Extraordinary Derelict
The basis of the following illustrated short story are actual events reported in the 19th century newspapers. Laboramus was an unusual name for a ship. The appearance of the name had a connection dating back to Roman times in England. Emperor Septimus Severus led campaigns against the unconquerable Scots in Northern Britain for several years. He felt after persuading the Scots to sign a treaty, that he had quelled this threat on the most Northern tip of the Roman Empire. Falling ill and dying at the City of York in Northern England, he was disheartened by the news that the Scots had broken the treaty and rebelled once again. It seemed this work had no end. He lamented to those close to him “Laboramus”, as if to indicate this never ending work. The Latin word and context of it spoken seemed to come back to life in the 1860s when its reference was acknowledged in political news columns, poems and a ship name.

Note About Story
This story has a nice Canadian twist as the Laboramus is a Nova Scotian built vessel and one that bears testimony to the sturdy quality that Nova Scotians constructed in their ships. Laboramus’ derelict finale is one that should make all Nova Scotians proud. Interestingly enough Eliza Craven Green wrote a poem entitled Laboramus the year Nova Scotians launched the ship. By some strange irony much of the poems theme finds resonance in the saga of the Laboramus ship.

Eliza Craven Green's Poem
Laboramus
(Lincolnshire Chronicle - Friday 14 March 1862, page 3).

On the rude surface of the barest rock
Some hidden crevice holds a slender thread
Of unseen verdure, brightening silently
Beneath the dews of heaven. On ice-bound peaks
The fragile snow-flower lifts its airy bells
And sheds its pale bloom on the glacier’s breast.
Thus Genius lives: - .
The fire Prometheus stole
From heaven, was kindled on the sacred shrine
Of Poësy the Immortal! - evermore
Its light has lingered in the human heart
Stain’d by fierce passions of the grosser clay,
Crush’d down by circumstance, or sternly hid
Beneath the masque that fronts the common day,
But living ever! - quenchless as the fount
Of earliest glory, whence its being sprang.
Then droop not Singers, if the busy world
Pauses not to listen. As the tide rolls by,
It bears your music on its widening breast,
To every song some answering heart replies,
And life is thrill’d with hidden harmonies!