USA > Massachusetts > Essex County > Gloucester > The book of the three hundredth anniversary observance of the foundation of the Massachusetts Bay Colony at Cape Ann in 1623 and the fiftieth year of the incorporation of Gloucester as a city > Part 25
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Until the South Atlantic's day was done.
Deem they it rolled through time without an aim; An unploughed waste, until Columbus came ? The white man's pride of birth would have it so: The Red Man's pedigree might answer: No. *
Once on a time, a red-skinned, beardless race In early Egypt had its distant place. 'Twas driven thence in unrecorded day, And crossed to Crete, by mariners' highway. And there it proved itself a mighty race; Ruled the Ægean with a lordly grace, Developed arts and letters with rare skill, Expanding in wide colonies at will. Its fleets expanded, too, keeping the pace With a great commerce; and it left its trace, Brilliant and beautiful, as far as Spain Without the Straights,-Methinks the rest is plain .--- So much is known .- What follows it, may seem But fancy's flight,-a prehistoric dream .- But one more step for Sea-Power of the day Down Afric's coast to win its easy way; And, daring purposely, or blown from course, The Ocean at its narrowest part to cross. Finding a haven and a cordial clime, They went ashore and tarried for a time. There all things pleased them well .- The land was kind, And offered all things for a life refined. Freely it gave, while asking no return,- (Unlike the North,-its favors hardly won.) Skilled seamen, they. Doubt not they went and came Just as Columbus did. Their lot fell out the same. Able ships followed them. More harbors on this side Were visited; coasts picked up, far and wide. And so in time they set up mighty states Their arts, transplanted, flourishing apace .-
At last their sea-power failed them. Some rude race, Coming to occupy its better's place, Repeated the catastrophe of Crete, And drove them forth, a varying fate to meet; Their work undone,-no chronicle to tell How 'twixt the continents the curtain fell For many a day,-while, struggling with fate, The generations, lapsing from that high estate, Ended in Maya carving, rich but rude,
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Decadent echo of the artist's mood.
'Twas so in Crete. Art saw its greatest day. Then all grew coarse, till darkness held full sway O'er copper weapons and the copper skin, Palefaces with iron did the victory win. The tribes that conquered Crete were landsmen ;- hugged the shore; And the great seas were ploughed by keel no more For many a day, till the Phoenicians came: Whatever Crete had done, essayed the same, But fell far short. Not theirs the eager mind, The spiritual flame,-the artist soul behind.
Should evidence be claimed, to win belief,- Savonarola looks an Apache chief In every line. A throwback, one would say, To some Etruscan strain of ancient day. And in Oaxaca at a certain feast, The animals are brought before the priest Painted in patterns, and then led for show, As in Etruscan tombs of long ago. And by red men! red on Etruscan wall, As on the Cretan,-Able seamen, all. * *
I sing the Visitor of Beauport Bay. I sing Champlain, who named, and sailed away ;- Who first to paper gave our unknown shape, And called it prettily "the Island Cape." He knew not then how aptly it was said. (Beauport, that year, was yet unvisited.) Next year-'twas sixteen-six,-he came again, And trod "the neck" that links us to the main .- Upshore he comes, and makes Cat Ledge afar, Then turns the corner, and behold! Dog Bar, Showing its teeth, mayhap, in evil shape, To bar invasion of our Island Cape. O'ertaken now by falling shades of night, Prudence doth counsel waiting for the light. So they cast anchor, and securely ride, Waiting to enter on the morning tide. The seaman's glance supplies the seaman's lore, And seeks the channel on the western shore .- Round Rock astern,-Shag Rock, Black Rocks are passed, And lo! the inner harbor's gained at last. * *
On either side a massy buttress stands.
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Two tidal islands, with their silver sands Stretching away and shining from afar, The ruder waters from the haven bar. Calm and serene, from teasing winds secure, The silver chalice laps the terraced shore,- The while in filmy haze retreating still, The virgin forests climbs the distant hill, And meets the sky that bends its azure bow O'er the primeval beauty spread below. In verdure fair bedight, the contour swells Or dips to meet the tide that lingering tells Rose Bank how witching is her flowery sheen, What time a fairy islet swims between. Such, such the scene that met the sailor's eye! Such, such the heritage we now may scarce descry. In those old times so dim, so far away, The red men marred no beauty. Sages, say! Which was the worthy heir,-or we or they ? One taken, and one left. We tread the press alone. How heavy, then, our debt for beauty once our own! What if one were taken and one left again! But ours the parting, and ours the pain! Oh, may we strive to be the worthy heir To God His jewel; trusted to our care!
II
I sing the Settlement. 'Tis prehistoric, too, In that it offers to the eager view No salient where a tendril tip might cling, And weave a legend that a bard might sing .- The Settlement !- Lend, Muse, a guiding ray. A light where no light is, upon their way Who stanchly came and stanchly carried through, Or ill or well,-the thing they had to do. The stoutest heart might fail .- Yet this a doughty race! Thirty-five years before,-half one life's space,- It met the Armada face to face, And did not quail.
A harbor without light,-not e'en a wigwam's smoke, And ice-sheathed rocks repel the breaker's sullen stroke. And did they hear,-when this an empty shore,- Voices where no voice is, amid the roar ?- And over, under all, the rote of the great sea,
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Playing, outside, in ceaseless symphony. Orion fought the Bull beyond the Point, as now, Dealing him in the dark a strong, left-handed blow. Arcturus and the Bears swung round the Pole all night. High-riding winter moon. Then came thy light. In clear New England air, and on the snow, Night was as day. Thy waning was their woe .- From rimy hill behind, broke out the wildcat's yell,- The sooty hemlock's shade his citadel.
Was't they that named Cat Pond ?- and did they trace In yon deep dell up there his hiding-place ?- Over the shoulder of that mighty hill, When towns were settled, ran the highway still. The swamps and marshes,-now the level way, -- Were skirted all; nor crossed in many a day.
III
The reason why this was the spot they took To set their stages is not far to look. It is far out. Great ledges, high and bold, Do sweep about, and in their arms do hold A tiny haven backing on the sea, As safe an anchorage as well may be. Added to this, a spring within arm's reach, From the bank gushing on the narrow beach. Could Beauport offer anything more rare ? No wonder that they set their stages there.
A band of Indians, in a roving show, Chanced to come hither several years ago, And on Stage Head an ancient shrine did trace, And bent the knee, and said: "A holy place." (The Great Stone Lizard that doth guard the spring, Along the rocks his mighty shape doth fling. A natural semblance, all by chance descried, To primal man was ever sanctified.)- But there he lay, while winters came and went, Waiting for summer and the Sea Serpent, The oldest visitor to Beauport Bay. Hither he came, in waters smooth to play And, when he tired of the open reach, Stretch out and sleep along the shallow beach. The Indians,-so runs a record dim,- Advised the white man not to trouble him. *
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"Fisherman's Field!"-"the first land cleared in town." -- (By whites, that is. Red men, with tools of stone,- So Champlain says,-had cleared some land before. See how the white man stole the red man's score!)- And while he treads "the neck" that o'erlooks all,- The neck that suffered then nor "cut" nor wall,- And eastward turns his gaze, the seaman looks Across "a meadow," watered by two brooks :- The "small stream" next him, that doth serve his crew For the ship's washing, and another, too,- (On level pathway to the beach,-the rill That runs out by the rocks beneath the hill.) Wigwams he draws there on the harbor's rim, Beyond this meadow where they danced for him. Two hundred Indians, he counts, or more, Were here at that time. But the whole Bay Shore Was swept by pestilence ere settlers came, And gave the Island Cape an English name.
HISTORICAL POEM
TO THE SONS OF OLD CAPE ANN BY ONE OF THEM
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
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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
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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
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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
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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.
ODE TO THE PILGRIMS OF GLOUCESTER
THE COLONISTS WHO CAME FROM DORSET, OR DORCHESTER, ENGLAND, AND SETTLED ON FISHERMEN'S FIELD, CAPE ANN, IN 1623 BY ALEXANDER GARFIELD TUPPER
The Cape Ann hills in opal hue Are held as in God's very hand; And lovely they appear to view --- The sun shines on the whitened sand, And pines, through which in seasons sung The winds in countless holy tunes
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To bless the Pilgrims' hearts once wrung With hardships, neath the shelt'ring dunes! O' shifting sands, the years have passed, Change and decay, the home and hearth! The men who stood before the mast And faced the storms which met their path, All, all have gone, but as of old, The youth, like trees in forest, yield And like their sires, brave and bold, Their wond'rous fruits borne in the field!
O, land of wild magnolia bloom,
Arbutus and the pink wild rose! The spray that drifts from ocean's fume, Scents every gentle wind that blows! And shining on the rock-bound coast, The sun in benediction paints The golden glory of it's host So happy with the martyred saints!
O' valiant host from Dorchester- From England, far across the main- Thy spirit-forms in Gloucester Appear to grace this land again!
The time, three hundred years agone, When first thy feet touched freedom's soil, The fishing industry was born- Made famous by thy faithful toil! O, lovely land of Liberty, Where men stepped with determined will! The flag we spread-blest soil of Free- And let the breeze it's fair folds fill! We kiss where field-flowers blossom yet, We kneel where brave knees knelt in prayer; Their faith we hold-we ne'er forget- For Gloucester's faith's eternal there! The feet of Conant, Standish, Hewes, Have marked this soil beside the sea; Their valor and their sincere views Have famed this seventeenth century!
In wars to save our country's name, Her sons, true, quickly rose to share In deeds of Revolutionary fame, With Washington o'er Delaware, In Concord's chivalry and shot, The Gloucester Sons in vigilance, Their Forefather's aim they ne'er forgot- To keep their faith in their advance! In darkened days of Civil strife,
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In error of their own dear blood, They rose indignant, gave their life
To change the hearts of men who stood On soil-an emblem of the Free, Who know not slav'ry's shackled chain- Where poured life's spirit from o'er sea, In face of danger, to our main! With passing years, to war's grim knell, The Gloucester Sons on sea and land, At San Juan and Flanders fell-
Brave lads, who harkened to command-
The country's noblest, blooded men, Who from this dear, fair, Pilgrim's soil,
Defended home, yea, ready when The duty comes-they ne'er recoil!
Steadfast as rocks that bound her shore, The Gloucester sons live not to fail!
The courage their Forefathers bore
Is in their hull and well-bent sail! O, sea, so deep with mystery, In silent depths, His love is there;
His hand rules tide and history- No sea or land is void of share
Of God's almighty, kind caress; In depths, love's bloom is ling'ring nigh-
The salt tears of the sea He'll bless,
O'er heroes' graves where corals lie!
Salute! To Sons of Dorset's strand! Salute! To fathers, mothers, true!
O, all ye loyal of our land,
Salute! These martyrs o'er the blue!
Their hopes in our America Live on, with music of the sea! Rejoice in our America- Steadfast and loyal be!
Let faith and courage e'er be ours, For Pilgrims brave know not retreat!
In Liberty's high torch there towers The light to way of Pilgrims' feet!
ODE TO GLOUCESTER MRS. LELIA F. FRENCH
Hail, Beloved City, standing by the sea, With arms outstretched beyond the shore
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To welcome all who seek a lea, And shelter from the tempest's roar.
Thy rugged rocks and peaceful lanes, Symbols of strength and harmony, Bring to the people and their aims The spirit of the One Almighty.
May a sweet spirit of content Forever shed a healthful glow On every pleasure and event So long as tides shall ebb and flow.
THE CLOSE OF THE WEEK BY JOHN CLARENCE LEE, D.D. 1923
Thy goodness, Lord, a glorious week Hath added to the noble past; Now, at its close, we fain would seek A lesson from it that shall last.
With prayer and pageant, speech and song A tribute to Thy praise we brought. Oh may our city cherish long The worthy deeds our fathers wrought.
Thou wert their Pilot o'er the sea; Thine were the land and harbor fair; Thy goodness made their spirits free, And guarded them with constant care.
Teach us, O Lord, for truth and right To live and toil, with heart and hand; Guide us with wisdom and with light, And bless our city and our land.
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THE COMMITTEES
Some 3600 persons were appointed on the various committees to arrange for the celebration. It was not to be expected that all of these could actively take part in the preliminary preparations, for lack of time and other sufficient reasons. It has, therefore, been thought best to include in the published list only those who were so circumstanced that they could contribute the neces- sary time and effort.
On the part of these it involved a sacrifice, but all such may justly look back with pride at the magnificent fruition of their labors. To no one committee may a major part of the praise be ascribed. The success achieved was due to a perfect coordina- tion of the whole. While some may have had a more spectacular assignment, yet to the various constructive committees, calling for executive talent and business ability, is special praise due for the solid work which laid such a substantial foundation for the completed structure. The following may be justly termed a roll of honor roster of the anniversary workers :
COMMITTEE ON ART EXHIBIT MRS. ARCHER E. HUNTINGTON (Anna Vaughn Hyatt), Chairman BADGES AND OFFICIAL SOUVENIRS N. CARLETON PHILLIPS, Chairman A. PIATT ANDREW RICHARD B. FISHER
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