I02 



FISHERMEN'S OWN BOOK. 



THE PHANTOM BOAT, 

 A Legend of Cape Ann. 



BY E. NORMAN GUNNISON. 



The tide comes in and the tide goes out, 

 And the rollers break on the harbor bar, 



And up from the distance comes a sail, 

 Gleaming white 'ueatli the morning star. 



Fishing tackle and boats on deck, 

 Running rigging l>elayed and trim; 



Kaking spars — 'tis no battered wreck 

 Sailing out in the distance dim. 



It draws not near, though the wind is fair ; 



The sheets are free, but it comes not nigh, 

 But hangs, a point on the morning air, 



A pictured sail 'twixt the earth and sky. 



Fisherman, tell me why yonder boat 

 Sails, and no nearer comes to shore; 



Nor in the distance grows remote — 

 Not a ripple her bow breaks o'er. 



" Stranger, I reckon you aren't here long , 

 Many a year has lier pennant flew — 



Old is the story — a worn out song — 

 But her deck is trod by no mortal crew. 



Look a moment and see tlie flame 

 Gleaming white over mast and spar — 



Herel take my glass, you can read the name 

 Under her starn — 'tis the 'Alice Marr.' 



Alice Marr was a fair young girl, 



Long ago, in Glos'ter town ; 

 Rippling ringlets and sunny curl. 



Rare red lips and a cheek of brown. 



That was Alice, the fisher's pride ; 



Lovers sought her, from near and far; 

 She was -John Ackman's promised bride — 



He named his vessel the ' Alice Marr.' 



Thar's nothing sartin, stranger, in life; 



"We're gone to-morrow, though liere to-day. 

 Anotlier v'yagc h1u> would be his wife — 



At least, so I've lieard tlie gossips say. 



Pork, potatoes and liard-tack stowed, 

 Water in barrels and water in tanks, 



Nicely fixed for a three months' cruise, 

 He sailed away for the fishing banks. 



' For men must work and women must weep,' 

 Men must work for tlieir daily bread; 



One month out— all well on board. 

 Spoke by tlie ' Dart' of Marblehead, 



Months rolled on, and never a word ; 



Six mouths, twelve months — on the day 

 That finished the year was a rumor heard 



Of the 'Alice Marr' in the outer bay. 



Boats put out, but they drew not near; 



Slowly, silently on she steered; 

 'Skipper Aekmau I hoi what cheer?' 



She liad vanished and disappeared. 



Ever as rolls tlie year around. 



Bringing again her sailing day. 

 Rises her hull from the dejiths profound, 



And slowly cruises the outer baj'. 



Not a word of her master's fate, 

 Only a glimmer of sail and spar; 



Not a word of her crew or mate — 

 This is the ghost of the 'Alice Marr.' 



Still she watched down the peaceful bay, 

 Still her eye scanned each gathering cloud, 



Years receded, and worn and gray, 

 Her weikling dress was her f un'r'l shroud.'' 



This is no myth of the poet's pen. 

 This is no mirage upon the blast. 



The boat i.s tliere, just the same as when 

 Mine own eyes saw in the Sununcr past. 



Only the eye of faith can see, — 

 Eyes are blinded — and this in brief — 



What is holden from you or me, 

 Is seen by others who have belief. 



Still in tlie morning, cold and gray. 



Gazing afar the sea to scan. 

 Looking out from the sheltered bay. 



Sec the phantuiii which haunts Cape Ann 



