University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III

Our steamers do not take long in getting out to sea. We
have no such tacking and backing, and sidling and idling, as
afflicted and embarrassed the movements of the ancient packetships,
after they had tripped anchors. On the present occasion,
our vessel went ahead with a will, and though not the fastest of
our steamers, yet with a power of her own, particularly in a
heavy sea, and with lively breezes, which enables her, under
such circumstances to surge ahead with the bravest. We were
soon out of the hook, with our nose set south, a mild setting sun
persuading us onward, holding out rosy wreaths and halos in
the west, which seemed to promise well for the balmy clime to
which our course was bent. The breeze, though fresh, was soft
and warm, and the sea as smooth as the blandishments of a popular
orator. The scene was sufficiently auspicious to bring all
the passengers on deck, where they grouped about together according
to their several affinities. I kept my promise to my
companion, and introduced him to the interesting lady in dovecolored
muslin.

“Miss Burroughs, suffer me to introduce to you my friend,
Mr. Edgar Duyckman of New York.”

The lady bowed graciously — my friend was superlative in
courtesy, and expressed his great delight in making her acquaintance.
She smiled, as she replied —

“Mr. Duyckman seems to forget that he enjoyed this pleasure
on a previous occasion.”

“Indeed! Where, Miss Burroughs?” was the response. Our
Edgar was evidently disquieted. The lady smiled again, the
smallest possible twinkle of the quiz peeping out from the corner
of her eyes.

“Both at Newport and Saratoga. But I can hardly complain
that the impression which I made upon his memory was so slight,
remembering how many were the eyes, dazzled like his own, by
the blaze of Miss Everton's beauty.”

Very rich was the suffusion upon Edgar's cheek. He had
been one of the heedless beetles, who had his wings singed in
that beauty's blaze. Common rumor said that he had been
mortified unexpectedly by a rude and single monosyllable, from
that young lady, in reply to a very passionate apostrophe. Poor
fellow, he was quite cut up — cut down, he phrased it — by the
extent of his present companion's knowledge. But she was not
the person to press an ungenerous advantage, and the subject
was soon made to give way to another which left the galled
jade free. He soon recovered his composure, and we got into
a pleasant chat mostly about the world in which we found ourselves;
suffering a “sea change” in thoughts as well as association.
Our fellow-passengers, numbering just enough for good-fellowship
and ease, were mostly veteran seafarers, to whom
salt water brought no afflictions. We were pleasantly enough
occupied for a while, in scanning their visages as they passed,
and discussing their appearances, and supposed objects. Of
course, a fair proportion of the men were bound south for business
purposes. The ladies were but three in number, and, like
my young friend and myself, their aim was for the mountain
country. As yet, any notion of taking this route in midsummer
had not entered into the imagination of summer idlers to conceive.
We were, in a measure, the pioneers in a novel progress.

My friend Duyckman, soon becoming interested in the fair
Selina Burroughs, began to bring forth all his resources of reading
and experience. He had an abundant supply of graceful
and grateful resources, and was capable of that pleasant sort of
intellectual trifling which is perhaps the most current of all the
light coin of society. The moment that he could fairly forget
the malapropos reference to the beautiful coquette of Newport,
he became easy, fluent and interesting, and under his lead the
chat became at once lively and interesting, relating particularly
to the scenes about, and the prospect before us. These, as I
have shown, were sufficiently pleasant and promising. The sun
was set, but the shores lay still in sight, a dim edging of coast,

a dark stripe of riband along the deep. We were not yet out
of our latitude, and the points of shore, as we passed, could still
be identified and named. It is easy enough for Americans to pass
from the present to antiquity, and, per saltum, to make a hurried
transition to the future. The orator who does not begin at the
flood, or at least with the first voyage of Columbus, scarcely satisfies
the popular requisition on this head. Thus, coming out of
the mouth of the Hudson, it was matter of course that we should
meditate the career of old Hendrick, of that Ilk, the first to penetrate
the noble avenue of stream from which we had just
emerged. It was no disparagement to the ancient mariner, that
my friend dealt with him in a vein not dissimilar to that in which
Irving disposed of the great men of the Dutch dynasty, the Van
Twillers, the Stuyvesants, and other unpronounceable dignitaries.
He passed, by natural transitions, to modern periods.

“Perhaps, the most exciting of recent events is the oyster
war between the Gothamites and Jerseyites. The history of
this amusing struggle for plunder is one that should be put on
record by a becoming muse. It is a fit subject for an epic. I
would recommend it to Bayard Taylor, or Dr. Holmes. The
first essential is to be found in the opposite characteristics of the
rival races. They are sufficiently distinct for contrast — York
and Jersey — as much so as Greek and Trojan. A study of details
would afford us the Achilles and Hector, the Ulysses, Ajax,
and Thersites. Nor should we want for a pious priest or two,
since, in modern times, piety is, by a large number, supposed to
be only a fit training for habits of peculation.”

“It furnishes a frequent mask, at all events.”

“Yes, and was not wanting in this contest. The number of
persons engaged was sufficient to enlist all varieties of character,
and it was a matter of vital interest to one of the parties at least.
The smaller republic was largely interested in the subject of
debate. The courage and enterprise of the Jerseyans had
plucked the rugged oyster from his native abodes, and subjected
him to the usual processes of civilization. They had planted him
in favorite places, and given due attention to his training. The
oyster was grateful, and took his education naturally. He grew
and fatted; and the benevolent Jerseyans watched his growth
and improvement with daily care, looking fondly forward to the

time when he should take his place in the gratified presence of
the great and noble of the land. Famously did the oyster grow
— thus considerately protected — until he rose conspicuous in
every estimation among the gastronomes of Gotham. These
looked with equal envy and admiration upon the performances
of their neighbors. Little did Jersey suspect the danger that
awaited her favorites. But cunning and cupidity, and eager
lust, and ravenous appetite, were planning desolation and overthrow
to the hopes of these guardians of the innocent. Evil designs
were plotted — cruel, treacherous, barbarous, like those
which finally routed the poor nuns at midnight from their
Charlestown convent. And great was the shock and the horror
of Jersey when the assault was finally made under cover of
night and darkness.”

“Truly, Mr. Duyckman, you make a lively picture of the
event. Pray go on: I am interested to know the result. What
of the progress of the war? I confess to only a slight knowledge
of the affair.”

“Without the documents, I can not go into particulars. To
collect these would require a life. To depict them properly
would demand a Homer. The war between the cranes and
frogs would alone furnish a just plan for such a history. I
must content myself with a summary. But, were you to have
proper portraits of the fierce Sam Jones, the redoubtable Pete
Pinnock, Ben the Biter, Barney the Diver, Bill the Raker, Ned
the Devourer, and a score or two more, on both sides, who distinguished
themselves in the field during this bivalvular campaign,
you would feel that there are still provinces for the epic
muse, in which she might soar as gloriously as she ever did in
the days of Ilium. Jersey rose to the necessities of the occasion.
We will say nothing about her interest in this event; but
her pride was involved in the security of her virgin beds; and
when, prompted by cupidity, these were invaded, vi et armis,
by the grasping Gothamites, who desired to share the spoils
which their valor had not been sufficient to achieve, it was not
to be wondered at that all Jersey should rise in arms. The
public sentiment was unanimous. From Newark to Absecom,
but a single cry was heard. From Jersey City to Cape May,
the beacons were lighted up. The cry `To arms!' spread and

echoed far and wide, from the heights of Weehawken to the
breakers of Barnegat. The feeling of each Jerseyan was that of
the North Carolinian from Tar river, on his way to Texas, when
he heard of Santa Anna's invasion of the single star republic.
They flourished their plover-guns, where the son of the old
North State flourished his rifle, preparing, like him, to assert
their rights, in nubibus. Well might the oyster family become
proud of the excitement occasioned by the contemplated invasion
of their abodes. The banner of lust and avarice, carried
by the Gothamites, was borne forward with sufficient audacity
to show the estimated value of the prize.”

Here our captain put in with a fragment of one of the ballads
made on the occasion: —

“Bravo, captain! you are as good as a chronicler. Let us
have the rest.”

“That is all I recollect of the ballad; but, had I known your
wishes in season, we might have got it all out of the pilot. He
was in the war, and was one of the wounded — taken with the
fine edge of an oyster-shell on the left nostril, where he carries
the proof of his valor to this day in a monstrous scar. The
only further curious fact I know, in the history, is that the
said scar always opens afresh in the `R' months, — the oyster-season.”

The curious fact thus stated led to some discussion of the occult
subject of moral and physical affinities, in which we wandered
off to the philosophies of Sir Kenelm Digby and Hahnemann.
From these we concluded that there is a latent truth in the
vulgar proverb which asserts “the hair of the dog to be good
for the bite” — a proverb which we hold to be the true source
of homeopathy. The practical inference from the discussion

was that our pilot could do nothing more likely to effect the cure
of his abraded nostril, than to subject his nose to an oyster-scraping
in all the months which contain the irritating letter.
This episode over, our Gothamite continued his narration: —

“The invasion of the oyster-beds of Jersey, thus formidably
led by Jones the Big, was at first a surprise. The Jerseyans
never dreamed of the malice of their neighbors. But they had
been vigilant, and were valiant. The Jersey Blues had enjoyed
a very honorable reputation for valor from the Revolutionary
period, not exceeded, perhaps scarcely equalled, by any of the
neighboring colonies. They had a proper pride in maintaining
this reputation. It was at once a question of life and honor,
and they rushed fearlessly to the rescue. The slaughter of
their innocents had begun, and they were suffered but little time
for preparation. Hastily snatching up what weapons and missiles
they could lay hands upon, they darted forth by land and
sea. For a season, the war consisted of unfruitful skirmishes only,
but the two armies at length drew together. The great cities
of refuge of the oyster were in sight, the prize of valor. The
audacity of the invaders increased with the prospect. Sam Jones
led his followers on with a savage desperation peculiarly his
own. Very fearful had been Sam's experience. He had slept
upon a circle of six feet, on an oyster-bed, with the Atlantic rolling
around him. He had enjoyed a hand-to-hand combat with a
shark, of sixteen feet, in five-fathom water. He had ceased to
know fear, and had learned to snap his fingers at all enemies.
No wonder, led by such a hero, that the Gothamites went into
the fray with a rush and shout that shook the shores, and made
the innocent muscles under water quake to the centre of their
terrified beds. They rushed to the attack with a courage which,
as the moral historians are apt to say, was worthy of a better
cause. The Greeks at Troy, under the conduct of Ajax the
Buffalo, never darted under the hills and towers of Ilium with
more defiant demeanor.”

“I am impatient for the issue,” said the lady. “Pray, how
did the Jerseyans stand the shock?”

“Most gallantly — as if duly inspired by the innocence which
they sought to defend. The Trojans, led by Hector and Troilus,
never showed fiercer powers of resistance than did the serried

ranks of Jersey under the terrible concussion. Every man became
a hero, — every hero a tower of strength — a fortress.
Terrible was the encounter. The battle opened with the flight
of missiles from the light troops. Shells skated through the air.
It was in the play of this light artillery that the nose of Bill
Perkins, the pilot, suffered its hurts. Another — one of the
Joneses, a cousin of Sam — had the bridge of his fairly broken.
It has not been held passable since. But the sanguinary passions
of the two parties were not willing that the fight should
long continue at respectful distances. Soon, pike crossed with
pike; oyster-rakes grappled with oyster-rakes; forks, that once
drove unembarrassed through the luscious sides of fat victims
only, now found fierce obstruction, and no fat, from implements
of their own structure and dimensions. The conflict was long
in suspense, and only determined in the fall of the redoubtable
Sam, the monarch of Sandy Hook. He succumbed beneath a
blow inflicted by a young turtle, which, caught up in his desperation
by Ralph Roger, of Tuckahoe, was whirled about as
a stone in a sling, thrice above his head, until it came in contact
with that of Jones. Shell against shell. The crack of one
of them was heard. For a moment, the question was doubtful
which. But, in a jiffy, the gigantic bulk of Jones went over, like
a thousand of brick, shaking the clam-beds for sixty miles along
the shore. An awful groan went up from the assembled Gothamites.
The affair was over. They lost heart in the fall of their
hero, and threw down their arms. Jersey conquered in the
conflict.”

“Oh, I am so rejoiced!” exclaimed Miss Burroughs, her proper
sense of justice naturally sympathizing with the threatened innocents,
assailed at midnight in their unconscious beds.

“And what punishment was inflicted upon the marauders?”

“A very fearful one. Thirty prisoners were taken; many
had fallen in the fight; many more had fled. The missing have
never been ascertained to this day.”

“Well, but the punishment?”

“This was planned with a painful malice. At first, the vindictive
passions of the Jerseyans being uppermost, it was strenuously
urged that the captives should be sacrificed as a due
warning to evil-doers. It was agreed that nothing short of the

most extreme penalties would suffice to prevent the repetition
of the offence. The nature of the necessity seemed to justify,
with many, the sanguinary decision. The principle urged was,
that the punishment was to be graduated rather by the facility
of crime than by its turpitude. Thus, horse-stealing is in some
regions rated with murder, simply because, from the nature of
beast and country, it is supposed that horses may be more easily
stolen than men slain. Men are usually assumed to incline to
defend their lives; but it would be an extreme case where a
horse, once bridled and saddled, would offer any resistance to
his own abduction. He would rather facilitate the designs upon
his own innocence by the use of his own legs. The oysters,
more simple, more confiding than the horse even, are still more
at the mercy of the marauder. His crime is, accordingly, in
proportion to the weakness, the good faith, the confiding simplicity
of the creature, whose midnight slumbers he invades.
These arguments were well urged by one of the Jersey oystermen,
who had once filled the station of a chancellor of one of
the supreme courts in one of the states. A passion for Cognac
had lost him his elevation, and, in the caprices of fortune, he
had passed from equity to oysters. The transition, now-a-days,
is hardly one to surprise or startle. He used his old experience,
whenever he could get a chance to practise upon an audience,
and made a monstrous long speech upon this occasion; and
very touching indeed was the picture which he drew of the tender
character, the virgin innocence, the exposed situation, the
helplessness of the oyster — its inabilities for self-defence, and
the virtues which commended it to all persons of proper sympathies
and a genuine humanity — which were of a sort, also, to
provoke the horrid appetites of a class of desperates who perpetually
roamed about, like the evil beasts described in scripture,
seeking only what they might devour. Our ex-chancellor
argued that the oyster was to be protected from invasion; that
prevention was always better than cure; that the punishment
of the criminal was the only proper process of prevention; that
law was only valuable for its effects in terrorem; that the rights
of eminent domain in Jersey, along the whole oyster region invaded,
conferred upon her the right of summary punishment, at
her discretion, as the necessary incident of her sovereignty; and
he wound up by an eloquent allusion to the oysters as among
the benefactors of mankind. They suffered themselves to live
and fatten only for our gratification; and the least that could be
done would be to put to death all persons who, without legal
rights, presumed to penetrate their sleeping-places and tear them
from their beds with violence.”

“I begin to tremble for the captives,” quoth the lady.

“Well you may. The ex-chancellor had gone into the action
only after certain free potations, and he was eloquent in
the extreme. The situation of the prisoners became a very
perilous one. They were permitted to hearken to the keen debate
respecting their crimes and probable fate. Roped in boats,
or along the shores, they waited in fear and trembling for their
doom. Fortunately, the counsels of humanity prevailed. The
Jerseyans, satisfied with having asserted their rights, and pleased
with victory, were prepared to be magnanimous. They spared
the lives of the offenders, but did not suffer them to depart
wholly without punishment. It may be said, that, considering
the appetites of the Manhattanese, they adopted the severest
of all possible punishments. With their captives fast tethered
in sight, they prepared to indulge in a feast of oysters in which
the Manhattanese were not allowed to share.

“They provided an ample supply, and dressed them in all possible
modes by which to tempt the desires of the epicure. The
captives inhaled the pleasant fumes of the fried; they beheld
the precious liquid which embraced the portly dimensions of the
stewed; they inhaled the odors of choice claret as it amalgamated
with other select virtues of the stew, and they gloated over the
deliciously-brown aspects of a large platter of oyster-fritters.
Oysters on all sides, in all shapes, in every style of dressing,
rewarded the victors for their toils, while the conquered, permitted
to behold, were denied altogether to enjoy. The meat being
extracted, the odorous shells were placed before them, and they
were bidden to eat. `You claimed a share in our beds,' was the
scornful speech of the conquerors, — `your share is before you.
Fall to and welcome.' Violent groans of anguish and mortification
burst from the bosoms of the prisoners at this indignity.
Sam Jones, with a broken sconce, roared his rage aloud with
the breath of a wounded buffalo. But there was no redress —

no remedy. After a twenty-four hours' captivity, the offenders
were permitted to go free, with an injunction to `sin no more'
in the way of oysters. It needed no such injunction with many
of the party. The terrors which the poor fellows had undergone
probably cured them of their tastes, if not their cupidity, and
we may fancy them going off, mournfully singing —

This, in little, is the history of the war, which, as I have said,
deserves to be chronicled for the future in Homeric verse.

Here one of our fellow-passengers put in: —

“The history of the wars between the tribes of Gotham and
Jersey, which you have given, has its parallels in other states.
I was on a visit to what is called in Virginia, `The Eastern
Shore,' where they give you just such a narrative, and where
the oyster-beds are similarly harassed by irresponsible marauding
parties, most of whom are Pennsylvanians. The commerce
of this region is chiefly in oysters. In all the bays you behold
at anchor a suspicious sort of vessel — looking for all the world
like the low, long, black-looking craft of the Spanish flibustier.
From some of the stories told of these vessels, they are really not
a whit better than they should be; and their pursuits are held
to be almost as illegitimate as those of the ancient buccaneers
of Nassau and New Providence. They wage an insatiate war
upon one class, the most inoffensive of all the natives of the
Eastern Shore. Their most innocent name is `pungo' — a sort
of schooner, hailing mostly from Manhattan and Massachusetts.
They prey upon the Virginia oyster banks, ostensibly under the
forms of law. By contract, they procure the ordinary `raccoon
oyster' — the meanest of the tribe — an innocent in a perfect
state of nature — totally uneducated, at a shilling (York) per
bushel. These are carried off in large quantities to the bays
and harbors of Pennsylvania, New York, and places farther
east, and placed in nurseries, where good heed is taken to their
ease, growth, and physical development, until they are fitted to
take their places at table, to the satisfaction of appreciative
guests. For the better oysters, taken from deep water, and
worthy of the immediate attention of the public, the `pungos'
pay three shillings. In the cities farther north they are retailed

at this rate by the dozen — that number being a standard allowance,
for an able-bodied alderman, of moderate stomach — an
Apicius, not an Heliogabalus. This is the only legalized method
of robbing the Virginia waters of their natives. By this process
the poorer sort of people are employed to gather the oyster, and
are thus compensated for their labor — nothing being allowed for
the value of the `innocent' victim. As it is thus made a business
for a certain portion of the residents, the practice is tolerated,
if not encouraged; though it threatens to destroy, in the
end, the resources of the region in respect to this commodity.
The clam is appropriated in the same manner, to say nothing of
large varieties of fish.

“But there are trespassers who pursue another practice; who
seize with the strong hand — who make formidable descents, at
unreasonable hours and seasons, and rend and carry off immense
quantities, without leaving the usual toll. To these forays, the
sensibilities and the patriotism of the people are always keenly
alive; and fearful issues, tooth and nail, are sometimes the consequence.

“On one occasion, not long ago, the Virginians of that region
got an inkling of a formidable invasion by the Pennsylvanians.
The `bale fires' were lighted accordingly; — the horn was blown,
and a general gathering took place of all within striking distance.
The `Old Dominion' is not easily roused, being huge of
form, indolent, and easily pacified by appeals to her magnitude
and greatness. You may take many liberties with her, so long
as you do not ruffle her self-esteem — nay, you may absolutely
meddle with her pocketbook if you will do the thing adroitly
and without disturbing her siesta; — but beware how you carry
off her oysters without paying the customary toll. She can't
stand that.

“On this occasion, whig and democrat, forgetting old snarls,
came forth with a hearty will. They stood shoulder to shoulder,
and the same horn summoned equally both parties to the conflict.
It was a common cause, and they promptly agreed to go
together to the death for their rights in oysters. As in the case of
the combatants of Gotham and Jersey, each side had its famous
captains — its Ajaxes and Hectors. But the Pennsylvanians
suffered from a falling of the heart before they came to blows.

Whether it was that their conscientiousness was too active or
their courage too dormant, they submitted before they came to
blows; and the whole foraging party — `the entire swine' —
an entire tribe of that peaceable sachem, Penn — in a body,
every mother's son of them — eighty or ninety in number —
were driven into an extemporary logpen at the muzzle of the
musket. Around this our angry Virginians kept vigilant watch.
The Quaker that raised head above the battlements, though
but to peep out at the evening sunset, was warned backward with
a tap of spear or shilelah. They were held thus trembling for
two or three days in durance vile, until they had paid heavy
ransom. It required some fifteen hundred dollars, cash, before
the foragers were released. This was a famous haul for our
guid folk of the Eastern Shore. For some time it had the effect
of keeping off trespassers. But when was cupidity ever quieted
short of having its throat of greed cut at the carotid? The
practice has been resumed, and our Eastern Shore Virginians
are again beginning to growl and to show their teeth. When I
was there last, they were brushing up their guns, and newly
priming. They promise us a new demonstration shortly, both
parties, whig and democratic, preparing to unite their forces to
prevent their innocent young shellfish from being torn away
from their beds at midnight.”

“And loving oysters as I do, I am free to say they could not
peril their lives in a more noble cause. Stamped paper and tea
were nothing to it.”