Curious Cape Cod: The loneliest grave recalls earlier epidemic
I was happily painting Santas on oyster shells for my new venture Kurious Krafts when Randall, my butler and astrologist, interrupted the flow. "A message has arrived," he announced. "And it will take you to a dark place."
There's nothing worse than a creepy butler — always loitering and making you wear matching socks. I moodily snatched the white card from his silver tray. It read: "I have enjoyed your CCT stories over the years. I also think I have been on every hiking trail in Truro. There are a lot of them. However, I still haven’t found the loneliest grave site in North Truro."
Oh no! Ravens flew by the window and dark clouds wrapped the sun. The tower clock struck midnight and burnt toast popped from the toaster. I knew what these signs meant: I must return to the grave of Thomas Ridley, deep in the woods of North Truro. Smallpox claimed Mr. Ridley in 1776 — victims of the disease were often buried in isolated places, as folks feared infection.
Back in 1883, historian Shebnah Rich described the site in his book “Truro-Cape Cod or Land Marks and Sea Marks.” He wrote: “Near a dismal swamp, with not a habitation in sight or sound, with not a tree or rock or post or sign of life, where the hills rest tier on tier ... is the solitary grave of Thomas Ridley, who died of small-pox, 1776. One hundred and two years after, on the 28th of January, 1878, I stood by this forlorn spot."
I first heard of the grave about 10 years ago, while perusing the awesome website capecodgravestones.com, an incredible piece of work by Robert Paine Carlson of Eastham, perhaps the most delightful fellow I've ever interviewed. Ridley's grave was listed under the category "Truro Isolated Burial Sites," and included intriguing tales of attempts to locate it by intrepid adventurers.
I'm not intrepid unless it comes to finding a particular craft beer. But the Ridley thing began to gnaw on me, so in 2011 I convinced fellow Times staffer Jason Kolnos to join me in a mission to find the stone. Our first attempt failed horribly, and there was dissension in the ranks. Then Jason tracked down a woman who had visited the stone in 2008, and unbelievably she had the GPS coordinates.
Somehow, having the pinpointed information made me a bit uneasy. Doesn't that take the fun out of blundering around in the woods? But we realized we'd have no chance of finding Ridley's grave without serious help. Shortly thereafter, on March 23, 2011, we arrived at that solemn place. Strangely, Ridley’s last name is spelled “RIDEEY,” on the stone, as if the carver lost his place, and mistakenly filled in the “L.” At the time, Robert Paine Carlson told us that those types of mistakes did occur on old gravestones.
And now, moved to action by a Curious Cape Cod reader, I was headed back. The date: Nov. 22, 2020.
Since it was hunting season, I had to make the attempt on a Sunday, when hunting is prohibited. This time, I vowed to find the grave without GPS help. How hard could it be to remember the location of a 2-foot-tall stone from nine years ago?
Pretty dang hard, it turned out.
If there's a lost world on Cape Cod, it's the woods around Ridley's grave. It sits in a tract of pine and oak wilderness, roughly 600 acres or so, south of the Pilgrim Heights area in North Truro. A few trails spiderweb across the pine needles and deadfall and, as Cape Cod National Seashore historian Bill Burke recently reminded me, "the ticks in that zone are epic."
After asking permission, I parked at the delicious and stalwart Montano's Restaurant, thankfully open all year. Entering the woods, I felt confident of finding the grave but wicked leery of ticks.
My optimism melted after an hour of skittering around, trying to avoid tick-laden branches. The muted colors of late fall seemed like a big camouflage soup, and I felt like a tiny, nearsighted crouton. What a fiasco!
Reluctantly, I pulled out my phone and plugged in the GPS coordinates. It looked like I was pretty close, maybe 500 yards away. But then I noticed that my phone was about to die. That's when I started running.
Panic tainted my already lousy sense of direction. I couldn't seem to stay on track and I kept whacking into little trees. I was about 200 feet away when the phone went kaput. I guess I deserved it.
A few steps over was a spindly little trail, and it seemed the only way to go. And then, there it was! The lonely grave of Thomas Ridley. I sat down on the pine needles to catch my breath and pay my respects.
That's how a fool with a phone got another chance to ponder eternity. The gravestone is small and sparse, the surrounding pines like a small cathedral. I felt lucky to be there.
On the way back out, I followed the trail to try to establish a route. At the first fork, I wanted to leave a marker, but all I had in my pocket was a nickel. That's 5 cents I'll probably never see again!
What do you want to know about Cape Cod? To ask a Curious Cape Cod question, email me at ewilliams@capecodonline.com. I'll do my best to figure things out!
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