Radio Talks #103
Little Talks On Common things
April 8, 1951
How difficult it was, in the days before the building of the railroads, to travel between places in Maine that are now within two or three hours ride of each other is shown by an exchange of remarks a hundred years ago between the e ditors of the Skowhegan Clarion and the Portland Gazette. The Clarion editor had said: ”We owe Brother Illsley of the Portland Gazette something for the excellent stories that have graced his columns. We have on hand a fine, plump turkey, and frankly we don’t care for turkey. So we will make Brother Illsley a present of it if he will tell us how to send it to him.”
To this offer Editor Illsley replied from his Portland sanctum thus: “‘Bow are we going to get at that turkey, or rather how is the turkey going to get to us? Can the postmaster at Skowhegan send it to us under a government frank? We fear not. Nor can it conveniently be stuffed into a newspaper wrapper. Can’ SOllIe traveler be coaxed iuto packing it in his trunk as he journeys thither? Won t t the geual stage driver help us out in our extremity? Confound it! A fine, plump turkey held out to us and we cannot reach it.”
The railroad reached Portland from. Boston in the fall of 1842. It was built rapidly, for in April it had come only as far as Newburyport. By the end of May it had reached Portsmouth, and in November came to Portland. Before the railroad came, Portlanders had long been going on picnics, though the word picnic was just coming into use. There was, in fact, considerable dispute about its spelling. The Portland Gazette commented editorially in 1843:
”The Augusta Age, speaking of Pic Hie (sic) celebration in that place on the Fourth of July, adopts the spelling Pick Nlc. The Kennebec Joumal spells it Pick Nick. We spell it Pic Nic. We have seen it in a Philadelphia paper spelled as one word, picnic. But we shall keep on correctly making it two words.”
As a matter of fact, we know that picnic is not a very old word. It appears to be a modification of the French pique-Dique, mock excitement, but its exact origin is unknown. In Germany in 1750 it was a fashionable, social entertainment to which each person present contributed a share of the provisions.
Its first mention in English writing was in 1800. How it came to apply to out-of-door, recreational meals no one knows.
The favorite picnic spot in Portland was Deering IS Oaks, refermd to by Longfellow in his nostalgic poem ”My Lost Youth”. Outside the city the points that drew summer picnickers were the islands in Casco Bay and grounds below the twin cities near the mouth of the Saco River.
With the coming of the railroad, Saco saw a big picnic boom. Excursions wem run from Portland all through the summer of 1843, and many summers afterward.
On July 30 the Gazette recorded: “Some hundred or more of our ladies and gentlemen visited Saco last week on a picnic excursion.”
The greatest railroad excursion out of Portland in 1843, however, was the trip to Boston for the dedication of Bunker Hill Monument. Hom than a thousand Maine people made that trip. Tie railroad having an insufficient number of passenger cars for the special train, many of the passengers crowded into freight cars of the old flat-car type, along the sides of which crude benches had been placed. The train left Portland at 4 A.M. on the morning of June 16, with Editor Illsley one of the passengers. It took Dine hours to mach Boston.
Putting up at hotels for the night, the Maine folks wem out early the next moming for the events on Boston Common. Tlete was a big parade, in which the Maine band, according to the Gazette, showed up every bit as good as the famous Massachusetts band of the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company. Editor Illsley paid tribute to the marching Irish, but said they couldn’t hold a candle to the elaborate display of the MasODS, who were out in aprons and full regalia. Let’s get a description of the scene on the Common in the editor’s own words:
”Every inch of ground was occupied. We edged our way a while among the crowd, but were soon convinced that the hope of a man of our height seeing anything of the show there was preposterous; so we backed out and took our station in the street to watch the procession. After kicking our shins for an hour or more, amusing ourselves by looking at the sea of heads which rolled by in one ceaseless stream., the clash of cymbols, the bugle’s blast, and the trumpet 1S blare announced the procession. It I told you last week that Editor Illsley didn’t think much of President John Tyler. His feeling is emphasized by the following passage in his account:
tfGreat curiosity, of course, was manifested to see the President of the United States. Be came in an open barroche, accanpanied by his two sons and the President of the Bunker Hill Association. His appearance exe! ted respect ful attention, but nothing more. Some of the papers spoke of the loud and repeated applause bestowed upon him. We did not hear any. A few faint cheers were raised, half a dozen feminine handkerchiefs were waved languidly. It was clear that while the office commanded the people’s respect, the man had not their hearts.
The universal impression was that his presence threw a chill on the enthusiasm which the occasion seemed so naturally calculated to call forth. There were no hearty outbursts such as greeted the survivors of the Revolution, justly the real heroes of the day. A friend of ours compared Mr. Tyler to an iceberg, casting a freezing influence on all arotmd him.
The procession was so long that, when the front was ascending Btmker Hill in Charlestown, the rear had not left Washington Street.
Mr. Ills ley’s account runs to three columns in the Gaze tte of June 24, 1843. Interesting as it is, it contains a notable omission, explained by the fact that our editor missed the main event. He says: ”Not expecting to get within gun shot of hearing distance of the orator, we did not go to Bunker Hill for the oration, but went to see the monument the following day. fI Like so many of us who do not appreciate a great event until long after the opportunity has passed, Editor Illsley did not know what he had missed 7 and in his long account he doesn’t even mention the orator by name. Probably, years afterward, he wished he had at least tried to get near the speaker’s stand, for on that 17th of June in 1843, 68 years after the battle, the address of dedication of the lofty granite monument was delivered by Daniel Webster, and his speech was one of the most famous orations in American history.
Nor does the Gazette mention the famous scene of 18 years before, when on the fiftieth anniversary of the battle, the corner stone of the monument was laid, and the same Daniel Webster delivered what schoolboys came to call the First Bunker Hill Oration, and when at the orator’s side sat the greatest foreign friend of the new nation, the Marquis de Lafayette.
We haven’t mentioned murder on this program since last October, when for three weeks we told you about the slaying of young Edward Mathews and the trial of his murderer, Dr. Valorus P. Coolidge. Ton:t.ght we want to tell you about the first murder trial held under the constitution of the United States, for that trial was held in Maine, while we were still part of Massachusetts, 30 years before we became a separate State.
On July 10, 1789 Captain Henry Jordan of Cape Elizabeth was coming home in his schooner Betsey when, ten miles out of Falmouth (then the name of what is now Portland) he sighted and hailed another schooner. Her master, Captain Thomas Bird, said she was the Rover, from the coast of Africa, bound for the nearest American port.
“I am bound for Falmouth”, said Captain Jordan. “That’s the nearest port there is, not more than ten miles. If you aren’t acquainted with this coast, just follow in my wake and It 11 pilot you in. tI Both ships came into Portland Harbor and anchored near the Cape Elizabeth shore. Within a few days an air of mystery surrounded the Rover. She bad brought no cargo and seemed to be loOking for none. Ber whole crew consisted of only three men. Several weeks elapsed, and the crew showed no sign of moving the sbip, spending most of their time wandering about Cape Elizabeth and Falmouth. No one could discover that they bad any definite object.
It so happened that in that month of July 1789 the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts was holding a .saion at Falmouth in the Dis trict of Maine.
When mysterious rumors about the Rover reached the ears of the Court, the judges deemed it their duty to make inquiry. They accordingly sent for Robert Jordan and William Dyer, two young men of Cape Elizabeth, who had become friendly with the crew of the Rover and had visited the ship.
Now I am interested in that William. Dyer, because I think he may have been a relative of mine. My paternal grandmother was a Dyer from Cape Elizabeth, and the commonest names of the place were Jordan and Dyer. There were so many William Dyers, in fact~ in my grandmother’s time that they wete called Henry’s William, Eli fS William, Jabez’ William, etc. to distinguish them from one another.
At any rate my William Dyer and his friend Robert Jordan had indeed heard strange talk aboard the Rover, especially when members of the crew were in their cups. Young Dyer became convinced that there had been foul play aboard the ship and that :Bird was not originally the captain. Dyer related an incident that added to his convinced opinion. He said that one evening the two young men and the crew bad consumed all the liquor in the cabin~ and Captain Bird told the man Hanson to go into the bold and bring up a bottle of wine. Hanson didn’t want to go. Captain Bird chided him and asked him what he was afraid of. “Are you afraid you will see Connor?” sneered Bird. Then Bird himself jumped up and went into the hold, Coming back with a bottle of wine. Hanson asked him if he bad seen anything of Connor down them. Whereupon Captain Bird told Hanson to sbut up or be t d throw the bottle at his head.
Naturally young Dyer became curious as to who was Connor and what had happened to him. ‘!he COlllFt also was cur.:l.ous, and issued a warrant for the arrest and examination of the crew. Then followed such a chase as would have delighted the heart of that old sea dog, my friend, Jim Comolly, who wrote so many spirited yarns about the racing schoonets.
Before the rowboat bearing the posse could mach the Rover, her crew oisted sail and started for the mouth of the harbor. The officer of the pursuing boat ordemd two more of his men to lay down their guns and put out a pair of extra oars. ‘!be six oarsmen now buckled down to their work and sent the craft leaping through the water.
By this time the Rover was under full sail, but could not take advantage of the wind until she rounded the point at the entrance to the harbor.It became clear that if she got to the point befom the rowboat overtook her, she would get away.
Just befom the race reached the narrows between Cape Elizabeth and Bouse J;sland, the rowboat came alongside, and the officer commanded Captain Bird to heave to. The order was not obeyed, and the officer commanded two of his men to train their guns on Bird. ‘!he latter then darted from the helm and leaped down the companionway. His two companions speedily followed him, leaving the Rover to steer her own course. ‘!he vessel, no longer obeying a steersman, soon rounded to, and the men from the rowboat clambemd aboard.
Looking down into the cabin, they saw B1rd amed with a musket, and the ther two with cutlass and handspike, bidding defiance to their captors. The officer closed the hatch, and with the help of some of bis men who understood
handling a vessel, soon tacked up the harbor and made fas t to one of the wharves on the Falmouth side. There, before some fifty armed men, Bird and his coq»an- ions called it a day and meekly surrendered.
Examined separately, the three men showed no confidence in each other, and each patently feared that the others would betray him. Pieced together, their several stories agreed on essential points. The schooner belonged to one Hodges in England and was commanded by Captain Ccmnor. They had been trading for some time off the coast of Africa. Besides Thomas Bird, the other men ofthe crew were Hans Hanson, a Swede, and Mathew Jackson, who said he bailed from Newton, Massachusetts.
They agreed that Captain Connor was a vety brutal shipmaster, abusing his men beyond endurance, and that finally they had sought revenge by taking his life. Hanson and Jackson said that Bird had fired the fatal shot, while Bl.rd contended that Hanson was the killer. All three agreed that the murder had taken place in the cabin and that the weapon was a loaded musket which Captain Connor kept there. They took the body on deck and threw it into the. sea.
Afraid to return to England with the schooner, they decided to come to the Un1ted States, dispose of such articles as they had on board, sell the vessel at the first opportwity, separate, and go to their respective homes.
Upon this examination and confession, the court committed them to the Falmouth jail for murder committed on the high seas. At that time the supreme judicial courts of the several states, with the judges of admiralty, were by an ordinance of the old Congress, author1zed to try piracy and felony c01lllll1tted on the high seas. But before the next session of court in Falmouth the new Congress, under the new federal Constitution, had passed the act establishing the U. S. Courts, committing the trial of crimes on the high seas to the circuit court of the United States. That court held no session in Falmouth until 1790.
In June of that year Bird and Hanson were tr1ed, Jackson having turned state’s acquitted Hanson, but found Bird guilty of murder. On June 25, 1790 he was hanged in public at a gallows on MUI1joy Hill.
Year: 1951