Change Islands is our native home, a place you all know well.
I have no time to put in rhyme the things I'd like to tell.
It's all about a hearty crew who on one day in June,
Like all the rest, they did their best, and sailed one afternoon.
They are tackling for the salmon, the herring, and the cod;
In boist'rous winds and weather, bakeapples was their job.
They talked about bay seals, the mushrat, and the bear,
And canning up the berries, the money they would share.
Before I go much farther, I'll speak about the trip,
And where they went and what they did from Change Islands to the Creek.
The wind was light across the bay, the ship did sail like smoke,
And on the following evening, we motored her in Croque.
St. Anthony was the next port, it was there we had to call;
It took a week to make a trip from Change Islands to Cape Bauld.
Across the Strait they then did go and anchored safe and sound,
And their motor boat they then did get and took a look around.
No sign of salmon on that shore; discouraging was the news;
No pirate money could be found, and not a fish for brewis.
They talked about the foxes and what they thought was best,
And if they could get the salmon, they would leave out all the rest.
It was down the shore they then did go, and blacker was the news;
July was fast approaching, no time to pick and choose.
They searched for seals in Makeses Bay, but nothing could be found;
The more they searched, the less they got; no use to go farther down.
In searching for the salmon, no time left for delay.
They turned around upon their tracks and tried in Lewis Bay.
A lot of men lived in that place had nets out in galore;
They could not see there what to do, nor room for any more.
The weather still got hotter; plenty nippers, flies and stout;
A decision they arrived at and a cod-trap was put out.
The sign of fish got better, they thought it would be thick,
And they'd get it a great deal quicker, if they anchored in the Creek.
It was on a Monday morning, the sea and fog quite thick,
With motor boat and canvas, they got her in the Creek.
'Twas there they spent the summer, as you may understand;
They got three cases of berries, minus of one can.
They had a patent sealer, driven by the second hand;
Torreville turned the handle; 'twas he who spoiled the can.
There's one thing more I'd like to tell,- that's if I'm allowed,-
The schooner's name was Neta C.; now listen for her crowd.
Thomas Hines the captain, Walter the second hand;
Also three more before the mast; I'll name them if I can.
Arthur was the captain's son, Raymond was Walter's b'y;
The other one you ought to know, you'll guess him if you try.