“There are the Floyd Ireson women,” said Nora,
“‘Brief of skirt, with ankles bare,
Loose of kerchief, and loose of hair.
With conch-shells blowing, and fish-horns’ twang.
Over and over the Mænads sang,
“Here’s Find Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr’d and futherr’d and corr’d in a corrt
By the women o’ Morble’ead.”’
“And after all, poor man, they say now that he did n’t do what Whittier thought he had done when he wrote that poem.”
“Oh, what was it?” There was considerable eagerness in Brenda’s voice.
“Well, they thought that he sailed away from a Marblehead vessel that had sprung aleak in Chaleur Bay. That was the report that was spread in Marblehead, that he had refused to help the sailors who were in danger of drowning. So when he reached Marblehead, the women tarred and feathered him, and rode him around the streets in a cart. That part of the story is true enough, and so it is n’t so strange, perhaps, that Whittier should have written a poem about it. But it’s a pity, too, for it was afterwards shown that Skipper Ireson himself wanted to go to the help of the wreck, only his sailors would n’t let him. To save themselves from blame, they told this story about him. But anyway the whole thing was n’t quite as bad as it seems in the poem, for the men on the sinking vessel were finally rescued by another vessel that passed their way.”
