Northampton is getting to be a nice little fair with a mix of dealers and a strong local presence, both visitors and vendors. The small press section of the fair added a crafty element, and with their tidy booths, they classed the place up a bit. So, congrats Mark Brumberg & Co. you’ve got a good thing going! Sorta puts me in mind of those little local fairs that popped up like toadstools back in the 80s and 90s… Strawberry Banke, for example. Or the one they held in downtown Salem, MA, or Clark University, or even our own Folk Life Festival in Gloucester in the late 80s, where I did pretty well selling $10 and $20 books and everyone of the arty/crafty/literary persuasions showed up to see and be seen.
It felt very much that way this past weekend at the 33 Hawley St. venue. The young man in the booth behind me was from Brooklyn and I heard a great deal of talk about emerging writers, and writing, and how to get into publishing (you intern first, just to get yourself in the door) a lot of stuff I wish I’d known when I was his age. Or maybe I did…
Steady crowds Friday night and all day Saturday. I sold some lit, some travel, and even a little art and Americana. Over the past 40 years my bottom-line price has moved up from $10 to $20, and that was pretty much where the retail crowd stayed. Just for an experiment I brought a couple of whaling logs, some gold rush letters, and Smeaton’s breathtaking elephant folio on the Edystone lighthouse. One of the whaling logs was opened on the table to a page with some good whale stamps, and I put the half-page description right in front of it so people would know what they were looking at. I was surprised, Saturday afternoon, to see that no one had even touched the book. The description was right where I’d so carefully placed it. Not complaining, just an observation as to an apparent lack of curiosity. It seemed a knowledgeable and well-informed crowd, but they were only knowledgeable and well-informed about what they were already knowledgeable and well-informed about. I expect that sort of thing at gun shows and am always surprised to encounter it in what seem to be more cosmopolitan settings. But perhaps I’ve had it wrong all this while. It may be that the old book world is just as insular, in its way, as is the Charlton Heston/Wayne LaPierre demographic.
Good dinner with old friend and boothmate Peter Stern, though these days it’s less about the food than the talk. A lot of wool gathering and recollecting Friday night that spilled over to Saturday afternoon where the three Peters – Stern, Luke, and Masi – and I went at it for a couple of hours. “I’ll never forget the time I…”
Driving home Saturday night I recollected our recollecting. It seemed to me then that at every stage of my 50-odd year career I’d aspired to a certain level of financial stability and national reputation, always striving to get there, and perpetually seeing the goal post recede as I approached it. This would be a terribly frustrating vision, except for the fact that it isn’t true. There was never such a stable plateau as I imagined I’d one day attain. My career has had a sort of path to it, in terms of the increase of my knowledge and connections. But in fact the market was constantly changing, morphing endlessly into new realms of material, of pricing, of technology. It’s always been a scramble, and it still is. That’s what keeps us engaged.
“The Hand of Providence is against the PEIRCE family”
Log of the Whale Ship Marion. North Atlantic and Indian Ocean, 1859-1863. Folio, 35 cm. Unpaginated, about 250 pp. manuscript entries, with 60 whale and fluke stamps.
This is a classic log from the golden age of American whaling. It features 27 sperm whale stamps, 1 right whale stamp, and 32 fluke stamps. Laid into the logbook is a 10-page letter (about 1500 words) from owner William P. Howland of New Bedford to his captain, Clothier Peirce, with facts, figures, and lengthy instructions as to how to proceed with this voyage. Unlike most logbooks, which were kept by the Mate, this book was kept by Captain Peirce himself. This is significant, as Peirce had a reputation in the trade, being known as “Crazy Peirce” and “Prince of the Pessimists.” His journal entries make it clear how he earned these sobriquets.
The Marion was a 328-ton ship built in New Bedford in 1855. This was her second voyage, and last as a whaler. She departed New Bedford June 7, 1859 and fished the north Atlantic until October of that year, when she put into the Azores for supplies, then headed south, around the Cape of Good Hope, and into the Indian Ocean, where she fished in the vicinity of Australia and New Zealand for the rest of her voyage. The logbook ends May 14, 1863, as Marion hails a pilot boat to see her home.
I’ve occasionally encountered letters from owners to whaling captains instructing them how to carry out a voyage, but this is the first time I’ve ever found such a letter of instructions accompanying the log of that voyage. This particular letter is a lengthy and detailed one, enabling us to see how closely the captain followed the owner’s instructions and suggestions.
Most impressive, however, are Captain Peirce’s complaints, which soon grow into lamentations of Biblical proportion. Clearly, Peirce, despite being a capable whaling master, is a bit off his rocker, obsessed with death and doom. Each year, for example, he notes in his log the anniversary of the deaths of his sister Mary and brother-in-law Alden Howland. A few samples of his complaints should serve to illustrate “Crazy Peirce’s” descent into something approaching lunacy as the four-year voyage progressed: August 30, 1859, having recently killed six sperm whales – “Employed in chasing whales (But all in vain) November 5, 1859 – “No whales here for the Poor Old Marion.” February 5, 1860 – “Their appears to be no chance for us.” October 3, 1860 – “One year ago this day sister Mary departed this life.” In the Indian Ocean he summons the prospect of Divine influence January 18, 1861 – “Will the LORD in mercy over suffer the unfortunate Marion to get a whale.” Then he begins to take the situation personally December 28, 1861 – “The Lord will not prosper us. I am so wicked… How sad that is for us.”
Early in 1862 they gam with another New Bedford whale ship, which Peirce refers to as the “Poor Old Addison,” on which his brother John is sailing. Peirce is convinced that John is undergoing some sort of terrible but unnamed crisis, and he incorporates the Addison into his complaints. March 26, 1862 – “I fear I know the very hand of Providence is against the Addison.” Once he has inserted the notion of his personal wickedness into this perceived failure, there’s no holding him back. Formulaic complaints appear in multiple entries, such as July 19 and 20, 1862 – “I have looked for whales at the masthead until I am almost blind. All in vain.” Toward the end of the voyage Peirce finds something new to chew on, now related to Civil War conditions. May 3, 1863 – “I fear some Privateer will burn up the Marion.”
On January 17th, 1863 the “Poor Old Marion” caught her last whale. On this occasion Peirce states, “I earnestly hope I shall never try whaleing again… the sea contains nothing for me.” This bleak assessment is common to whaleman who have experienced failure. However, by the end of the voyage, the Marion had brought in over 1600 barrels of sperm oil, about average for voyages in this period, and by no means a failure.
But there was no stopping Clothier Peirce, the Prince of Pessimists. He went whaling again in 1868, this time as master of the whale ship Minnesota. The final page of his Marion logbook contains six entries from his career on Minnesota, written between 1868 and 1869, as he perfects new forms of complaint, perhaps topping out in his entry from May 23 1869 – “The unfortunate Minnesota will not get another whale this season. The Hand of Providence is against the PEIRCE family.” Captain Peirce swallowed the anchor after that voyage, but never married. Perhaps that was for the best.
Bound in half calf over marbled boards. Covers worn, sewing holding, text clean and legible. Housed in blue cloth chemise and slipcase. Full description available on request.
A pleasant weekend, if not a profitable highlight of the year. As with any fair, much boredom made up for with good companions, reflection and reminiscing. And just a nice place to be. It’s still good to be among our own kind in such an intimate surrounding. No bar though, which would have made the hours slip by faster.