 tant progenitors of manv who are to-dav acti\e in the 
 affairs of Gloucester and Rockport. 
 
 To-dav the onlv inliabitants of " Dog^town " are 
 lowing kine, an occasional decrepit horse turned out 
 to pasture as a pensioner, or woodchucks, crows and 
 migrating birds. Its grass-grown streets are there, 
 its foot-worn door-stones mav be used for a restinof- 
 place by the occasional summer toinist on a tramp 
 across the cape, a curiosity seeking Appalachian, or bv 
 the more numerous berry pickers. The cleared land 
 in the midst of such a \n aste of rocks, as is the rule in 
 Dogtown Commons, always leads to speculation ; 
 e\'en more suggesti\e are the walled yards and the 
 manv cellars, both of houses and farm building's. 
 
 Concerning these old cellars novelists have woven 
 their romances, and poets have sung. Nearly a half- 
 century ago they excited the interest of Richard 
 
The Story of Dogtown. 7 
 
 Henry Dana and Tlionias Starr King and the circle 
 of rare minds they drew to Cape Ann with them. 
 Long afterwards, Col. Thomas Wentworth Hig- 
 ginson, in one of those delightfnl bits of reminiscence 
 scattered throngh "Oldport Days," described a walk 
 to Dogtown Commons from Pigeon Cove : 
 
 "What can Hawthorne mean by saying in his 
 English diary that 'an American would never under- 
 stand the passage in Bunyan about Christian and 
 Hopeful going astray along by a by-path into the 
 grounds of Giant Despair, from there being no stiles 
 and by-paths in our country' ? So much of the charm 
 of American pedestrianism lies in the by-paths : For 
 instance, the whole interior of Cape Ann, beyond 
 Gloucester, is a continuous woodland, with granite 
 ledges everywhere cropping out, around which the 
 high-road winds, following the curving and indented 
 line of the sea, and dotted here and there with fishing 
 hamlets. This whole interior is traversed by a net- 
 work of foot-paths, rarely passable for a wagon, 
 and not always for a horse, but enabling the pe- 
 destrian to go from any one of the villages to any 
 other, in a line almost direct, and always under an 
 agreeable shade. By the longest of these hidden 
 ways, one may go from Pigeon Cove to Gloucester, 
 ten miles, without seeing a public road. In the little 
 
8 TJic Story of Dog-fozv?/. 
 
 inn at tlie former village there used to hang an old 
 map of this whole forest region,^ giving a chart of 
 some of these paths, which were said to date back to 
 the first settlement of the countrv. One of them, for 
 instance, was called on the map 'Old road from 
 Sandy Bay to 'vSquam Meeting-House through the 
 Woods'; but the road is now scarcely even a bridle- 
 path, and the most faithful worshipper could not seek 
 'Squam meeting-house in the family chaise. These 
 woods have been lately devastated ; but when I first 
 knew the region, it was as good as any German 
 forest. Often we stepped from the edge of the sea 
 into some gap in tlie woods; there seemed hardlv 
 more than a rabbit-track, vet presently we met some 
 wayfarer who had crossed tlie Cape bv it. 
 
 "A pinev dell gave some vista of the broad sea we 
 were leaving, and an opening in the woods displayed 
 another blue sea-line before ; the encountering breezes 
 interchanged odors of berry bushes and scent of brine ; 
 penetrating further among oaks and walnuts we came 
 upon some little cottage, quaint and sheltered as any 
 Spenser drew ; it was not built on the high-road, and 
 turned its vine-clad gable awav from even the foot- 
 path. Then the ground rose and other breezes came ; 
 
 1 This is a reference to the " Mason" map of Cajie Ann. A copy of it 
 hangs at the present time in the office of the city clerk. 
 
The Story of Dogtoivn. 9 
 
 perhaps we climbed trees to look for landmarks, and 
 found only an unseen quarry. Three miles inland, as 
 I remember, we found the hearthstones of a vanished 
 settlement; then we passed a swamp with cardinal 
 flowers ; then a cathedral of noble pines, topped with 
 crows' nests. If we had not gone astray, by this time 
 we would have presently emerged on Dogtown Com- 
 mon, an elevated tableland, overspread with great 
 boulders as with houses, and encircled with a girdle 
 of green woods and another girdle of blue sea. I 
 know of nothing like that gray waste of boulders ; it 
 is a natural Salisbury Plain, of which icebergs and 
 ocean currents were the Druidic builders ; in that 
 multitude of couchant monsters there seems a sense 
 of suspended life ; you feel as if they must speak and 
 answer to each other in the silent nights, but by day 
 only the wandering sea-birds seek them, on their way 
 across the Cape, and the sweet-bay and green fern 
 imbed them in a softer and deeper setting as the years 
 go by. This is the 'height of ground' of that wild 
 foot-path ; but as you recede farther from the outer 
 ocean and approach Gloucester, you come among still 
 wilder ledges, unsafe without a guide, and you find in 
 one place a cluster of deserted houses, too difficult 
 of access to remove even their materials, so that they 
 are left to moulder alone. I used to wander in those 
 
lo The Sto?y of Dogtowit. 
 
 woods, summer after summer, till I had made mv- own 
 chart of their devious tracks, and now when I close 
 mv eyes in this Oldport midsummer, the soft Italian 
 air takes on something of a Scandina\ ian vigor ; for 
 the incessant roll of carriages I hear the tinkle of the 
 quarrvman's hammer and the veerv's song ; and I long 
 for those perfumed and breezv pastures, and for those 
 promontories of granite where the fresh water is nec- 
 tar and the salt sea lias a regal blue." 
 
 Col. Higginson hints in the above passage at many 
 of the topographical and geographical features of the 
 Heart of Cape Ann. The old road from Sandy Bay 
 to 'Squam is what is now known as Revere street. 
 He draws the line between Dogtown village and 
 Dogtown Commons with as much care as the most 
 particular old-timer could wish. He also mentions 
 Lamb or Raccoon ledge, it is difhcult to say which. 
 
 Dogtown is a pathetic, fascinating place. Whv did 
 more than one hundred families exile themselves from 
 the life of the villages so near them, and dwell in lone- 
 liness and often in povert\ , in this barren and secluded 
 spot? The name ''Dogtown," it is well understood, 
 came from the canines kept by the so-called "widows " 
 of the place, when the evil davs came that saw their 
 natural protectors either in their graves or buried 
 beneath the ocean. 
 
The Story of Dogtown. 1 1 
 
 There are many approaches to Dogtown. I have 
 quoted Col. Higghison's description of the route from 
 Pigeon Cove, by way of the old road from Sandy Bay 
 to the 'Squam church, which is still passable. Com- 
 ing from 'Squam, one may leave the church, walk 
 a mile through the same road, past the Cape Ann 
 Granite Co.'s quarries, the road passing through the 
 upper end of one, to the house of David Dennison, 
 an ancient gambrel-roofed lean-to, built by Mr. Den- 
 nison's first ancestor on Cape Ann, and a fine sample 
 of the better class of the Dogtown homes. From 
 here he can liranch off to the right, by the Whale's 
 Jaw, and thence go to the deserted village. The road 
 by Goose Cove, near Riverdale, leads to the same 
 point, the Whale's Jaw, a great boulder split by light- 
 ning, or more probably by frost, to resemble the open 
 jaws of a whale. Gee avenue and Stanwood street, 
 in Riverdale, lead past the cellar of Judith R3'on 
 (or Rhines), to that of Abraham Wharf, and thence 
 to the main street of the village. 
 
 Persons coming from East Gloucester may, if they 
 are strong on their feet, go up Webster street and 
 enter the pastures by crossing Lamb Ledge — no small 
 task, for it is one of the most wonderful terminal mo- 
 raines in New England, the boulders being piled one 
 upon another in the most orderly confusion until they 
 
The Story of Dogtozvu, 13 
 
 reach the level of the Commons from the deep valley 
 into which some glacier swept them ages ago. It is 
 a good hour's stint to cross the ledge, and then one 
 passes by Railcut Hill, the highest point on the outer 
 Cape, to the old Rockport road, another picturesque 
 and grass-grown highway of olden times, and enters 
 the Pigeon Cove path which continues by the Whale's 
 Jaw at the clearing once occupied by James VVitham, 
 son of Thomas and grandson of Henrv, the first of the 
 line in this countrv. 
 
 Witham was born in 1693, and built this house at 
 what is known as Stacy's Pines, the location bearing 
 the suggestive title of the "parting path." He en- 
 gaged in tending flocks for the Low family, for $300 
 annuallv, his son Thomas succeedino- him in his work. 
 Only the cellar of the house remains. It was in later 
 years a great resort for young people for mirth and 
 jollity until its demolition. The path continues across 
 the valley in which the Gloucester Branch of the Bos- 
 ton & Maine railroad runs, which bears the marks 
 of the tides on its sentinel ledges, showing that once 
 they flowed through here from Good Harbor or Long 
 Beach to the 'Squam river, and thence to the big rock, 
 "Peter's Pulpit," which in the distance looks like 
 a pitch-roofed house, which stands directly on the 
 Dogtown road, marking the end of the main settle- 
 
H 
 
 TJic Story of Dogto-vu. 
 
 inent. The following diagram may give a clearer 
 
 idea of the foregoing : 
 p, 
 
 A f 
 
 The straight lines in the triangle represent the 
 general direction of three very crooked roads. A is 
 the point on Dogtown road, beyond the intersection 
 of Reynard and Cherry streets, where the road from 
 B meets it. From A the Dogtown road continues up 
 what old residents of Riverdale call "gravel hill,'' 
 past the Vivian barn, and on to the rock variously 
 called "Peter's Pulpit," -Pulpit Rock," and "Uncle 
 Andrew's Rock," at C. It then winds on to the 
 Whale's Jaw. Opposite A is the site of the Nathaniel 
 Day house. B is the point where Gee avenue and 
 Stanwood street meet. The orass-sfrown road from 
 B to C is the "Dogtown Common road," that is, it is 
 the road o\er the Common to Dog-town. That from 
 A to C is the "Dogtown road," and that from A to B 
 is paradoxically called the " back road," though it is 
 nearer civilization than either of the others. Were 
 a prize of $50 to be offered a person wdio would start 
 
The Story of Dogtown. 
 
 15 
 
 from A, go to B, thence to C and back to A without 
 getting off the road, he probably never would receive 
 it. I have been over it many times, and never failed 
 to get lost for a, few moments at least. Perhaps the 
 spirit of Peg Wesson, who did not live in Dogtown, 
 of Luce George, or of Judy Rhines, if Judy really 
 was a witch, has bewitched me for the contemplated 
 sacrilege of writing them up. 
 
 Practically all the old people agree in calling the 
 roads by the names I have given. The Commons 
 road is also sometimes called the " walled-in " road, as 
 the walls occasionally cross it. Old people do not call 
 the cellars on the latter road — of Morgan Stanwood, 
 Judy Rhines, Moll Jacobs and others in "Dogtown," 
 they are on the "Commons." The reader will prob- 
 ably be incapable of drawing so fine a distinction. 
 There were obvious reasons why people who lived on 
 the Commons road should have chosen to do so. 
 
 ^^<v/-# 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE "QL'EEX of the WITCHES." 
 
 The most natural, because the most interesting 
 approach to the village, is by its outpost, the cellar 
 of "Tammy" Younger, the "queen of the witches." 
 at Fox Hill. She was more often seen bv the pred- 
 ecessors of this generation on Cape Ann. was better 
 known, and far more respected and feared than any 
 of her confreres. Perhaps the reader will be better 
 able to judge whether the title for two or three gener- 
 ations bestowed on Tammv was deserved, after a care- 
 ful perusal of this chapter. It is possible that after 
 reading it he may be disposed to transfer the title to 
 her aunt, the redoubtable "Luce George." 
 
TJic Story of Dogtoivn, 17 
 
 Coming from the Harbor village of Gloucester, 
 through Maplcwoocl avenue, one reaches Poplar street, 
 and after turning to the left, soon reaches the bridge 
 at Alewife brook. Beneath a solitary poplar, on a lit- 
 tle rise of ground, is the cellar of Tammy Younger. 
 An apple orchard stands near. The cellar has been 
 cleared recently of a growth of sumacs which nearly 
 ol^scured it. Thomazine Younger was born July 28, 
 1753, and was the daughter of William Younger, 
 sojourner, and Lucy Foster, who were married on 
 March 6, 1750, by Rev. John White, pastor of the 
 First Church. 
 
 A recent writer claims that this house was in later 
 years the resort of buccaneers and lawless men. For- 
 tune telling, card playing and other amusements 
 whiled away their time. Money was found in the 
 cellar after Tammy's death. These assertions are 
 denied by members of her family who still remain, 
 and apparently with good reason. 
 
 A friend of the writer was, a few years since, 
 chasino- a woodchuck, which went into the cellar. 
 In di2"2rino- for the animal he unearthed a handsomely 
 ornamented snuff box, the cover bearing a represen- 
 tation of a full rigged ship. It was probably Tam- 
 mv's, as she is said to have been a snuff taker as well 
 as smoker, but it has been credited to a possible myth- 
 

 
T'he Story of Dogtown. 19 
 
 ical British sea captain who was wont to visit the 
 lioiise. 
 
 Mr. John Low Babson, one of Gloucester's oldest 
 residents, recalls that in the early twilight of an autum- 
 nal evening he was going from Fresh Water Cove to 
 his home, still standing, near the Green in the "up 
 in town" village, and had to pass through the bury- 
 ing ground near the bridge. A man was digging 
 a grave. "Who is that for?" he asked. "Tammy 
 Younger," the sexton replied. "Is she dead?" was 
 young Babson's surprised query. "We don't very 
 often dig graves for folks that aint dead," was the 
 testy response. Mr. Babson gives a good illustration 
 of the prevalent impressions concerning Tammy, in 
 a reminiscence of his boyhood. He was driving home 
 the cows, past her dwelling, when she came to the 
 door and accosted him, begging him, with strong 
 expletives, if he hned her life, to get her a pail 
 of water. He got it, of course, from the brook 
 behind the cabin. No one ever refused Tammy. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Day, of Wheeler's Point, says that 
 Tammy died Feb. 4, 1839. She was therefore 76 
 years old. Mrs. Day's father, John Hodgkins, was 
 a cabinet maker, who lived in the house just above 
 the railroad track, on Washington street. Elizabeth 
 was a child of ten years. For two or three years 
 
20 TJic Story of Dogtoivn. 
 
 Tammy, who often saw her, had taken a fancy to her, 
 and would often ask her to come and live with her at 
 Fox Hill, as she was lonelv. Tamniv used to make 
 butter and carr\- it to the Harbor to sell, and when- 
 ever she passed aloui^^ other members of the family 
 would say, "Here comes Aunt Tarn to take you up 
 to lier house with her." The little girl's heart was 
 thus constantly terrorized with the thought that Tam- 
 my would some time capture her, and her feelings ma}' 
 well be imagined when on that stormy winter dav 
 word came that Tammvwas dead and that Mr. Hod"-- 
 kins must make her a cofiin. 
 
 Old Mrs. Pulcifer, whose daughter recently died 
 at a great age, had attended her in her last sickness, 
 and Oliyer, Tammy's nephew, who was brought up 
 by her, had deferred to Mrs. Pulcifer's advice as to 
 the funeral arrangements. He said he wanted to do 
 everything that could be done to have things nice, so 
 when advised to have as good a coffin as could be 
 made, with a pure silver plate, he at once ordered it. 
 It was of course thought the thing in those davs to 
 have "spirit" on funeral occasions, and in deference 
 to Mrs. Pulcifer's opinion, he ordered no rum, or 
 other cheap liquors, but cordials, wines, and other 
 of the better class of beverag'es. Mrs. Pulcifer is 
 remembered to have said afterward tliat her only 
 
TJie Story of Dogtown. 21 
 
 regret was that she liad not ordered the cluireh bells 
 tolled for Tammy, as she was sure it \vould have 
 been done. 
 
 -' But to return to Mr. Hodgkins and Tammy's cof- 
 fin. All that rainy day he toiled upon it, and toward 
 night it was ready for polishing. He had a large 
 kitchen, and it was his custom when polishing coffins 
 to bring them into that room, where he had a better 
 chance to work. The children were therefore used to 
 such sights. But on this particular night the storm 
 was so severe that he did not care to risk spoiling his 
 work by taking it back to the shop, so after rubbing 
 it down with beeswax he stood it up in the corner, 
 blew out his candle and said nothing. 
 
 Soon bedtime came. The children, sitting by the 
 comfortable open fire in the adjoining room, were 
 warned by their mother to retire: "Come John, it's 
 time for you and Elizabeth to go to bed." John took 
 a candle, and started. It was necessary to go through 
 the kitchen in order to reach the chambers above. 
 As he opened the door, the light of his candle fell on 
 the shiny coffin in the corner. Other people might 
 not believe Tammy was a witch ; on that night John 
 was sure she was both a witch and a ghost. He be- 
 gatt to whimper, "I won't go to bed with Aunt Tam 
 Younger's coffin in the house," said he. As he drew 
 
22 
 
 TJic Story of Dogtoivii. 
 
 back, Elizabeth bravely stepped into the breach, but 
 one sight of the coffin was enough, and she too, lie- 
 came panicky, and declared that there was no sleep for 
 her if that coffin was to remain. Mother impatiently 
 got up, and boldlv threw the door wide open. She 
 was never known to be afraid of anything, but a look 
 unnerved her also, and she joined with the children 
 and said she would never go to l)ed with that thing 
 there. In vain the father said the rain would spoil 
 it; it was three against one. "Spoil it or not," said 
 the good housewife, "I won't stay in the house with 
 it." So "pa" gave in, got a quilt, wrapped it up. 
 and bore it through the storm to the shop. 
 
 Tammy had a square window in the rear of her 
 house, with a wooden door. This was kept shut, 
 there being a long string attached to it, by which 
 Tammy could open it at will. The sound of a team 
 crossing the bridge over the brook was usually a 
 signal for Tammy to swing open the shutter and 
 boldly communicate with the driver. A footstep on 
 the bridge would also serve to open the window. If 
 
The Story of Dogtown. 23 
 
 Tammy asked for a mackerel or any other thing she 
 saw in the hand or the team of a passer-by, she 
 usually got it, or the unlucky traveller got a piece of 
 her mind. On one autumn day a luckless youth jDass- 
 ing noticed a big pile of pumpkins sunning against 
 the rear of the house. Crossing the lot to avoid the 
 steep liill, as many do to-day, he thoughtlessly pulled 
 out one, low down in the pile. The effect was unex- 
 pected, for at once the whole collection coasted down 
 the hill into the brook. Tammy's window fiew open. 
 A torrent of vocal pyrotechnics accompanied the 
 hours of labor that followed, as that unhappy boy 
 fished out the pumpkins, and toiled back and forth up 
 the hill until they were piled up again. 
 
 As is well known, a good deal of the land on Dog- 
 town Commons is in the hands of the Younger 
 family. I have said that Oliver Young^er was brougfht 
 up by his aunt, and it seems that he was unaware of 
 the fact that the land belonged to his father and not 
 to her. Many years after his father's death, he was 
 remarking to one of the Aliens, a neighbor, what a 
 care his aunt's land was to him, and Allen responded, 
 "Well, it's all yours, anyway. Your father willed it 
 to you, for I signed the will as one of the witnesses." 
 This was news to Oliver, but acting on the hint given 
 he waited an opportunity when Tammy was away, 
 
24 
 
 The Story of Dog town. 
 
 and tlien ransacked tlie house. In the secret ch'awer 
 of a small table, he found the will. Under ordinar\ 
 circumstances it would have been outlawed, but as 
 this was the first knowledge anyone had of its exist- 
 ence, it was admitted to probate. 
 
 . r 
 
 While Tammv Younger won for herself a reputa- 
 tion as a woman with a very choice vocabular\ , es- 
 pecially in the line of invective, she evidently was 
 "not as bad as she has been painted," as Mr. Benja- 
 min P. Kidder of Rockport savs, and his testimony is 
 confirmed bv a^jed Betsev Elwell of Maiden, who 
 remembers her well, as well as by Mrs. Almira 
 Riggs, but recently deceased. The truth seems to be 
 that Tammv had an aunt, known by the name of 
 "Luce (Lucy) George." vShe it was who originally 
 lived in the Fox Hill House, and who used to stand 
 at the door of her cabin and bewitch the oxen so that 
 
The Story of Dogtown. 25 
 
 they would stand with their tongues run out, but 
 could not come up the hill until some of the corn they 
 drew was contributed to her. vShe, like Peg Wesson, 
 is said to have had the art of so bewitching a load of 
 wood that it would not stay on the ox team until a 
 portion had been unloaded at her door. It is said 
 she would go to the wharves, when the fishing vessels 
 came in, and exact her tribute of fish. Of course 
 these are traditions, but I give them for what they are 
 worth to susceptible minds. Tammy Younger lived 
 with her aunt. Hence the confusion of the two. 
 Tammy was not tall and raw-boned, as some have 
 alleged, but short and inclined to plumpness. 
 
 At one time in her life, she decided to part with 
 two rather long teeth that decorated each side of her 
 upper jaw. They were not as long as Black Nell's, 
 which one old lady insists were fully an inch in 
 length, nor as long as "Judy Rhines'," but they were 
 troublesome, so she sent for "Granther Stannard" 
 to act in the capacity of dentist. This must have 
 been before the old gentleman became convinced that 
 his lees were made of sflass, and refused to use them, 
 for he went over from his house on the "walled-in 
 way." Tammv seated herself in a chair, and Capt. 
 vStanwood took a firm hold with his nippers and soon 
 a tooth gave way. Being a joker, he only drew it 
 
26 
 
 llic Story of Dogtoivn. 
 
 partly down, where it rested in plain sight, against 
 her under lip. He then drew down the other to 
 exactly the same length, and immediately afterwards 
 announced, that owing to the obstinacy of the teeth, 
 he could do no more for her. The pen refuses to 
 record the torrent of picturesque language which 
 history alleges was poured upon "Johnny Morgan's" 
 luckless head. After worrying her awhile, the teeth 
 were taken out. 
 
 AN ANCIENT MANTLEPIECE. 
 
m^M^^^ 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FROM FOX IIILL OVER THE BACK ROAD. 
 
 Notwithstandino: the various theories which have 
 been brought forward to exphiin the original peopling 
 of Dogtown, and its mvsterious decline,, the writer 
 believes it may all be traced to a circumstance which 
 is in no sense mysterious, but on the contrary, just 
 what might have been expected. This circumstance 
 was the Iniilding of the bridge at Riverdale and the 
 Goose Cove Dam, each making it possible to con- 
 struct the road on the easterly side of the mill pond, 
 and making what had been the road to Annisquam to 
 the harbor a "back road." 
 
 The reader can easily imagine the condition 
 of affairs when the road from the Green northerly led 
 
28 l^hc Story of Dogtozvn. 
 
 only to Wheeler's Point. Then he must start from 
 the Green through what is now Poplar street, turn up 
 over Fox Hill, and wind down to Gravel Hill and 
 across the moor to the vicinitv of the Castle, and 
 thence make his wav over the hill hv the Rigrgrs house 
 and around Goose Cove. 
 
 It will thus be seen that the central villa2:e of Dosf- 
 town was but a very short distance from the main 
 road, while what is now Riverdale village is quite 
 a distance from it. As old people tell us, it was then 
 "going up into the city" to go to Dogtown. There 
 was nothing singular at all that under those condi- 
 tions Dogtowni should ha\e thri\en, and that \vhen 
 the building of the bridge and dam occurred, and the 
 whole tide of travel left this road and went around 
 the other way, Dogtown languished and died. It 
 was something like a boom citv in the West, which 
 perishes when the railroad goes elsewhere. 
 
 It was the facts that have been stated that ^ave the 
 home of Luce George and Tamnn Younger such 
 importance, for almost evervbodv had to pass it. 
 
 Just beyond the cellar of Tammv Younger, after 
 the turn in the road which brinirs one in si^fht of Riv- 
 erdale, is the cellar of the first blacksmith in town, 
 lying beside the travelled road, but still in the road- 
 way. Here stood the shop of Joseph Allen, who 
 
The Story of Dogtown. 29 
 
 came to Gloucester in 1674, being encouraged to set- 
 tle by grants of land and a connnon right. He liad 
 two wives and seventeen children. One of the chil- 
 dren, also named Joseph, became very wealthy, his 
 home being on Poplar street, near the liouse occupied 
 by Mr. Joseph A. Procter. 
 
 I think the blacksmith shop must have stood bv 
 the cellar, and the cellar have been that of the house, 
 built perhaps by Allen, but known within the memorv 
 of persons now living as the "Noble" house, the No- 
 bles being ancestors of numerous Riverdale people. 
 
 The white cottage facing up the road immediately 
 beyond is on the site of another old mansion which 
 was standing before the back road became disused, 
 Aunt Pamelia Allen being its occupant. Where the 
 Tracy greenhouses are now located, opposite, was 
 tlie home of John Wharf. When he died it became 
 the property of his daughter "Poll," or Polly Boyn- 
 ton. Her son sold it to the elder Tracv, who tore it 
 down. Mrs. Boynton later married Oliver Younger. 
 She was thus the ancestor of many of the Boyntons 
 and Youngers of to-day. 
 
 Immediately adjoining the Wharf house was the 
 Tristram Coffin house, remembered by many old 
 people. Becky Rich lived where the piggery, at the 
 foot of gravel hill, is now located. She, like many 
 
30 TJic Story of Dogtoivn. 
 
 others, of the fraternity of Dogtowii, told fortunes by 
 means of coffee ofrounds. After Mrs. Day was mar- 
 ried, she recalls going over to Aunt Rich's and having 
 her tell of her beau "clear across the water." She 
 says Aunt Beckv was a nice old woman, but that little 
 reliance was placed in her forecasts. 
 
 Opposite Beckv Rich was the house of Nathaniel 
 Day. He was the son of Anthony Day, and married 
 Mary Davis. He became the father of seventeen 
 childr.en, among them three pairs of twins. His son 
 Isaac was a gunner on the frigate Constitution, now 
 laid up at Portsmouth. A man named Liscomb at 
 one time lived in one side of this old Day house. 
 Eben Dav. of Revnard street, as w^ell as his brother, 
 was born in this house, and all played about the streets 
 of Dogtown in their boyhood. It stood just beyond 
 the barn, which is now there. The cellar has long 
 been filled up. 
 
 At Brown's Plain, half way over the back road 
 toward the Castle, lived Molly Miller. Later she 
 lived at the Harbor on Back street, where Mr. Day 
 recalls seeing her after she had become insane, fas- 
 tened in her room with a clothes-stick. Next on the 
 left was the house of a man named Emmons. 
 
 At one time in her life Aunt Rachel Smith, daugh- 
 ter of Becky Rich, lived in the Castle. Later she 
 
The Story of Dogtown. 31 
 
 lived in the house a little further on the back road 
 from Molly Miller's. It was up on the hill, and the 
 cellar remains. Then with her mother she went to 
 Dooftown street, and lived in the Easter Carter house. 
 After that she returned to the house on the hill. Here 
 her son. Jack Bishop Smith, killed himself, and Aunt 
 Rachel's sorrow over her loss is still vividly recalled. 
 
 "Aunt Smith" used to make a "dire drink," 
 brewed from foxberry leaves, spruce tops, and other 
 botanical specimens, which she was wont to peddle in 
 the villag-e, saving: as she entered a house, "Now, 
 ducky, I've come down to bring a dire drink, for 
 I know you feel springish." 
 
 There were never many houses along this portion 
 of the back road. Between the point wdiere it met 
 the Dogtown Commons road and the Castle stood the 
 house of old Uncle Daniel Tucker, whose daughter 
 Dorcas — " Dark Tucker," as she was called — nursed 
 Judith Ryon in her last sickness. 
 
 It has always seemed to me that this back road 
 more closely resembles the Scottish moors, as we read 
 of them, than any portion of the Commons. About 
 half way across to the Dogtown road formerly stood 
 three houses in a row, while another stood on the 
 opjTOsite side. These houses were located where the 
 boys now play ball, "Brown's Plain," as it is called. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IX DOGTOWX VILLAGE. 
 
 It is quite a little walk from the house of Becky 
 Ricli, on the back road, up gravel hill, to the Vivian 
 barn. This barn is a landmark. When one reaches 
 this point he is quite ready to enjoy the historic spots 
 that lie before him. A few rods beyond the barn the 
 road makes an abrupt turn and almost winds back 
 upon itself. Just at this turn, on the right, is a split 
 ledge, making a break in the stone wall that outlines 
 the road. Into this crack in the ledge, a few vears 
 since, a misguided cow wandered. No human inge- 
 nuity was capable of getting her out alive. Directly 
 
TJie Story of Dogtown. 3;5 
 
 opposite is the site of the home of a man named Chirk. 
 The ceUar on the left, beyond the liarn, which looks 
 so much like a pile of rocks in a hollow, is that 
 of Henry Da\'is. It is directly in the road, the yard 
 not being walled. 
 
 The road, which has descended from the Vivian 
 barn to this place, here begins to rise, and when it 
 reaches a point a few rods further, wliere a fine view 
 of Ipswich Bav, the Newburyport shore, and the West 
 Gloucester hills is obtainable, the most celebrated 
 cellar of Dogtown is seen. This is the reputed home 
 of John Morgan Stanwood, who was many years ago 
 made inimortal by the muse of Hiram Rich in the 
 pages of the Atlantic. It may be well for one to seat 
 himself on the moss-covered door-stone and recall the 
 lines : 
 
 " Morgan Stanwood, patriot : 
 Little more is known ; 
 Nothing of his home is left 
 But the door-step stone. 
 
 " Morgan Stanwood, to our tliought 
 You return once more ; 
 Once again the meadows lift 
 Daisies to your door. 
 
 " Once again the morn is sweet, 
 Half the hay is down : — 
 Hark ! what means that sudden clang 
 From the distant town ? 
 
34 ^/^^ Storv of Dog-tozvn. 
 
 '• Larinn bell and rolling drum 
 Answer sea-borne guns : 
 Laruni bell and rolling drum 
 Summon Freedom's sons I 
 
 '•And the mower thinks to him 
 
 Crv both bell and drum, 
 
 ' Morgan Stanwood. where art thou? 
 
 Here th" invaders come.' 
 
 " Morgan Stanwood needs no more 
 Bell and drum beat call; 
 He is one who, hearing once, 
 Answers once for all. 
 
 •■ Ne'er the mower murmured then. 
 Halt" mv grass is mown. 
 Homespun isn't soldier wear. 
 Each may save his own.' 
 
 '• Fallen scythe and aftermath 
 Lie forgotten now : 
 Winter needs may come and find 
 I'ut a barren mow. 
 
 " Down the musket comes. ' Good wife 
 Wife, a quicker flint I ' 
 And the face that questions face 
 Hath no color in 't. 
 
 " 'Wife, if I am late to-night, 
 Milk the heifer first : 
 Ruth, if I'm not home at all. 
 Worst has come to worst I 
 
 " Morgan Stanwood sped along. 
 Not the common road : 
 Over wall and hill-top straight. 
 Straight for death, he strode: 
 
The Story of Dogtown. 
 
 35 
 
 Leaving- her to hear at night 
 
 Tread of burdened men, 
 Bv the gate and through the gate. 
 
 At the door, and then — 
 
 Ever after that to hear. 
 
 When the grass is sweet, 
 Through the gate and through the night, 
 
 Slowly coming feet. 
 
 Morgan Stanwood's roof is gone ; 
 Here the door-ste[) lies: 
 
 One may stand and think and think, — 
 For the thouglit will rise, 
 
 " Were we where the meadow was. 
 Mowing grass alone. 
 Would we go the way he went, 
 From this very stone.' 
 
 "Were we on the door-step here. 
 Parting for a day, 
 Would we utter words as though 
 Parting were for aye? 
 
 "Would we.? Heart, the hearth is dear. 
 Meadow-math is sweet : 
 Parting be as parting may, 
 After all, we meet. 
 
36 ' The Story of Dogtoivn. 
 
 John Morgan Stanwood was the son of Nehemiah 
 and Rutli (Morgan) Stanwood. The parish records 
 show that he was baptized August 7, 1774. The 
 poem evidently (hd not refer to a Revohitionary expe- 
 rience. He died October 30, 1S53, aged 78. These 
 dates so perplexed nie, notwithstanding the tradition 
 that Stanwood came back from the war a cripple, and 
 the further fact that the children of Mrs. Dade, once 
 a resident of the village, had handed down her stories 
 of the exploits of "Morgan Stannard," that I asked 
 Mr. Rich his authorit}- for the poem. He candidly 
 confessed that altliough he wrote the lines with the 
 full belief that Morgan Stanwood was the hero of 
 Rowe's Bank, Mr. Babson, the historian, later con- 
 vinced him that Peter Lurvey, of Dogtown Commons, 
 and not Stanwood, was the man who should have 
 been immortalized. 
 
 It is quite evident, also, that Stanwood did not 
 live in the house with the "door-step stone," for this 
 is the cellar of John Clark, who resided there within 
 the memorv of men now living. This house, like 
 most of those remaining in the early part of the 
 century, was a small structure, perhaps 15x35, stand- 
 ing side to the road, with a door in the middle, and 
 with an ordinary pitched roof. The cellars, which 
 are generally 15 feet square, were under only one end 
 
The Story of Dogtozvn. 37 
 
 of the houses. The Clark house became so decrepit 
 that it was torn down in 1820. Clark must have died 
 a short time before this date. His wife and children 
 removed to the Harbor. 
 
 The next cellar on the left of the road is that 
 of Philip Priestly, wdio is remembered as a hearty old 
 man of 70, climbing a locust tree to view the festiv- 
 ities of the Harrison hard cider campaign in 1S40. 
 Nathaniel Babson, who helped tear down the Clark 
 house, was formerly engaged in the freighting busi- 
 ness from Gloucester to Boston, and Priestly was one 
 of his crew. Several persons who were born in this 
 house, I am toltl, are still living. Priestly died Nov. 
 37, 1845, of consumption, at the age of 75. 
 
 Philip Priestly was the father of quite a family 
 of children. One of these was Philip Priestly, well 
 remembered in Gloucester, another w^as Mrs. Hannah 
 Curtis; Eliza, who married Joseph Greenleaf ; Ann, 
 who married a Smith ; and Jane. Philip's vs^ife was 
 Naomi Clark. 
 
 Opposite John Clark's house, already mentioned, 
 was the home of William Pulcifer. Between Clark's 
 and Philip Priestly's are two cellars, wdiich some 
 have incorrectly assumed were of farm buildings. 
 If the house with the doorstone is not Clark's — some 
 deny it — one of these is his. The other is that 
 of Arthur Wharf, son of Abraham, the suicide. 
 
38 The Story of Dogtown. 
 
 A large yard, enclosed by a stone wall, marks the 
 site of the next house. Here lived Joseph Stevens, 
 one of the most enterprising of the farmers of the 
 village. I judge him to be the son of another Joseph, 
 from the record of his baptism, Aug. 17, 1763. There 
 is a large collection of foundation stones at this point, 
 showing the location of the barn, with a passage 
 leading to it from the house, the big shed for wagons, 
 and the sheep pen. He kept more stock than any 
 other man in the settlement. He laid claim to more 
 land than any of his neighbors, and kept a good team, 
 which was often in demand. His character is not 
 highly spoken of, however, by those who recall him. 
 
 I am told by old residents of Riverdale that they 
 well remember when the children of Joseph Stevens 
 used to go to school in the old schoolhouse by the 
 mill. 
 
 Directly opposite Stevens' house, on a knoll, stood 
 the house of perhaps the most celebrated character in 
 the village, Esther (or as she was commonlv called. 
 "Easter") Carter. No cellar marks the spot, for 
 there was none under it. It was the only tvvo-storv 
 house standing in Dogtown, within the memory of 
 any person now li\'ing. It was clapboarded, and the 
 boards were fastened on w ith wooden pegs. A man 
 who helped pull down the structure tells me he kept 
 
The Story of Dogtown. 39 
 
 a number of the pegs as souvenirs for quite a while. 
 Easter Carter was living in 1833. She was very 
 poor, and it was a common custom for the young 
 people of Riverdale and Annisquam to make excur- 
 sions to her house, taking their lunches, and getting 
 her to boil cabbage for them. The " cabbage dinner" 
 partaken in picnic style, is still one of the popular 
 institutions of Cape Ann. Easter Carter would tell 
 the fortunes of the young people, doubtless linking 
 their lives together in their forecasts in a way accept- 
 able to the romantic. The walk home in the moon- 
 light would be something to remember, as those 
 Appalachians who have crossed the weird Dogtown 
 pastures by moonlight in later years can testify. One 
 staid old citizen recently informed me he had "often 
 been up there with a parcel of girls." 
 
 Easter Carter was poor, but quite respectable, and 
 undeserving of the distinction which classes her with 
 other Dogtown dames of doubtful reputation. She 
 was a single woman, and though pinched by poverty, 
 very aristocratic. vShe did not like to have people 
 think she, like some of her neighbors, subsisted on 
 berries in the summer time. "I eats no trash," she 
 remarked to a suggestion at one time. One bright 
 Sunday afternoon the parents of David Dennison, 
 with their small boy, went on a walk to the pastures. 
 
40 The Story of Dogtoivit. 
 
 turning in bv Easter Carter's house. He remembers 
 that as they passed, she, divining that they were to 
 pluck berries as refreshment, remarked, ''The berries 
 seem to hide this year." 
 
 Easter Carter was noted as a nurse. It is thought 
 by the venerable Eli Morgan of Lanesville that Easter 
 and her brother William came here from England, 
 which accounts for the silence of the town and parish 
 records concerning them. He says Joseph, a son 
 of William and Annie, lived a long time in Lanesville. 
 
 I have said that Easter Carter was perfectly respect- 
 able, as well as aristocratic, and this character may 
 to some have seemed incompatible with other state- 
 ments. I have been somewhat mystified about it 
 myself. The truth seems to be that when Easter 
 Carter was dead, and the house of Becky Rich on the 
 back road had become too dilapidated for occupancy, 
 she was taken up, bag and baggage, and installed in 
 Easter's house. Becky had a daughter, Rachel, widow 
 of Thomas Smith, who went with her. It appears 
 that the woman who told fortunes, boiled cabbage, 
 baked Johnny cake, and made life merry for all the 
 youth who visited her, was not Easter Carter, nor 
 Becky Rich, but Rachel Smith. I am very positive 
 that there are old men living now who as youths used 
 to go up to Granny Rich's, but wdio have confused 
 
The Story of Dogtozvn. 
 
 41 
 
 her name with that of Easter Carter because of the 
 house. While it is admitted that many of the scenes 
 of festivity connected with it occurred when Becky 
 Rich lived there, it is insisted by people who must 
 know because they were there, that Easter, too, was 
 wont to entertain the young people in it. At one time 
 a party of young people collected a lot of wall paper 
 — each bringing any pieces they had on hand — and 
 went up and papered Easter's premises, the harlequin 
 effect being quite pleasing to her, apparently. 
 
 Dogtown people had, as a rule, little use for but 
 one story of a dwelling, and perhaps that was the 
 reason that the upper floor of Easter's house was occu- 
 pied by one of the most singular characters of the 
 village. This was "Old Ruth." She was a mulatto, 
 and doubtless was one of the manumitted slaves that 
 abounded in Gloucester early in the century. 
 
 ■\. 
 
 
A WISHBONE" BONNET. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "old kuth and granny day." 
 
 The old EUerv House, at the Green, fornierlv the 
 parsonage of the first parish church, which stood 
 behind it on the Green, and one of the finest samples 
 of provincial or colonial arcliitectiu'e in existence in 
 New England, at one time had. if it does not have 
 to-dav, a sla\e pen under its roof. In the fine old 
 gambrel-roofed mansion owned by Gustavus Babson, 
 across the hio-hwav from the Ellerv house, there is 
 another. To whom "Old Ruth" belonged I cannot 
 
The Story of Dogtoxvn. 43 
 
 iiiul out. vShe went by the name of "Tie," and also 
 \vas known as "John Woodman." 
 
 Tlie masculine cognomen fitted her better than the 
 gentle name of Ruth, for until the closing days of her 
 life she was never known to dress in feminine apparel. 
 Perhaps she was the original "new woman." She 
 was accustomed to doing a man's work, and dressed 
 in men's clothing. Building stone walls and such 
 heavy toil were her chief emplovnients. She used to 
 say that she worked out of doors when she was young 
 because she had to do it, and that she wore men's 
 clothing for the same reason, until she came to prefer 
 it. When she was taken to the poor-house, she was 
 obliged to conform to the customs of civilization and 
 put on skirts. A ledge beyond Easter Carter's still 
 bears the name, "Ruth's Ledge," in her honor. 
 
 In a small hut in the same enclosure with Easter 
 Carter's house lived Molly Stevens, old "Joe Stevens' " 
 sister. No one keeps her memory green. She must 
 have made life very unhappv for the gentle Easter, 
 unless historv is at fault. 
 
 Directly bevond this site, a pair of bars opening 
 into the yard, and a big bowlder standing as a sentinel 
 in front, is the cellar of Annie Carter, wife of Wil- 
 liam, Easter Carter's brother, a record of whose bap- 
 tism I find in the Fourth Parish, April i, 1776. This 
 
44 The Story of Dogtozvn. 
 
 was the last house taken down in the \'illap:e. For 
 some reason the phice was always known as Annie's. 
 After her death, William, with the children, moved 
 away. Annie was known as '• Granny Carter," and 
 is said to have been a '' little small woman." 
 
 One or two other cellars which I have not identi- 
 fied with former occupants, lie across the road from 
 Annie Carter's, and two, together with a potato hole 
 that may deceive the uninitiated, lie between it and 
 the cellar, on a rise of ground, formerly under the 
 house, it is alleged, of Moll Jacobs. I am somewhat 
 disposed to think that this cellar is that of the house 
 of good Deacon Winslow, who lived either here or 
 very near it. Nobody can remember where Molly 
 lived before taking up her abode in the Lurvev house, 
 of which we shall speak later. 
 
 In an enclosure at this point are a number of small 
 bowlders, marked, " First Attack," etc., that are likely 
 to mystify the \ isitor. One is marked, "James Merrv 
 died, Sept. lo, 1892." Mr. Merry was gored to death 
 by a bull, his dead body being found b\- the rock 
 bearing the second inscription. William A. Hodg- 
 kins of Riverdale once gave the writer and a party 
 of friends a very graphic description of this tragedy, 
 as they stood at the spot. The marks were placed by 
 Raymond P. Tarr and D. K. Goodwin, about a week 
 after the death of Mr. Merrv. 
 
The Story of Dogtown. 45 
 
 The Fifth Parish records say that "Moley Jakups, 
 (laughter of Isack and Molly, was baptized Jan. 31, 
 1763." Molly and Judy Rhines, with others, seem 
 to have done a great deal to give to Dogtown a repu- 
 tation which also was undeservedly conferred on 
 Gloucester as a whole, so that the favored residents 
 of Rockport were led for a generation to look down 
 on a native of the larger place. No traditions, except 
 those of a rather unsavory reputation, remain of Molly. 
 
 Almost opposite the Jacobs cellar, on the left of 
 the road, is a well marked cellar, said to be all that 
 remains of the home of Dorcas Foster. She w^as 
 eight years old at the conmiencement of the Revolu- 
 tionary war, having been born at the Harbor village. 
 Her father left his family in this house for safety from 
 the British, whom he feared might come and sack the 
 town, and went to the war. George Wonson, who 
 lived with his grandmother when a boy, recalls many 
 of her stories of life in those troublous times. 
 
 Abram Wharf she always referred to as "Neigh- 
 bor Wharf," and called his wife "Aunt Wharf." 
 The children used to be sent to the harbor village for 
 supplies, and w^ere accustomed to pay one dollar for 
 a pound of tea, and for other necessary things in pro- 
 portion. Little Dorcas naturally feared the British, 
 sharing the terror which led to the growth of Dog- 
 
4^ The Story of Dogtown. 
 
 town, and one day when she saw seven soldiers, slie 
 started to run, without considering whether they were 
 British or Continentals. Slie was reassured by one 
 of them, wlio told lier not to be frightened, as they 
 would not hurt her. Her experience well illustrates 
 the hardships of those and even later davs, suffered 
 by the brave residents of Cape Ann. 
 
 Ezekiel W. Chard tells me that in the embargo 
 times the women of 'Squam would walk as far as 
 Ipswich, going across the beach, to get a half bushel 
 of meal, the distance being twelve miles. In those 
 days it was very rare to get either ])read or cake, he 
 says. 
 
 Dorcas Foster was three times married, her first 
 husband being an Oakes, the second a Stevens, and 
 the last Capt. Joseph Smith, who commanded a pii- 
 vateer in the war of 1812. George Wonson is a son 
 of Louisa Smith, their daughter. She has many 
 descendants in Gloucester. Most of her life was 
 spent in the ancient house which until latelv stood on 
 the rock at the corner of Prospect and Warner streets, 
 where the home of M. H. Perkins is now located. 
 
 Xot far beyond tlie Foster cellar, on the same side 
 of the road, is one which has been recentlv filled with 
 rocks. It would be unwise to disturb them, for the 
 cellar is the tomb of several horses, which have been 
 
The Story of Dogto^vn. 47 
 
 shot as a matter of mercy, after having been turned 
 out in the pastures to die. This is all that remains 
 of the home of Capt. Isaac Dade. He, too, has 
 descendants, both in Gloucester and Rockport. 
 
 Mrs. H. G. Wetherbee, his granddaughter, fur- 
 nishes me the following particulars of the life of Isaac 
 Dade : 
 
 "Isaac Dade, while a school boy in or near Lon- 
 don, England, was impressed on board an English 
 man-of-war. Durins" the Revolution his vessel was 
 ancliored off Gloucester, and it became his duty to 
 row one of the officers ashore. While doing so he 
 noticed a fishing vessel ready to sail. As soon as 
 the officer was landed he lost no time getting aboard 
 the vessel. She was bound to Virginia with a cargo 
 of fish. When he reached there he joined the Conti- 
 nental army, and was later in three memorable engage- 
 ments. He was at Yorktown when Lord Cornwallis 
 surrendered. He was wounded in battle, receiving 
 a sabre cut across the back of his neck, which crip- 
 pled him for life. 
 
 "After the war he married a Southern lady by tlie 
 name of Fanny Brundle. Her father's plantation 
 adjoined that of the mother of Washington. She was 
 on intimate terms with the Washingtons. Two chil- 
 dren were born to them in Viro^inia. His health 
 
48 The Story of Dogtowii. 
 
 began to fail, and he remembered Gloucester, and 
 went there hoping that the change of life would be 
 beneficial — intending to return to Virginia the follow- 
 ing autumn. He did not, however, but spent the rest 
 of his life there. He kept a fish market in Glouces- 
 ter under great disadvantages, as the women preferred 
 to get the fish from the boats as they came in. Dur- 
 ing his life he received no pension, but after his death 
 it was paid to his widow." 
 
 This story points to the visit of the Falcon, later 
 mentioned in connection with Peter Lurvey's bravery, 
 as the probable time when Isaac Dade decided to 
 make America his home. I have alreadv indicated 
 the probable site of his Dogtown domicile. The the- 
 ory that he came in the Falcon is strengthened bv the 
 fact that in i775 — '^'^^ same year of Capt. Lindsay's 
 attack — two vessels were dispatched from Gloucester 
 to Virginia for supplies, owing to the povertv of the 
 people on Cape Ann. 
 
 It must have been a great deal of a change to this 
 high-spirited maiden to begin her married life in 
 a region so barren, so lonely, as Dogtown ; but love 
 for her husband must have sweetened the bitterness, 
 for she was never heard to complain. 
 
 Directly beyond this cellar on the left is a swamp, 
 which has for many decades been a slough of despond 
 
The Story of Dogtown. 
 
 49 
 
 for cattle and horses. It is always the repository 
 of one or more unfortunates, which have got in but 
 could never get out. This is "Granny Day's swamp." 
 Her cellar is covered by water at the corner of it. 
 She was a school teacher, and one of her pupils was 
 Nathaniel Day, the patriarch. Near here is Whet- 
 stone Rock, a natural curiosity, so hollowed out that it 
 served the purpose indicated. Some curiosity seeker 
 split it off and carried it away a few years since. 
 
COUNCIL OF THE CROWS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PETER I,UR\'EY AND "BLACK NEIL." 
 
 Tlie only resident of Dosftown mentioned in Bab- 
 son's History of Gloucester, was Abraham Wharf, 
 who lived in a larofe grambrel-roofed house near the 
 junction of the two roads of the village, not over 
 a mile from the "Whale's Jaw," and who according 
 to the historian, lonely and weary, crawled under 
 a rock near by and committed suicide, in 1S14. At 
 that time there were at least six other houses in Dog- 
 town occupied. The last inhabitant of the village 
 was a colored man called "Neil" — his name was 
 Cornelius Finson — who lived on the road leading 
 from Gee avenue in Riverdale to Dogtown, in tlie 
 house of Judith Ryon, called by all old-timers, "Judy 
 Rhines." He was a man of intelligence, evidently, 
 
The Story of Dogtow7Z. 51 
 
 for Ezekicl \V. Chard remembers him as a clerk for 
 the boat fishers of 'Squam. Others recall him as 
 principally engaged in the more prosaic calling of an 
 executioner of hosfs. 
 
 He was closely acquainted both with Judy Rhines 
 and Molly Jacobs. He was firmly persuaded that 
 when Molly Jacobs died she left buried treasure in 
 her cellar, and it was with difiiculty he could be kept 
 away from the quite uninhabitable hole. Long after 
 Judy Rhines was dead he lingeretl around her house, 
 until its walls fell in, when he sought refuge in the 
 cellar. From this, cold, dirty, half-starv^ed, and shak- 
 ing with the combined infirmity of old age and fright, 
 he w^as taken on a bitter day in winter, 1830, by 
 Constable William Tucker of Riverdale — the people 
 of that village having complained of the case to the 
 Overseers of the Poor — and carried off to the alms- 
 house. As they passed the store of John Low Bab- 
 son, near the Poles on Washington street, they stopped 
 and Neil was taken in for a half hour to get warm. 
 Mr. Babson gave him some tobacco. After Neil had 
 gone, Mark Allen, sitting in the store, said, "There, 
 ril bet he'll be so comfortable at the poor-house that 
 he won't live a week." He was right. Within seven 
 days Neil w^as dead. 
 
 If the reader will now start at either Gee avenue 
 
52 TJic Story of Dogtown. 
 
 or Stanwood street past the old Langsford house and 
 tlie " Castle," over the Commons road to the Mors^an 
 brook, just beyond the " Castle," and thence follow 
 the road along until, if it is the wet season, he comes 
 to another brook crossing the road on higher ground, 
 he will soon notice at the left what is known as 
 " Beech Pasture." A high hill is in the pasture, from 
 the top of which is obtained a fine view of Annisquam 
 and Ipswich Bay. On this hill, quite a distance from 
 the road, is a cellar. Near it is a lilac bush and also, 
 as in the case of many cellars, a gooseberry bush. 
 This is the site of what, taken all together, is the most 
 famous of the houses. First of all it was the home 
 of Peter Lurvey. I have already said that he was the 
 hero of the episode commemorated by Hiram Rich 
 in "Morgan Stanwood." Babson says his father, 
 Peter Lurvey, removed from Ipswich to Gloucester 
 in 1707. In 1 7 10 he married Rachel Elwell, and our 
 Peter was one of eight sons, the elder Peter being 
 ancestor of all the Lurveys in Gloucester. 
 
 Peter Lurv^ey, the Revolutionary patriot, married 
 a sister of Abraham Wharf, who lived in the next 
 house beyond. On August S, 1775, the British sloop- 
 of-vvar Falcon, which had assisted in the capture 
 of Bunker Hill, chased a Salem schooner into Glouc- 
 ester harbor, where she grounded on the flats between 
 
The Sto?y of Dogtown. 53 
 
 Pearce's wharf and Five Pound Island. Capt. Lind- 
 say of the Falcon attempted to board her with several 
 barge loads of marines. The people of Gloucester, 
 an alarm having been given, hauled two swivel guns 
 to a point opposite \^incent's Co\'e, and with the aid 
 of muskets prevented a capture. Then Lindsa}-, full 
 of wrath, cannonaded the town (one shot hitting the 
 First Parish Church, where it is now suspended in 
 the vestry) and landed men at Fort Point to fire the 
 village. The firing party were made prisoners, and 
 the boarding party were also captured by the intrepid 
 villagers. In the engagement Benjamin Row^e was 
 instantly killed and Peter Lurvey mortally wounded. 
 The above is the story substantially as told by 
 Babson and Pringle. It is one side of the picture. 
 I w ill now give the other, as handed downi by his wife 
 and daughter, and related to me by his descendants. 
 On that fatal morning Lurvey, his wife and little 
 Mary Millett — afterwards Mary Riggs — were over on 
 Pearce's Island huckleberry ing. Hearing the alarm, 
 Peter Lurvey bade his wife good-by, hurriedly rowed 
 across to the other shore, ran up to the house, and got 
 his gun, thence across the fields and pastures to the 
 Harbor Village, where he met his death. For some 
 quite unexplainable reason his face was never seen 
 ag-ain by his wife and children. It was never known 
 
54 '^^i<^ Stoi'y of Dogtoivn. 
 
 wliat became of his body. Our progenitors were 
 peculiar about such things. My great-grandmother 
 used to tell of her grandfather, killed at the battle 
 of Menotomv, as the British were returninsf from 
 Lexington on April 19, 1775. His body was imme- 
 diately buried, in a grave with Jason Russell and ten 
 others — now in the Arlington cemetery — and all his 
 children ever saw again was his old farmer's hat, 
 reserved for identification. 
 
 Mrs. Lurvey lived to be 104 years old, and is 
 remembered by people yet living. I have referred to 
 her as a sister to Abraham Wharf. Whether she 
 was the sister who was with him at the time he com- 
 mitted suicide no person can now tell. It was in 
 1S14. Wharf sat by the fire sharpening his razor. 
 " Sister," said he, do you think people who commit 
 suicide go to heaven?" "I don't know; Init I hope 
 you will never do such a thing, brother," was her 
 answer. "God forbid," was his solemn response. 
 Soon he slipped the razor into his shos, unobserved, 
 and went out. A little later he was found with his 
 throat cut, dead. 
 
 The explanation of Mr. Rich's confusing Lurvey 
 and Morgan Stanwood is that John Morgan Stanwood 
 married Lurvey's daughter. Lentil the time that Mrs. 
 Lurvey died they seemed to have lived w^ith her in this 
 
The Story of Dogtozvn. 55 
 
 house. Later they moved to the house by the Morgan 
 brook, where I think Ruth Morgan, his mother, and 
 probably Morgan Stanvvood himself, were born. But 
 more of this later. After the Stanwoods left the 
 house, which was by this time getting old and weather- 
 beaten, Molly Jacobs, with her friends Sarah Phipps 
 — more often than not called Sally Jacobs — and Mrs. 
 Stanley left the house they had been living in — per- 
 haps that already indicated on the Dogtown road — 
 and came here, by the invitation of ''Grandther Stan- 
 nard." The latter women's grandson, "Sammy Stan- 
 ley," lived with them and took care of tliem. Mrs. 
 Almira Riggs of Riverdale, a granddaughter of Mor- 
 gan Stanwood, told me before her death that she of ten 
 as a child used to go up to this Lurvey house in winter 
 with food for the old people, and would find them in 
 bed, the coverlet white with snow where the wind 
 had sifted through in the night. After a time the trio 
 of old ladies were taken off to the poor house, where 
 they died. Molly Jacobs was smarter than Sarah 
 Phipps. Sarah would get mad at Molly, and say : 
 "I shan't tell you where I hid thekeerds. I hid them 
 behind the old chest, but I shan't tell you." 
 
 "Sammy vStanley's" real name was Sam Maskey. 
 He was always brought up by his grandmother to do 
 housework. He went about with a handkerchief tied 
 
56 The Story of Dogtown, 
 
 over his head and did woman's work in preference to 
 any other. In fact, though he wore men's clothes he 
 had been brought up a girl. After his aged relative 
 was taken off his hands, he moved to Rockport, where 
 he went out washing for a livelihood, and laid up 
 monev, so that when he died he was quite a stock- 
 holder in the cotton mills. 
 
 The history of the Lurvey house is nearly tinished. 
 Just before Mollie Jacobs went to the almshouse, 
 "Black Neil" Finson, coming from some other house 
 he had inhabited, moved here. The only place he 
 could well stay in was the cellar, which he made 
 water tight l)y boarding over the first floor. I have 
 already said he thought there was nioney there. In 
 the course of time, his friend Judy Rhines living in 
 the next house toward the Castle on the same side the 
 Common road, took pity on him, and invited him to 
 occupy the empty part of her dwelling. 
 
 To return for a moment to Lurvey. As one walks 
 or rides through Washington street in Riverdale, 
 coming: from the harbor, iust after he crosses the 
 bridge, he notices on the right, the second house from 
 Reynard street, a two-story structure with pitched 
 roof, still in excellent repair, and looking like any- 
 thinof but a historic mansion. Yet this house, recon- 
 structed to be sure, was successively the home of Peter 
 
TJie Story of Dogtoxvn. SI 
 
 Lurvey and his family. Morgan Stanwood, Molly 
 Jacobs and her two unfortunate companions, who 
 lived in it in company with Black Neil, and Sammy 
 Stanley, as already related. In some way or other it 
 became the property of a man named Whipple livin<2: 
 in the vicinity, who sold it when it was but a skeleton, 
 to Isaac and Reuben Day. They had it taken down, 
 and it was found that the oak frame was perfectly in- 
 tact. 
 
 The Day brothers therefore had the material taken 
 to the present site, and the house was rebuilt, the old 
 frame being used in its entirety. There it stands, a 
 monument to the hero and martyr of the Falcon fight, 
 and there it seems likely to remain another century at 
 least, for it is perfectly sound. I have these facts on 
 the authority of several of Isaac Day's descendants, as 
 well as of James Thurston of Ri\erdale, who helped 
 take it down, and was one of the mechanics who re- 
 built it. Mr. Eben Day of Reynard street spent 
 several davs cleaning l)ricks from its chimneys when 
 it was demolished, he tells me. 
 
 It seems rather mysterious that Black Neil, who 
 lived in it when Molly and Sarah and Mrs. Stanley 
 were taken to the almshouse, was not taken too, for 
 at that time the roof had caved in and was in a 
 wretched condition. Old people in Riverdale have 
 
5^ The Story of Dogtown. 
 
 had it pointed out to them for nearly two generations 
 as the house where Black Neil once lived, but even 
 those who furnished me the information as to its 
 identity were surprised to know that it wasthe Lurvev 
 house. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "JUDY RHINES" AND " JOHNNY MORGAN." 
 
 The Judy Rhines house, too, was caved in as to 
 its roof, it seems, when Black Neil removed thither 
 from his former dwelling. And this circumstance 
 probablv explains why "Liz" Tucker, its owner and 
 former occupant, left the society of her niece Judy, 
 and sousfht a home near the harbor where she died. 
 The house where she died stood exactly where the 
 entrance to Oak Grove cemetery is now located. 
 Judy's house was a double one. It w^ill be noticed by 
 the visitor to the spot that there are two cellars. It 
 seems that Lizzie (or " Liz") Tucker, was Judith 
 Ryon's aunt, and therefore must have been a sister to 
 
6o The Story of Dogtoivn. 
 
 eitlier her father Patrick Ryon, an Iri.shn-ian, or to her 
 mother, a dauofhter of William Rio-ors. Liz Tucker 
 lived in one part of the house, but was dead, doubtless, 
 at the time Judy extended the hospitalities of the place 
 to Neil Fin son. 
 
 How long the two were tenants of the place I am 
 unal^le to say. The house was one of the fa\orite 
 haunts of young people on holida\s, and was so at the 
 time l^otli lived there. Judy was a tall. rawl)oned 
 woman, who had great courage. If she told a person 
 approaching her house to stand still, thev would not 
 move any nearer, v'^he had many friends. One of 
 the places she visited, according to Benjamin Rowe 
 Kidder of Rockport, was " Uncle Miah" Knowdton's, 
 for whom he worked. Aunt Kno\vlton used to load 
 lier up with fish and tea. The voung people of that 
 day refuse to admit that she was in anv sense a witch, 
 or so considered. After Judv died, as l)efore related, 
 Neil lived in the house until the only place he could 
 stay was in the cellar. He was a big powerful negro, 
 with \ery prominent protruding teeth. At the time he 
 was taken from the cellar to the poor house, it was 
 full of ice, and his toes were some of them frozen. 
 
 ''Judy Rhines," as slie is called, was baptized 
 Dec. 30, 1 771 5 'it the Sandy Bay parish church, v^he 
 was living in 1S30, nine years before the death of her 
 
The Story of Dogtoivn, 
 
 6i 
 
 colored friend "Neil" Finson. She gained a preca- 
 rious living, like her friends MoUie Jacobs, Easter 
 Carter and Tammy Younger, by picking berries, 
 telling fortunes, and in other ways. One day she 
 went into Mr. Babson's store at the Poles, and bought 
 some groceries. She tendered in payment a $5 bill, 
 a note on the old United States bank. It was the 
 only one Mr. Babson had ever seen. " I don't think 
 I want this," he said. "It is just as good as any," 
 she replied; "I took it for pasture rent from Mr. 
 Whipple." He finally took it, and on presentation 
 at the Gloucester Bank found she was right. It 
 was on a branch of the bank for the state of Georgia. 
 
 Years ago, in the Gloucester Telegraph, some 
 antiquarian told a story of what might have been his 
 own experience. He said two boys who considered 
 the poultry and chattels of a "witch" public prop- 
 erty, stole from Judith Ryon a couple of geese. They 
 were safely away, as they thought, when they heard 
 Judy coming brandishing a hoe, and screeching. 
 
62 The Story of Dogtown. 
 
 "Now, ye hell lairds, I've got ye I" The response 
 was a goose, plump in her face, and the asseveration, 
 "No you haint." Prostrated by the foul assault, 
 Judy lay senseless, while the boys again securing 
 their prey, vanished. 
 
 As we seem to ha\e turned back toward the 
 Castle, we may as well continue, and more partic- 
 ularly examine the territory around Morgan's brook, 
 or the "Slough," as it is more often called. In the 
 early days of this century, some sixteen or twenty 
 men used to go over this road to general training, 
 their homes being between the Castle and Dogtown. 
 
 Over these pastures, on either side, many sheep 
 were wont to graze a century ago. Abraham Wharf, 
 in his palmy days, kept lots of them. On the oppo- 
 site side of the road from Judy Rhines', just bv the 
 brook, is the cellar of the dwelling of "Jim" White. 
 I can find little about him. Morgan's brook is a dis- 
 couraging place to cross. If one confines himself to 
 the stepping stones on the left, going toward Rixer- 
 dale, or on the right, proceeding the other wav, it 
 can be crossed without wetting one's feet. The 
 stranger is likely to attempt the other side, and come 
 to grief. 
 
 After crossing the brook, on the same side as 
 Judy Rhines' cellar, one sees a big bowlder, beside 
 
The Story of Dogtoivn. 63 
 
 the road. Right against it, on one side, are the 
 foundations of a small building, while in the yard 
 with this, enclosed by a wall, are the remains of a 
 larger structure. The building by the rock was the 
 hut in which John Morgan Stanwood spent his last 
 days. Mr. Rich, in his poem, dropped the John, 
 while the custom of his contemporaries was to drop 
 the Stanwood. It is a painful but well-authenticated 
 fact, that he was known to some, as long as he lived, 
 as "Johnny Morgan." Of course he was not that 
 Johnny who played the organ, nor the estimable 
 gentleman who caters to the finer taste of the present 
 generation of Gloucester people. 
 
 I misspent many precious hours trying, first to 
 find if John Morgan Stanwood was the man I was 
 hunting after, and second, seeking to find out who 
 the Morgan was who lived by the brook. That this 
 was not strange may be understood, when I say that 
 a lady still living told me that for years she went to 
 school, and was intimate with "Nabby Morgan," 
 his daughter, before the person told her that her 
 name was really Abigail Morgan Stanwood. 
 
 Morgan Stanwood never went to the wars, so those 
 who knew him as Capt. Morgan Stanwood made a 
 mistake if they thought the title a military one. Dur- 
 ing the Revolutionary war, or a little later, he 
 
64 The Story of Dogtov.'n, 
 
 went on foreign voyages. He married Mary Lm^eN-, 
 and had many children. "Granther Stannard," or 
 "Johnny Morgan," as you will, seems thoroughly to 
 ha\e enjoyed life on Dogtown Common. He spent 
 his later years cobbling shoes. This work he did at 
 first in a little addition to his house, which was then 
 and has ever since borne the name of "The Boo." 
 After his wife died, and his children grew up, the 
 confusion of so many in the house, and the fact that 
 they had so many callers among their voung acquaint- 
 ances, so disturbed his mind, that he sought relief by 
 l)uilding the hut under the rock. Many living recall 
 this COS}- corner, where he peacefully cobbled shoes 
 for the remainder of his days. On a shelf in the 
 corner he kept a book in which he made a record of 
 the intcrestin"" matters that came to his notice. I 
 should like to get hold of that l)ook. For a vear I 
 . chased after such a journal of life in Dogtown, that 
 I finally found ne\er existed ; Init I have no doubt of 
 the existence of this, though it probably has long 
 since gone to decay. Stanwood has several grand- 
 children living-. 
 
 Lest I forget it, let me sav here that Morgan Stan- 
 wood's old "boo" — it was a booth, built of slabs and 
 covered with turf, Mrs. Rachel Day savs — was stand- 
 ing when the war of the Rebellion begun, but old 
 
v'*^ 
 
 .y-;, ^-w.,- 
 
 
66 The Story of Dogtoivn. 
 
 soldiers who left it when they marched, found it gone 
 on their return. 
 
 The ''Castle" is now owned by Mrs. Mary A. 
 Riggs, a sprightly old lady of So, who lives on the 
 main road in Riverdale. vSome of the Lufkin family 
 seem to have lived in it durinij its earlv historv. It 
 came to Mrs. Riggs through her lather, Capt. Sam. 
 Riggs, of whom it used to be said that he could walk 
 from the old Riggs house in Riverdale to Rockport 
 without getting off from his own land. The Riggs 
 house is quite near the Castle, though on another 
 road near Goose Cove. It is supposed that that part 
 of it which is constructed of square logs was built by 
 Thos. Riggs. the first school master and town clerk, 
 in 1661. His grandson, George Riggs, built the 
 gambrel roof portion. It is undoubtedlv the oldest 
 house on the Cape. Thomas was the progenitor of 
 all the Riggs family of Gloucester. Mrs. Riggs, 
 mentioned above, used to go to school to Jndy Millett. 
 
 The "old castle" is a restored gambrel roof, and 
 seems likelv to remain for another centurv as a 2;ood 
 sample of the better class of Dogtown dwellings. 
 
 It seems probable that Hetty Balch lived in this 
 vicinity, but of this I would like further proof. Pos- 
 sibly she lived in the village. It is but five minutes 
 walk. from "Johnny Morgan's Boo," and the Castle 
 to the electrics in Riverdale, 
 
I X pjf^Bfiip( |J$)/K;' 
 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 If It happens that one has not turned off from the 
 main Dogtown roatl, at Granny Day's swamp, he 
 will keep on over a slioht elesation, past the crossing 
 of the Pigeon Cove path, which really is for some 
 distance in the road, until he reaches the Whale's 
 Jaw. 
 
 Soon after passing Whale's Jaw, the road, almost 
 obliterated by time and changes of ownership in the 
 pastures, reaches Revere street, the old Sandv Bay 
 road already referred to. On the Pigeon Cove path, 
 a little distance beyond the Whale's Jaw, are the 
 graves of old Mr. Blance and wife, marked by rude 
 head and foot stones picked out from the rocks which 
 bestrew the Commons. Their cellar is near Pigeon 
 Hill, on the path from Pigeon Cove to the Whale's 
 Jaw. It was known as "Blance's" to two genera- 
 
68 The Story of Dogtoivn. 
 
 tions. The cleared land made a fine place for the 
 boys of fifty years since to go from Lanesville and 
 Pigeon Cove on Fast Day to play ball. 
 
 In Dogtown, almost or rather near it, over the 
 ridge toward Ale\yife brook, is the cellar of the house 
 in which Col. William Pearce, one of the wealthiest 
 men of old Gloucester, sought refuge from maraud- 
 ing expeditions in war times. He kept great num- 
 bers of sheep. Mr. Chard, almost a centenarian, 
 picturesquely describes a scene of his boyhood, dur- 
 ing the war of 1S12. He woke one morning and was 
 summoned into the garden of the house on the l)anks 
 of Lobster Cove, in which he was born, and still 
 liyes. Secured to a rock directly across the co\e, 
 still to be seen, were several British barges, belong- 
 ing to a war vessel anchored by the bar in the harbor 
 of Annisquam. Coming down the hill towards the 
 boats was a negro, bearing on his back his booty in 
 the shape of one of Col. Pearce's black sheep. 
 
 I have speculated somewhat concerning the reason 
 for Babson's reticence in his history concerninsr Do":- 
 town and its people. His history was published forty 
 years ago. The village degenerated as it grew old, and 
 the Dogtown familiar to him in his younger days was 
 not a place to inspire great enthusiasm. At the time he 
 wrote less than twenty years had passed since "Black 
 
The Story of Dogtown. 69 
 
 Nell," Molly Jacobs, Annie Carter and others had 
 died. Many of their connections were still living, 
 and to speak as freely as one can to-day of the village 
 wonld have caused more or less strife. Had my 
 friend Pringle had more time, he might have in- 
 cluded the story of Dogtow^n in his interesting centen- 
 nial historv, but the omission was quite excusable 
 when the magnitude of the task he set himself is con- 
 sidered. 
 
 I find that I have omitted the story of Peg Wesson 
 from this narrative, though her name has been men- 
 tioned. She lived in the "Garrison House" on 
 Prospect street, opposite Dale avenue. It now stands 
 on Maplewood avenue. She is the only reputed witch 
 of Cape Ann of whom it can be alleged, with history 
 to endorse the allegation, that she rode on a broom- 
 stick. Shortly before departing for the siege of 
 Louisburg, Babson says, several of Capt. Byles' com- 
 pany visited Peg, and so exasperated her that she 
 threatened to visit them in wrath at Cape Breton. 
 While camping before Louisburg, the attention of 
 the Gloucester men was attracted by the peculiar 
 performances of a crow which circled just above 
 them. Several unsuccessful efforts were made to 
 shoot the bird of ill omen. Finally a soldier suggested 
 that it must be Peg supernaturally transformed into a 
 
JO The Story of Dogtown. 
 
 crow. If it was the witch, nothing but a bullet cast 
 from silver or gold would be sufficiently potent to 
 puncture her. A silver sleeve button was rammed 
 into a gun, and fired, the bird falling with a hurt leg. 
 On their return to Gloucester, the soldiers were inter- 
 ested to learn that at the precise time the crow was 
 wounded. Peg fell (of course from her broomstick), 
 with a fracture of her leg, and the doctor, on dressing 
 tiie wound, extracted the identical silver button there- 
 from. Many of the inhabitants of Gloucester of those 
 days believed this tale. 
 
 Much more of a descriptive nature might be writ- 
 ten concerninor the old, deserted villagfe. If there is 
 more extant of an historical nature, the writer has 
 been unable, by persistent searching, to find it. 
 
 The best autliorities claim that there are at present 
 41 cellars which can h^ found in Dogtown. Of these 
 the writer has identified many more than he believed 
 was possible when he began the work. He is more 
 gratified than he can express at the general interest 
 that has been awakened by the first publication of 
 these notes. As aged Mr. Thurston quaintly remarks, 
 ''In old times if a person sawed a barrel in two and 
 made two tubs, they called him a witch." This seems 
 to be as much foundation as there is in manv of the 
 witches of Dogtown. Gloucester should cherish this 
 
The Story of Dog town. 
 
 71 
 
 ancient spot for what it has been. It is practically 
 the only ruined city in America. I cannot close these 
 sketches better than by following the example of 
 Babson, and quoting Goldsmith : 
 
 "Here, as I take my solitary rounds. 
 Amidst thy tangled walks and ruined grounds, 
 And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
 Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorne grew. 
 Remembrance wakes, with all her busy train. 
 Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain, 
 ******** 
 
 But now the sounds of population fail, 
 No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, 
 No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, 
 Foi- all the blooming flush of life is fled." 
 
 [Copyright 1S96 by Procter Brothers, Gloucester, Mass.] 
 
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