Two jinkers in our harbour dwell, adventuresome and plucky;
The plans they make all promise well, but always turn unlucky.
Men were hard to get that year, else sailed we would have sooner,
So to our sorrow and despair, they shipped aboard our schooner
Misfortune followed on their trail whenever they did venture,
And when bad luck did us assail these two we'd always censure.
To the offer ground you'd see them bound, look out for squalls that even;
Make for the land - cries every man, here's Jimmie Walsh and Stephen!
When we landed on the Funks we had two Cat's Cove ruffians;
They went battin' Carey's chicks and said that they were puffins.
When we came to share our eggs we thought all hands had even,
Then found that two had none at all - poor Jimmie Walsh and Stephen!
In crossing Belle Isle Straits next night, the orders from the skipper
Were: "Keep your canvas all drawn tight, and on your lee the dipper."
Before the dawn there came a crash, from stem to stern a shiver;
Then from our bunks we made a dash, and heard a running river.
We found that Stephen was at the wheel, and Jimmie was the scunner;
That we still lived 'twas good to feel when two such craytures run 'er.
Our water line a growler rives, and through the seam comes seivin'
The ocean roaring for the lives of Jimmie Walsh and Stephen!
Our guardian Angels never knew of such an active season;
We kept our senses all alert, and knew we had good reason.
Such constant strain might crack the brain; the fishery game I'm leaving
And if I "raise" give all the praise to Jimmie Walsh and Stephen!