The Ghosts of Cape Cod

by Bill Russo

  A hushed murmur emerged from the Selectmen's table as they mulled over what the Reverend has said.

  "As the Town's store keeper, I can testify the truth of what the Reverend says. The fact is, I have been contemplating bringing in a line of those wigs - I mean Perukes," said John Davis.

  Chairman Robinson took a different tack. "What about Huguenots and Jean Calvin's Calvinism? Where do you stand?"

  Reverend Metcalfe had heard that one of the reasons they were firing their old Minister was because he favored the French Protestant movement, so he chose his words carefully.

  "Their religion has been banned in the country of its birth - France, but it is not outlawed in the colonies. In some areas they are being welcomed. However, I do not believe they have a place in Falmouth."

  Chairman Robinson took hold of his beard like a broom handle, threw it over his shoulder and fairly jumped from the table to get to Reverend Metcalfe.

  For his part, the Reverend thought he was about to be attacked and prepared to run for his life. Before he could move, Chairman Robinson was directly in front of his face.

  "Mr. Metcalfe! Welcome to Falmouth. I vote yay! You are the new Minister of our town.

  Moses Hatch arose, drew a paper from his coat and began reading. "Reverend we are officially offering you this parish. We will pay you the very generous sum of 40 pounds a year, which will go up every year until it reaches 70 pounds. This money is to be paid from the Town treasury."

  John Davis added, "we will also give you land on which you can build a home. Further we will provide two serviceable cows, and 20 cords of firewood."

  "But that's not all," chimed in John Robinson, "we will dig you a well and even line it with stone. Plus we will settle upon you the large sum of 160 pounds to cover the cost of moving from Rehoboth to Falmouth."

  "What say you, Reverend Metcalfe?" they asked in unison.

  "Gentlemen my response is that I will see you in church on Sunday."

  As good as his word, the 26 year old Reverend Metcalfe filled the pulpit of the Rehoboth Congregational church that following Sunday and every Sunday for the next 16 years.

  Shortly after he assumed his new duties, he married the young Abiel Adams, daughter of the Reverend William Adams of Dedham. The new Mrs. Metcalfe could trace her family directly back almost 90 years to her great, great grandfather, Governor William Bradford of the 1620 Mayflower voyage.

  The entire congregation took an immediate liking to their new ministerial family; yet as the Minister toiled in his every spare minute to build a home for himself and his wife, there was little help. The town fathers who voted unanimously to hire him, were nowhere to be seen when walls were raised or the roof was put on.

  A young black man who was servant to one of Selectman Robinson's brothers was the only person who unfailingly offered help whenever he was permitted to do so. Later on, the minister rewarded the man's assistance by making him a full member of the church despite objections from a number of the parishioners.

  By the time his first child was born, the Reverend Metcalfe had built the house, a few outbuildings, and had also started an orchard, a vegetable garden and a flower garden.

  A number of parishioners thought that flowers were sinful, but the Reverend's impassioned sermon about the beauty of God's creations turned the tide and eventually all but a very few Falmouth residents had flower gardens.

  The Metcalfe's first child, a boy, did not survive infancy; nor did the second, a girl. But after that, Mr. and Mrs. Metcalfe had seven daughters, each of whom reached adulthood and married. A tenth pregnancy would come, but more about that later.

  How they managed to feed the burgeoning group was almost a miracle in itself, for the Town reneged numerous times on the Reverend's tiny salary.

  He had given faithful service to the town for two full years, when his second salary payment was due. He waited patiently for the money for four months.

  On a warm April day just after noon, upon completion of traveling on foot from one end of town to the other ministering to the sick and the aged, Reverend Joseph, sat in his meager kitchen at lunch with his wife.

  "This soup is wonderful Abiel. I just don't know how you can prepare it so well. And the bread. It is the softest inside and yet the crust has a perfect snap to it. I certainly was wise in marrying the best cook in the new England."

  "Hush Joseph. You know it's just water with a few scraps from our garden. But I am pleased that you think my soup is good. Would you like your tea now?"

  She served him a steaming cup of tea with milk from the one cow that was still giving it. He drank with just a hint of a sour look on his face.

  "I was hoping that there would be sugar in it Abiel."

  "Joseph. How can it be sweetened when there's been not a shilling in this house for 17 long months? We cannot buy sugar. We cannot even buy a match to light a candle. But that doesn't matter since we have run out of candles! Don't you think it's about time you spoke to those gentlemen who promised you an extra ten pounds this year and yet have failed to give you even a penny of last year’s salary!"

  It was a speech of great moment from the normally silent Abiel Metcalfe, and it prompted Joseph to vow to her that he would speak to the Council that very afternoon.

  He went into his bedroom and freshened his clothing, removing as much as he could of the dust and dirt that he had collected during his morning rounds. When he was satisfied with his efforts he reached for his peruke.

  For two centuries, up until around 1800, perukes (powdered wigs) were fashion necessities for judges, barristers, businessmen, ministers, and virtually all of the middle class.

  It wasn't pride or vanity then that prompted Joseph to put fresh white powdered starch on his peruke and add some lavender scent. Well, perhaps there was just a touch of pride in the heart of Reverend Metcalfe when he perched that peruke on his head. It had been given to him as a gift when he earned his theological degree. Though the wig was beginning to show signs of wear and tear, it still looked dignified and respectable. Momentarily, he wished that he could purchase a new one, but he quickly cast the thought aside.

  To modern Americans the colonial money system is difficult to comprehend. Simplified, it breaks down into pence (pennies), shillings and pounds. It took 12 pence to equal a shilling and 20 shillings to make a pound.

  An inexpensive peruke in the shops of Boston in 1710 would cost between a pound and a pound plus one shilling. An expensive wig such as those long curly ones worn by royalty could cost upwards of a thousand shillings or 50 pounds. That would be one full year's pay for the Reverend - if he actually were to receive his wages.

  Joseph finished dabbing the white powder on his tresses and then removed the dressing gown he had slipped on to protect his suit, as well as the cone of paper around his face which served the same purpose, and set off on foot to meet the town council.

  He had to walk because he had no horse, although the town fathers had said that he would have the use of one twice a year to visit relatives back in Dedham. He had yet to avail himself of that privilege.

  Upon arriving at the Meeting House, Reverend Metcalfe was lucky enough to find all three elders present.

  I will spare you the text of the sad conversation the Reverend Mr. Metcalfe had with Selectmen John Robinson, John Davis, and Moses Hatch; except to say that they gave him no money. Not a shilling. Not even a pence.

  "It's worms and drought. Don't you see Reverend that because of the sad state of the town's crops we are unable to pay you the cash portion of your salary," said the thin man, Moses Hatch.

  "But we greatly admire and respect your work," said John Robinson -his never cut beard now reached nearly to his knees - "and don't you worry, you’re still going to get every cord of wood that we promised you. We take our contract with you very seriously."

  "We certainly do," added John Davis, "That's why we're going to replace that cow that stopped giving milk. We are going to give you another one, even though the contra
ct says nothing about extra cows. We just think it is the right thing to do. Oh and here's an extra clay pipe and an ounce of tobacco. Smoke regularly to keep in good health young man."

  After listening to the plight of the Town Council, Reverend Metcalfe was sorry that he had bothered them.

  "Don't worry about the Metcalfe family gentlemen. We will get by, what with our vegetable garden and such. And one more thing gentlemen. The fifty pounds I am owed for last year. Consider it paid. I cancel the debt."

  After the unfortunate minister left the Meeting House, the three elders joked that they certainly had made a fine choice when they hired young Joseph Metcalf.

  Somehow the Metcalfe family survived without the wages for that year and the next. Finally on the third year without pay, the patient Joseph Metcalfe once again put on his peruke, now well worn and shabby; and conferred again with the Town Council.

  "Gentlemen I am sorry to take up your time today but it's been three years now without pay," he said.

  "Don't you worry about taking up our time Reverend. Great sermon last Sunday, by the way. You know when you talked about Jesus not even owning the clothes that he wore, I was just so proud that we have got a minister who not only can speak the word of God but can actually live in the same style as the Master. Why sir, you are an inspiration to us all. You come and see us anytime," blustered John Robinson, stroking a white beard, never cut, that now almost touched the dirt floor of the Meeting House.

  "I second that motion," added John Davis, "Reverend Metcalfe. You are a credit to our community. And next year when things are better, we are going to see that you are paid before anyone else. Here, have a free clay pipe and an ounce of tobacco. Smoke daily, just before your prayers."

  "It's true that we cannot pay you this year," said wispy Moses Hatch fingering the curls of a brand new, mighty peruke that looked as big as a leafy tree, running from the top of his head almost to his waist. "The Town of Falmouth is broke. It's the black-birds Reverend. Will you explain it Mr. Davis?"

  "I surely will. We are flat busted. But don't you worry Minister, our Agriculture Administrator, Selectman Hatch came up with a capital idea. The black-birds have eaten almost all of the crops. That's why we have no money. Nobody else knows what we are going to tell you now. We are making a new law to save the crops from devastation by the black-birds. Every male citizen of Falmouth is hereby ordered to kill six old and 12 young black-birds, or four bluejays between the dates of March 25 and June 15. Now those that don't kill their quota, and there will be some, will have to pay a fine of three shillings."

  "Now the good news Reverend. Not only will killing the black-birds save next year's crop, but also we are going to pay you all the three shilling fines that we take in," said Mr. Hatch.

  "Come back here next year Reverend and we will have some money for you," said John Robinson in a final and dismissive tone.

  Of course when next year came, the only thing that came to the Reverend and Mrs. Metcalfe was another child. They now were up to seven girls and how they were able to manage that household was the biggest mystery on Cape Cod.

  The well tended garden of vegetables helped, but even more helpful were a handful of neighbors who were outraged by the shabby treatment the elders gave to the patient minister.

  To question the elders, however, was to be disciplined by the whip or in the stocks. The elders, and their robot constable, had full power over the citizenry, so help when it came, had to be delivered somewhat surreptitiously.

  Under cover of darkness, clothing and necessities, were secreted into the tiny house whose main furnishing was bunks in every corner.

  Marcus Kinley, the black servant who had helped to build the Reverend's house, eventually became a land owner and was as successful as it was possible for a person of his race to be during the era of slavery.

  Mr. Kinley was the closest thing to a friend the Reverend had, and regularly marched up to the house with things the family needed, even during the brightness of day.

  "Mr. Kinley," said Abiel Metcalfe, "you put yourself in danger by coming here when it is not dark. Some businessmen may see you and refuse to trade with you."

  "Thanks for your concern mam, but you don't have to worry. They'll just think I'm here to wash your floors or swamp out your outbuildings. And even if they don't like my color, they have never minded the color of my money."

  And so it went for 16 years. The Reverend Mr. Metcalfe smiled and tended his flock with the greatest of care, though he was rarely paid.

  Every few years the Town Fathers would reluctantly part with a few pounds, but most years the pay was zero. These meager circumstances failed to dim the brightness of the family or the spirit of its patriarch. The seven girls were among the prettiest and smartest in the colony. They could read, write, cook, sew and mend.

  It was said, as far away as Boston, that the Metcalfe girls in a few years would be sought after as brides even by the sons of the colony's elite families.

  Parson Metcalfe was now in his 40th year. His once proud peruke was moldy, partly bare, and moth-eaten. One of his two great wishes in life was to have a new wig.

  His second wish was even more modest. He had lived by Vineyard Sound for almost two decades and was lulled to sleep at night by its rhythmic tidal pulse. He was awakened in the mornings to the sound of the breakers crashing into great boulders embedded in the sandy beach. He yearned for a little boat so that he could row out towards the island of Martha's Vineyard and just relax his mind while riding on the rise and fall of the waves.

  For a man with virtually no income, these two wishes could never come true. And yet, for once, fortune smiled on the unassuming minister. A distant relative in Boston died and left him a small fortune of several hundred pounds. In truth it was a 'small' fortune but to a man with wants as meager as Rev. Metcalfe, it was a huge windfall.

  Donning his worn out peruke, the gentle parson headed once more for the Meeting House to appear before the Selectmen. The elders saw him coming too late to bolt.

  "Metcalfe is on the way," said Mr. Chase. "What will we tell him this time?"

  "Let's tell him that unless he takes a cut in pay, we might have to get another minister," Mr. Robinson offered.

  "No. He might quit and we'll never get another man as good as he is. How about we just go with the old Black-bird story. Tell him we are broke," said Mr. Hatch with conviction.

  "Good morning gentlemen," smiled Reverend Metcalfe, "I have good news. I am going to Boston today to claim an inheritance and so I wanted to let you know that you do not have to fret about my wages this year. I will not need them. Also, as to the 200 pounds I am still owed for the last several years. I am canceling that debt. Have a wonderful day my friends. I will be back in time for services. See you on Sunday."

  As he departed the Meeting House, he left the three old chiselers speechless. Finally Mr. Chase said...."That's the best minister any town ever had."

  "Agreed", said the others in unison. "Let's keep him on!"

  Using the borrowed horse he had rights to twice a year; Reverend Metcalfe set off for the great town of Boston - at the time called, the Metropolis of the Whole English America. By far the largest city in the new England, the population was some 12,000 citizens.

  Old Puffy, the creature that the elders had given the Reverend to ride, was as worn out a nag as it is possible for a horse to be, and still carry a rider. But Minister Metcalfe was as gentle and patient with that ancient hayburner as he was with his flock, and the the two of them slowly trotted into the city in two days time.

  They passed the Bay of Boston, filled with three masted ships and even a large number of four and five masted schooners. At the bottom of the bay, the Reverend marveled at the pier, which was said to be 2000 feet long. So great was the span that even the largest vessels were able to unload directly onto the pier. From the head of the pier the Reverend and Old Puffy went directly to Main Street, the home of commerce. There were booksellers everywhere and five printin
g-presses!!!! New York City had but one. One floor above one of the presses was the office of the barrister that he had to see to claim his inheritance.

  The task was quickly done and the Reverend and Old Puffy set off to fulfill one of the Minister's two wishes. On narrow Beacon Street, was the shop of the finest Peruke maker in all of the new England, Barker and Son.

  His pockets stuffed with pound notes, the kindly Minister met with Mr. Barker Senior and was fitted with an excellent wig, powdered to snowy perfection and containing hundreds of well placed curls. It came to 40 pounds, a whole year's pay if he actually received his pay, but the Reverend truly needed the new Peruke - as the old one had become a nesting ground for nits, the occasional mouse or rat, and had more spots of bare, than hair.

  Before going back to Falmouth, the Reverend allowed himself one further luxury, a boiled dinner at the brand new Durgin Park in a warehouse near what is today called Faneuil Hall - that restaurant, by the way, is still operating today in 21st. Century Boston, after some 300 years.

  Arriving back at Falmouth on a Friday afternoon, the Reverend went to the meeting house and paid the elders 20 pounds cash money for old Puffy. It was about 19 pounds and a couple shillings more than the withered old animal was worth, but the Minister felt that if he did not buy it, Puffy would probably be sent to slaughter before winter. He liked the horse far too much for that.

  The new Peruke atop the Minister's head was the biggest news in Falmouth that day. He had been wearing it when he met with the Selectmen and elder John Davis was livid that the Reverend would spend his money on something so vain as a new wig - especially when he did not buy it from Davis's store. In truth Selectman Davis' dry goods emporium had no Peruke the equal of the one the Reverend bought in Boston.

  At Sunday service, the Reverend thought he looked excellent in his new wig. It's brilliant whiteness shone even brighter than the cluster of candles illuminating his pulpit.

  Although he was at the top of his game, all during the first service that Sabbath morning, he could tell the parishioners were not paying attention.