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The Rum Runners

Dry was the USA a hundred years ago.
Prohibition just begun, and spirits running low.
Then, to the rescue, fishermen, fresh from the Georges Bank,
Weighed down their boats with “demon rum” instead of fishing tanks.

For Woodrow Wilson listened to religious devotees,
Who thought that Prohibition would clean up society.
But crime increased and organized. Racketeers like Al Capone
And “Lucky” Luciano brought “bathtub gin” back home.

They filled their secret “juice joints” with lines of dancing girls,
And men would come from near and far to study every twirl.
Meanwhile, in New Brunswick, and Nova Scotia too,
“Ghosts in the night” transported all kinds of homemade brew.

Smuggling “booze” was dangerous. “Bootleggers” risked their lives
To set “suds” on a table in dark and dingy dives.
If not hijacking hoodlums, or U.S. Coast Guard boats,
RCMP were on the prowl for anything afloat. 

But skippers knew the coastline, every single section.
They’d disappear in coves and bays to avoid detection.
Sometimes they’d be forced to hide their load in shoreline caves, 
An ally’s barn or cellar, or cemetery grave.

They had to make a living when Atlantic cod were few.
They had a wife and children. They needed revenue.
They knew that they’d end up in jail if ever they were caught.
They’d lose their boat and family, or maybe even shot.

Peddling outlawed liquor held no special guarantee,
But every bit as dangerous, twas harvesting the sea.
                                        ***

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