Poems (Hazlett-Bevis)/Beekun Bob

by Sophia Courtoulde Hazlett-Bevis

Beekun Bob.

He warn't no bigger nor nuthin,
 An' jest abeout ez slim;
But he hed a sort o' suthin,
 Thet made a hero o' him.

An' only a leetle Swede chap,
 Nigh ten year ole, I guess;
Whose skanty clo'es an' rimless cap,
 Wuz nuthin more ner less

Than rags thet cold winds pierced through
 He warn't afeerd o' work,
An' in his faded eyes o' blue,
 A look: he'd never shirk.

His dad an' marm wuz miners
 In a teown in Michigan:
They warn't no superfiners,
 Jest a woman an' a man

Thet worked hard the hull day long
 En the vitals of the yearth;
Their lives warn't wuth a penny song;
 They never hed no mirth.

Twuz jest a stiddy toil fer bread,
 An' "Beekun Bob," their son,
(The only kid they ever hed,
 An' he wuz a dandy one,)

Made up his mind to take a stan'
 When the night begin to come,
Right nigh a great hole in the land,
 They'd pass when they went hum.

So when the shadders 'gin to fall
 An' night wuz settlin' deown,
He'd take his pine knots, one an' all,
 An' hurry through the teown.

An' when he'd reach the ole mine shaft,
 Which hedn't been used fer years,
He'd light his torches, fore an' aft,
 An' hold 'em up like spears.

Ho warn't no slouch, I kin tell ye,
 He'd nary thort o' self;
Al'eerd his parents wouldn't see
 The hole and cavin shelf,

An' mebbe they would fall en it.
 So every night he stood,
Till he earned the title fit,
 O' "Beekun Bob, the good."

Wall, one night—an orful cold 'un,
 The winds blowed mighty high—
He tuk his stan' when day wuz done,
 With pine sticks, light an' dry.

Night wore on, he never flinched;
 His dad an' marm stayed long.
Neow the thin, white face growed pinched—
 He warn't so very strong.

An' when the dawn o' raornin' cum,
 It foun' "Bob" standin' still,
An' frozen stiff, an' white with foam
 His lips,—the night did kill,

The torch into his hands wuz burned,
 His eyes stood open wide;
He never left his post, an' earned
 A home the tother side.

You see, it happened in this wise:
 The mine whar his folks t'iled
Caved in on 'em, up to the eyes;
 An' after hours, tho' s'iled,

They wuz released by crowds o' folks.
 What do you think they did?
(A lump gits into my throat an' chokes
 When I think o' that kid.)

They didn' think nuthin on it;
 Sorry, I reckon, o' course.
They said, with an emphasis 'pon it,
 "Dead boy no good to us."

The "docs" at the city hospital,
 They tuk his hod y away;
I seed him lying like a gal,
 While his poor hands bandaged lay

I don't lay it up agin 'em,
 His dad and numn, you kneow;
They meant well, hed a row to stem,—
 Th' same to the dead hero.