Donald Trayser, noted Barnstable historian, called rumrunning the last age of maritime commerce in Barnstable County, which enlisted schooners, steamers, launches—especially fast ones—in a spectacular enterprise of daring seamanship and human greed. The bays, inlets, and rivers became ideal ports for the cargoes of prohibition. In early days, liquor carried by the rumrunners was packed in wooden boxes. Later, it was packed in straw inside burlap bags. 12 one-quart bottles would fit in a sack. This made it practically indestructible and easy to handle.
Many tactics were used by Cape Codders running the alcohol from the rum line to shore. Some sent phony distress calls to get CG to another area and then ran out to mother ship and back. Other vessels produced a heavy cloud of black smoke by mixing and burning kerosene and motor oil on the hot manifolds of their engines, making the boat hard to follow. If the Coast Guard got too close, coils of rope with a section of 2x4 tied to one end were thrown off the stern in hopes of fouling Coast Guard propellers.
The mid-Cape area was a favorite landing place of the Boston syndicate. Capt. Manny Zora who sometimes worked for them often unloaded their liquor on the bay shores of Cape Cod. There were some favored spots. The freezer plant at Central Wharf in Yarmouth had recently shut down and gone bankrupt -no wonder that traffic was often heavy on Wharf Lane late at night. Gino Perera recalled, “I remember early one morning in 1922, a friend and I were launching our skiff at Wharf Lane near the Freezer Plant to row to Sandy Neck for some duck shooting. Although it was still dark, we could easily see a rumrunner at the wharf of the Fish Freezer plant. It was a big boat, 75 feet, a former navy subchaser. It was unusual for them to come in; they usually stayed offshore and sent the stuff in by a small boat. We were uneasy about being there, but we weren’t disturbed. They could come in to the wharf because of the deep channel dredged for the freezer plant fishing boats.” Perera further recalled, “I was out duck shooting that day, although all we got was one Brant, one Black Duck, and one Double Eagle Rye. I still have the bottle, sealed in a secure can.”
The town landing on Wharf Lane.
Bass Hole was another area to unload liquor. Local resident Sam Thacher told Haynes Mahoney, “There’s one thing I want to show you.” After some loud noises of moving boxes in a back room, he returned to display a long, heavily sealed oblong tin, rusted about the edges but still shining. The rye whiskey was made by Distillers Corporation, Limited, of Montreal, Canada. “And this is the kind of bottle inside,” he said, showing me a square frosted bottle, empty, with the same label. “I picked them up from the marsh at Bass Hole.” Coming home late one day in 1929, his brother asked him where he had been. “Get the truck and let’s get down to Bass Hole fast.” A motor launch had run afoul of the tides and got stranded near Lone Tree Creek. To escape the law, its crew had dumped its cargo—cases of the above whiskey—and it floated up Bass Hole and the other creeks in the marshes. Sam got 11 cases which he stored in the attic, and he sold it for $50 per case. His wife disapproved of the whole shenanigan, and Sam felt uneasy every time the State Police passed by. Years later, when having his house renovated, workmen found a few bottles hidden away—of which this full one is the last. He gave it and an empty bottle to the Historical Society of Old Yarmouth as a relic. Both are still part of the collection, one still full and the other empty.
Sam’s Double Eagle Rye.
Bray Farm was actively used by the rumrunners. They supposedly buried some of their goods around the farm. When the barn was renovated, guns and pistols were found in the walls. The men used to stick their guns in the frame of the walls to have them ready at hand.
Sandy Neck was a busy place during this time. Margaret Rourke wrote “During the prohibition years, 1919-1933, Sandy Neck was involved in many ways with rumrunners. And Coast Guard playing hide and seek along its shores while “mystery men” were ensconced in some of the cottages at the Neck colony. The Sandy Neck kids used to play “spy” on them, then shake in their sneakers for fear they’d been seen and would get their feet put in cement and thrown overboard. Actually, they were quite safe and became good friends with CG242 that visited regularly.” [The CG242 was a 75 footer called a “six bitter”. 203 were built for service during prohibition.]
The Casa Madrid was an elegant Yarmouth speakeasy that served rumrunners’ liquor. Of Spanish architectural style, it boasted a 40 foot mahogany bar. Many of its patrons were wealthy and influential citizens, and it advertised in the Boston newspapers. It was rumored that the town officials of Yarmouth tended to look the other way. During one raid on the place, a visibly stiff Mayor Curley of Boston was pushed out through a window by his bodyguards and rushed off so he wouldn’t be apprehended. In a final raid in 1933 pandemonium ensued inside as the patrons tried to make themselves scarce. More than $5000 in gambling money and several thousand dollars worth of liquor were taken as evidence. The Casa Madrid did not reopen as a speakeasy.
Casa Madrid, South Yarmouth
Even with the end to prohibition in 1933, stories continued which tied Cape Cod to this lawbreaking time. In the 1970s, a leg bone was found under floorboards during the remodeling of one of inns on 6A in Yarmouth. Some speculated it was from a rum-running deal gone bad. For those interested in learning more about this era, a good book to read about one specific rumrunner’s life is The Sea Fox, by Scott Corbett, published in 1956. It’s the story of Captain Manny Zora, who ran a rumrunning fishing craft from Provincetown and is available in many local libraries.
Excerpted from an article by Haynes Mahoney, Jack Braginton-Smith & Duncan Oliver.
