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Benny Cleveland's Job When portents are abroad at night and tempests lash the shore, And mateless wives grow timid at the ocean's fearful roar, Tis then a gloom comes o'er me, and with many a plaintive sob, I long for quaint Nantucket and for Benny Cleveland's job. In days of old brave knights were wont to guard the ladies fair, Or rescue lovely maidens from the robber baron's lair; But on no such quest chivalric was our Benny forced to roam— He kept his knightly vigil each night at some dame's home. His fee as Guardian Angel all Nantucketers well knew, 'Twas fifteen cents for one night, or twenty-five for two; So, trustful in his watchfulness, wives gave themselves to sleep, To dream of absent husbands in their journeys o'er the deep. And husbands tossed in fragile craft midst wild, tempestuous seas, Gave little fear for loving hearts who lived at home at ease, For, confident as Faith itself, they knew that none could rob Their Lares and Penates when Ben was on the job. To his fathers Ben's been gathered these many, many years, But no memory is more cherished in the minds of Island dears, And while frequently at sewing bees, they oft love to recall The halcyon days when Benny was protector of them all. Now, having met the 'Tucket girls, 'tis very clear to me That Benny was a wise old owl and excessive was his fee; For, free of charge on stormy nights, you bet that up I'd bob To try to displace Benny from his most alluring job. So, when portents are abroad at night and tempests lash the shore, And mateless wives grow timid at the ocean's fearful roar, I know you cannot blame me, if, with many a wistful sob, I long for quaint Nantucket and for Benny Cleveland's job. August, 1910.
Joseph A. Campbell.
Nantucket Inquirer and Mirror, November 12, 1910
