Written by T. Withers
We were bound home in October from the shores of
Trying to head a bad Nor'easter and snow, too
But the wind swept down upon us making day as black as night
Just before we made the land of Baccalieu.
Oh we tried to clear the Island as we brought her farther South
And the wind from out the Nor' east stronger blew
Till our lookout soon he shouted and there lay dead ahead
Through the snow squalls loomed the cliffs of Baccalieu.
It was hard down by the tiller as we struggled with the sheets
Tried our best to haul them in a foot or two
Till our decks so sharply tilted that we could barely keep our feet
As we hauled her from the rocks of Baccalieu.
Oh the combers beat her under and we thought she ne'er would rise
And her main boom was bending neigh in two
With our lee rails three feet under and two hands at the wheel
Sure, we hauled her from the rocks of Baccalieu.
Oh to leeward was the island and to win'ard was the gale
And the blinding sleet would cut you through and through
But our hearts were beating gladly for no longer could we gaze
Down to leeward at the cliffs of Baccalieu.