FISHERMEN'S OWN BOOK. 



49 



from Boston to Philadelphia in three days. Sch. Lizzie W. Matheson^ Capt. 

 McKay, of Provincetown, in October, 1881, made the passage from Boston 

 to Cape Haytien in 8 days, discharged cargo, loaded and returned to Bos- 

 ton, making the round trip inside of 32 days, said to be the quickest time 

 on record, ^ch. Jennie A. Stubbs, Capt. Stubbs, made the run from Sandy 

 Hook to Turk's Island, in 1881, in 145 hours, actual time. Sch. Lottie K. 

 Friend, Capt William H. Collins, sailed from New York on Saturday even- 

 ing, April 30, 1880, at d^A o'clock, and arrived at Gloucester at 2 o'clock 

 the following Monday morning, making the passage in 31^ hours; the pre- 

 vious Winter the Lottie K, Friend made the passage from Phillips' wharf, 

 Salem, to New York, in 31 hours. 



In the Summer of 1880 several of the Gloucester fishing vessels had an 

 opportunity for a race with crack Boston" yachts, under favorable circum- 

 stances: July 27, sch. Alice M. Williams, Capt. Dennis C. Murphy, fell in 

 with the yacht Actae off Cape Sable ; the yacht put on all her light sails, 

 and Capt. Murphy spread his riding sail and all the dory sails he could raise, 

 and kept company with the yacht until he reached Eastern Point, when he 

 came into port, the Actae proceeding to Boston. Aug. 5, sch. Isaac A. 

 Chapman, Capt. Chas. R. Crew, fell in with the yacht Tarolinta; both craft 

 spread every inch of canvas, and in an hour and a half beating to windward 

 the yacht was left fully one-half mile to leeward. In September the sch. 

 Mary Odell, Capt. McClairi, out-sailed one of the crack Boston yachts, and 

 parties who witnessed the race were so well pleased with her sailing quali- 

 ties that they made an offer for the Odell on the spot, and she was sold to 

 go to Savannah as a pilot boat. 



SONG OF THE WINTER FISHERMAN. 



BY R. CALDER. 



Up ! up with your sails to the bending mast, 

 Sheet them home with a hearty will ; 



Let the rude caress of the wintry blast 

 Every fold of the canvas fill. 



Now sail away o'er the treacherous main, 

 "Where the storm-king builds his throne. 



Where the finny treasures of his domain 

 We will gather and call our own. 



Where the towering iceberg's crystal dome 



Is lost in the drifting snow, 

 And the waves dash up their milky foam 



From the gloomy depths below. 



Away where the bright Aurora's beams 



Flash over the starry sky. 

 Lighting the sea with its golden gleams, 



Where the daring fishers lie. 



Oh, kings and rulers the land may own — 



We envy not the great ; 

 The ocean free is our regal throne. 



The " deck" is our Chair of State. 



Oh, here we are free on the ocean's breast 

 As the deer on his native heath ; 



And when the storm is over we rest 

 On the billows — or underneath. 



What matter to us, when the spirit's fled, 

 Where the body finds a tomb — 



In the church-yard with our kindred dead, 

 Or 'neath the ocean's foam? 



Here's a noble craft to meet the blast 



Where'er fate bids us roam. 

 And hearts to greet, when danger's past, 



Our loving ones at home. 



