tales-of-Fogo-Island

The Wreck Commissioner was StoneyFor you all know him well,If you had been there you'd say it was hell.Drunk as a fool and in a wonderful tearIf you didn't please him, he'd rant and he'd swear.One man in particular I'll mention in my songHe went after Stoney because things were wrong.Stoney came forward I thought 'twas a sin,Haul out that old boat and let Pomeroy hove in.Part of her cargo was salmon I'm toldWe couldn't get at it, 'twas under her hold.We got up one cask just before dark,Old Stoney told us 'twas going to New York.'Twas on a Sunday morning the Fogota came in,To work on Sunday we thought 'twas a sin.But the fish must be taken the same we are toldWe started at once to fill up her hold.We worked all that night until dawn the next dayWe loaded the Fogota and sent her away.We then loaded our boats already to startBut the wind from the west'ard it blew until dark.And as for our crew, I will now tell their namesWalter Collins, our skipper, a very fine man.Mark Vincent, our driver a queer funny coon.There's George Hynes and Alex, and they're just in their bloom.There's old Skipper Jonathan, a very old man.There's Arthur John Frampton, Bill Frampton's son.A livelier crew, I'm sure you won't findThe next time there's wrecking they won't be behind.Now we'll go home our winter to spendHope all the vessels keep clear of the landFor we're tired of wrecking this time of the year.But out of that wreck we all got our share.