THE BALLAD OF ORASMUS NUTE
There once was a Quaker, Orasmus Nute,
With a physog as stiff as a cowhide boot,
And he skippered a ship from Georgetown, Maine,
In the’way-back days of the pirates’ reign.
And the story I tell it has to do
With Orasmus Nute and a black flag crew;
The tale of the upright course he went
In the face of a certain predicament.
For Orasmus Nute was a godly man
And he faithfully followed the Quaker plan
Of love for all and a peaceful life
And a horror of warfare and bloody strife.
While above the honors of seas and fleets
He prized his place on “the facing seats.”
Ah, Orasmus Nute,
Orasmus Nute,
He never disgraced his plain drab suit.
Now often he sailed for spice and teas
’Way off some place through the Barbary seas;
And once for a venture his good ship bore
Some unhung grindstones, a score or more.
Now, never in all of his trips till then
Had he spoken those godless pirate men.
But it chanced one day near a foreign shore
The sail of a strange craft toward him bore;
And as soon as the rig was clearly seen
The mate allowed’twas a black lateen.
Now a black lateen, as all men knew,
Was the badge of a bold, bad pirate crew.
So the mate he crammed to its rusty neck
A grim “Long Tom” on the quarter deck,
Then leaned on its muzzle a bit to pray
And waited to hear what the skipper would say.
For Orasmus Nute,
Orasmus Nute
Had stepped below for to change his suit.
He asked as he came on deck again,
“Does thee really think those are pirate men?”
“Yea, verily,” answered the Quaker mate,
“And they come at a most unseemly gait.”
Orasmus Nute looked over the rail
At the bulging sweep of the huge black sail;
Said he, “We are keeping our own straight
path,
And I’m sorry to harm those men of wrath
Yet, brother, perchance we are justified
In letting Thomas rebuke their pride.
We’ll simply give ’em a dash of fright.
So be sure, my friend, thee have aimed just
right.”
He squinted his eye along the rust,
“Now shoot,” said he, “if thee thinks thee
must.”
Ker-boomo! the old Long Thomas roared,
And the big lateen flopped overboard.
And Orasmus Nute,
Orasmus Nute,
Seemed puzzled to find that he could shoot.
“Now what are those sinful men about?”
He asked, as he heard a hoarse, long shout.
And the Quaker mate he answered, “Lo!
They’ve out with their oars, and here they
row!”
“Now, what in the name of William Penn,”
Cried Orasmus Nute, “can ail those men?
Perchance they are after our load of stones,
Will thee roll them up here, Brother Jones?
We’ll save them all of the work we can—
As a Quaker should for his fellow man.”
So as soon as the fierce, black pirate drew
Up’longside, that Quaker crew
Rolled those grindstones down pell-mell,
And every stone smashed through the shell
Of the pirate zebec, and down it went,
And all of the rascals to doom were sent,
While Orasmus Nute leaned over the side,
“No thanks, thee’rt welcome, my friends,” he
cried.
It chanced one wretch from the sunken craft
Made a clutch at a rope that was trailing aft,
And up he was swarming with frantic hope,
When Orasmus cried, “Does thee want that
rope? ”
So he cut it away with one swift hack
With a smile for the pirate as he dropped back.
And the Quaker skipper surveyed the sea
“God loveth the generous man,” quoth he.
Then Orasmus Nute,
Orasmus Nute
Went down and resumed his Quaker suit.