TALE OF THE KENNEBEC MARINER

Guess I’ve never told you, sonny, of the strandin’

and the wreck

Of the steamboat “Ezry Johnson” that run up

the Kennebec.

That was ’fore the time of steam-cars, and the

“Johnson” filled the bill

On the route between Augusty and the town of

Water ville.

She was built old-fashined model, with a

bottom’s flat’s your palm,

With a paddle-wheel behind her, druv’ by one

great churnin’ arm.

Couldn’t say that she was speedy—sploshed

along and made a touse,

But she couldn’t go much faster than a man

could tow a house.

Still, she skipped and skived tremendous, dodged

the rocks and skun the shoals,

In a way the boats of these days couldn’t do to

save their souls.

Didn’t draw no ’mount of water, went on top

instead of through.

This is how there come to happen what I’m go-

ing to tell to you.

—Hain’t no need to keep you guessing, for I

know you won’t suspect

How that thunderin’ old “Ez. Johnson” ever

happened to get wrecked.

She was overdue one ev’nin’, fog come down

most awful thick;

’Twas about like navigating round inside a

feather tick.

Proper caper was to anchor, but she seemed to

run all right,

And we humped her—though ’twas resky—

kept her sloshing through the night.

Things went on all right till morning, but along

’bout half-past three

Ship went dizzy, blind, and crazy—waves

seemed wust I ever see.

Up she went and down she scuttered; sometimes

seemed to stand on end,

Then she’d wallopse, sideways, cross-ways, in a

way, by gosh, to send

Shivers down your spine. She’d teeter, fetch a

spring, and take a bounce,

Then squat down, sir, on her haunches with a

most je-roosly jounce.

Folks got up and run a-screaming, forced the

wheelhouse, grabbed at me,

—Thought we’d missed Augusty landin’ and

had gone plum out to sea.

—Fairly shot me full of questions, but I said

’twas jest a blow;

Still, that didn’t seem to soothe ’em, for there

warn’t no wind, you know!

Yas, sir, spite of all that churnin’, warn’t a whis-

per of a breeze

—No excuse for all that upset and those strange

and dretful seas.

Couldn’t spy a thing around us—every way

’twas pitchy black,

And I couldn’t seem to comfort them poor crit-

ters on my back.

Couldn’t give ’em information, for ’twas dark’s

a cellar shelf;

—Couldn’t tell ’em nothing ’bout it—for I

didn’t know myself.

So I gripped the “Johnson’s” tiller, kept the

rudder riggin’ taut,

Kept a-praying, chawed tobacker, give her steam,

and let her swat.

Now, my friend, jest listen stiddy: when the sun

come out at four,

We warn’t tossin’ in the breakers off no stern

and rockbound shore;

But I’d missed the gol-durned river, and I swow

this ’ere is true,

I had sailed eight miles ’cross country in a heavy

autumn dew.

There I was clear up in Sidney, and the tossings

and the rolls

Simply happened ’cause we tackled sev’ral miles

of cradle knolls.

Sun come out and dried the dew up; there she

was a stranded wreck,

And they soaked me eighteen dollars’ cartage to

the Kennebec.