From the November 19, 1954 edition of the Vineyard Gazette:

Filled as it is with tales and anecdotes attesting to the skill and prowess of Island people, Vineyard genealogy contains few if any individual records as intriguing as that of Harlow Crosby, designated as a farmer, resident of Farm Neck, Edgartown. Although much of the information preserved has been handed down through the generations in the form of family tradition, there is little reason to doubt any detail. Harlow was an extraordinary character, excelling in many things.

Born in 1768, he married twice, both times into the Norton family, his wives being named Dolly and Abigail, respectively, and his connection with the family of Dr. Daniel Fisher was established through one or both of these marriages.

But his daughter Mary, who married Daniel Manter of West Tisbury, grandfather of the present Daniel Manter, may well have established yet another link in the chain of circumstance which has preserved his memory. Daniel Manter was the son of George, who is described in the records as “gentleman,” an unusual and significant distinction at that time.

Though Harlow Crosby is described as a farmer, it is a well-known fact that he had other interests, calculated to yield a very gratifying income. He fished in the great ponds, and thereby hangs one of the tales told of him; he had expert knowledge of well-digging and building, and very possibly could locate water-veins.

He was also a gunsmith and worker in metals, not as a blacksmith, but rather as a coppersmith or something of that nature, and he was equipped for the fashioning of the brass or copper kettles or buckets used at the time and did indeed make such articles.

Along that strip of territory bordering upon the great ponds of the South Side, the name of Harlow Crosby was a tradition. In every locality there were tales told of his skill, his versatility, and above all, of his tall stories. Harlow Crosby, it was said, could out-work, out-shoot and out-lie any many on Martha’s Vineyard! And this expression lived on for generations after Harlow’s death when, as it was pointed out, a descendent appeared who had apparently inherited some of the qualities or characteristics of the patriarch.

The Great Pond people were fond of telling the story of Harlow Crosby in the eel-potting season, when he set pots in all the coves from Edgartown to Chilmark. Eels ran in the fall, on the approach of cold weather and the mornings were frosty and even colder. Rubber boots were unknown in those days and Crosby, operating in a number of coves separated by points of land, could not employ a boat to any practical advantage.

But, as the tale relates, he walked to the nearest pond, removed his leather boots and trousers, waded the cove, tending his pots as he waded, and proceeded to walk to the next pond, and so on to the end and return, when he dressed and returned home. Such was the strength and toughness of the sage of Farm Neck.

But the principle tale preserved in West Tisbury, was of a different nature. His son in law needed a well and Crosby agreed to dig and stone it up. He walked to West Tisbury, exactly when is not known, but at daylight, when Daniel Manter looked out of his kitchen window, Crosby was hard at work and had already dug a hole so deep that he was completely concealed within it.

This well did not satisfy him, however, and he filled it in, moved a few rods and dug another, which he stoned up after the fashion of the time, and completed before noontime. Indeed, it is said that he was able to get home to Farm Neck in time for his noon-day meal. The well is still open and suitable for use on the old Manter estate.

Whether or not Crosby was always “a little odd,” there is evidence that he was somewhat eccentric in advanced age.

An elderly man, distantly related to Crosby, said that the latter seemed not to realize that he was growing old, but that he attempted to do the things he had always done, and in the same fashion — until, on one occasion, the realization was brought home to him that he was not the man he used to be, or certainly that is what he said of the incident.

For, appearing one morning, in a downcast mood, he said: “I’m getting old. Slowing down. I got some powder wet yesterday, and I was drying it out in a pan before the fireplace. The powder caught fire and I lost most of the whole of it before I could put it out!”

Considering the speed with which black gunpowder flares and burns, Harlow must have been capable of great swiftness of motion even then.

The date of his death is not known but he was living in 1850 and still attracting attention by reason of his skill and tall tales. His farmstead may still be located, if anyone knows Farm Neck, and the wilderness which conceals the ancient homesteads, but he left no Island descendents bearing the family name. Look, Norton, Manter, Luce, Athearn, all these and more, possess blood-ties to the sage of Farm Neck, if they but knew it.

Compiled by Hilary Wall
library@mvgazette.com