Salt-water ballads

SALT-WATER BALLADS

SALT-WATER

BALLADS

BY

JOHN MASEFIELD

S

GRANT RICHARDS

48 LEICESTER SQUARE

LONDON
1902

Edinburgh : Printed by T. and A. Constable

TO

C. db la CHEROIS CROMMELIN
A. HANFORD-FLOOD

AND

H. M. HEANE

I thank the Editors of the Broad-Sheet, Outlook,
Pall Mall Magazine, Speaker, and Tatler, for per-
mission to include in this volume a number
of ballads which originally appeared in those
papers. John Masefield.

CONTENTS

PAGE

A CONSECRATION

Not of the princes and prelates with periwigged

charioteers, ...... I

THE YARN OF THE 'LOCH ACHRAY'

The ' Loch Achray ' was a clipper tall, . . 3

SING A SONG O' SHIPWRECK

He lolled on a bollard, a sun-burned son of

the sea, ....... 7

BURIAL PARTY

'He's deader 'n nails,' the fo'c's'le said, f'n'
gone to his long sleep,' . . . . 11

BILL

He lay dead on the cluttered deck and stared

at the cold skies, . . . . . 14

FEVER SHIP

There '11 be no weepin' gells ashore when our

ship sails, 15

x SALT-WATER BALLADS

PAGE

FEVER-CHILLS

He tottered out of the alleyway with cheeks

the colour of paste, . . . . . 17

ONE OF THE BO'SUN'S YARNS

Loafin' around in Sailor Town, a-bluin' o' my
advance, 19

HELL'S PAVEMENT

f When I 'm discharged in Liverpool 'n' draws

my bit o' pay,' ...... 25

SEA-CHANGE

( Goneys an' gullies an' all o' the birds o' the
sea,' 27

HARBOUR-BAR

All in the feathered palm-tree tops the bright
green parrots screech, .... 29

NICIAS MORITURUS

An' Bill can have my sea-boots, Nigger Jim

can have my knife, . . . . . 31

ONE OF WALLY'S YARNS

The watch was up on the topsail-yard a-

making fast the sail, 33

CONTENTS xi

PAGE

A VALEDICTION (LIVERPOOL DOCKS)

Is there anything as I can do ashore for you, 35

A NIGHT AT DAGO TOM'S

Oh yesterday, I t'ink it was, while cruisin'

down the street, 38

'PORT O' MANY SHIPS'

1 It 's a sunny pleasant anchorage, is Kingdom

Come,' 4°

CAPE HORN GOSPEL— I

e I was on a hooker once,' said Karlssen, . 42

CAPE HORN GOSPEL— II

Jake was a dirty Dago lad, an' he gave the

skipper chin, 45

MOTHER CAREY

Mother Carey? She's the mother o' the

witches, ....... 48

EVENING-REGATTA DAY

Your nose is a red jelly, your mouth's a
toothless wreck, 50

xii SALT-WATER BALLADS

PAGE

A VALEDICTION

We're bound for blue water where the great

winds blow, 52

A PIER-HEAD CHORUS

Oh I'll be chewing salted horse and biting

flinty bread, 54

THE GOLDEN CITY OF ST. MARY

Out beyond the sunset, could I but find the

way, ........ 56

TRADE WINDS

In the harbour, in the island, in the Spanish

Seas, 58

SEA-FEVER

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely
sea and the sky, 59

A WANDERER'S SONG

A wind 's in the heart o' me, a fire 's in my
heels, ....... 61

CARDIGAN BAY

Clean, green, windy billows notching out the

sky, 63

CONTENTS xiii

PAGE

CHRISTMAS EVE AT SEA

A wind is rustling ' south and soft/ . . 64

A BALLAD OF CAPE ST. VINCENT

Now, Bill, ain't it prime to be a-sailin', . 66

THE TARRY BUCCANEER

I 'm going to be a pirate with a bright brass

pivot-gun, 68

A BALLAD OF JOHN SILVER

We were schooner-rigged and rakish, with a

long and lissome hull, . . . . 71

LYRICS FROM 'THE BUCCANEER'

I. — We are far from sight of the harbour

lights, 74

II. — There's a sea-way somewhere where all

daylong, 75

III. — The toppling rollers at the harbour mouth, 76

D'AVALOS' PRAYER

When the last sea is sailed and the last

shallow charted, yy

THE WEST WIND

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of
birds' cries, 79

THE GALLEY-ROWERS

Staggering over the running combers, . . 82

xiv SALT-WATER BALLADS

PAGE

SORROW O' MYDATH

Weary the cry of the wind is, weary the sea, 84

VAGABOND

Dunno a heap about the what an' why, . 85

VISION

I have drunken the red wine and flung the

dice, 86

SPUNYARN

Spunyarn, spunyarn, with one to turn the

crank, 88

THE DEAD KNIGHT

The cleanly rush of the mountain air, . . 89

PERSONAL

Tramping at night in the cold and wet, I
passed the lighted inn, . . . . 91

ON MALVERN HILL

A wind is brushing down the clover, . . 92

TEWKESBURY ROAD

It is good to be out on the road, and going
one knows not where, .... 94

CONTENTS xy

PAGE

ON EASTNOR KNOLL

Silent are the woods, and the dim green

boughs are, 96

'REST HER SOUL, SHE'S DEAD!'

She has done with the sea's sorrow and the

world's way, 97

< ALL YE THAT PASS BY'

On the long dusty ribbon of the long city

street, ....... 99

IN MEMORY OF A. P. R.

Once in the windy wintry weather, . . 101

TO-MORROW

Oh yesterday the cutting edge drank thirstily
and deep, 102

CAVALIER

All the merry kettle-drums are thudding into

rhyme, 104

A SONG AT PARTING

The tick of the blood is settling slow, my

heart will soon be still, .... 106

GLOSSARY 109

'The mariners are a pleasant people, but little
like those in the towns, and they can speak no other
language than that used in ships.'

The Licentiate Vidriera.

A CONSECRATION

Not of the princes and prelates with periwigged

charioteers
Riding triumphantly laurelled to lap the fat of the

years, —
Rather the scorned — the rejected — the men hemmed in

with the spears ;

The men of the tattered battalion which fights till it

dies,
Dazed with the dust of the battle, the din and the cries,
The men with the broken heads and the blood running

into their eyes.

Not the be-medalled Commander, beloved of the throne,
Riding cock-horse to parade when the bugles are blown,
But the lads who carried the koppie and cannot be
known.

2 SALT-WATER BALLADS

Not the ruler for me, but the ranker, the tramp of the road,
The slave with the sack on his shoulders pricked on with

the goad,
The man with too weighty a burden, too weary a load.

The sailor, the stoker of steamers, the man with the

clout,
The chantyman bent at the halliards putting a tunc to

the shout,
The drowsy man at the wheel and the tired look-out.

Others may sing of the wine and the ?vealth and the

mirth,
The portly presence of potentates goodly in girth ; —
Mine be the dirt and the dross, the dust and scum of

the earth !

Theirs be the music, the colour, the glory, the gold ;
Mine be a handful of ashes, a mouthful of mould.
Of the maimed, of the halt and the blind in the rain
and the cold —

Of these shall my songs be fashioned, my tales be told.

Amen.

THE YARN OF THE 'LOCH ACHRAY

THE YARN OF THE 'LOCH ACHRAY '

The f Loch Achray ' was a clipper tall

With seven-and-twenty hands in all.

Twenty to hand and reef and haul,

A skipper to sail and mates to bawl

' Tally on to the tackle-fall,

Heave now 'n' start her, heave 'n' pawl ! '
Hear the yarn of a sailor,
An old yarn learned at sea.

Her crew was shipped and they said ' Farewell,

So-long, my Tottie, my lovely gell ;

We sail to-day if we fetch to hell,

It 's time we tackled the wheel a spell.'
Hear the yarn of a sailor,
An old yarn learned at sea.

The dockside loafers talked on the quay
The day that she towed down to sea :

SALT-WATER BALLADS

{ Lord, what a handsome ship she be !
Cheer her, sonny boys, three times three ! '
And the dockside loafers gave her a shout
As the red-funnelled tug-boat towed her out ;
They gave her a cheer as the custom is,
And the crew yelled ' Take our loves to Liz —
Three cheers, bullies, for old Pier Head
'N' the bloody stay-at-homes ! ' they said.
Hear the yarn of a sailor,
An old yarn learned at sea.

In the grey of the coming on of night
She dropped the tug at the Tuskar Light,
'N' the topsails went to the topmast head
To a chorus that fairly awoke the dead.
She trimmed her yards and slanted South
With her royals set and a bone in her mouth.
Hear the yarn of a sailor,
An old yarn learned at sea.

She crossed the Line and all went well,
They ate, they slept, and they struck the bell

THE YARN OF THE 'LOCH ACHRAY'

And I give you a gospel truth when I state
The crowd didn't find any fault with the Mate,
But one night off of the River Plate.
Hear the yarn of a sailor,
An old yarn learned at sea.

It freshened up till it blew like thunder
And burrowed her deep, lee-scuppers under.
The old man said, c I mean to hang on
Till her canvas busts or her sticks are gone ' —
Which the blushing looney did, till at last
Overboard went her mizzen-mast.
Hear the yarn of a sailor,
An old yarn learned at sea.

Then a fierce squall struck the ' Loch Achray '
And bowed her down to her water-way ;
Her main-shrouds gave and her forestay,
And a green sea carried her wheel away ;
Ere the watch below had time to dress
She was cluttered up in a blushing mess.
Hear the yarn of a sailor,
An old yarn learned at sea.

SALT-WATER BALLADS

She couldn't lay-to nor yet pay-off,
And she got swept clean in the bloody trough ;
Her masts were gone, and afore you knowed
She filled by the head and down she goed.
Her crew made seven-and-twenty dishes
For the big jack-sharks and the little fishes,
And over their bones the water swishes.
Hear the yarn of a sailor,
An old yarn learned at sea.

The wives and girls they watch in the rain
For a ship as won't come home again.
c I reckon it 's them head-winds/ they say,
( She '11 be home to-morrow, if not to-day.
I '11 just nip home 'n' I '11 air the sheets
'N' buy the fixins 'n' cook the meats
As my man likes 'n' as my man eats.'

So home they goes by the windy streets,
Thinking their men are homeward bound
With anchors hungry for English ground,
And the bloody fun of it is, they're drowned !
Hear the yarn of a sailor,
An old yarn learned at sea.

SING A SONG O' SHIPWRECK

SING A SONG O' SHIPWRECK

He lolled on a bollard, a sun-burned son of the sea,
WTith ear-rings of brass and a jumper of dungaree,
C'N' many a queer lash-up have I seen,' says he.

' But the toughest hooray o' the racket,' he says,

' I '11 be sworn,
'N' the roughest traverse I worked since the day I

was born,
Was a packet o' Sailor's Delight as I scoffed in the

seas o' the Horn.

'All day long in the calm she had rolled to the

swell,
Rolling through fifty degrees till she clattered her

bell;
'N' then came snow, 'n' a squall, 'n' a wind was

colder 'n hell.

8 SALT-WATER BALLADS

' It blew like the Bull of Barney, a beast of a breeze,
'N' over the rail come the cold green lollopin' seas,
*N* she went ashore at the dawn on the Ramirez.

' She was settlin' down by the stern when I got to

the deck,
Her waist was a smother o' sea as was up to your

neck,
'N' her masts were gone, 'n her rails, V she was a

wreck.

' We rigged up a tackle, a purchase, a sort of a shift,
To hoist the boats off o' the deck-house and get

them adrift,
When her stern gives a sickenin' settle, her bows

give a lift,

f 'N' smash comes a crash of green water as sets me

afloat
With freezing fingers clutching the keel of a boat —
The bottom-up whaler — 'n' that was the juice of

a note.

SING A SONG O' SHIPWRECK 9

' Well,, 1 clambers acrost o' the keel 'ri I gets me

secured,
When I sees a face in the white o' the smother to

looard,
So I gives 'im a 'and, 'n' be shot if it wasn't the

stooard !

' So he climbs up forrard o' me, 'n' " thanky," a' says,
'N' we sits 'n' shivers 'n' freeze to the bone wi' the

sprays,
'N' /sings "Abel Brown," 'n' the stooard he prays.

f Wi' never a dollop to sup nor a morsel to bite,
The lips of us blue with the cold 'n' the heads of

us light,
Adrift in a Cape Horn sea for a day 'n' a night.

' 'N' then the stooard goes dotty 'n' puts a tune to

his lip,
'N' moans about Love like a dern old hen wi' the

pip—
(I sets no store upon stooards — they ain't no use

on a ship).

10 SALT-WATER BALLADS

f,N' " mother," the looney cackles, "come'n put

Willy to bed ! M
So I says u Dry up, or I '11 fetch you a crack o' the

head " ;
"The kettle's a-bilin'," he answers, "'n I'll go

butter the bread."

f 'N' he falls to singin' some slush about clinkin' a

can,
'N' at last he dies, so he does, 'n' I tells you, Jan,
I was glad when he did, for he weren't no fun for a

man.

' So he falls forrard, he does, 'n' he closes his eye,
'N' quiet he lays 'n' quiet I leaves him lie,
'N' I was alone with his corp, 'n' the cold green
sea and the sky.

f 'N' then I dithers, I guess, for the next as I knew
Was the voice of a mate as was sayin' to one of the

crew,
' ' Easy, my son, wi' the brandy, be shot if he ain't

comin'-to ! " '

BURIAL PARTY 11

BURIAL PARTY

' He 's deader 'n nails,' the fo'c's'le said, ' 'n' gone to

his long sleep ' ;
f 'N' about his corp,' said Tom to Dan, ' d'ye think

his corp '11 keep
Till the day's done, 'n' the work's through, 'n' the

ebb 's upon the neap ? '

' He 's deader 'n nails,' said Dan to Tom, ' 'n' I wish

his sperrit j'y ;
He spat straight 'n' he steered true, but listen to

me, say I,
Take 'n' cover 'n' bury him now, 'n' I '11 take 'n'

tell you why.

' It 's a rummy rig of a gufFy's yarn, 'n' the juice of

a rummy note,
But if you buries a corp at night, it takes 'n' keeps

afloat,

12 SALT-WATER BALLADS

For its bloody soul 's afraid o' the dark 'n' sticks
within the throat.

1 'N' all the night till the grey o' the dawn the dead

'un has to swim
With a blue 'n' beastly Will o* the Wisp a-burnin'

over him,
With a herring, maybe, a-scoffin' a toe or a shark

a-chewin' a limb.

' 'N' all the night the shiverin' corp it has to swim

the sea,
With its shudderin' soul inside the throat (where a

soul 's no right to be),
Till the sky 's grey 'n' the dawn 's clear, 'n' then

the sperrit 's free.

1 Now Joe was a man was right as rain. I 'm sort of

sore for Joe,
'N' if we bury him durin the day, his soul can take

V go ;
So we'll dump his corp when the bell strikes *n* we

can get below.

BURIAL PARTY 13

' I 'd fairly hate for him to swim in a blue 'n' beastly
light,

With his shudderin' soul inside of him a-feelin the
fishes bite,

So over he goes at noon, say I, 'n' he shall sleep to-
night.'

14 SALT-WATER BALLADS

BILL

He lay dead on the cluttered deck and stared at

the cold skies,
With never a friend to mourn for him nor a hand

to close his eyes :
1 Bill, he 's dead/ was all they said ; l he 's dead, 'n'

there he lies.'

The mate came forrard at seven bells and spat

across the rail :
' Just lash him up wi' some holystone in a clout o'

rotten sail,
'N', rot ye, get a gait on ye, ye 're slower 'n a

bloody snail ! '

When the rising moon was a copper disc and the

sea was a strip of steel,
We dumped him down to the swaying weeds ten

fathom beneath the keel.
' It 's rough about Bill,' the fo'c's'le said, ' we '11

have to stand his wheel.'

FEVER SHIP 15

FEVER SHIP

There 'll be no weepin' gells ashore when our ship

sails,
Nor no crews cheerin' us, standin' at the rails,
'N' no Blue Peter a-foul the royal stay,
For we've the Yellow Fever — Harry died to-day. —
It 's cruel when a fo'c's'le gets the fever !

'N' Dick has got the fever-shakes, 'n' look what I

was told
(I went to get a sack for him to keep him from the

cold) :
1 Sir, can I have a sack ? ' I says, ' for Dick 'e 's fit

to die.'
'Oh, sack be shot!' the skipper says, 'jest let the

rotter lie ! ' —

It 's cruel when a fo'c's'le gets the fever !

16 SALT-WATER BALLADS

It 's a cruel port is Santos, and a hungry land,
With rows o' graves already dug in yonder strip of

sand,
'N' Dick is hollerin' up the hatch, 'e says 'e's goin'

blue,
His pore teeth are chattering, 'n' what 's a man to

do?—

It 's cruel when a fo'c's'le gets the fever !

FEVER-CHILLS 17

FEVER-CHILLS

He tottered out of the alleyway with cheeks the

colour of paste,
And shivered a spell and mopped his brow with

a clout of cotton waste :
' I 've a lick of fever-chills/ he said, f 'n' my inside

it's green,
But I 'd be as right as rain/ he said, ' if I had some

quinine, —
But there ain't no quinine for us poor sailor-men.

' But them there passengers,' he said, ' if they gets

fever-chills,
There's brimmin' buckets o' quinine for them, 'n'

bulgin' crates o' pills,
'N' a doctor with Latin 'n' drugs 'n' all — enough

to sink a town,
'N' they lies quiet in their blushin' bunks 'n' mops

their gruel down, —
B

18 SALT-WATER BALLADS

But there ain't none o' them fine ways for us
poor sailor-men.

1 But the Chief comes forrard 'n' he says, says he,

" I gives you a straight tip :

Come none o' your Cape Horn fever lays aboard o'

this yer ship.
On wi' your rags o' duds, my son, 'n' aft, V down

the hole :
The best cure known for fever-chills is shovelling

bloody coal."
It's hard, my son, that's what it is, for us poor

sailor-men.'

ONE OF THE BO'SUN'S YARNS 19

ONE OF THE BO'SUN'S YARNS

Loafin' around in Sailor Town, a-bluin' o' my

advance,
I met a derelict donkeyman who led me a merry

dance,
Till he landed me 'n' bleached me fair in the bar

of a rum-saloon,
'N* there he spun me a juice of a yarn to this-yer

brand of tune.

' It 's a solemn gospel, mate,' he says, ' but a man

as ships aboard
A steamer-tramp, he gets his whack of the wonders

of the Lord —
Such as roaches crawlin' over his bunk, 'n' snakes

inside his bread,
And work by night and work by day enough to

strike him dead,

22 SALT-WATER BALLADS

e Then the mate came dancin' on to the scene, V he
says, u Now quit yer chin,

Or I '11 smash yer skulls, so help me James, V let
some wisdom in.

Ye dodderin' scum o' the slums," he says, u are ye
drunk or blazin' daft ?

If ye wish to save yer sickly hides, ye 'd best con-
trive a raft."

' So he spoke us fair and turned us to, 'n' we wrought
wi' tooth and nail

Wi' scantling, casks, 'n' coops 'n' ropes, 'n' boiler-
plates 'n' sail,

'N' all the while it were dark V cold 'n' dirty as it
could be,

'N' she was soggy 'n' settlin' down to a berth
beneath the sea.

' Soggy she grew, V she didn't lift, 'n' she listed

more 'n' more,
Till her bell struck 'n' her boiler-pipes began to

wheeze 'n' snore ;

ONE OF THE BO'SUN'S YARNS 23

She settled, settled, listed, heeled, 'n' then may I

be cust,
If her sneezin', wheezin' boiler-pipes did not begin

to bust !

f'N' then the stars began to shine, 'n' the birds

began to sing,
N' the next I knowed I was bandaged up 'n' my

arm were in a sling,
'N' a swab in uniform were there, 'n' "Well," says

he, u 'n how
Are yer arms, 'n' legs, 'n' liver, 'n' lungs, 'n' bones

a-feelin' now ? "

f u Where am I ? " says I, 'n he says, says he, a-cantin'

to the roll,
" You're aboard the R.M.S. ' Marie' in the after

Glory-Hole,
'N' you've had a shave, if you wish to know, from

the port o' Kingdom Come.
Drink this," he says, 'n' I takes 'n' drinks, 'n' s'elp

me, it was rum !

22 SALT-WATER BALLADS

{ Then the mate came dancin' on to the scene, 'n' he
says, " Now quit yer chin,

Or I '11 smash yer skulls, so help me James, 'n' let
some wisdom in.

Ye dodderin' scum o' the slums," he says, u are ye
drunk or blazin' daft ?

If ye wish to save yer sickly hides, ye 'd best con-
trive a raft."

' So he spoke us fair and turned us to, 'n' we wrought
wi' tooth and nail

Wi' scantling, casks, 'n' coops 'n' ropes, 'n' boiler-
plates 'n' sail,

'N' all the while it were dark 'n' cold 'n' dirty as it
could be,

'N' she was soggy 'n' settlin' down to a berth
beneath the sea.

' Soggy she grew, 'n' she didn't lift, 'n' she listed

more 'n' more,
Till her bell struck 'n' her boiler-pipes began to

wheeze 'n' snore ;

ONE OF THE BO'SUN'S YARNS 23

She settled, settled, listed, heeled, 'n' then may I

be cust,
If her sneezin', wheezin' boiler-pipes did not begin

to bust !

f'N' then the stars began to shine, 'n' the birds

began to sing,
N' the next I knowed I was bandaged up 'n' my

arm were in a sling,
'N' a swab in uniform were there, 'n' " Well," says

he, " 'ri how
Are yer arms, 'ri legs, 'n' liver, 'n' lungs, 'n' bones

a-feelin' now?"

' " Where am I ? " says I, 'ri he says, says he, a-cantin'

to the roll,
"You're aboard the R.M.S. ' Marie' in the after

Glory-Hole,
'N' you've had a shave, if you wish to know, from

the port o' Kingdom Come.
Drink this," he says, 'n' I takes 'n' drinks, 'n' s'elp

me, it was rum !

24 SALT-WATER BALLADS

' Seven survivors seen 'n' saved of the "Esmeralda's "

crowd,
Taken aboard the sweet "Marie" 'n* bunked 'n'

treated proud,
'N' D.B.S.'d to Mersey Docks fn' a joyful trip we

made),
'N' there the skipper were given a purse by a

grateful Board of Trade.

'That's the end o' the yarn/ he says, 'n' he takes

'n' wipes his lips,
' Them 's the works o' the Lord you sees in steam

'n' sailin' ships, —
Rocks 'n' fogs 'n' shatterin' seas 'n' breakers right

ahead,
'N' work o' nights 'n' work o' days enough to strike

you dead.'

HELL'S PAVEMENT 25

HELL'S PAVEMENT

1 When I 'm discharged in Liverpool 'n' draws my
bit o' pay,
I won't come to sea no more.
I '11 court a pretty little lass 'n' have a weddin' day,

'N' settle somewhere down ashore.
I '11 never fare to sea again a-temptin' Davy Jones,
'A-hearkening to the cruel sharks a-hungerin' for

my bones ;
I '11 run a blushin' dairy-farm or go a-crackin'
stones,
Or buy 'n' keep a little liquor-store/ —

So he said.

They towed her in to Liverpool, we made the
hooker fast,

And the copper-bound officials paid the crew,
And Billy drew his money, but the money didn't last,

For he painted the alongshore blue, —

26 SALT-WATER BALLADS

It was rum for Poll, and rum for Nan, and gin for

Jolly Jack.
He shipped a week later in the clothes upon his

back,
He had to pinch a little straw, he had to beg a
sack
To sleep on, when his watch was through, —

So he did.

SEA-CHANGE 27

SEA-CHANGE

Oh Pythagoras — I sailed with thee last voyage.'

Herman Melville.

' Goneys an' gullies an' all o' the birds o' the sea,
They ain't no birds, not really/ said Billy the
Dane.
' Not mollies, nor gullies, nor goneys at all/ said
he,
'But simply the sperrits of mariners livin*
again.

f Them birds goin' fishin' is nothin' but souls o' the
drowned,
Souls o' the drowned an' the kicked as are never
no more ;
An' that there haughty old albatross cruisin' around,
Belike he 's Admiral Nelson or Admiral Noah.

28 SALT-WATER BALLADS

' An' merry 's the life they are living. They settle
and dip,
They fishes, they never stands watches, they
waggle their wings ;
When a ship comes by, they fly to look at the ship
To see how the nowaday mariners manages
things.

When freezing aloft in a snorter, I tell you I wish —
(Though maybe it ain't like a Christian) — I wish
I could be
A haughty old copper-bound albatross dipping for
fish
And coming the proud over all o' the birds o' the
sea.

HARBOUR-BAR 29

HARBOUR-BAR

c It was very sad about old Hal. He 'd been ailing for
two weeks, and died as we were towing up the river.'

An Unofficial Log.

All in the feathered palm-tree tops the bright

green parrots screech,
The white line of the running surf goes booming

down the beach,
But I shall never see them, though the land lies

close aboard,
I 've shaped the last long silent tack as takes one

to the Lord.

Give me the Scripters, Jakey, 'n' my pipe atween

my lips,
I 'm bound for somewhere south and far beyond the

track of ships ;

30 SALT-WATER BALLADS

I 've run my rags of colours up and clinched them

to the stay,
And God the pilot 's come aboard to bring me up

the bay.

You '11 mainsail-haul my bits o' things when Christ

has took my soul,
'N' you '11 lay me quiet somewhere at the landward

end the Mole,
Where I shall hear the steamers' sterns a-squatter-

ing from the heave,
And the topsail blocks a-piping when a rope-yarn

fouls the sheave.

Give me a sup of lime-juice; Lord, I'm" drifting

in to port,
The landfall lies to windward and the wind comes

light and short,
And I 'm for signing off and out to take my watch

below,
And — prop a fellow, Jakey — Lord, it 's time for me

to go !

NICIAS MORITURUS 31

NICIAS MORITURUS

An' Bill can have my sea-boots, Nigger Jim can
have my knife,
You can divvy up the dungarees an' bed,
An' the ship can have my blessing, an' the Lord can
have my life,
An' sails an' fish my body when I 'm dead.

An' dreaming down below there in the tangled
greens an' blues,
Where the sunlight shudders golden round about,
I shall hear the ships complainin' an' the cursin' of
the crews,
An' be sorry when the watch is tumbled out.

I shall hear them hilly-hollying the weather crojick
brace,
And the sucking of the wash about the hull;

32 SALT-WATER BALLADS

When they chanty up the topsail I '11 be hauling in
my place,
For my soul will follow seawards like a gull.

I shall hear the blocks a-grunting in the bumpkins
over-side,
An the slatting of the storm-sails on the stay,
An' the rippling of the catspaw at the making of
the tide,
An* the swirl and splash of porpoises at play.

An Bill can have my sea-boots, Nigger Jim can
have my knife,
You can divvy up the whack I haven't scofft,
An' the ship can have my blessing and the Lord
can have my life,
For it 's time I quit the deck and went aloft.

ONE OF WALLY'S YARNS 33

ONE OF WALLY'S YARNS

The watch was up on the topsail-yard a-making

fast the sail,
'N' Joe was swiggin' his gasket taut, 'n' I felt the

stirrup give,
'N' he dropped sheer from the tops'1-yard 'n' barely

cleared the rail,
'N' o' course, we bein' aloft, we couldn't do nothin' —
We couldn't lower a boat and go a-lookin' for him,
For it blew hard 'n' there was sech a sea runnin'
That no boat wouldn't live.

I seed him rise in the white o' the wake, I seed

him lift a hand
('N' him in his oilskin suit 'n' all), I heard him lift

aery;
'N' there was his place on the yard 'n' all, 'n' the

stirrup's busted strand,
c

34 SALT-WATER BALLADS

'N' the old man said there 's a cruel old sea runnin',
A cold green Barney's Bull of a sea runnin' ;
It 's hard, but I ain't agoin' to let a boat be lowered :
So we left him there to die.

He couldn't have kept afloat for long an' him lashed

up 'n' all,
'N' we couldn't see him for long, for the sea was

blurred with the sleet 'n' snow,
'N' we couldn't think of him much because o' the

snortin', screamin' squall.
There was a hand less at the halliards 'n' the braces,
'N* a name less when the watch spoke to the

muster-roll,
'N' a empty bunk 'n' a pannikin as wasn't wanted
When the watch went below.

A VALEDICTION 35

A VALEDICTION (LIVERPOOL DOCKS)

A CRIMP. A DRUNKEN SAILOR.

Is there anything as I can do ashore for you
When you 've dropped down the tide ? —

You can take 'n' tell Nan I 'm goin' about the
world agen,

'N' that the world 's wide.
'N' tell her that there ain't no postal service

Not down on the blue sea.
'N' tell her that she 'd best not keep her fires
alight

Nor set up late for me.
'N' tell her I '11 have forgotten all about her

Afore we cross the Line.
'N' tell her that the dollars of any other sailor-
man

Is as good red gold as mine.

36 SALT-WATER BALLADS

Is there anything as I can do aboard for you
Afore the tow-rope 's taut ? —

I 'm new to this packet and all the ways of her,

'N' I don't know of aught ;
But I knows as I 'm goin' down to the seas agen

'N' the seas are salt 'n' drear ;
But I knows as all the doin' as you 're man enough
for

Won't make them lager-beer.

'N' ain't there nothin' as I can do ashore for you
When you 've got fair afloat ? —

You can buy a farm with the dollars as you 've done

me of
'N' cash my advance-note.

Is there any thin you 'd fancy for your breakfastin
When you're home across Mersey Bar ? —

I wants a red herrin' 'n' a prairie oyster
'N' a bucket of Three Star,

A VALEDICTION 37

'N' a gell wi' redder lips than Polly has got,
'N' prettier ways than Nan

Well, so-long, Billy, V a spankin' heavy pay-day to
you !

So-long, my fancy man !

SALT-WATER BALLADS

A NIGHT AT DAGO TOM'S

Oh yesterday, I t'ink it was, while cruisin' down the

street,
I met with Bill. — l Hullo/ he says, c let's give the

girls a treat/
We 'd red bandanas round our necks 'n' our shrouds

new rattled down,
So we filled a couple of Santy Cruz and cleared for

Sailor Town.

We scooted south with a press of sail till we fetched
to a caboose,

The ' Sailor's Rest,' by Dago Tom, alongside
c Paddy's Goose.'

Red curtains to the windies, ay, 'n' white sand to
the floor,

And an old blind fiddler liltin' the tune of ' Low-
lands no more.'

A NIGHT AT DAGO TOM'S 39

He played the ' Shaking of the Sheets ' 'n' the
couples did advance,

Bowing, stamping, curtsying, in the shuffling of
the dance ;

The old floor rocked and quivered, so it struck be-
holders dumb,

'N* arter wards there was sweet songs V good
Jamaikey rum.

'N' there was many a merry yarn of many a merry

spree
Aboard the ships with royals set a-sailing on the sea,
Yarns of the hooker ' Spindrift,' her as had the

clipper-bow, —
' There ain't no ships,' says Bill to me, ' like that

there hooker now.'

When the old blind fiddler played the tune of

* Pipe the Watch Below,'
The skew-eyed landlord dowsed the glim and bade

us ' stamp 'n' go,'
'N' we linked it home, did Bill 'n' I, adown the

scattered streets,
Until we fetched to Land o' Nod atween the linen

sheets.

40 SALT-WATER BALLADS

'PORT O' MANY SHIPS'

' It 's a sunny pleasant anchorage, is Kingdom Come,
Where crews is always layin' aft for double- tots o'

rum,
'N' there's dancin' 'n' fiddlin' of ev'ry kind o' sort,
It 's a fine place for sailor-men is that there port.

'N' I wish —

I wish as I was there.

'The winds is never nothin' more than jest light

airs,
'N' no-one gets belayin'-pinned, 'n' no-one never

swears,
Yer free to loaf an' laze around, yer pipe atween

yer lips,
Lollin' on the fo'c's'le, sonny, lookin' at the ships.
'N' I wish —
I wish as I was there.

'PORT O' MANY SHIPS' 41

'For ridin' in the anchorage the ships of all the

world
Have got one anchor down 'n' all sails furled.
All the sunken hookers V the crews as took 'n'

died
They lays there merry, sonny, swingin' to the
tide.

'N' I wish—

I wish as I was there.

'Drowned old wooden hookers green wi' drippin'

wrack,
Ships as never fetched to port, as never came back,
Swingin' to the blushin' tide, dippin' to the swell,
'N' the crews all singin', sonny, beatin' on the bell.

'N' I wish —

I wish as I was there/

42 SALT-WATER BALLADS

CAPE HORN GOSPEL— I

(FOR GORDON CRAIG)

' I was on a hooker once/ said Karlssen,
' And Bill, as was a seaman, died,
So we lashed him in an old tarpaulin
And tumbled him across the side ;
And the fun of it was that all his gear was
Divided up among the crew
Before that blushing human error,
Our crawling little captain, knew.

' On the passage home one morning
(As certain as I prays for grace)
There was old Bill's shadder a-hauling
At the weather mizzen-topsail brace.

CAPE HORN GOSPEL 43

He was all grown green with sea- weed.
He was all lashed up and shored ;
So I says to him, I says, " Why, Billy !
What 's a-bringin' of you back aboard ? "

f " I 'm a-weary of them there mermaids/

Says old Bill's ghost to me ;

" It ain't no place for a Christian

Below there — under sea.

For it 's all blown sand and shipwrecks,

And old bones eaten bare,

And them cold fishy females

With long green weeds for hair.

c " And there ain't no dances shuffled,

And no old yarns is spun,

And there ain't no stars but starfish,

And never any moon or sun.

I heard your keel a-passing

And the running rattle of the brace,"

And he says " Stand by," says William,

* For a shift towards a better place."

44 SALT-WATER BALLADS

1 Well, he sogered about decks till sunrise,
When a rooster in the hen-coop crowed,
And as so much smoke he faded
And as so much smoke he goed ;
And I 've often wondered since, Jan,
How his old ghost stands to fare
Long o' them cold fishy females
With long green weeds for hair.'

CAPE HORN GOSPEL 45

CAPE HORN GOSPEL— II

Jake was a dirty Dago lad, an' he gave the skipper

chin,
An' the skipper up an' took him a crack with an

iron belaying-pin
Which stiffened him out a rusty corp, as pretty as

you could wish,
An' then we shovelled him up in a sack an'

dumped him to the fish.

That was jest arter we 'd got sail on her.

Josey slipped from the tops'1-yard an' bust his

bloody back
(Which corned from playing the giddy goat an'

leavin' go the jack) ;
We lashed his chips in clouts of sail an' ballasted

him with stones,
' The Lord hath taken away,' we says, an' we give

him to Davy Jones.

An' that was afore we were up with the Line.

46 SALT-WATER BALLADS

Joe were chippin' a rusty plate a-squattin' upon

the deck,
An' all the watch he had the sun a-singein' him on

the neck,
An' forrard he falls at last, he does, an' he lets his

mallet go,
Dead as a nail with a calenture, an' that was the

end of Joe.

An' that was just afore we made the Plate.

All o' the rest were sailor-men, an' it come to rain

an' squall,
An' then it was halliards, sheets, an' tacks 'clue

up, an' let go all.'
We snugged her down an' hove her to, an' the old

contrairy cuss
Started a plate, an' settled an' sank, an' that was

the end of us.

We slopped around on coops an' planks in the cold

an' in the dark,
An' Bill were drowned, an' Tom were ate by a

swine of a cruel shark,

CAPE HORN GOSPEL 47

An' a mail-boat reskied Harry an' I (which corned

of pious prayers),
Which brings me here a-kickin' my heels in the

port of Buenos Ayres.

I 'm bound for home in the ' Oronook,' in a suit of

looted duds,
A D.B.S. a-earnin' a stake by helpin' peelin' spuds,
An' if ever I fetch to Prince's Stage an' sets my

feet ashore,
You bet your hide that there I stay, an' follers the

sea no more.

48 SALT-WATER BALLADS

MOTHER CAREY

(as told me by the bo' sun)

Mother Carey ? She 's the mother o' the witches

'N' all them sort o' rips ;
She 's a fine gell to look at, but the hitch is,

She 's a sight too fond of ships.
She lives upon a iceberg to the norred,

An' her man he 's Davy Jones,
'N' she combs the weeds upon her forred

With pore drowned sailors' bones.

She 's the mother o' the wrecks, 'n' the mother

Of all big winds as blows ;
She 's up to some deviltry or other

When it storms, or sleets, or snows.
The noise of the wind 's her screamin',

' I 'm arter a plump, young, fine,
Brass-buttoned, beefy-ribbed young seam'n

So as me V my mate kin dine.'

MOTHER CAREY 49

She 's a hungry old rip 'n' a cruel

For sailor-men like we,
She 's give a many mariners the gruel

'N' a long sleep under sea.
She 's the blood o' many a crew upon her

'N' the bones of many a wreck,
'N' she's barnacles a-growin' on her

'N' shark's teeth round her neck.

I ain't never had no schoolin'

Nor read no books like you,
But I knows 't ain't healthy to be foolin'

With that there gristly two.
You 're young, you thinks, 'n' you 're lairy,

But if you 're to make old bones,
Steer clear, I says, o' Mother Carey

'N' that there Davy Jones.

50 SALT-WATER BALLADS

EVENING— REGATTA DAY

Your nose is a red jelly , your mouth's a toothless

wreck,
And I 'm atop of you, banging your head upon the

dirty deck ;
And both your eyes are bunged and blind like

those of a mewling pup,
For you 're the juggins who caught the crab and

lost the ship the Cup.

He caught a crab in the spurt home, this blushing

cherub did,
And the t Craigie's ' whaler slipped ahead like a

cart-wheel on the skid,
And beat us fair by a boat's nose though we

sweated fit to start her,
So we are playing at Nero now, and he's the

Christian martyr.

EVENING— REGATTA DAY 51

And Stroke is lashing a bunch of keys to the

buckle-end a belt,
And we 're going to lay you over a chest and baste

you till you melt.
The 'Craigie' boys are beating the bell and

cheering down the tier,
D' ye hear, you Port Mahone baboon, I ask you, do

you hear ?

SALT-WATER BALLADS

A VALEDICTION

We 're bound for blue water where the great winds

blow,
It's time to get the tacks aboard, time for us to

go;
The crowd 's at the capstan and the tune 's in the

shout,
' A long pull, a strong pull, and warp the hooker out*

The bow-wash is eddying, spreading from the bows,
Aloft and loose the topsails and some one give a

rouse ;
A salt Atlantic chanty shall be music to the dead,
e A long pull, a strong pull, and the yard to the mast-
head.'

Green and merry run the seas, the wind comes

cold,
Salt and strong and pleasant, and worth a mint o'

gold;

A VALEDICTION 53

And she's staggering, swooping, as she feels her

feet,
* A long pull, a strong pull, a?id aft the main-sheet'

Shrilly squeal the running sheaves, the weather-
gear strains,

Such a clatter o' chain-sheets, the devil's in the
chains ;

Over us the bright stars, under us the drowned,

'A long pull, a strong pull, and we're outward
bound.'

Yonder, round and ruddy, is the mellow old moon,
The red-funnelled tug has gone, and now, sonny,

soon
We '11 be clear of the Channel, so watch how you

steer,
' Ease her when she pitches, arid so-long, my dear.'

54 SALT-WATER BALLADS

A PIER-HEAD CHORUS

Oh I'll be chewing salted horse and biting flinty

bread,
And dancing, with the stars to watch, upon the

fo'c's'le head,
Hearkening to the bow-wash and the welter of the

tread
Of a thousand tons of clipper running free.

For the tug has got the tow-rope and will take us

to the Downs,
Her paddles churn the river-wrack to muddy greens

and browns,
And I have given river-wrack and all the filth of

towns
For the rolling, combing cresters of the sea.

We'll sheet the mizzen-royals home and shimmer
down the Bay,

A PIER-HEAD CHORUS 55

The sea-line blue with billows, the land-line blurred

and grey ;
The bow-wash will be piling high and thrashing

into spray,
As the hooker's fore-foot tramples down the

swell.

She'll log a giddy seventeen and rattle out the

reel,
The weight of all the run-out line will be a thing

to feel,
As the bacca-quidding shell-back shambles aft to

take the wheel,
And the sea-sick little middy strikes the bell.

56 SALT-WATER BALLADS

THE GOLDEN CITY OF ST. MARY

(for f. c. h.)

Out beyond the sunset,, could I but find the way,
Is a sleepy blue laguna which widens to a bay,
And there's the Blessed City — so the sailors say —
The Golden City of St. Mary.

It's built of fair marble — white — without a stain,
And in the cool twilight when the sea-winds wane
The bells chime faintly, like a soft, warm rain,
In the Golden City of St. Mary.

Among the green palm-trees where the fire-flies

shine,
Are the white tavern tables where the gallants

dine,
Singing slow Spanish songs like old mulled wine,
In the Golden City of St. Mary.

THE GOLDEN CITY OF ST. MARY 57

Oh I '11 be shipping sunset- wards and westward-ho
Through the green toppling combers a-shattering

into snow,
Till I come to quiet moorings and a watch below,
In the Golden City of St. Mary.

58 SALT-WATER BALLADS

TRADE WINDS

In the harbour, in the island, in the Spanish Seas,
Are the tiny white houses and the orange-trees,
And day-long, night-long, the cool and pleasant
breeze
Of the steady Trade Winds blowing.

There is the red wine, the nutty Spanish ale,
The shuffle of the dancers, the old salt's tale,
The squeaking fiddle, and the soughing in the sail
Of the steady Trade Winds blowing.

And o' nights there 's fire-flies and the yellow moon,
And in the ghostly palm-trees the sleepy tune
Of the quiet voice calling me, the long low croon
Of the steady Trade Winds blowing.

SEA-FEVER 59

SEA-FEVER

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea

and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her

by,

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the

white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn

breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the

running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be

denied ;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds

flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the

sea-gulls crying.

60 SALT-WATER BALLADS

I must down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy

life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the

wind 's like a whetted knife ;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing

fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long

trick's over.

A WANDERER'S SONG 61

A WANDERER'S SONG

(for w. b. yeats)

A wind 's in the heart o' me, a fire 's in my heels,
I am tired of brick and stone and rumbling wagon-
wheels ;
I hunger for the sea's edge, the limits of the land,
Where the wild old Atlantic is shouting on the
sand.

Oh I '11 be going, leaving the noises of the street.
To where a lifting foresail-foot is yanking at the

sheet ;
To a windy, tossing anchorage where yawls and

ketches ride,
Oh I '11 be going, going, until I meet the tide.

And first I '11 hear the sea- wind, the mewing of the

gulls,
The clucking, sucking of the sea about the rusty

hulls,

62 SALT-WATER BALLADS

The songs at the capstan in the hooker warping

out,
And then the heart of me '11 know I 'm there or

thereabout.

Oh I am tired of brick and stone, the heart o' me

is sick,
For windy green, unquiet sea, the realm o' Moby

Dick ;
And I'll be going, going, from the roaring of the

wheels,
For a wind's in the heart o' me, a fire's in my

heels.

CARDIGAN BAY 63

CARDIGAN BAY

(FOR LAURENCE BINYON)

Clean, green, windy billows notching out the sky,
Grey clouds tattered into rags, sea-winds blowing

high,
And the ships under topsails, beating, thrashing by,
And the mewing of the herring gulls.

Dancing, flashing green seas shaking white locks,
Boiling in blind eddies over hidden rocks,
And the wind in the rigging, the creaking o' the
blocks,
And the straining of the timber hulls.

Delicate, cool sea-weeds, green and amber-brown,
In beds where shaken sunlight slowly filters down
On many a drowned seventy-four, many a sunken
town,
And the whitening of the dead men's skulls.

64 SALT-WATER BALLADS

CHRISTMAS EVE AT SEA

(for f. c. h.)

A wind is rustling ( south and soft,'

Cooing a quiet country tune,
The calm sea sighs, and far aloft

The sails are ghostly in the moon.

Unquiet ripples lisp and purr,

A block there pipes and chirps i' the sheave,
The wheel-ropes jar, the reef-points stir

Faintly — and it is Christmas Eve.

The hushed sea seems to hold her breath,
And o'er the giddy, swaying spars,

Silent and excellent as Death,

The dim blue skies are bright with stars.

Dear God — they shone in Palestine
Like this, and yon pale moon serene

Looked down among the lowing kine
On Mary and the Nazarene.

CHRISTMAS EVE AT SEA 65

The angels called from deep to deep,
The burning heavens felt the thrill,

Startling the flocks of silly sheep
And lonely shepherds on the hill.

To-night beneath the dripping bows

Where flashing bubbles burst and throng,

The bow-wash murmurs and sighs and soughs
A message from the angels' song.

The moon goes nodding down the west,
The drowsy helmsman strikes the bell ;

Rex Judceorum natus est,

I charge you, brothers, sing Noivell,
Nowell,

Rex Judceorimi natus est

66 SALT-WATER BALLADS

A BALLAD OF CAPE ST. VINCENT

Now, Bill, ain't it prime to be a-sailin',

Slippin' easy, splashin' up the sea,
Dossin' snug aneath the weather-railin',

Quiddin' bonded Jacky out a-lee ?
English sea astern us and afore us,

Reaching out three thousand miles ahead,
God's own stars a-risin' solemn o'er us,

And — yonder 's Cape St. Vincent and the
Dead.

There they lie, Bill, man and mate together,

Dreamin' out the dog-watch down below,
Anchored in the port of Pleasant Weather,

Waiting for the Bo'sun's call to blow.
Over them the tide goes lappin', swayin',

Under them 's the wide bay's muddy bed,
And it's pleasant dreams — to them — to hear us
sayin',

Yonder 's Cape St. Vincent and the Dead.

A BALLAD OF CAPE ST. VINCENT 67

Hear that P. and O. boat's engines dronin',

Beating out of time and out of tune,
Ripping past with every plate a-groanin',

Spitting smoke and cinders at the moon ?
Ports a-lit like little stars a-settin',

See 'em glintin' yaller, green, and red,
Loggin' twenty knots, Bill, — but forgettin',

Yonder 's Cape St. Vincent and the Dead.

They're 'discharged' now, Billy, 'left the
service,'

Rough an' bitter was the watch they stood,
Drake an' Blake, an' Collingwood an' Jervis,

Nelson, Rodney, Hawke, an' Howe an' Hood.
They 'd a hard time, haulin' an' directin',

There's the flag they left us, Billy — tread
Straight an' keep it flyin' — recoil ectin',

Yonder 's Cape St. Vincent and the Dead.

SALT-WATER BALLADS

THE TARRY BUCCANEER

(for jack b. yeats)

Air : The Fine Old English Gentleman

I 'm going to be a pirate with a bright brass pivot-
gun,

And an island in the Spanish Main beyond the
setting sun,

And a silver flagon full of red wine to drink when
work is done,
Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry
Buccaneer.

With a sandy creek to careen in, and a pig-tailed

Spanish mate.
And under my main-hatches a sparkling merry

freight

THE TARRY BUCCANEER 69

Of doubloons and double moidores and pieces of
eight,
Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry
Buccaneer.

With a taste for Spanish wine-shops and for spend-
ing my doubloons,

And a crew of swart mulattoes and black-eyed
octoroons,

And a thoughtful way with mutineers of making
them maroons,
Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry
Buccaneer.

With a sash of crimson velvet and a diamond-hilted

sword,
And a silver whistle about my neck secured to a

golden cord,
And a habit of taking captives and walking them

along a board,
Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry

Buccaneer.

70 SALT-WATER BALLADS

With a spy-glass tucked beneath my arm and a

cocked hat cocked askew,
And a long low rakish schooner a-cutting of the

waves in two,
And a flag of skull and cross-bones the wickedest

that ever flew,
Like a fine old salt-sea scavenger, like a tarry

Buccaneer.

A BALLAD OF JOHN SILVER 71

A BALLAD OF JOHN SILVER

We were schooner-rigged and rakish, with a long

and lissome hull,
And we flew the pretty colours of the cross-bones

and the skull ;
We'd a big black Jolly Roger flapping grimly at

the fore,
And we sailed the Spanish Water in the happy days

of yore.

We'd a long brass gun amidships, like a well-
conducted ship,

We had each a brace of pistols and a cutlass at the
hip;

It 's a point which tells against us, and a fact to be
deplored,

But we chased the goodly merchant-men and laid
their ships aboard.

72 SALT-WATER BALLADS

Then the dead men fouled the scuppers and the

wounded filled the chains,
And the paint-work all was spatter-dashed with

other people's brains,
She was boarded, she was looted, she was scuttled

till she sank,
And the pale survivors left us by the medium of

the plank.

O ! then it was (while standing by the taffrail on

the poop)
We could hear the drowning folk lament the absent

chicken-coop ;
Then, having washed the blood away, we'd little

else to do
Than to dance a quiet hornpipe as the old salts

taught us to.

O ! the fiddle on the fo'c's'le, and the slapping

naked soles,
And the genial 'Down the middle, Jake, and

curtsy when she rolls ! '

A BALLAD OF JOHN SILVER 73

With the silver seas around us and the pale moon

overhead,
And the look-out not a-looking and his pipe-bowl

glowing red.

Ah ! the pig-tailed, quidding pirates and the pretty

pranks we played,
All have since been put a stop-to by the naughty

Board of Trade ;
The schooners and the merry crews are laid away

to rest,
A little south the sunset in the Islands of the

Blest.

74 SALT-WATER BALLADS

LYRICS FROM 'THE BUCCANEER'

We are far from sight of the harbour lights,
Of the sea-ports whence we came,

But the old sea calls and the cold wind bites,
And our hearts are turned to flame.

And merry and rich is the goodly gear
We '11 win upon the tossing sea,

A silken gown for my dainty dear,
And a gold doubloon for me.

It 's the old old road and the old old quest

Of the cut-throat sons of Cain,
South by west and a quarter west,

And hey for the Spanish Main.

LYRICS FROM 'THE BUCCANEER' 75

There 's a sea-way somewhere where all day long

Is the hushed susurrus of the sea,
The mewing of the skuas, and the sailor's song,

And the wind's cry calling me.

There 's a haven somewhere where the quiet o' the
bay
Is troubled with the shifting tide,
Where the gulls are flying, crying in the bright
white spray,
And the tan-sailed schooners ride.

76 SALT-WATER BALLADS

in

The toppling rollers at the harbour mouth

Are spattering the bows with foam,
And the anchor 's catted, and she 's heading for the
south

With her topsails sheeted home.

And a merry measure is the dance she '11 tread
(To the clanking of the staysail's hanks)

When the guns are growling and the blood runs
red,
And the prisoners are walking o' the planks.

D'AVALOS' PRAYER 77

D'AVALOS' PRAYER

When the last sea is sailed and the last shallow
charted,
When the last field is reaped and the last harvest
stored,
When the last fire is out and the last guest departed,
Grant the last prayer that I shall pray, Be good
to me, O Lord !

And let me pass in a night at sea, a night of storm
and thunder,
In the loud crying of the wind through sail and
rope and spar ;
Send me a ninth great peaceful wave to drown and
roll me under
To the cold tunny-fishes' home where the drowned
galleons are.

78 SALT-WATER BALLADS

And in the dim green quiet place far out of sight
and hearing,
Grant I may hear at whiles the wash and thresh
of the sea-foam
About the fine keen bows of the stately clippers
steering
Towards the lone northern star and the fair ports
of home.

THE WEST WIND 79

THE WEST WIND

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds'

cries ;
I never hear the west wind but tears are in my

eyes.
For it comes from the west lands, the old brown

hills,
And April 's in the west wind, and daffodils.

It's a fine land, the west land, for hearts as tired as

mine,
Apple orchards blossom there, and the air's like

wine.
There is cool green grass there, where men may lie

at rest,
And the thrushes are in song there, fluting from the

nest.

80 SALT-WATER BALLADS

'Will ye not come home, brother? ye have been

long away,
It 's April, and blossom time, and white is the may ;
And bright is the sun, brother, and warm is the

rain, —
Will ye not come home, brother, home to us again ?

' The young corn is green, brother, where the

rabbits run,
It 's blue sky, and white clouds, and warm rain and

sun.
It 's song to a man's soul, brother, fire to a man's

brain,
To hear the wild bees and see the merry spring

again.

' Larks are singing in the west, brother, above the

green wheat,
So will ye not come home, brother, and rest your

tired feet ?
I've a balm for bruised hearts, brother, sleep for

aching eyes,'
Says the warm wind, the west wind, full of birds'

cries.

THE WEST WIND 81

It 's the white road westwards is the road I must

tread
To the green grass, the cool grass, and rest for

heart and head,
To the violets and the warm hearts and the thrushes'

song,
In the fine land, the west land, the land where I

belong.

82 SALT-WATER BALLADS

THE GALLEY-ROWERS

Staggering over the running combers

The long-ship heaves her dripping flanks,
Singing together, the sea-roamers
Drive the oars grunting in the banks.
A long pull,
And a long long pull to Mydath.

' Where are ye bound, ye swart sea-farers,
Vexing the grey wind-angered brine,

Bearers of home-spun cloth, and bearers
Of goat-skins filled with country wine ? '

1 We are bound sunset-wards, not knowing,
Over the whale's way miles and miles,

Going to Vine-Land, haply going

To the Bright Beach of the Blessed Isles.

THE GALLEY-ROWERS 83

' In the wind's teeth and the spray's stinging

Westward and outward forth we go,
Knowing not whither nor why, but singing
An old old oar-song as we row.
A long pull,
And a long long pull to Mydath.'

84 SALT-WATER BALLADS

SORROW O' MYDATH

Weary the cry of the wind is, weary the sea,
Weary the heart and the mind and the body o' me.
Would I were out of it, done with it, would I
could be
A white gull crying along the desolate sands !

Outcast, derelict soul in a body accurst,

Standing drenched with the spindrift, standing

athirst,
For the cool green waves of death to arise and

burst
In a tide of quiet for me on the desolate sands.

Would that the waves and the long white hair o' the

spray
Would gather in splendid terror and blot me away
To the sunless place o' the wrecks where the waters
sway
Gently, dreamily, quietly over desolate sands !

VAGABOND 85

VAGABOND

Dunno a heap about the what an5 why,

Can't say 's I ever knowed.
Heaven to me 's a fair blue stretch of sky,

Earth 's jest a dusty road.

Dunno the names o' things, nor what they are,

Can't say 's I ever will.
Dunno about God — He's jest the noddin' star

Atop the windy hill.

Dunno about Life — it's jest a tramp alone

From wakin'-time to doss.
Dunno about Death — it 's jest a quiet stone

All over-grey wi' moss.

An' why I live, an' why the old world spins,

Are things I never knowed ;
My mark 's the gypsy fires, the lonely inns,

An' jest the dusty road.

86 SALT-WATER BALLADS

VISION

I have drunken the red wine and flung the dice ;
Yet once in the noisy ale-house I have seen and
heard
The dear pale lady with the mournful eyes,

And a voice like that of a pure grey cooing
bird.

With delicate white hands — white hands that I
have kist
(Oh frail white hands !) — she soothed my aching
eyes;
And her hair fell about her in a dim clinging
mist,
Like smoke from a golden incense burned in
Paradise.

VISION 87

With gentle loving words, like shredded balm and
myrrh,
She healed with sweet forgiveness my black
bitter sins,
Then passed into the night, and I go seeking her
Down the dark, silent streets, past the warm,
lighted inns.

SALT-WATER BALLADS

SPUNYARN

Spunyarn, spunyarn, with one to turn the crank,
And one to slather the spunyarn, and one to knot

the hank ;
It's an easy job for a summer watch, and a pleasant

job enough,
To twist the tarry lengths of yarn to shapely sailor

stuff.

Life is nothing but spunyarn on a winch in need of

oil,
Little enough is twined and spun but fever-fret

and moil.
I have travelled on land and sea, and all that I

have found
Are these poor songs to brace the arms that help

the winches round.

THE DEAD KNIGHT 89

THE DEAD KNIGHT

The cleanly rush of the mountain air,

And the mumbling, grumbling humble-bees,

Are the only things that wander there.

The pitiful bones are laid at ease,

The grass has grown in his tangled hair,

And a rambling bramble binds his knees.

To shrieve his soul from the pangs of hell,
The only requiem-bells that rang
Were the hare-bell and the heather-bell.
Hushed he is with the holy spell
In the gentle hymn the wind sang,
And he lies quiet, and sleeps well.

He is bleached and blanched with the summer

sun ;
The misty rain and the cold dew

90 SALT-WATER BALLADS

Have altered him from the kingly one
(That his lady loved, and his men knew)
And dwindled him to a skeleton.

The vetches have twined about his bones,

The straggling ivy twists and creeps

In his eye-sockets ; the nettle keeps

Vigil about him while he sleeps.

Over his body the wind moans

With a dreary tune throughout the day,

In a chorus wistful, eerie, thin

As the gull's cry — as the cry in the bay,

The mournful word the seas say

When tides are wandering out or in.

PERSONAL 91

PERSONAL

Tramping at night in the cold and wet, I passed

the lighted inn,
And an old tune, a sweet tune, was being played

within.
It was full of the laugh of the leaves and the song

the wind sings ;
It brought the tears and the choked throat, and a

catch to the heart-strings.

And it brought a bitter thought of the days that

now were dead to me,
The merry days in the old home before I went to

sea —
Days that were dead to me indeed. I bowed my

head to the rain,
And I passed by the lighted inn to the lonely roads

again.

92 SALT-WATER BALLADS

ON MALVERN HILL

A wind is brushing down the clover,
It sweeps the tossing branches bare,

Blowing the poising kestrel over

The crumbling ramparts of the Caer.

It whirls the scattered leaves before us
Along the dusty road to home,

Once it awakened into chorus

The heart-strings in the ranks of Rome.

There by the gusty coppice border
The shrilling trumpets broke the halt,

The Roman line, the Roman order,
Swayed forwards to the blind assault.

Spearman and charioteer and bowman
Charged and were scattered into spray,

Savage and taciturn the Roman

Hewed upwards in the Roman way.

ON MALVERN HILL 93

There — in the twilight — where the cattle
Are lowing home across the fields,

The beaten warriors left the battle

Dead on the clansmen's wicker shields.

The leaves whirl in the wind's riot
Beneath the Beacon's jutting spur,

Quiet are clan and chief, and quiet
Centurion and signifer.

94 SALT-WATER BALLADS

TEWKESBURY ROAD

It is good to be out on the road, and going one
knows not where,
Going through meadow and village, one knows
not whither nor why ;
Through the grey light drift o' the dust, in the
keen cool rush o' the air,
Under the flying white clouds, and the broad
blue lift o' the sky ;

And to halt at the chattering brook, in the tall
green fern at the brink
Where the harebell grows, and the gorse, and
the fox-gloves purple and white ;
Where the shy-eyed delicate deer troop down to
the pools to drink,
When the stars are mellow and large at the
coming on of the night.

TEWKESBURY ROAD 95

O ! to feel the warmth o' the rain, and the homely
smell o' the earth,
Is a tune for the blood to jig to, a joy past
power of words ;
And the blessed green comely meadows seem all
a-ripple with mirth
At the lilt of the shifting feet, and the dear
wild cry o' the birds.

96 SALT-WATER BALLADS

ON EASTNOR KNOLL

Silent are the woods, and the dim green boughs are
Hushed in the twilight : yonder, in the path through
The apple orchard, is a tired plough-boy
Calling the kine home.

A bright white star blinks, the pale moon rounds, but
Still the red, lurid wreckage of the sunset
Smoulders in smoky fire, and burns on
The misty hill-tops.

Ghostly it grows, and darker, the burning
Fades into smoke, and now the gusty oaks are
A silent army of phantoms thronging
A land of shadows.

'REST HER SOUL, SHE'S DEAD!' 97

'REST HER SOUL, SHE'S DEAD!'

She has done with the sea's sorrow and the
world's way
And the wind's grief;
Strew her with laurel, cover her with bay

And ivy-leaf.
Let the slow mournful music sound before her,
Strew the white flowers about the bier, and
o'er her
The sleepy poppies red beyond belief.

On the black velvet covering her eyes
Let the dull earth be thrown ;

Hers is the mightier silence of the skies,
And long, quiet rest alone.

Over the pure, dark, wistful eyes of her,

O'er all the human, all that dies of her,
Gently let flowers be strown.

G

98 SALT-WATER BALLADS

Lay her away in quiet old peaceful earth

(This blossom of ours).
She has done with the world's anger and the
world's mirth,

Sunshine and rain-showers ;
And over the poor, sad, tired face of her,
In the long grass above the place of her
(The grass which hides the glory and the grace
of her),

May the Spring bring the flowers.

ALL YE THAT PASS BY'

'ALL YE THAT PASS BY'

On the long dusty ribbon of the long city street,
The pageant of life is passing me on multitudinous

feet,
With a word here of the hills, and a song there of

the sea,
And — the great movement changes — the pageant

passes me.

Faces — passionate faces — of men I may not know,
They haunt me, burn me to the heart, as I turn

aside to go :
The king's face and the cur's face, and the face of

the stuffed swine,
They are passing, they are passing, their eyes look

into mine.

100 SALT-WATER BALLADS

I never can tire of the music of the noise of many

feet,
The thrill of the blood pulsing, the tick of the

heart's beat,
Of the men many as sands, of the squadrons ranked

and massed
Who are passing, changing always, and never have

changed or passed.

IN MEMORY OF A. P. R. 101

IN MEMORY OF A. P. R.

Once in the windy wintry weather,
The road dust blowing in our eyes,

We starved and tramped or slept together
Beneath the haystacks and the skies ;

Until the tiring tramp was over,

And then the wind for him was blown,

He left his friend — his fellow-rover —
To tramp the dusty roads alone.

The winds wail and the woods are yellow,

The hills are blotted in the rain,
e And would he were with me/ sighs his fellow,

( With me upon the roads again ! '

102 SALT-WATER BALLADS

TO-MORROW

Oh yesterday the cutting edge drank thirstily and

deep,
The upland outlaws ringed us in and herded us as

sheep,
They drove us from the stricken field and bayed us
into keep ;

But to-morrow,
By the living God, we '11 try the game again !

Oh yesterday our little troop was ridden through

and through,
Our swaying, tattered pennons fled, a broken, beaten

few,
And all a summer afternoon they hunted us and
slew;

But to-morrow,
By the living God, we '11 try the game again !

TO-MORROW 103

And here upon the turret-top the bale-fire glowers

red,
The wake-lights burn and drip about our hacked,

disfigured dead,
And many a broken heart is here and many a
broken head ;

But to-morrow,
By the living God, we '11 try the game again !

104 SALT-WATER BALLADS

CAVALIER

All the merry kettle-drums are thudding into
rhyme,
Dust is swimming dizzily down the village street,
The scabbards are clattering, the feathers nodding
time,
To a clink of many horses' shoes, a tramp of many
feet.

Seven score of Cavaliers fighting for the King,
Trolling lusty stirrup-songs, clamouring for wine,

Riding with a loose rein, marching with a swing,
Beneath the blue bannerol of Rupert of the
Rhine.

Hey the merry company ! — the loud fifes playing —
Blue scarves and bright steel and blossom of the
may,

CAVALIER 105

Roses in the feathered hats, the long plumes
swaying,
A king's son ahead of them showing them the
way.

106 SALT-WATER BALLADS

A SONG AT PARTING

The tick of the blood is settling slow, my heart will

soon be still,
And ripe and ready am I for rest in the grave atop

the hill ;
So gather me up and lay me down, for ready and

ripe am I,
For the weary vigil with sightless eyes that may

not see the sky.

I have lived my life : I have spilt the wine that

God the Maker gave,
So carry me up the lonely hill and lay me in the

grave,
And cover me in with cleanly mould and old and

lichened stones,
In a place where ever the cry of the wind shall

thrill my sleepy bones.

A SONG AT PARTING 107

Gather me up and lay me down with an old song

and a prayer,
Cover me in with wholesome earth, and weep and

leave me there ;
And get you gone with a kindly thought and an

old tune and a sigh,
And leave me alone, asleep, at rest, for ready and

ripe am I.

GLOSSARY

Abaft the beam.— That half of a ship included between her amid-
ship section and the taffrail. (For ' taffrail,' see below.)

Abel Brown. — An unquotable sea-song.

Advance-note. — A note for one month's wages issued to sailors on
their signing a ship's articles.

Belaying -pins. — Bars of iron or hard wood to which running
rigging may be secured or belayed.

Belaying-pins, from their handiness and peculiar club-
shape, are sometimes used as bludgeons.

Bloody. — An intensive derived from the substantive 'blood,' a
name applied to the Bucks, Scowrers, and Mohocks of the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

Blue Peter. — A blue and white flag hoisted at the fore trucks of
ships about to sail.

Bollard. — From bol or bole, the round trunk of a tree. A phallic
or ' sparklet '-shaped ornament of the dockside, of assistance
to mariners in warping into or out of dock.

Bonded Jacky. — Negro-head tobacco or sweet cake.

Bull of Barney. — A beast mentioned in an unquotable sea-
proverb.

Bumpkin. — An iron bar (projecting out-board from the ship's
side) to which the lower and topsail brace blocks are some-
times hooked.

Cape Horn fever. — The illness proper to malingerers.
Catted. — Said of an anchor when weighed and secured to the
'cat-head.'

109

110 SALT-WATER BALLADS

Chanty. — A song sung to lighten labour at the capstan, sheets,
and halliards. The soloist is known as the chantyman, and
is usually a person of some authority in the fo'c's'le. Many
chanties are of great beauty and extreme antiquity.

Clipper-bow. — A bow of delicate curves and lines.

Clout. — A rag or cloth. Also a blow : — 'I fetched him a clout i'
the lug.'

Crimp. — A sort of scoundrelly land-shark preying upon sailors.

D.B.S.— Distressed British Sailor. A term applied to those who

are invalided home from foreign ports.
Dungaree. — A cheap, rough thin cloth (generally blue or brown),

woven, I am told, of cocoa-nut fibre.

Forward or Forrard. — Towards the bows.

Fo'c's'le (Forecastle). — The deck-house or living-room of the crew.
The word is often used to indicate the crew, or those members
of it described by passengers as the ' common sailors.'

Fore-stay. — A powerful wire rope supporting the foremast for-
ward.

Gaskets. — Ropes or plaited lines used to secure the sails in

furling.
Goneyt. — Albatrosses.
Guffy. — A marine or jolly.
Gullies.— Sea-gulls, Cape Horn pigeons, etc.

Heave and pawl. — A cry of encouragement at the capstan.
Hooker. — A periphrasis for ship, I suppose from a ship's carrying
hooks or anchors.

Jack or Jackstay. — A slender iron rail running along the upper
portions of the yards in some ships.

Leeward. — Pronounced 'looard.' That quarter to which the
wind blows.

Mainsail haul.— An order in tacking ship bidding 'swing the
mainyards.' To loot, steal, or 'acquire.'

GLOSSARY 111

Main-shrouds.— Ropes, usually wire, supporting lateral strains

upon the mainmast.
Mollies. — Molly-hawks, or Fulmar petrels. Wide-winged dusky

sea-fowls, common in high latitudes, oily to taste, gluttonous.

Great fishers and garbage-eaters.

Port Mahon Baboon, or Port Mahon Soger. — I have been unable
to discover either the origin of these insulting epithets or
the reasons for the peculiar bitterness with which they sting
the marine recipient. They are older than Dana {circa
1840).

An old merchant sailor, now dead, once told me that Port
Mahon was that godless city from which the Ark set sail, in
which case the name may have some traditional connection
with that evil 'Mahoun' or 'Mahu,' prince of darkness,
mentioned by Shakespeare and some of our older poets.

The real Port Mahon, a fine harbour in Minorca, was taken
by the French, from Admiral Byng, in the year 1756.

I think that the phrases originated at the time of Byng's
consequent trial and execution.
Purchase.— See 'Tackle.'

Quidding. — Tobacco-chewing.

Sails. — The sail-maker.

Santa Cruz. — A brand of rum.

Scantling. — Planks.

Soger. — A laggard, malingerer, or hang-back. To loaf or skulk
or work Tom Cox's Traverse.

Spunyarn. — A three-strand line spun out of old rope-yarns
knotted together. Most sailing-ships carry a spunyarn
winch, and the spinning of such yarn is a favourite occupa-
tion in fine weather.

Stirrup. — A short rope supporting the foot-rope on which the
sailors stand when aloft on the yards.

Tack. — To stay or 'bout ship. A reach to windward. The

weather lower corner of a course.
Tackle. — Pronounced taykle. A combination of pulleys for the

obtaining of artificial power.

112 SALT-WATER BALLADS

Taffrail.— The rail or bulwark round the sternmost end of a

ship's poop or after-deck.
Trick. — The ordinary two-hour spell at the wheel or on the

look-out.

Windward or Weather.— That quarter from which the wind
blows.

Edinburgh : Printed by T. and A. Constable