Tom Norton

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Tom Norton

A Tale of Shipwreck

That staunch good ship, The Albatross,

Dismantled in a storm did toss,

For the wind it blew terrific,

In the Southern Pacific.

The ship went down and of the crew

Those that were saved of them were few;

In various ways they strove to float

On chicken coop and spar and boat.

And Tom Norton, the second mate,

Met with a romantic fate;

Most of his poor comrades sank,

But safe he floated on his plank.

Although he was in a sad plight,

Tossed about by day and night,

For he had little food or drink.

Yet brave Tom’s courage did not sink.

The seventh day with joy he sees

An island cover’d with palm trees,

And as the sea was now quite calm,

He floated slow to isle of palm.

Here nature pleasantly doth smile

On this dear little lonely isle;

The natives soon do him espy,

And cast on him a longing eye.

They thought his flesh they would like raw,

The first white man they ever saw;

His skin to them seem’d sweet and clean,

But they found he was far too lean.

So after talking o’er the matter,

They resolved to make him fatter,

And they put him in a bamboo cage,

And the king’s daughter did engage

The beautiful and youthful Wambo

To feed captive in the cage of bamboo;

She fed her captive all so well,

That soon in love with him she fell.

For each day he seem’d to sweeten,

Too good by far for to be eaten,

So she resolved him to save,

And her father’s wrath to brave.

King Bomba wished to make great feast,

And slaughter poor Tom like a beast;

For to the nation King did boast,

Tom would make a glorious roast.

But those who wished for slices raw,

They would get a chance to crunch their jaw,

On some pieces of long Tom pork

They could set their teeth to work.

Poor Tom they all resolved to slay,

To grace the feast on King’s birthday;

But the daughter of King Bomba

Resolved they should not use Tom so.

So she selected one dark night,

And her footsteps were so light;

She knew the guards she could slip by

Before they her could e’er espy.

She full determined him to save

By hiding him in a small cave

That she discovered o’er the lake,

Well hid among the rocks and brake.

Her steps so light she did not rouse the

Sleeping guards, they were so drowsy;

She whispered in the ear of Tom

That she would find him better home.

She knew the cannibals would rage,

When they would find an empty cage;

But innocence she could slam so,

They would not suspect Miss Wambo.

The waters of this lake doth lave

The mouth of this hidden cave;

In her canoe Bomba’s daughter

Quickly rowed him o’er the water.

This little cave doth bushes screen,

Save her none else had ever seen

This cosy, safe and snug retreat,

Where her dear lover she could meet.

For she so dearly loved poor Tom,

He was so far away from home;

To him a helping hand she’d lend,

And she would be his warmest friend.

She promised Tom to bring him roots,

And coconuts and banyan fruits;

She was so skilful with the oar,

Each night she would replace the store.

But a great tumult did arise

When savages lost their fat prize

For King’s birthday it now was near,

And Tom’s flesh they prized so dear.

They searched for him both day and night,

And it was a romantic sight

To see these naked barbarous men

Search each hill and nook and glen.

In dark nights with burning flambeau

They search’d, led on by King Bomba;

But Tom his trials he stood so brave,

He felt secure in hidden cave.

But each night he longed for Wambo,

She brought him turtle and clam so

Large and fat and delicious,

And he fend they were nutritious.

He told his love that story good,

Of little Red Riding Hood,

And how the wolf poor child deceives,

This cruel tale her sadly grieves.

First time she ever heard a story,

It added greatly to Tom’s glory;

The wolf so treacherous she did hate,

And pitied poor Riding Hood’s fate.

This sad tale so cruel, gory,

It saved Tom’s life this little story;

Tom would been found soon or late,

And would have met a horrid fate.

And she to cave did father bring,

So Tom could tell tale to the King;

The King and daughter both they cried,

Because little Riding Hood died.

Bomba gave to Tom his daughter,

And soon other tales he taught her;

With wonder they oft times would fill her;

“Jack in Bean Stalk” and “Giant Killer.”

The first so quickly he could walk

To the top of a tall bean stalk;

It was high as lofty steeple,

There Jack looked down upon the people.

And more wondrous tale of giant,

To the world so long defiant;

Carrying off oxen on his back,

’Till he was slain by little Jack.

And when e’er she was full of gloom,

He told her tale of “Hop, O’ My Thumb”;

Natives wou’d come from far and near,

These wondrous stories for to hear.

They brought him coconuts so free,

And the bread from the fruit tree;

On fat turtles he could feast,

When he told of “Beauty and the Beast.”

And Tom thought that it was no crime

To change tales of prose into rhyme,

As we do here in hopes that tingle

To the ear will be sweet jingle.

But at last they all refused to

Listen to anything but “Crusoe,”

How weary time he did beguile,

Living so long on lonely isle.

After all with greatest pride, they

Heard about his black man Friday,

Until they got stories off by heart,

Then with their goods they would not part.

For they were teaching one another.

The King to stop all this bother;

Gave son-in-law a copyright,

He only should the folks delight.

But fortune now on Tom doth smile,

An English ship anchored on isle,

For they required interpreter

To bring to them supply of water.

Water on ship was old and stale,

There was a stench from water pail,

But Tom he quickly did procure

Water from the spring so pure.

The captain tried Tom to beguile,

And take him off from savage isle,

But Tom eujoyed this kind of life,

And loved his children and his wife.

From ship Tom got a book of stories,

And in “Arabian Nights” soon glories.

Then each savage he delights,

Listening to tales about those Nights.

Tom’s influence no more it fails,

He reads to them those charming tales;

While with awe on him they look,

As he reads stories from the book.

Bomba Tomba, his eldest son,

He fame and fortune will soon won,

For he can tell them many a whopper

Of “Cinderella and Glass Slipper.”

And he is learning now to read,

So natives generous will him feed;

Thus he will retain their hearts,

When his father this life departs.

This tale a proof it doth afford

That pen is mightier than the sword;

In warriors no more they glory,

But in the man who tells the story.

No more they now each other drub,

Flourishing the warlike club;

Spears no more are used for stabbing,

Nor their javelins for jabbing.

Except when they do wish to feast

On the Hesh of some fat beast,

They reserve their bows and arrows,

To shoot the pigeons and sparrows.

All warlike arts they have forsook,

And reverence the man with book;

Peaceful arts they all now prize,

For Christian truths hath made them wise.

For Tom impressed them with Christ’s love,

And they all hope for Heaven above;

Bomba Tomba is now crowned King,

Of him will future poets sing.