I love to think of old Ipswich town;

Harry Main - you have heard the tale - lived there;

He blasphemed God, so they put him down

With an iron shovel, at Ipswich Bar;

They chained him there for a thousand years,

As the sea rolls up to shovel it back;

So when the sea cries, the good wives say

"Harry Main growls at his work to-day."  Harry Main was a real person who lived in Ipswich near the time it began. His house was and may still be on Water Street near the wharf. He was a swashbuckler and a pirate. He arrived in Ipswich in 1671 from the Isle of Shoals. Several Ipswichites had set up residence on that island and he perhaps had heard about the little community on the seashore to the south. He brought with him his friend Andrew Diamond. They bought the house on Water Street and set up their business.

Diamond did not follow Main. He eventually bought the real estate, founded a fishing fleet and owned wharf property at the Town Wharf and Great Neck. He joined the Church. In 1700 he donated the pew cushions. He died in the early 1700's a wealthy and respected businessman.

Harry Main decided to take a different route. He smuggled a little, pirated a little and had his fingers in all that was wrong in Ipswich. His biggest game was as a ship Figure 1wrecker. He would get his band together and build a bonfire on the end of Plum Island or at the beach at Castle Hill. Vessels sailing by would see the bonfires as signal lights and use them as guides. Unfortunately they only guided to the sandbars along the Ipswich coast. Once stuck in the sand, the ships were easy prey for Main to plunder. The crewmen that weren't killed in the grounding were dispatched soon after. Main then sold off the salvaged goods.

As with most criminals of his day, Main was captured and sentenced for his crime. In keeping with the manner of his crime, he was sentenced to be chained to the sand bar and left there for the tides.

The citizenry was not done with Harry Main, however. Many walking the beaches of Ipswich and Plum Island claim they still meet his ghost walking among the sand hills on stormy nights. In Ipswich on long, dark, stormy nights, Harry howls from his sandbar and creates a roar. His cries can be heard for miles. The seas are particularly bad because Harry is on his bar. When the winds howl and seas groan Mothers gathered in their children and men shook their heads. "Old Harry's growling again!."

The final chapter to Harry's tale is that the ransoms and large sums he made were never found. His house and lot were ransacked for the treasure but none was ever found., except once.

One good man sleeping soundly had a dream of treasure and wealth. Satisfied with this dream but recognizing it only as a dream, he ignored it. But the next night he had the same dream and on the third evening he dreamt it again. He recognized the spot where he saw vast sums burried, perhaps Harry Main's treasure.

He was tempted. How could one person dream such a realistic dream if it were not true?

Soon thereafter, he ventured into the dark night to a spot on a certain hill that he recognized as his treasure spot. Bible, spade and lantern in hand he went out at midnight, sure that he would not be seen at such a late hour. When he reached his spot he began digging. After digging for a while he struck something solid. Could this be his prize?

He uncovered a flat stone with a bar of iron laying across. He picked up the bar and suddenly he was surrounded by many cats. Eyes blazing in the night they surrounded him, hissing, with fur standing on their backs. Our adventurer tried to turn over the stone but the more he worked the more the cats hissed. Finally he backed off and as he did so the hold began filling with water. "Scat! Scat!" he shouted. The more he tried to scare off the cats with the iron bar, the closer and the louder they got. All the while the hold continued to fill with water. Scared and cold, covered with sweat and standing in water, finally he knew he could do no more that night. He grabbed the iron bar and left, intending to return.

The next night he again set out to find his treasure but alas, the way was not as sure. He remembered the spot less than before and he could not find it. Many days and nights thereafter he spent search for what he was sure was a treasure but he was never able to find his spot.

All that he had was an iron bar. Somewhere in Ipswich today the is a fine door latch made from a simple iron bar, a lone souvenir of riches found but as soon lost.

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