The Adventure of the Scupper Nails

Oh, Gloucester can tell you ten thousand true tales. Of sailors who traveled the seas, With thrilling adventures and hairbreadth escapes, In many a fifty-mile breeze. I'll tell you of one man, two hundred years back, Whose name should be known far and wide, For building the "schooner" and choosing her name, As she slid down the ways with the tide. Young Robinson hunted and fished as a lad, And early sailed out to the Banks; He chased hostile Indian tribes with a will, And earned the good governor's thanks. Now Andrew descended from Reverend John, The pastor selected to sail Along with the Pilgrims in sixteen two-one, Had illness not rendered him pale And flatly prevented his taking the boat, And joining the first colony That settled in Plymouth and bravely endured The treacherous life by the sea. Young Andrew was dripping with fighting red blood, And courage for many brave men; His hair-raising exploits were freely discussed By many a voluble pen. The news of his enterprise journeyed abroad And reached the good governor's ears: "A man, indispensable," Dudley remarked; "We need such superb volunteers." And so he commissioned this daring young blood, To sail out of Gloucester one day, To fish and go hunting for Indian braves, Down east in the midst of the fray. And instantly, Andy, his prowess displayed By bagging two redskins to start, And though they refused him the recompense pledged, He won twenty pounds for his art. 'Twas down Nova Scotia way, Indians preyed On fishing boats there from Cape Ann, And for such destruction, exacted full toll Of vessel and cargo and man. On one expedition, near Canso, one night, His sloop very peacefully lay At anchor, while Andrew, suspecting no harm, Regarded the beautiful bay, Where all of a sudden, an Indian tribe Appeared with a blood-thirsty cry, And swooped on their ship unprepared for the fray, With riotous blood in their eye. They captured the captain and slaughtered his men, That terrible, memorable night; Unarmed and surrounded by desperate men, Poor Andrew had no chance to fight. "We'll not kill the captain," the chieftain declared; "Not yet-'twill be better to wait And make a great festival cutting him up In nice little pieces of eight!" They carried him off to their lair in the woods, And watched him with infinite care, Till midnight when everyone else but the guard Drank quantities more than his share. So Andrew lay quiet and cautiously watched Each movement the Indians made. Till over they rolled without warning or word, And no need of physical aid. The guard was still conscious and keen as a hawk. And Andy feigned undisturbed sleep, Till his vigilance snapped and his keeper collapsed In a lifeless and comfortable heap. The captain then gave him a crack on the skull, And instantly hastened away, Direct to the sloop they had ruthlessly seized, So recently, out in the bay. "They'll soon be upon me; I've no time to lose!" He thought, as he quickly untied The halyards and hoisted the neatly furled sails, And prayed he would never be spied. It happened events might have prospered full well, Had only the light wind been strong; But when he successfully got underway, The weather was certainly wrong. For infinite calm rested over the sea, And Robinson stirred not at all, And while he lay motionless, fearing the worst, He heard a wild Indian call: "Whoopee!" cried the savages, spying their prey, And issued a blood-curdling yell, As screaming and shouting, they rushed from the wood, And fell on the vessel, pell mell. "The fates are against me," poor Andrew bemoaned: "But Robinson never says 'die'! I'll manage someway to disorder their schemes. Or answer the argument why." The Indians fast were approaching the boat, Compressed in their sturdy canoes, With war paint and feathers bedecked in their hair, And feet minus slippers or shoes. "I have it!" he shouted and dashed to the hold, Which stored kegs of long scupper nails, Distinguished by large heads and sharp, piercing points, And scattered them inside the rails, All over the deck till 'twas covered with spots, Innocuous to any eye, But when the great warriors trod on the specks, They uttered a hue and a cry. As quick as chain lightning, Robinson seized His foes and with little delay, Outrageously tumbled them into the sea, And hustled the boat underway. The terrified Indians fled to the woods And captured no ships for a while, And a breeze blew young Robinson back to Cape Ann, To his shipyards and neat domicile. Some three hundred acres of unattached land, The General Court gave him as pay, For fighting the French and the Indian Wars, So active in Robinson's day. His last act was building a fortress in Maine, In winter, and catching a chill; He died and was buried right under the fort, Before people knew he was ill. And so lived and died one of Gloucester's brave sons, Who under the battlements lies; With God's earth beneath him and over his head, The shelter of heavenly skies.