Molasses to rum to slaves
'Tisn't morals, 'tis money that
saves
Shall
we dance to the sound of the profitable pound
In
molasses and rum and slaves.
From
the play, 1776,
music and lyrics by Sherman Edwards
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| That
unholy alliance
between the Caribbean, West Africa and the British
colonies in North America helped to foster a robust spirits industry in
Newport, Rhode Island. By 1769 there were twenty two distilleries whose
copper stills were converting the elixir of local water and blackstrap
molasses into a coveted dark potable. Newport had established itself as
the rum capital of the world; but within a hundred years the city would
be devoid of distilleries. The combination of the Sugar Act of 1764,
which placed a substantial levy on molasses imported from the West
Indies, combined with three years of British occupation during the
Revolutionary War broke the back of most commerce in Newport. Also,
American’s palates and pocketbooks preferred the less expensive spirits
derived from corn and grain in the southern and western regions of the
nation. |
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Today
liquor is once more being produced on Aquidneck Island. The
brewers at NEWPORT STORM are
crafting a traditional dark rum, called THOMAS TEW, named after a
favorite son and beloved buccaneer of 17th
century Newport. It seems the citizenry have always maintained more
than cordial relations with those who used their ships to procure an
ill-gotten bounty. During the reign of Prohibition Newport would
willingly embrace a new breed of high seas highwaymen. The island
provided protection, cover and a market for the whiskey that would be
carried back to shore by the powerful speed boats, that would offload
the hooch from Canadian vessels anchored beyond the jurisdictional
reach of naval authority. THE RUM RUNNER II was one of
those pesky
craft that eluded and survived the guns of the U.S. Coast Guard.
Today, with a cargo of tourists instead of toddies, she continues to
cut an impressive wake through the waters of Narragansett Bay. |
| Perhaps
it was the pedigree of the boat that so endeared this classic
Elco motor yacht to my wife and I. After all, she was originally
commissioned by two Garden State gangsters, and we both hailing from
New Jersey, and the fact that my wife’s family dabbled in the
bootlegging trade, made our immense pride understandable. So for
fifteen summers we have made the pilgrimage to Newport in order to make
the now countless jaunts and many new friendships aboard the RUM RUNNER
II. |
 Unfortunately
we discovered early on that even the best conditioned sea
legs must on occasion walk the land. Se we needed to find a suitable
perch between our adventures at sea. “Poseidon Be Praised!” we happened
upon THE WHARF PUB, which was located
just a few short steps from the
dock where our ride was berthed between trips. Here in this cozy little
room was everything a soul needed after a couple of hours of
challenging the spray and chop of the north Atlantic: good company,
great beer, superb wine and, if need be, a warming bowl of chowder.
The first time I entered THE
WHARF PUB my eyes immediately caught sight
of the handiwork of Peter Austin and Alan Pugsley. There served by way
of a beer engine and hand pump was the pride of England’s Ringwood
Brewery, Old Thumper Special Ale! This
alone was reason enough to make
this pub my onshore home in Newport.
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BOTTLE CORK SCRIMSHAW TIKIS
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BY ANDREW McCARTHY & RYAN LYNCH
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Over
the years Fran and I have met a wonderful cast of characters on
both sides of the bar. Our usual congenial host has been Andrew T.
McCarthy; but on occasion another fine son of the old sod, Ryan Lynch
has provided an ample dose of Rhode Island hospitality. Both gentlemen
have a penchant for an unusual art form that I call, for lack of a
better term, Bottle Cork Scrimshaw. Here again is one more singular
reason to pull up a stool at this bar.
During life’s many journeys we have shared this planetary vessel with
all sorts of passengers, from first class to steerage, from box seats
to bleachers. And in every instance we all seem to be waiting either
literally or metaphorically for our ship to come in. When in Newport, I
fancy a wait at THE WHARF PUB! |
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