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Whoever said that the pen is mightier than the sword
was never more right than in the case of the story of Floyd
Ireson, skipper of the 'Betty', a cod-fishing boat out of Marblehead, near Boston, Massachusetts.
The two different poems that follow are about a real incident.
The 'Betty' under skipper Floyd Ireson, was on her way home to Marblehead, with a hold full of cod, when the 'Active' was sighted in
distress - sinking in fact. The 'Betty' did not stop to save the crew of the other boat
and before another vessel, the 'Swallow', could reach the scene and pick up the survivors, several men were lost by drowning.
For many years, the first poem was used to revile Floyd Ireson and make
of him an example of the worst kind of captain. The poet, hearing the story from a
school friend, had gone ahead and written the story without checking the facts too carefully. His poem became popular and the refrain was sung for years:
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SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE
by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Of all the rides since the birth of time,
Told in story or sung in rhyme,
On Apuleius's Golden Ass.
Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass,
Witch astride of a human back,
Islam's prophet on Al-Borįk,
The strangest ride that ever was sped
was Ireson's, out from Marblehead!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Body of turkey, head of owl,
Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl,
Feathered and ruffled in every part,
Skipper Ireson stood in the cart.
Scores of women, old and young,
Strong of muscle and glib of tongue,
Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane,
Shouting and singing the shrill refrain:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"
Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips,
Girls in bloom of cheek and lips,
Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase
Bacchus round some antique vase,
Brief of skirt, with ankles bare,
Loose of kerchief and loose of hair,
With conch shells blowing and fish horns' twang,
Over and over the Męnads sang:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"
Small pity for him! - He sailed away
From a leaking ship in Chaleur Bay, -
Sailed away from a sinking wreck,
With his own town's people on her deck!
"Lay by! Lay by!" they called to him.
Back he answered, "Sink or swim!
Brag of your catch of fish again!"
And off he sailed through the fog and rain!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur,
That wreck shall lie forevermore.
Mother and sister, wife and maid,
Looked from the rocks of Marblehead
Over the moaning and rainy sea, -
Looked for the coming that might not be!
What did the winds and the sea birds say
Of the cruel captain who sailed away? -
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Through the street, on either side,
Up flew windows, doors swung wide;
Sharped-tongued spinsters, old wives gray,
Treble lent the fish horn's bray.
Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound,
Hulks of old sailors, run aground,
Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane,
And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"
Sweetly along the Salem road
Bloom of orchard and lilac showed.
Little the wicked skipper knew
Of the fields so green and the sky so blue.
Riding there in his sorry trim,
Like an Indian idol glum and grim,
Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear
Of voices shouting, far and near:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"
"Hear me, neighbours!" at last he cried, -
"What to me is this noisy ride?
What is the shame that clothes the skin
To the nameless horror that lives within?
Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck,
And hear a cry from a reeling deck!
Hate me and curse me, - I only dread
The hand of God and the face of the dead!"
Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea
Said "God has touched him! why should we?"
Said an old wife mourning her only son,
"Cut the rogue's tether and let him run!"
So with soft relentings and rude excuse,
Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose,
And gave him a cloak to hide him in,
And left him alone with his shame and sin.
Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
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The second poem was written some time after the first, prompted, it is believed, by a troubled conscience. It would appear that, in fact, Floyd Ireson
had wanted to rescue the stricken crew of the 'Active' but his crew were afraid that the delay would cause the fish to spoil and refused to obey the order to go to the assistance of the 'Active'.
When they reached the shore, the crew blamed their skipper and the only remark he made was to say "I thank you for the ride, gentlemen, and you will live to regret it."
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THE TRUE STORY OF SKIPPER IRESON
by Charles Buxton Going
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Out of the fog and the gloom,
Chased by the lift of the sea,
Dripping with spindrift and spume
Races the 'Betty', free.
Hold - full of cod to the planks,
Staggering under her spread -
Never such luck from the banks
Sailed into Marblehead!
Full- keep her full! Drown her rail -
Lee-decks awash to the hatch!
While the rest ride out the gale,
Flood Ireson's home with his catch!
Cape Cod abeam to the south'ard -
Up sprang the skipper on deck:
Who was that hail the wind smothered?
"Wreck, O - to port, there - a wreck!"
Logged, and awash in the sea,
Ready to sink by the head -
"Looks like the 'Active' to me -
Stand by those head sheets!" he said;
"Keep your helm up all you can -
We'll round-to and bring her to weather.
Kepp her away, I said, man!
Are you all mad there, together?"
"God, men! -" He stopped on the word,
Sullen his crew stood, and grim;
Never a man of them stirred,
Save as if guarding from him
Halyard and sheet: so he stood,
One man against the whole ship -
Skipper? Ay - what was the good?
Greed was the captain this trip!
Order, when none would obey?
Threaten? 'Twas idle, he knew;
Reason? Ay - argue and pray
And plead with a mutinied crew!
"Look at her signals!" he said:-
"Stand by her! Shall it go down
That seamen of old Marblehead
Left sinking shipmates to drown?"
"Ay!" growled the mate:- "and by God,
What if a story were told
How the year's best catch of cod
Rotted and spoiled in the hold?
Risk such a catch as we've got?
No! Let them chance it!" said he:-
"Sink or swim - that is the lot
Of all men who follow the sea!"
Heartsick, Flood Ireson sailed past,
Helpless to answer their hail.
Deaf as the shriek of the blast,
Blind as the scud of the gale,
Lee-decks awash to the hatch,
Tearing her way through the foam -
Blood of men's lives on her catch,
On drove the Betty for home.
II
The day was cool; white-crested ripples sung
Along the beach, and all the sky was clear
When, safe into the quiet harbour, swung
The 'Betty', gliding smoothly to her pier.
First of the fleet, and welcome as the day -
A little fortune in her close-filled hold -
Why did her crew, then, seem to turn away
From friendly greetings? Ireson too, of old
Kindly of heart, whose brave words often cheered
The poor home-comings of an empty trip -
Why was it he himself had not appeared,
But sent his crew ashore, and kept his ship?
Then, bit by bit, was gorged a black report;
From mouth to mouth the cruel story spread,
And murmurs rose - till, sailing into port
Like some accuser risen from the dead,
The rescued skipper of the 'Active' came,
And told the angry gossips of the town
How Skipper Ireson, to their lasting shame,
Heedless of signals, left him to go down.
"Heedless of love of man or laws of God,
Or all the brave old honor of the sea,
he sold us shipmates, for a mess of cod -
And Marblehead shall bear the shame!" said he.
"He left us - and before the 'Swallow' came
Four of my men were washed away. The dead
Shall haunt your cape, to cry Flood Ireson shame -
The whole world know the shame of Marblehead!"
Then strong men, cursing, swore to purge the town
Of such dishonor; smarting with disgrace,
They dragged Flood Ireson, unresisting, down
And stripped him in the public market-place.
The rest you know - the tar-and-feather coat,
The shameful ride they gave him, dragged with jeers
To Salem village, in a fishing-boat
The cruel, lying song that lived for years.
And all he bore, thinking it best the shame
Should cling to one man, though that man were he,
If it would save the honorable name
Of Marblehead, and of her sons at sea.
So Ireson won the day, and no one hears
His crew's disgrace. Their very names are lost,
While he has borne the blame through all these years
And paid the cost.
All they are gone who wronged him - some asleep
In quiet graveyards, others roving free
Till God shall call by name from out the deep
Those lost at sea.
For that was all a hundred years ago,
Long is Flood Ireson's rest among the dead;
But still the fishing-schooners come and go
At Marblehead.
And those who sailed them have been true and brave -
Heroes of surf and rescue, storm and wreck,
Gone, unafraid, to death on shore and wave
And battle-deck.
Then let the blood and seas blot out the wrong
Done long ago; we will not judge the dead,
But lay our laurel wreath where thorns pressed long
on Ireson's head.
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Do you have a poem, or more than one, for this page?
E-mail
us with it and we'll include as many as we can in the next issue.
What are your favourite traditional sea poems and shanties? Don't
forget to tell us who wrote the work (if known) so that we can give credits where they are due.
If you have written an original poem we'd love to consider it for this
page.
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