Impending Storm

The elders met at the lodge that eve to discuss the oncoming summer, and while they knew the abundance of food reserves depended on the warmth and long days of light, their bodies were more suited for a colder climate.  Heavily haired, the summer heat and humidity drove them deep into their lodges where it was cool.  The summer also was known to them to bring great storms from the south, and it was for this reason that they met on this particular night. When all were assembled, Atnas took out the record journal, in which all important events were recorded, and he began to read.    

“That summer was much like others, the days which had gained longevity as the sun reached the zenith, soon slid backward and the harvest months were upon the horizon.  There was a strong feeling in my inner self which caused me to know that a storm would come with this season, and its magnitude would be great, and there would be much destruction.  The tall ones had set their dwellings too close to the waters edge, and they would soon find the wrath of the sea owns that region, as well as the deep.  I know not why I was given this premonition so long before the storm arrived, but I felt it deeply, and it was this that had us prepare well for what was to come.  

The tropers readied their gear, for there would be need to rescue, and food supplies were stored into the lodges.  Early harvest of the berries was completed before the winds of this storm would ruin them; and the matrons readied linens for bodies we knew might come, and then we waited.  Common days went by, as the lower sun filtered through the valley, and all was good.   The heat of the dog days had now subsided and we were almost upon the day when light would equal darkness, when I felt the ground tremble. Although far to the south and many days from our lodges, I could sense the storm’s strength.  All were called together for final preparations, and then it was upon us like no other storm before it.  

As I knew would happen, they suffered terribly as the waters rose quickly along those shores which faced its fury (1).  Even the tall one who farmed the fields just beyond the valley suffered much damage to his crops, and the large tree which shaded his sitting place fell upon his dwelling causing the roof to cave in and much rain entered the opening.”


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(1) Through our research, we believe this account is in reference to the 1938 Hurricane.

The Migrant Fisherman

My research has uncovered numerous stories of unexplained events which support the existence of these little people, and there are even a few which describe actual sightings and interactions. Yet, I must admit I have never encountered them, despite my search. Thus, I have chosen to share some of my findings, and let you be the judge.

This tale comes from the Aldrich family, who, like us, had ancestors that lived in the area once known as Fresh Brook Village. Martha Aldrich came to me after hearing of my research in this area. The story, which follows below, was first told to her when she was about twelve years old.   

In 1972, when she was cleaning out the attic of their grandparents’ home in South Truro, she came upon the written text of the same story.  I have viewed this document, dated 1887, and would say it is of that age; however it could simply be a tall tale written by a well intended parent of her past family, done to humor some young ones. Our family ancestry at Fresh Brook is mentioned in the tale, so that much is fact, and for that reason I have included it in my files. It is copied here word for word from that early document.  

January 1756

A migrant fisherman was staying with friends in what is now South Wellfleet in the area called Fresh Brook Village, and he told of his chance meeting with a family of little people in the early winter of 1756.  It is said that when he described his meeting with these little people to the village residents, they scorned him, saying he was a mad man who drank too much rum. This is the story he told.  It ended in his being driven from the village, never to be heard from again.

“We had just returned from fishing.  The mackerel schools were now much further offshore, and a storm had cut our trip short. I had to walk from the harbor this day, as deep snow kept the carriage in town.  The blinding snow soon made my walk difficult, and I did not know this area well, thus felt uncomfortable as darkness came upon me.  I became disoriented and was not sure what direction I was walking. The cart-way was no longer visible on account of the drifting and accumulating snow.  

I followed what I thought to be a path, and soon found myself at the top of a steep bank overlooking a stream, which my reckoning caused me to believe should be Fresh Brook. Unable to see more than a few feet ahead, and feeling insecure of my place, I decided to climb down the bank and see what direction the water was flowing, as I knew the Fresh Brook stream flowed east to west, and I could simply follow it East the short distance to Jeremiah Atwood’s, where I was staying between offshore trips.  

As I started down the hill, I slipped and went rolling down to the water's edge.  A frightful pain in my right leg, which had struck against a tree during my fall, had me believing my leg was broken.  I tried to use my elbows to pull myself up, but kept sliding back.  After several tries, I lay there exhausted, cold and confused.  It was then that a light caught my attention, just to my left and under some very dense brush.   

Pushing myself a bit closer to the light, which appeared to be coming out of a hole in the hillside, I could smell smoke.  I thought I was now losing my senses because of the numbing cold, and I tried to garnish enough clarity of mind and strength to pull back the branches and peer deeper into the hole. Just as I reached forward, a shrill voice shouted, "Hwert eart yo?” or “Who are you?” as I later decided.   I closed my eyes, and now truly thought I was losing my mind; for I saw a little man standing on the snow-covered log just to my right,  

Again, I closed my eyes in disbelief, but when I opened them the little elf-like fellow was still staring at me.  I was heavily shaken and thought myself to be dead, but I do remember pointing to my leg and telling this apparition, ‘I think I broke my leg.’  The little fellow jumped next to me in one very long leap, much like a cat.  He studied my leg, and then pointed to the hole. "Broo’ors!" he called.  Soon, five other little men were pulling me into the hole.  I was going in and out of a state of consciousness, but inside, I recall, was a large, warm room with a very low ceiling constructed out of cedar planking…and the smell of this cedar reminded me of my mother's dressing chest…  There were passages that led elsewhere and in the center of the room was a small stone fire pit.  I saw three little women, one of whom gave me a drink of what I thought was seasoned rum.

I remember nothing else.  When I awoke, I was in the hay of Jeremiah’s barn with my leg wrapped tightly, and an arrow wood walking stick at my side. Three days had passed since Jeremiah found me asleep in his barn. When I related my tale of these little people, he laughed and told me I was a drunken fool, and that I was no longer fit to be near the children.  The elders soon came and I was told to depart or I would be locked up.

But as surely as we know Christ has risen, I swear this is the truth of that night.”

The Colbus

The little men headed back along the deer trail, which ran east to west through deep thickets at the edge of the swamp. The narrow path then led them up out of the valley into an open area of old pines with a well lit under-story consisting of tall grasses.  Here they stopped to look at a group of moccasin flowers (1). The pink blossoms were highly regarded by the Nubbins, who knew that many of these flowers were taken by the tall ones to add to their gardens.  

After bowing to the blooms, they went on their way, soon to come upon an adult quild (2), who was followed by several very young birds. The older male welcomed the men with its call of “bob-white.” These chicken-like birds of the open forest and field were no longer plentiful as they had once been. The immature birds in this group numbered just four, so the men knew a portion of the brood was likely taken by some predator, as the quild usually have a dozen or more in one hatching. The female may have been taken as well, but with any luck she was sitting on a new brood. They stepped aside off the path, as the small covey headed down hill.   

 © Jarek Tuszynski / Wikimedia Commons /
CC-BY-SA-3.0 & GDFL , via Wikimedia Commons

The patrol went on along the ridge, and then descended down the west slope. Here the thickets once again closed in, and they were now walking through a tunnel of heavy vegetation. Finally they found him slithering through the uppers branches of the blueberry. This Colbus (3) was very large, almost seven feet in length. Each spring the men would visit this place to pay homage to the snake, which could climb so well. They knew the creature was searching the brush for the nests of unsuspecting birds, for it seemed to favor eggs at this time of year. The black snake would also seek out rodents and use its heavy long body to coil around them till they were lifeless. For most this is not a pleasant sight to watch, but for our Nubbins, it was life as it was meant to be.   

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(1) Moccasin flower is another named for Pink Lady Slipper, now threatened in many areas.

(2) Quild is the Nubbin term for the Northern Bobwhite (Quail). Origin of quild unknown.

(3) Colbus is another Nubbin term for which we could find no origin, but it is the name given to the northern black snake.