Portland's Lost Waterfront

Recently I have had the extreme pleasure of spending some most enjoyable hours reading the memoirs of a woman who was raised aboard sailing vessels in the latter part of the nineteenth century. Her maiden name was Young, but she writes under the name Elizabeth Linklater, her married name. Imagine my surprise when I came upon the section where she describes in great detail her experiences in Portland during the Christmas season of 1889 and on into mid February of 1890. A year or so ago I had blogged about an 1889 Oregonian article describing Christmas aboard the various vessels in port. This was before I had discovered this book. The article tells of the cozy Christmas with Captain Young, his lovely wife, and two daughters, aboard the full-rigged, Orpheus , and how they made plum duff for the crew. In this book the interview by the Oregonian reporter is mentioned, and Elizabeth remembered, after many decades, the opening lines: "A pleasant home is that on board the Green

Inexcusable doggerel on an arcane subject. Come 'round all ye poor laborers, Of baggy eyes, and aching backs, And bring your haggard neighbors Who gather wages into sacks Moth eaten, mouse chewed, full of holes, As Haggai the sage foretold. Come round and hear a mournful dirge, Of bloodbath dire,   and burst-ed bowl, Do please, I beg, suppress the urge, To grind your teeth, to gnash, and howl, But lend to me your shell-like ears,. And enter now this vale of tears. 'Twas in the fabled Month of May, When birdies chirp and snails munch leaf, And breezes toss the sparkling hay, And every sword is in it's sheath. A time when wise men keep their heads, And search for dastards 'neath their beds. One morning clear, one morning sweet, One morning when the world seemed grand, There came the sound of tramping feet, And noisome tooting of a band. Toot, toot, toot toot, with trumpets foul, The dogs