An’ must pay his lawful tribute to the awful Wah-hooh-wow.
We saw Its neck a-curvin’ an’ we heard Its red tongue lick
As It drooled an’ swoofed the drippin’s, and then, as one might pick
A ripe an’ juicy cherry, It grabbed that “con- jer” man
An’ sank with coils a-flashin’ in the light from old Cape Ann,
An’ we--we towed with dories till we got to Gloucester shore--
An’ you’ll never get a Banksman on the Mary any more.
For her towage fee hain’t settled till the Wah- hooh-wow takes four.
She’s ashore in Gloucester harbor with a weary, leary list,
An’ the mud is creepin’, creepin’ to her rail;
She’s sound in ev’ry timber--is the Mary of the Mist,
But the broom is at her mast-head as a sign that she’s for sale.
The Hoodoo is upon her, an’ I’ve given you the tale.
(The story has a Warnin’ that’s as plain as plain can be,
An’’tis: Never go to triflin’ with the secrets of the sea.)
His nose was like a liver hung against a Hub- bard squash,
--That nose of Jason Ellison, the skipper of the “Hanks.”
His nose was like a liver and the color wouldn’t wash,
But the men that “chanced” on trips with him, they always got the dosh,.
For there wa’n’t another skipper who could touch him on the Banks.
A gang was always coaxin’ for a berth upon his smack.
Not another Gloucester skipper Had sech easy job to ship a
Topper-notcher fishin’ crew, with ev’ry man a crack.
For, you see, he was a wizard;--he did won- ders with that nose,
He could sniff and tell the weather-sign of ev’ry gust that rose;
You could figure from its color’twas a most uncommon snoot,
And whenever he predicted no one ventured to dispute.
His eye could nail a fish-slick off a league or so away,
--He could look around a corner, so his fel- lows used to say;
But the thing’twas most uncommon--where our whole dependence hung,
Was his long and round and peak-ed champion taster of a tongue.
’Twas always out and chasin’ round the edges of his lip;
Like as though it felt responsible for helpin’ handle ship.
It had tasted ev’ry bottom soil from Quero to the Cow,
It knew the taste and savor, the place and where and how.
--Darkest night or wildest hurricane that ever ramped or blew,
We never lost our bearin’s, for old Jason always knew.
We would take some mutton taller and we’d fill the hollowed head