A Sea Serpent Near Boston?

Diagram of the supposed
Gloucester Sea Serpent.

You’ve likely heard of Scotland’s famous aquatic cryptid who lives in Loch Ness, but what about the Gloucester sea serpent, which was said to have frequented the coast of Massachusetts a mere 30 miles north of Boston? The massive creature was supposedly sighted by multitudes of fishermen and townspeople in August of 1817, leading to a scientific investigation by the Linnaean Society of New England which sought to determine the “existence and appearance” of the beast. Here at Rauner, we house the official report which was produced after a committee questioned 11 witnesses regarding the Gloucester sea serpent’s size, coloring, and behavior.

In honor of this year’s Winter Carnival theme - "A Blizzard of Unbelievable Beasts" Rauner is hosting an interactive exhibit featuring books from the Renaissance through the 19th-century which document the many fantastic beasts - from unicorns to griffons to sea serpents - which were thought to roam the less-explored lands and oceans around the globe.  One of our favorite items which will be on display this afternoon for our “Unbelievable Beasts” exhibit is the aforementioned Gloucester sea serpent report, titled “Report of a Committee of the Linnaean Society of New England Relative to a Large Marine Animal, Supposed to be a Serpent, seen near Cape Ann, Massachusetts in August 1817.”

The Linnaean Society of New England (1814–1822) was established in Massachusetts, to promote the study of natural history. The Society ran a science museum, arranged lectures on topics ranging from mineralogy to ornithology, and excursions for its members. Before it became a central figure in the so-called “Gloucester sea serpent debate”, in the summer of 1816, society members travelled through Hanover on their way to explore New Hampshire’s White Mountains. Whilst in New Hampshire, the group surveyed Mount Monadnock and Ascutney among others, studying their mineral composition and searching for new species (they documented 4 new species of plants).

On August 18th, 1817, the Linnaean Society convened to investigate reports of an extraordinary “sea serpent” which had been making waves (pun intended) around Gloucester and Cape Ann, Massachusetts. The group formed an investigative committee which created systematic questionnaires, each containing 25 targeted questions meant to ascertain the nature of the sea serpent, including “How many distinct portions were out of the water at one time?” and “Had it gills and breathing holes, and where?” Within a few days after the initial sightings had been reported, the three committee members and the “Honorable Lonson Nash of Glouchester” met with 11 locals who professed actually to have seen the animal in question, first asking them to explain everything they remembered from the sea serpent encounter, and then recorded their responses to targeted questions. In order to keep the report as ‘scientific’ as possible, the examinations were done separately, and “the matter testified by any witness (was) not to be communicated until the whole evidence was taken.”

According to eyewitnesses, the serpent was between “eighty and ninety feet in length and about the size of a half barrel, apparently having joints from its head to its tail.” Contrary to the typical renditions of glistening green sea serpents, the majority of the accounts describe the creature as a dull dark brown without any spots. The creature was capable of moving at extraordinary speeds, as according to one testimonial it could “travel a mile or two in three minutes” and even faster underwater. Although the serpent was observed during midday in most cases, it’s rather shy nature and quick movements made it difficult for any of the observers to get a good look at its facial features. Despite a general consensus on it’s large size, scaly skin, and fast undulating movements, it’s face looked “much like the head of a sea turtle” to one observer, yet “formed something like the head of the rattlesnake, but nearly as large as the head of a horse” to another fishermen who observed it the same day. The committee members asked witnesses whether they’d possibly mistaken other natural phenomena for a serpent, including “a number of porpoises following each other in a train”, but the answer was always a resounding “no.” As one witness responded, “I was in a boat, and within thirty feet of him… I could see his scales.” To those who testified, there was apparently no doubt that they had encountered a large serpentine beast.

Although most of the Gloucester sea serpent encounters documented in our committee report were rather uneventful - often involving the animal swimming by and occasionally stopping at the surface of the water to apparently rest and survey its surroundings - the seventh witness, Matthew Gaffney, had a rather frightening experience. Gaffney, a ship carpenter from Gloucester, recalled that on August 14th, 1817, he saw the sea serpent between 4 and 5 o’clock in the afternoon when he was out in the harbor sailing his personal vessel with his brother Daniel and friend Augustin Webber. As Gaffney explains it, “I was within thirty feet of him. His head appeared full as large as a four-gallon keg; his body as large as a barrel, and his length that I saw, I should judge forty feet, at least…. I fired at him, when he was nearest to me. I had a good gun, and took good aim. I aimed at his head, and think I must have hit him. He turned towards us immediately after I had fired...he was coming at us.” The scene didn’t end with an epic Jaws-worthy fight however, for as soon as the creature was hit it “sunk down and went directly under our boat, and made his appearance at about one hundred yards from where he sunk… (he) continued playing as before.” Gaffney was incredulous that he was unable to kill or otherwise wound the animal, making sure to highlight his marksmanship skills in the interview, stating, “My gun carries a ball of eighteen to the pound; and I suppose there is no person in town, more accustomed to shooting, than I am.”

So, what precisely did the Committee of the Linnaean Society conclude about the sea serpent? They don’t state a definite “yes” or “no” answer, however if the report were a Magic 8-ball it would read “All signs point to yes.” For example, the report includes illustrations of a smaller Cape Ann sea animal actually examined and dissected, which the authors likened to "a remarkable serpent, supposed to be the progeny of the great serpent." The small serpent, which had unusual bumps along its back, was taken as concrete evidence that a larger sea serpent must exist. Additionally, to accommodate their ‘discovery’, the Linnaean Society established a new genus - Scoliophis Atlanticus - and included a diagram of what the adult animal must look like at the front of their report. As the reporters remarked following their interview sessions, “the deponents were interrogated separately, no one knowing what the others had testified, and though they differ in some few particulars, still, for the most part, they agree.”

So what happened to the Gloucester sea serpent, and what about the supposed baby serpent collected in Cape Ann? At first the reports led to impassioned debates on both sides about the creatures' existence. An editor of the Philadelphia newspaper at the time wrote an editorial stating. “The evidence of the existence of the Sea-Monster is conclusive and irresistible.” Perhaps it was too irresistible though, as a French naturalist that acquired the supposed baby sea serpent soon concluded what had been thought to be a new species was in fact a common black snake (Coluber contrictor) whose spine undulated due to a skeletal disease. As the news broke, scholars questioned the validity of the Society’s report, and when the group disbanded in 1822 nobody followed up with further inquiries. Perhaps local residents of Gloucester really did see a remarkable marine animal in the summer and fall of 1817, but we’ll likely never know for sure.
To read this sea serpent story for yourself, stop by Rauner Library today and ask to see Rare QL 89.2.S4 L56 1817.

It's Just Business

We have blogged before about the rivalry between William Blake and Thomas Stothard over their competing images of the Canterbury Pilgrims. We have both engravings in our collection and they are very cool when set side by side. Their interpretation of Chaucer, while very similar in composition, is wildly different in style.

But what got us interested in this again was something we found in Blake's illustrated edition of Robert Blair's The Grave. While flipping though The Grave the other day, we were a little more than shocked to find a three-age prospectus for for Stothard's "Canterbury Pilgrims" at the end of the book. How could this be?

It turns out the publisher, R. H. Cromek (really more an impresario) who produced Blake's rendition of The Grave, was also into Stothard, and he was responsible for issuing Stothard's "Canterbury Pilgrims". That must have angered Blake since he considered Stothard's design a rip off of his own work. There is another connection--the engraver. In each case Cromek hired L. Schiavonetti to execute the actual engravings. So, here you have the impresario, the two competing artists, and the engraver in a kind of unholy mess of art, business, and conflicting personalities--wait, I guess that's par for the course.

Come take a look at the trinity by asking for Val 825B57 R31 (The Grave), Iconography 1661 (Stothard's Chaucer), and Iconography 1596 (Blake's Chaucer).

What is this Book?

Here is a curious book. It contains multiple sets of engraved plates from the 18th century, mostly by Pierre-Alexander Aveline. The plates constitute different series of views of Paris and its surroundings. There is no title page, and there is no indication that it was ever issued in its current format.

So, why does it exist?  We had a theory that it may have been some kind of sample book. Like a catalog in a shop where plates were housed. A tourist could look through the book and select an image to have printed to take home as a memento of his or her trip to Paris. But then we saw a description of a similar book of engraved plates that described it as a source book used in an artist's studio. Need a good Parisian backdrop? Take a look at the book of engravings and select one to work into your painting.

It is a pretty compelling explanation for the existence of a book like this. Ours has been rebound, so it lacks some important evidence of use, but it could well be a reference work of visual culture for others to sample. This is not yet cataloged, but you can see it by asking for it at our desk. The magic number we need to find it is 10110446. We welcome your theories!

Set your Sundial for Success

Here in Special Collections, we have a lovely little volume written in 1687 by Richard Blome titled The Present State of His Majesties Isles and Territories in America. This book, along with Ogilby's America, had a profound influence upon British emigration to the American colonies. Numerous maps of various islands are painstakingly reproduced in beautiful engravings, including a decent one of New England.

Despite the fascinating cartographic efforts that the book contains, our favorite detail is found on the very last page of the text itself (before the list of other books that the seller is trying to hawk). An engraving of various sundials demonstrates to the reader how to properly align their garden sundial, depending upon which of the British territories they live in. New England, Barbados, Jamaica, Virginia, and Carolina all have different instructions for alignment. As we move into February, when the days are growing longer, if not warmer, it's interesting to reflect on how important the sun was for early settlers for more than just heat and light.

To see Blome's book, come to Special Collections and ask for Rare E162 .B65 1687.

"To Pearson"

We have blogged about our man Charles "Stubbie" Pearson '42 a couple of times and we also featured him in one of our Hindsight is 20/19 podcasts. We just love his story. It is moving, funny, and in the end, heart-wrenching. He was captain of the football and basketball teams (took them to the Final Four!), valedictorian, and seemingly all around great guy. He died over the Pacific in WWII. You can get his whole story here.

One of the things that gets us every time is the poem "To Pearson" his classmate and Air Force comrade, James M. Idema wrote after the war and published in the prestigious Poetry Magazine. Here is the first stanza:

You'd never in a million years have guessed
Heor Pearson wrote fatuous verses to the stars,
And--tall, generous, brooding, loving, clumsy--
Laughed and made them paper balls to pitch.

Want more? Go to the Poetry website.

Creepy-Crawlies

If you like old tomes and creepy-crawlies, then do we ever have the book for you. In preparation for an anthropology class on bestiaries, we discovered an edition of Jan Swammerdam's Historia Insectorum Generalis that was printed in 1685. Inside, a cornucopia of detailed engravings of insects are lovingly tipped in. The high quality of the images is almost reminiscent of Vesalius's anatomy of the human body, which makes sense once one learns that Swammerdam initially trained as a physician. In fact, his love of insects derailed his father's plans for him to become a wealthy and prominent doctor. In anger, his father withdrew financial support and Swammerdam was forced to practice medicine in order to make enough money to continue his entomological research.

In 1669, Swammerdam published his Historia, which disproved the prevailing Aristotelian perspective that insects were inferior creatures which lacked any sort of internal anatomy worth mentioning. Additionally, Swammerdam argued that insects came from eggs instead of spontaneous generation, which was a widely-held Christian notion at the time. Swammerdam is today often cited as ushering in a natural theology that took hold in the 1700s, wherein the glory of God was revealed by careful scientific examination of his various creatures. He also was an innovator with regard to scientific techniques for working with scientific specimens, both insect and human.

To explore the amazing world of insects contained within the first Latin edition of Swammerdam's work, come to Special Collections and ask to see Rare QL463 .S8.

A Little Plainer Mr. Emerson

Dartmouth students in the 19th century had a habit of tweaking the sensibilities of their nervous professors. The school was a factory for missionaries, members of the clergy, lawyers, and teachers--not exactly the most radical professions of the time--and the faculty were strict and conservative in their views of culture. So, in 1838, the Dartmouth Literary Societies invited the bad boy of the American intelligentsia, Ralph Waldo Emerson, to speak at their Class Day celebrations.

On July 24th, 1838, Emerson stood before the class and orated on his Transcendentalist views. God is not found in the Bible but in Nature! Blasphamy, scandal! He also threw in a critique of education in America that was not particularly flattering. Worse yet, the speech occurred just nine days after Emerson delivered his scathing Harvard Divinity School Address that shook Harvard, the Unitarian church, and American thought in general.

Emerson gave the Literary Societies a little present when he was here: an inscribed copy of the first edition of his Nature published two years earlier. His copy was placed into the Social Friends' Library then became part of the Dartmouth Library in the late-19th century. The book was well read. On the inside flap are notes from various readers and there are bits of marginalia throughout as curious readers tried to puzzle out Emerson's prose.

But the best comment comes right at the end. The frustration of a confused student is expressed in his scrawl across the bottom of the final page: "A little plainer Mr. Emerson." If you want to learn more, listen to our Hindsight is 20/19 podcast episode for the 1830s.

To see the book, ask for Val 816Em3 T614.