Historical Poem to the Sons of Old Cape Ann by One of them
by Reuben Brooks

I

Give ear! Ye sons of Old Cape Ann 
To your famed father's deeds 
In days long past, when every man 
Worked for his brother's needs: 
When fishermen, so true and brave, 
From these stern, rocky shores, 
Fearless of wind and dashing wave, 
Put out with sails and oars 
No "power" had they, but that which lay 
In brawny muscles strong, 
And in the will to make each day 
One grand victorious song. 

II 

We chronicle with pride the day 
When from old Gloucester town 
With sturdy hearts there sailed away 
To win undimmed renown. 
A brave and eager company 
Of picked men, strong and true, 
With hearts resolved to find a way, 
Which none of them then knew, 
To capture the "Gibraltar" strong 
From Louisburg the blue. 
They conquered, and thus did allay 
That fear of threatening wrong. 

III 

Through all the Revolution war 
Our seamen did their share, 
And when our whole fate seemed to be 
Hanging but by a hair, 
When Washington with his brave men 
Made his far-famed retreat, 
'Twas Gloucester boys helped ply the oars 
Of his deep laden fleet 
As they the troops from Brooklyn rowed 
Through all that darksome night, 
Saving our land from pending fate 
That fain would quench the light 
Of the great country we now call 
Our nation and our state. 

IV 

From eighteen twelve to fourteen, war 
With England raged on sea. 
Ships chased and sunk our unarmed boats, 
Letters of marque at last 
Were granted, and our swiftest craft 
Well armed, and vigilant, 
Patrolled the coast, or voyaging far 
Rich prizes homeward brought. 

One night an English man of war 
Sailed into Sandy Bay 
Surprised and took the fort's small guard, 
The old church bell rang loud, 
And from the enemy a shot 
Was fired to silence it. 
The gun recoiling sank the boat, 
The crew were prisoners made 
And for our men next day exchanged. 
That gun, however, stands 
A valued relic in the yard 
Of Rockport's civic hall. 

E'er since that war long peace has reigned 
'Twixt England and our land. 
We're brothers now, not merely child 
Restive of parents' hand. 
So let us pray, 'twill ever be, 
The whole world needs our skill 
To bring the reign of righteousness 
And show to man good will. 

V 

A mile or two back from the shore 
There is a lonely spot, 
Called "Dog Town," in the days of yore, 
Where each abandoned lot 
Makes mute appeal—with feelings strange 
And with soft voice and step 
Over the hills we slowly range. 
We're told, in early days 
When pirates roved the stormy seas 
The fishermen were wont 
To leave their loved ones hid behind 
The rock surmounted hills 
In safe seclusion, guarded strong 
Each by a faithful dog. 

Only the empty cellars now 
Remain to tell the tale. 
Where once was life, can now be found 
But rocks and vacant swale. 
'Tis said, that on bright moonlight nights 
Weird spirits stalk about 
And point their shadowy arms to sea, 
But that most people doubt. 
This though is true beyond dispute, 
From those rough rocky heights 
Where the great "Whale's Jaw" lifts its head 
Up to the sky, are found 
Grand views of the vast ocean wide 
That girds the earth around. 

VI 

Dost thou inquire if from the deep 
So little known, there ever came 
Strange monsters, to arouse from sleep 
Those landsmen who deny the fame 
Of any beast, or fish, or bird. 
Which they, in their close bounded spheres 
Have failed to see, or never heard ? 

Oft have the men of many years 
Told of strange wonders they have seen 
When voyaging far, but naught appears 
To show their truths, so some men lean 
Aside, and laugh to scorn what they 
Esteem is but a "fisher's yarn."— 

This though is well attested fact, 
Just six and five score years away 
From far-off Norway's rugged shore 
There came into our rock-ribbed bay 
A form not known in any lore 
Of landsmen's written history, 
Whose long and sinuous body lay, 
Or moved, involved in mystery, 
Upon the surface of the bay 
That had before ne'er held such sight. 
Men, quickly seizing gun and oar, 
Put out to make its capture sure, 
But all in vain. This wily guest, 
Glimpsed frequently day after day, 
Safely escaped their eager quest. 

Dost thou, O stranger, still in doubt, 
Wrinkle once more thy skeptic brow, 
And scorn belief in that weird tale 
Of which thou knewest not till now ? 
If thou wouldst nature's mysteries share 
And learn in truth her wondrous lore, 
Go search the tomes in Copley Square 
From "barnacle" to pondrous "whale." 
Or, if in Gloucester town you roam, 
Let Sawyer's laden shelves set forth 
The mystery near your seaside home 
That came from out the distant North. 
There, overwhelming proof you'll find 
Of this strange story's solid worth. 

VII 

Two score and nineteen years ago, 
Sleepers were roused, we're told, 
By clattering hoof and frenzied shout 
Like Paul Revere of old, 
Startling the people with the cry, 
"Gloucester is burning! Come!" 
Prompt the response from towns around 
Eager to give relief. 
But "six below" the glass did sound, 
And many an engine chief, 
To quick to get the water round 
Was sadly brought to grief. 

The men of Rockport, prompt to act, 
Their smartest engine found, 
And by steam cars on railroad drawn 
Were quickly on the ground. 
Chilled to the bone, but knowing well 
The danger of the cold, 
The foreman placed his engine near 
Where liquors then were sold. 
First he filled up his engine pumps 
With rum and kerosene. 
Then, standing firm upon the top 
Of his strong fire machine, 
He shouted to his stalwart crew 
"Now! break her down, my boys, 
Don't stop one second for a rest, 
But each one give your best!" 

'Twas done. The two score pairs of hands 
Like one man labored on. 
Devouring flames leaped angrily 
From roof to roof. Upon 
Long ladders men worked cheerily 
Guiding the rushing streams, 
Great icicles hung down from eaves, 
Dense smoke obscured the sun, 
But constantly, undauntedly, 
The fighters carried on. 
And when, at last, the fire was out, 
The wearied men were glad 
To take from thoughtful women bands 
Hot coffee, meat and bread, 
Brought forth by grateful hearts and hands 
For those who'd fought and won. 

VIII 

Well we recall the stirring lines 
Of our loved poet's song— 
"Nail to the mast her holy flag, 
Set every threadbare sail, 
And give her to the God of Storms, 
The lightning, and the gale." 
Thrilled were our hearts with joy and pride 
When first 'twas noised around 
That "Ironsides," our brave old ship, 
Was snatched from Rebel bound 
By Gloucester men, who lightened her 
When she was fast aground, 
And worked her out, and salvaged her 
Without betraying sound. 

All through our Civil War, the men 
From Cape Ann were renowned, 
On sea, or land, when duty called 
Their quick response was found, 
With sure, unfaltering energy 
That knew not how to fail- 
No sign showed they of lethargy 
Whether by road or rail, 
By oar, or sail, or weary march, 
Always the will was there 
To carry on to victory, 
This was their daily prayer: 
"God bless our faithful President, 
And help him win the war." 

IX 

From colonels down to drummer boys, 
Through every rank and fame, 
We cherish, mid our chiefest joys 
Our High school master's name, 
Who organized and drilled so well 
His proud battalions strong 
That ever since, our boys at school 
Have kept pace with the throng 
Of champions that the right must rule 
If nations would live long. 
So, as we look upon our boys 
Now coming on the stage, 
Let us rejoice that they are sons 
Of such a noble age. 

X 

Pirates, war ships, and privateers, 
Their quotas full have won, 
In many long past dreadful years, 
Yet still our ships sail on: 
Our strong-souled men still stand the strain, 
Still firmly hold the wheel, 
And keep their course on stormy main 
Mindful of others' weal. 

But some have gone from out the ranks, 
Some ne'er again will feel 
The dreaded storm upon the Banks 
Where staunchest vessels reel 
And toss like egg shells on the wave, 
When no strong hand can save. 

'Twas winter, eighteen sixty-two, 
That the "Great Storm" came on, 
Which showed how little man can do 
When every hope is gone. 
Eight score and eight of hardy men 
Found then a watery grave, 
When thirteen staunch and able boats 
Went down beneath the wave. 

Great was the grief of stricken hearts 
On that most dreadful day 
As each afflicted one was heard 
'Mid streaming tears to say, 
"Year after year the sea takes toll, 
And nobly fishers pay." 

XI 

Within our civic chamber, lo! 
A painting, bold and strong, 
Shows the swift "Gloucester" man of war 
Rushing full speed along; 
Old glory sheds its beams on her, 
Danger she never heeds, 
Her guns are hurling death and woe 
As on her way she speeds 
To "capture or destroy" the foe. 
See! It is Wainwright leads! 
No fear had he, his iron will 
To conquer or to die 
Spurred his brave men to victory 
And gave them honors high. 

XII 
But hark! Great bells sound forth their iron-tongued alarm, 
"The world's at war!" they fiercely cry, 
"Come to the rescue, come!" 
Swift from all hamlets poured a host of patriots true, 
Eager to save humanity 
From dire o'erwhelming woe. 
All unprepared at first, in training camps our men 
Worked to make fit their skill of arms 
To fight the well drilled foe. 

By night and day black smoke poured forth from near and far, 
While sweating men their anvils beat 
To form the tools of war. 
Until, at last, our ready men and fleet went forth 
To meet and crush the haughty foe, 
Who sought the earth to rule. 
In France, Americans were hailed with trumpet blast 
As saviors of a suffering world, 
Almost at death's dark door. 

'Twas in the fiercest fighting that our Cape Ann boys 
Showed in what strong heroic mould 
Their stalwart souls were cast. 
On water, or on land, in air or under sea, 
Our men were always at the fore 
And fought for you and me. 

But when, at last, the warfare done, our boys came home, 
With what acclaim and joyous shout 
We welcomed them again! 
Never can we forget the flaming torches' glare, 
As round the statue of Joan 
The waiting concourse stood. 
While laurel wreaths were laid in loving memory 
Of those who having given all 
Proved thus their love for man. 
And then, the hush, as prayers were said for noble dead, 
Whose honored names are held secure 
On graven stone and bronze. 
To them, the grandest fruits of our great land beloved 
Through all the countless years to come 
Be everlasting praise. 

XIII 

Now, as we stand upon this ground 
Made sacred by the tread 
Of thousands, whom the world has found 
Worthy to live—though dead. 
Let us, our hearts with valor filled 
Take courage from their fame, 
And show the world that we have willed 
To sacred hold the name 
Of every man whose life was given 
To save his fellow men: 
And, as the Gloucester spirit strong 
Blends heart and hand and voice 
In one great harmony of song 
That makes each soul rejoice, 
We pray on this our festal day 
To the great God above, 
Give us the sight to blaze the way 
Of sympathy and love..