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THE OLD TAVERN
In the North End of Boston, long ago;
Although 'tis yet within my memory;
There were of gabled houses many a row,
With overhanging storeys two or three,
And many with half-doors over whose end
Leaning upon her elbows, the good-wife
At eventide conversed with many a friend
Of all the little chances of their life;
Small ripples in a stream which ran full slow
In the North End of Boston, long ago.
And 'mid these houses was a Hostelrie
Frequented by the people of the sea ,
Known as the Boy and Barrel, from its sign:
A jolly urchin on a cask of wine
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Bearing the words which puzzled every eye—
Orbus In Tactu Mainet
There were in Philadelphia, forty years ago, two sailors' groggeries in Water Street, both having the sign of The Boy and Barrel, derived from the infant Bacchus. One of these had for motto the words exactly as here misspelt and divided.
Heaven knows why.
Even there a bit of Latin made a show,
In the North End of Boston—long ago.
And many a sailor, when his cruise was o'er,
Bore straight for it soon as he touched the shore:
In many a stormy night upon the sea
He'd thought upon the Boy—and of the spree
He'd have when there, and let all trouble go,
In the North End of Boston, long ago.
There, like their vessels in a friendly port,
Met many mariners of every kind,
Spinning strange yarns of many a varied sort,
Well sheltered from the ocean and the wind;
In a long low dark room they lounged at ease;
Strange men there were from many a distant land,
And there above the high old chimney-piece
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Were curiosities from many a strand,
Which often made strange tales and memories flow
In the North End of Boston, long ago.
And there I often sat to hear those tales,
From men who'd passed through storm and fight and fire,
Of mighty icebergs and stupendous whales,
Of shipwrecked crews and of adventures dire,
Until the thought came to me on a time,
While I was listening to that merry throng,
That I would write their stories out in rhyme,
And weave into it many a sailor's song,
That men might something of the legends know
Of the North End of Boston, long ago.
First it was said that Captain Kidd in truth
Had revelled in that tavern with his crew,
And there it was he lost the Golden Tooth
Which brought him treasure, and the gossips knew
Moll Pitcher dwelt there in the days of yore,
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And Peter Rugg had stopped before the door:
Tom Walker there did with the Devil go
In the North End of Boston, long ago.
Nor had I long to wait, for at the word
Some one observed that he had seen in Spain
A captain hung—which Abner Chapin heard
And said, “I too upon the Spanish Main
Met with a man well known unto us all,
Who nearly hung a Captain General.”
He told the tale and I did rhyme it so;
In the North End of Boston, long ago.
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EL CAPITAN GENERAL
There was a Captain General who ruled in Vera Cruz,
And what we used to hear of him was always evil news;
He was a pirate on the sea —a robber on the shore:
The Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.
There was a Yankee skipper who round about did roam,
His name was Stephen Folger and Nantucket was his home,
And having gone to Vera Cruz he had been skinned full sore
By the Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.
But having got away alive, though all his cash was gone,
He said, “If there is Vengeance, I will surely try it on!
And I do wish I may be damned if I don't clear the score
With Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador!”
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He shipped a crew of seventy men—well-arméd men were they,
And sixty of them in the hold he darkly stowed away,
And sailing back to Vera Cruz was sighted from the shore,
By the Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.
With twenty-five soldados he came on board so pleased
And said: “Maldito Yankee—again your ship is seized.
How many sailors have you got?” Said Folger, “Ten—no more,”
To the Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.
“But come into my cabin and take a glass of wine,
I do suppose as usual, I'll have to pay a fine;
I have got some old Madeira and we'll talk the matter o'er—
My Capitan Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.”
And as over that Madeira the Captain General boozed,
It seemed to him as if his head was getting quite confused,
For it happened that some morphine had travelled from “the store”
To the glass of Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.
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“What is it makes the vessel roll? What sounds are these I hear?
It seems as if the rising waves were beating on my ear!”
“Oh it is the breaking of the surf—just that and nothing more,
My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador!”
The Governor was in a sleep which muddled all his brains,
The seventy men had got his gang and put them all in chains,
And when he woke the following day he could not see the shore,
For he was out on the blue water—the Don San Salvador.
“Now do you see that yard-arm—and understand the thing?”
Said Captain Folger, “For all from that yard-arm you shall swing,
Or forty thousand dollars you must pay me from your store,
My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.”
The Capitano took a pen—the order he did sign,
“O Señor Yankee!—but you charge amazing high for wine!”
But 'twas not till the draft was paid they let him go ashore,
El Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.
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The greatest sharp some day will find another sharper wit,
It always makes the devil laugh to see a biter bit;
It takes two Spaniards any day to come a Yankee o'er:
Even two like Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.
And when this tale was told, another man
Cried out, “I'll swear 'tis true as true can be,
Unto his health we'll have all round a can!
For Captain Folger is well known to me.
Now I will sing ‘first lines’ of ‘Uncle Sam,’
And he who can shall add at once a second,
I'll call you one by one—now here I am,
And he who balks shall be the loser reckoned,
And pay for drinks all round”—
“All right,” they roared,
“Now then begin, for we are all on board!”
