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

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.

REUBEN BROOKS.