Most Nubbin tales have been lost over the years, but there are a few remaining stories of encounters as recalled by seamen, settlers and Native Americans. The following is one the most detailed accounts ever found or recorded. It describes an encounter with a Nubbin group by the seaman and shipwreck survivor, Jonathan Atwood, who told this story in 1891.(1) Like many such encounters, this meeting began with the Nubbins coming to the aide of a human counterpart.
"This was not a good end to the year," I thought, as the ship was now driven onto the bars by giant waves and the Nor'east gale. By my last view of the three lights, I was sure we were near the town of Wellfleet, as I had made this trip on several occasions. While the Smuggler was well built, she could not stand the pounding of the surf for much longer and all hands took to the rigging. I was not listed as a passenger, nor was I part of the crew, for I had stowed away at the last minute. Thus, given no one knew of my presence, I found myself truly at the point of "all hands to themselves".
Despite the roar of the surf, I could hear crew members screaming, while others were shouting back that men could be seen on the beach and would rescue them. When the gale let up for just a moment, I could see the men ashore near the bottom of the bluff, and there was also a horse pulling a wagon. They used a canon and shot a line to our vessel, which when secured they sent on a breeches buoy and began to rescue each of the crewmen one by one. Though I knew I might end up in irons, I tried to cling to the foremast, shouting, waiting a turn for rescue. As the last crewman was pulled off, the ship began to break up just to the aft of the mast, and the breaking hull moved in pieces south along the shore.
The crewman went into the water, but was finally pulled to safety. The buoy line, however, was gone, and my chance of rescue was lost. The rescuers never saw me, and to this day I'll never know if anyone on board heard my shouts that night. Then another giant wave smashed against the section of hull and I fell into the raging and very cold water. The strong current carried me quickly away from the ship, and I tried with all my will to stay afloat and worked to reach shore, which now seemed much closer. I was then hit by a large section of a spar, and found my left arm dangling, and my head bloodied. My feet hit bottom, but the next wave carried me down shore. I could hardly move anymore when a third wave hit me and carried my almost frozen body onto the lower beach. I could only claw with my right hand and push with my feet to get myself out of the surf, which kept crashing around me, as if it wanted to take me back into the sea.
It was then that three very little men, all with gray beards, ran to me and attached a line; and as I looked up the beach, other small men began to pull me. I was grasping the line with my right hand, and pushed with all my might to try and help them, but upon a word called out in unison by all of them, I was pulled out of the water, and to my disbelief was floating in the air for a brief moment and then was upon dry sand.
I was now going in and out of consciousness, and the last thing I remember of that night is a very old little woman placing a compress on my head. She did not smile, but her stare made me feel at peace.
To be continued...
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(1) Although Atwood admitted he was a stow-away on this trip and could not be traced in any other records, the account is thought to be authentic by Nubbin believers and historians, as the schooner Smuggler described in the account did wreck off Wellfleet in a raging storm on December 31, 1890, about 2 miles south of the Cahoon Hollow Life Saving Station. The Station, then under the command of Captain Daniel Cole, recorded the sinking much the same as told by Atwood months later.
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