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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


JAMES  DALLY 

OLD  AND  RARE  BOOKS 

Oatlands,  Tasmania 


THE    WAYS    OF 
MANY  WATERS 


The  Author  acknowledges  with  thanks,  the  kind 
permission  of  the  Bulletin  Co.,  Sydney,  in  Mowing  this 
Volume  to  be  repubiished. 

loth  June,  1909. 


THE    WAYS    OF 
MANY  WATERS 

BY 

E.    J.     BRADY 


THOMAS     C.    LOTHIAN,    MELBOURNE 

LONDON  :  THE  WALTER  SCOTT  PUBLISHING  CO. 

1909 


PRINTED  BY 

BUTLER  &  TANNER, 

THE  SELWOOD  PRINTING  WORKS, 

FROMB,  AND  LONDON. 


PR 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  WAYS  OF  MANY  WATERS        .         .  i 

LOST  AND  GIVEN  OVER           ...  9 

HIDES  AND  TALLOW      ....  13 

I'VE  GOT  BAD  NEWS    .  18 

THE  LOADING  OF  THE  PRIDE          .         .  20 

DOWN  IN  HONOLULU     ....  24 

SAILOR-MAN           .....  28 

THE  HIRAM  BROWN       ....  35 

LAYING  ON  THE  SCREW          ...  40 

THE  WHALER'S  PIG       ....  45 

THE  BLAZING  STAR        ....  49 

THE  FOR'ARD  HOLD       ....  55 

SARAH  Dow           .....  59 

McFEE  OF  ABERDEEN  .  61 

WOOL,  Ho  ! 68 

WITH  COAL  TO  CALLAO.          ...  74 

THE  WOOL  FLEET          ....  79 

YANKEE  PACKET             ....  86 

THE  WAYS  ARE  WIDE             ...  91 

THE  PASSING  OF  PARKER       ...  93 


1361955 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  GREAT  GRAY  WATER  .  .  .  103 
WHAT  THE  BOTTLE  SAID  .  .  .  105 
A  VIKING  FORAY  .....  109 
SONG  OF  THE  SOUTHERN  TRADES  .  .  113 
THEY  HAVE  BOUND  Us  .  .  .116 

How  JACK  BOWLIN  STEERED  "  JONES  "  121 
A  RHYME  OF  THE  ROADS  .  .  .125 
ROLL  THE  COTTON  DOWN  .  .  .130 
NETS  BELOW  THE  GANGWAY  .  .133 

"  WHICH  His  WEAKNESS  is  WOMEN  "  .  136 
A  BALLAD  OF  THE  FLAG  .  .  .  139 
You  AND  Us  .....  143 
HOMEWARD  BOUND  .  .  .  .148 
THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  GATES  .  .  ,  153 


THE  WAYS  OF  MANY  WATERS. 

BECAUSE  of  a  painted  Fancy 
That  is  neither  old  nor  new, 
The  path  of  the  further  distance 
It  seemeth  for  aye  more  true  : 
For  this  have  the  Dreamers  wandered 

Forlorn,  on  a  golden  quest, 
Their  sails  in  the  sunset  dipping 
Aslant  to  the  reddened  West  : 

For  this  have  the  Rovers  journeyed, 

Subtle  and  strange  though  it  seem, 
Spelled  by  the  shade  of  a  shadow, 

Lured  by  the  loot  of  a  dream. 
And  so  doth  the  Great  Fleet  gather, 

The  fleet  of  a  thousand  sail, 
With  a  long-oared  galley  leading 

And  a  liner  at  the  tail 

They  sweep  with  a  song  from  Sidon, 

The  song  of  an  old  desire, 
They  come  with  a  crash  of  trumpets 

Out  from  the  quays  of  Tyre  ; 
Along  on  the  open  waters 

Will  their  leaping  galleys  line, 
To  trade  with  our  tattooed  fathers 

The  trinkets  of  Palestine. 


THE  WAYS  OF  MANY  WATERS. 

Evoe I  and  a  cup  to  Bacchus 

The  Lyclan  seaman  pours, 
Then  kisses  his  dark-haired  Phryne 

And  springs  to  the  straining  oars  .  . 
Hard  down,  by  the  mole  at  Pharos, 

The  Rhodian  ketos  bides 
The  hour  of  the  sacred  augur, 

The  time  of  the  wheeling  tides. 

They  swing  from  their  yellow  Tiber 

Into  the  laughing  seas, 
With  gifts  to  the  gods  in  passing 

The  Pillars  of  Hercules  ; 
The  gleam  of  imperial  purple 

On  imperial  ocean  falls, 
The  flag  of  the  legion  flutters, 

The  stern  centurion  calls  .  .  . 

Now,  loud  is  the  shout  of  wassail, 

And  the  Northern  eagle  shrieks, 
As  the  Viking's  men  come  crowding 

Out  from  the  bays  and  the  creeks — 
Sons  of  the  snows  and  the  forests, 

High  in  the  forehead  and  bold. 
Strong,  with  the  love  of  strong  women, 

Sturdy  to  take  and  to  hold  .  .  . 

They  glide,  with  a  chant  of  lovers. 
Into  the  sleeping  lagune — 


THE  WAYS  OF  MANY  WATEKS. 


The  sails  of  the  great  Doge,  gleaming 
Silver  and  silk  in  the  moon  ; 

While  far  in  the  East  she  glimmers 
On  Indian  argosies 

That  bear  to  the  sun's  red  rising 
The  trade  of  the  Genoese  .  .  . 

But  now  't  is  a  rowdy  rabble 

That  chatters  on  Palos  pier, 
As  up  from  the  Unknown  Ocean 

A  torn  sail  rises  clear, 
And  a  calm  World-finder  cometh — 

Not  as  the  Conquerors  came, 
Loud,  with  the  blazon  of  pennons, 

Clamoring  favour  of  Fame  .  .  . 

And  lo,  from  an  English  harbour, 

In  his  jerkin  brown  a  rose, 
With  a  broad  sword  in  his  scabbard, 

The  sturdy  John  Cabot  goes  : 
Westward  and  westward  forever, 

But  ever  of  stout  intent 
To  claim  for  his  burly  monarch 

Fair  share  of  a  Continent. 


And  now  't  is  a  white-haired  Spaniard 
Seeking,  in  travail  and  ruth. 

The  place  of  the  fabled  waters, 
The  fount  of  enduring  youth  ; 


THE  WAYS  OF  MANY  WATERS. 

The  gallants  of  gay  De  Soto 

Bear  out  on  the  seas  again, 
And  Cortes,  with  banners  trailing, 

Heels  down  for  the  Western  main. 

The  shout  of  Balboa  echoes 

Across  the  Pacific  waste, 
And  free  from  St.  Malo  harbor 

Brave  Cartier  wears  in  haste  : 
The  sun  on  their  mail  to  glisten, 

The  sun  on  their  swords  to  glance, 
A  kiss  for  the  mistress  weeping, 

Then,  hey  for  the  lilies  of  France 

They  waddle  away  together, 

Round-bellied,  from  Rotterdam, 
To  trade  in  the  Eastern  Islands 

Or  barter  in  Surinam  ; 
Or  far  to  the  South'ard  creeping 

With  their  courage  strained  and  worn, 
They  steal  from  the  mystic  harbours 

Of  a  lone  new  land  forlorn. 

Now  low  on  the  Southern  oceans 
The  gleam  of  their  lonely  sails, 

Where  Tasman  undaunted  has  weathered 
The  Cape  of  a  Thousand  Gales  ; 

Where  Hartog  is  boldly  sailing 
Into  Australian  seas, 


THE   WAYS  OF  MANY  WATERS. 

One  eye  on  the  chance  of  plunder, 
And  one  on  the  Portuguese. 

They  dart  from  the  nooks  and  crannies 

White  eagles  athirst  for  prey, 
Room  for  a  little  adventure, 

And  plenty  of  room  to  play  ; 
With  letters  of  marque  that  cover 

A  slip,  if  it  endeth  so, 
Then  back  to  their  friendly  harbour 

Full  tilt,  with  the  prize  in  tow. 

They  stand  with  their  port-fires  lighted 

To  rake  them  over  and  through, 
For  the  sake  of  their  golden  ingots 

And  the  sake  of  derring-do  ; 
They  riddle  their  timbers  gaily, 

And  up  on  their  high  decks  spring,— 
With  cheers  for  the  English  lasses, 

And  thrusts  for  the  English  King. 

They  reel,  with  a  drunken  chanty, 
Loading  their  swivels  amain, 

Be-ribanded  robbers  cheering 
The  black  flag  up  to  the  main  ; 

The  pick  of  their  ocean  plunder, 
/The  loot  of  a  half-score  loads, 

To  scatter  among  the  ladies — 
Of  pleasure — in  Whydah  Roads. 


THE  WAYS  OF  MANY  WATERS. 


And  a  low  black  hull  still  crosses 

The  face  o'  the  moon  away, 
And  again  the  night  re-echoes 

The  shout  of  the  turbaned  Dey  ; 
And  the  night-wind  moans  and  shivers, 

But  the  Dago  seaman  swears 
T  is  a  ghostly  Rover,  chiding 

His  Barbary  corsairs ! 

The  Company's  fleet  is  booming 

Along  on  the  Sou'-East  trade, 
And  the  braw  East  India  clipper 

On  her  outward  course  is  laid  ; 
She  cheers  to  the  rolling  troopship 

That  buckles  into  the  gale, 
A  reef  in  her  straining  topsails, 

The  red  rag  over  the  rail. 

They  dip  from  the  docks  of  Lunnon, 

And  out  of  Cork  Harbour  go, 
The  immigrant  tubs  full  listed — 

"  God  bless  ye  !"  and  "  South'ard-ho  I* 
Aye,  South'ard  and  South'ard  ever, 

The  gallant  old  ships  of  teak, 
To  lie  at  the  banks  o*  Yarra 

With  their  spreading  yards  apeak. 

Aye,  South'ard  and  West'ard  bravely, 
Since  ever  the  years  were  born, 


THE   WAYS  OF  MANY  WATERS. 


They  battle  the  wild  Atlantic, 
They  battle  around  the  Horn, 

With  the  California  clipper 
Dainty  and  deep  in  the  beam, 

And  the  Austral  clipper  racing 
Ahead  of  the  days  of  steam  I 


Tis  a  lordly,  long  convention 

Foregathering  day  by  day, 
From  the  Mayflower  bravely  beating 

Her  passage  to  Cape  Cod  bay. 
From  the  trim  old  wooden  traders, 

Who  smuggled  their  silks  and  lace, 
To  the  steel-built  Cunard  packet 

With  her  record-making  pace. 

They  sleep  in  the  deep,  dark  places, 

The  fleets  of  the  days  gone  by ; 
But  oft  when  the  flaked  sea-fires 

To  the  churning  screw-beats  fly, 
At  the  sound  of  a  faint,  sad  music, 

The  lilt  of  an  old-time  tune, 
They  rise  from  their  grave  of  waters 

To  ride  'neath  the  quiet  moon  : 


The  ships  of  the  Dreamers  gather — 
They  gather  at  dead  of  night 


THE  WAYS  OF  MANY  WATERS. 

Till  the  face  of  the  deep,  dark  places 
With  their  crowding  sail  grows  white 

And  then,  in  a  grand  procession, 
Away  to  the  West  they  sail, 

With  a  long-oared  galley  leading 
And  a  liner  at  the  tail. 


LOST  AND  GIVEN  OVER. 

A  MERMAID'S  not  a  human  thing, 
An'  courtin'  sich  is  folly  ; 
Of  flesh  an'  blood  I'd  rather  sing, 
What  ain't  so  melancholy. 
Oh,  Berta  I  Loo  !  Juanita  I  Sue  ! 
Here's  good  luck  to  me  and  you  — 

Sing  rally  !  ri-a-rally! 

The  seas  is  deep  ;  the  seas  Is  wide  ; 

But  this  I'll  prove  whate'er  betide, 

I'm  bully  in  the  alley  1 

I'm  bull-ee  in  our  al-lee  ! 

The  HoogH  gal  'er  face  Is  brown  ; 

The  Hilo  gal  is  lazy  ; 
The  gal  that  lives  by  'Obart  town 

She'd  drive  a  dead  man  crazy  ; 
Come,  wet  your  lip,  and  let  it  slip  I 
The  Gretna  Green's  a  tidy  ship  — 

Sing  rally  ! 

The  seas  is  deep  ;  the  seas  Is  blue  ; 
But  'ere's  good  'ealth  to  me  and  you  ; 
Ho,  rally  I 

The  Lord  may  drop  us  off  our  pins 
")To  feed  'is  bloomin'  fishes  ; 
But  Lord  forgive  us  for  our  sins—  * 
Our  sins  is  most  delicious.  ! 


9 


LOST  AND  GIVEN  OVER, 

Come,  drink  it  up  and  fill  yer  cup ! 
The  world  it  owes  us  bite  and  sup, 

And  Mimi,  Ju-ju,  Sally; 
The  seas  is  long ;  the  winds  is  strong  ; 
The  best  of  men  they  will  go  wrong — 

Hi,  rally!  ri-a-rally ! 

The  Bowery  gal  she  knows  'er  know ; 

The  Frisco  gal  is  silly  ; 
The  Hayti  gal  ain't  white  as  snow — 

They  're  whiter  down  in  Chili. 
Now  what 's  the  use  to  shun  the  boozs? 
They  '11  flop  yer  bones  among  the  ooze 
Sou'-west-by-Sou'  the  galley. 
The  seas  is  green  ;  the  seas  is  cold  ; 
The  best  of  men  they  must  grow  old — 
Sing  rally !  ri-a-rally ! 

All  round  the  world,  where'er  I  roam, 

This  lesson  I  am  learnin'. 
If  you  've  got  sense  you  '11  stop  at  home 

And  save  the  bit  yer  earnin*. 
So  hang  the  odds  !     It 's  little  odds, 
When  every  'eathen  'as  'is  gods, 

An'  neither  two  will  tally  : 
When  black  and  white  drink,  wimmin,  fight- 
In  these  three  things  they  're  all  alright — 
Sing  rally !  ri-a-rally  ! 

When  double  bunks,  fo 'castle  end, 
Is  all  the  kind  that's  carried, 


10 


LOST  AND  GIVEN  OVER. 

Our  manners  they  will  likely  mend — 

Most  likely  we'll  be  married. 
But  till  sich  time  as  that  be  done, 
We  '11  take  our  fun  as  we  've  begun — 

Sing  rally  ! 

The  flesh  is  weak  ;  the  world  is  wide  : 
The  dead  man  'e  goes  overside — 
Sing  rally  !  rally  ! 

We  're  given  and  lost  to  the  girls  that  watt 

From  Trinity  to  Whitsund'y, 
From  Sunda  Strait  to  the  Golden  Gate 

An'  back  to  the  Bay  o'  Fundy  ; 
Oh,  it 's  Mabel,  Loo,  an*  it  's  Nancy-Poo, 
An'  'ere  's  good  luck,  an'  I  love  you — 

Sing  rally  ! 

Oh,  it 's  cents  an'  dollars  an'  somebody  hollers- 
The  sun  comes  up  an'  the  mornin'  toilers — 

Sing  rally  ! 

We  're  given  an'  lost  to  the  octoroon, 

The  Portugee  cruiser  painty, 
The  Chinkie  gal  with  'er  eyes  'arf-moon, 

An'  the  Japanee  darlin'  dainty. 
Oh,  it 's  Tokio-town  when  the  sun  goes  down 
It 's  'arf-a-pint  and  it 's  'arf-a-crown — 

Sing  rally ! 

'Er  spars  may  lift  an'  'er  keel  can  shift, 

When  a  man  is  done  'e 's  got  to  drift — 

Sing  rally !    Ho,  rally  I 

B 


LOST  AND  GIVEN  OVER. 

The  Hoogli  gal  'er  face  is  brown, 
The  Hilo  gal 's  a  daisy, 

The  gal  that  lives  by  'Obart-town 
She  'd  drive  a  dead  man  crazy. 

So,  pretty  an'  plain,  it 's  Sarah  Jane 

'Uggin'  an'  kissin'  an'  "  Come  again  1 
Sing  rally  !  ri-a-rally ! 

The  ssas  is  deep  ;  the  seas  is  wide  ; 

But  this  I  '11  prove  what  else  betide, 
I  'm  bully  in  the  alley, 
Ho  ;  Bullee  in  the  A\-lee  ! 


HIDES   AND   TALLOW. 

HERE  ain't  a  lavender  ditty, 
Sung  by  a  sweet-scented  cove  ; 
Here  ain't  no  wine-inspired,  witty 
Story  of  Honour  and  Love. 
Here  is  the  song  of  the  Taller  ; 
Likewise  the  chanty  of  'Ides, 
Greasy  an'  dirty  an'  yaller, 
Gritty  an'  stinkin'  besides — • 
'Ides  an'  taller,  taller  an'  'ides  I 

Potes  who  'ave  nourished  on  roses, 

Given  to  sipping  of  dew, 
Potes  with  sus-ceptible  noses, 

This  ain't  intended  for  you  ! 
These  are  the  lands  that  lie  fallow, 

Unploughed  by  the  pens  of  Romance  ; 
This  is  the  ode  of  the  tallow, — 

Odorous  tallow  perchance  ; 

The  whenceness  of  Which  an'  the  Whither, 

No  creed  of  no  church  ain't  secure  ; 
Old  fashions  and  fancies  may  wither, 

One  fact  it  is  certain  an'  sure — 
There  's  nothink  smells  worse  nor  the  taller, 

Always  exceptin'  the  'ides  ; 
Grimy,  an'  sweaty,  an'  yaller, 

Gritty  an'  greasy  besides, 

'Ides  an'  taller,  taller  an'  'ides  I 

13 


HIDES  AND   TALLOW. 

The  wool  bales  is  easy  to  lumber  ; 

We  knows  'em  the  same  as  a  book ; 
The  clerk  keeps  his  eye  on  the  number, 

You  cop  'em  right  side  with  yer  'ook. 
You  knows  a  dern  "  dump  "  when  you  spot  'im  ; 

You  'ump  'im,  an'  truck  'im  away  : 
A  cask,  you  '11  perceive,  when  you  've  got  'im, 

Ain't  never  constructed  that  way. 

*E  slips,  an'  "e  rolls,  an'  'e  shices, 

'E  bucks,  an'  'e  wobbles,  an'  worse, 
'E  jams,  an'  'e  rams,  an'  entices 

'Ard-workin'  pore  blokes  for  to  curse,— 
Oh,  burn  all  the  pro-duct  of  taller  1 

An'  sink  all  the  pro-duct  of  'ides  1 
It 's  'eavy  an'  dirty  an'  yaller, 

It 's  greasy  an'  stinkin'  besides — 

'Ides  an'  taller,  taller  an'  'ides  ! 

The  thing  that  gets  over  a  feller 

Is  kids,  an'  a  missus  to  keep  : 
it  don't  make  'is  lot  none  too  meller  , 

It  don't  much  provoke  'im  to  slesp  ; 
'E  ain't  got  no  time  to  grow  lazy  ; 

'E 's  got  to  look  limber  an'  slick, 
Though  taller  'd  drive  a  cove  crazy, 

An'  'ides  makes  a  feller  go  sick. 

So  that  is  the  reason  we  're  lumpin' 
Them  pro-ducts  that 's  awkwardly  rolled  ; 

14 


HIDES  AND   TALLOW. 

A-thumpin'  our  shin-bones,  an'  bumpin1 
The  same  to  their  place  in  the  'old. 

If  'ell  is  as  'ot  as  they  tell  us, 
We  need  n't  be  gallied  by  that, 

The  devils  will  strike  when  they  smell  us 
A-rendering  up  of  our  fat  I 

The  Preacher,  whose  pulpit  is  furnished 

With  cushions  of  velvet  an'  silk, 
With  bloomin'  brass  rails,  brightly  burnished, 

Who  scoffs  all  the  honey  and  milk — 
'E  often  gets  up,  an*  'e  preaches 

A  sermon  on  cussin'  an'  beer, 
On  liver  an'  bacon,  an'  peaches  1 

'E  guys  us  pore  sinners  down  'ere. 

But,  Lord  !  let  him  rip  off  'is  cassock 

An'  peel  to  'is  sanctified  pelt ; 
Give  over  'is  nice  feather  'assock, 

An'  kneel  where  us  jokers  'as  knelt, 
With  sweat  an'  'ard  graft  for  to  haller 

'Is  soul,  an'  'is  body  besides  ! 
Contrition  ain't  nothink  to  taller, 

An'  prayin'  ain't  in  it  with  'ides — 

'Ides  an'  taller,  taller  an'  'ides  ! 

We  ain't  much  addicted  to  sorrow, 
We  're  given  right  over  to  slang ; 

It 's  yakker  to-day,  'an  to-morrow 
You're  smashed  and  they  don't  give  a  'ang. 

15 


HIDES  AND   TALLOW. 

There  's  Jones — 'e  was  workin'  last  Monday- 
Cask  rolled  an'  she  pinned  'im  long-side — 

They  '11  carve  up  'is  innards  'fore  Sunday 
To  find  out  the  reason  'e  died. 

The  brokers  is  scoopin'  their  profit ; 

It  pays  'em  right  up  to  the  hilt ; 
Cham-pagne  is  their  tap,  an'  they  scoff  it, — 

The  buyers  don't  growl  if  it 's  spilt. 
But  beer  's  our  own  tack,  an'  we  booze  it ; 

'Tis  good  for  our  common  insides  ; 
'T  is  good  for  yer  soul  if  you  views  it 

Al-right  through  the  taller  an'  'ides — 

'Ides  an'  taller,  taller  an'  'ides  ! 

This  hugly  four-master  she  offers 

A  'old  that 's  as  deep  as  the  deuce ; 
The  takings  will  bulge  their  fat  coffers, 

By  gosh!  but  we'll  stew  in  our  juice. 
Their  mess-kids  is  smokin'  up  forrard — 

My  breakfast  it  mainly  were  bread  ; 
This  feel  in  your  stummick  is  'orrid, 

It 's  worse  nor  the  feel  in  your  'ead. 

By  God  1  if  I  'm  tempted  to  leave  'er, 
To  get  one  more  sniff  o'  the  sea, 

My  bloomin'  "  ole  Dutch  "  were  a  griever — 
It 's  longshore  an'  cuss  it  for  me. 

It 's  'umpin'  the  wool  in  'ot  seasons  ; 
It 's  rollin'  these  casks  in  the  cold  ; 


16 


HIDES  AND   TALLOW. 

It  fs  "  Stand  by  the  slings  !  " — for  good  reasons 
Get  graft,  an'  more  graft,  an'  grow  old. 

I  'm  clewed  to  four  walls  an'  a  table, 

The  chairs  an'  the  kids  an'  the  wife  ; 
I  'm  petticoat-tied,  and  ain't  able 

To  kick  for  the  old  rovin'  life  ; 
I  'm  hitched  to  the  wool  an'  the  taller, 

The  copra,  an'  sich  like  besides  ; 
1  'm  spliced  to  the  bales  an'  the  taller, 

The  'orns  an'  the  bones  an'  the  'ides — 

'Ides  an'  taller,  taller  an'  'ides! 

I  've  got  a  spare  judy  out  yonder  ; 

1  'ad  a  nice  gal  in  Bombay  ; 
Wot's  Nelly  a-doin',  I  wonder  ? 

I  '11  cut  my  stick  over  some  day  .  .  . 
By  guns  I  were  1  just  a  bit  younger 

I  'd  slip  in  the  twink  o'  the  tides  ; 
This  bleedin'  ole  tub  she  could  'unger 

For  me,  for  'er  taller  an'  'ides — 

'Ides  an'  Taller! 

Taller  H 

An'  'Ides! I 


17 


IV. 


I'VE    GOT    BAD    NEWS. 

THEY  stitched  him  up  in  his  canvas  shirt 
As  stiff  as  a  frozen  board ; 
They  sewed  pig  lead  at  his  feet  an'  head 
And  they  sloshed  him  overboard. 
The  Old  Man  had  n't  a  conscience, 
Exceptin'  his  wheel  and  chart, 
He  pulled  on  sight,  and  his  aim  was  right, 
For  he  shot  him  through  the  heart ! 

His  girl  she  waits  in  Grosvenor  Street, 

That 's  hard  by  Sydney  Quay, 

His  girl  she  waits  in  Grosvenor  Street 

This  two  long  year  waits  she, 

And  'er  heart  may  weep,  but  he 's  sleepin"  deep 

In  the  North  Atlantic  Sea. 

He  shipped  with  a  Nova-Scotia  man 

Last  time  that  ever  he  signed ; 

His  cash  was  spent  and  'er  sails  was  bent, 

And  he  was  drunk  and  blind, — 

A  man  must  take  what  he  can  get, 

There  's  plenty  of  men  to  spare, 

With  Danes  and  Swedes  and  the  Dago  breeds, 

And  ships  go  everywhere. 

He  laid  his  hand  to  a  marlin'spike— 
Oh,  he  was  a  man  to  know  1 


18 


I'VE  GOT  BAD  NEWS. 

And  the  deck  ran  red  where  he  fell  and  bled, 

But  he  should  n't  'ave  acted  so. 

His  blood  was  up  and  the  threat  came  free ; 

But  the  high  seas  have  their  ways, 

And  that  was  the  end  of  a  lover  and  friend, 

And  these  are  "  the  better  days." 

T  is  round  and  round,  as  the  world  goes  round, 

With  a  civil  tongue  in  your  'ead  ; 

Tis  "do  as  you 're  told,"  though  you 're  starved 

and  cold 

An'  bitterly  driven  an'  led, 
'Tis  to  and  fro  as  you  sign  and  go 
Till  Death  he  crosses  your  hawse  ; 
You're  stinted  and  worn,  you  're  tattered  and  torn, 
But  the  Owners  make  the  laws. 

A  girl  she  lives  in  Grosvenor  Street— 

Oh,  Lord!  that  I  'ad n't  to  go. 

A  girl  she  lives  in  Grosvenor  Street 

And  'twill  break  'er  'eart  to  know 

How  he  fell  and  bled,  and  I  wish  I  was  deaS 

But  he  shouldn't  'ave  acted  so. 


19 


V. 

THE    LOADING   OF    THE   PRIDE. 

/ 

CLIPPER  ship,  the  Pride  of  Commerce,  load- 
ing now  with  hides  and  wool, 
Advertised    to    sail    on    Monday — stevedore 
must  get  her  full ; 
Stevedore  must  have  her  ready,  be  he  well  or  be 

he  ill. 
And  if  stevedore  won't  do  it,  we  can  find  a  man 

who  will. 

• ' Re-a-rally !   Ri-a-rally ! — Twenty  men  to  go  below. 
Now,  my  lads,  I  want  no  loafing — grafters  only  gets 

a  show. 

Boss  I  am,  and  boss  I  will  be,  and  I  '11  have  no 
skulking  here ; 

It 's  grafting  down  below,  men, 
It 's  go  it  all  you  know,  men, 

Till  the  skipper  gets  his  papers  and  the  '  peter 's' 
up  to  clear." 

Tropic  climate,  iron  vessel,  greasy  wool — peculiar 

smell ; 
Down  below  the  atmosphere  is — something   worse 

than  words  will  tell ; 
Down    below    in    shirt     and    trousers,    sweating, 

swearing  like  a  Turk, 
Stevedore  is  stowing  cargo,  glad  enough  to  be  at 

>.    work. 
"Re-a-rally!    ri-a-rally!    Give  that  screw  another 

shake. 

20 


LOADING  OF   THE  PR/DS. 

Agent  says  we  've  got  to  load  her,  ev'ry  bloomin1 

pound  she  '11  take. 

Promised  owner  "  go  by  Monday  "  and  we  mustn't 
miss  a  bale — 

So  it 's  ram  her,  jam  her,  cram  her, 
Fire  her  cargo  in  and  damn  her, 
For  the  other  boat  is  loading  and  they  '11  race  her 
for  the  sale. ' ' 

Stevedore  is  mostly  idle  while   the   winter  drags 

away ; 
Now  the  sun  of  work  is  shining  and  he  means  to 

make  his  hay  ; 
"  Bob  "  an  hour  and  sweat,  half-roasted,  till  your 

socks  are  wet  with  slime  ; 
"  Bob  "  an  hour  and,  if  you  're  lucky,  one-and-six 

for  overtime. 
"Re-a-rallyl   ri-a-rally !   Why  the  devil  don't  you 

sweat  ? 
Don't    you    see    them     after-hatches    ain't    been 

touched  at  all  as  yet  ? 
S  "elp-me-Gawd  1    you  make  me  shrivel ;  can't  you 

bend  your  lazy  back? 

If  you  don't  go  at  it  quicker, 

May  I  never  drink  my  licker, 

But  I  '11  go  below  and  give  you,  every  mother's 

son,  the  sackl  " 

Skipper,    in    the  after-cabin,    has    a    "  lady "    to 
amuse ; 

21 


THE  LOADING  OP  THE  PRIDE. 

Mate    and    friend    are    sipping    whisky — mate   is 

somewhat  on  the  booze. 
Purser  comes    aboard    for    dinner  ;  "  second  's  " 

taking  tally  here  ; 
Crew  are  for'ard  making    merry  on    some    bad 

colonial  beer. 
"Re-a-rally!   ri-a-rallyl   Stand  from  under  1   Mind 

the  slings  ! 
Hang  it!    Use  yer  hook,  you  duffer  I    Can't  you 

catch  her  as  she  swings  ? 
Tarnal  fool  I  he  's  gone  and  missed  it  I  H'ist  away 

there,  quick  's  y'  can  I 

Why  the  blazing  Son  of  Thunder 
Could  n't  he  have  stood  from  under  ? 
Leg 's  broke  !    Can't  move  1    Look  sharp  !    Fetch 

along  a  basket — and  a  man  1  " 

Pulleys'  strain  and  winches'  rattle  echoed  from  the 

rival  ship ; 
Both  must  be  at  "home"  discharging  when  they 

sell  the  season's  clip. 
London  market  must  be  studied.     "  Monarch  "'s 

waiting  for  the  tide, 
"And  I  '11  sink  the  ship  or  beat  him,"  says  the 

captain  of  the  Pride. 
' '  Re-a-rally !  ri-a-rally  re-a-ri-a-rally-ho  ! 
Come  ashore  and  lend  a  hand,  lads !    Slip  her  lines 

and  let  her  go. 
Yes  I  she  draws  a  lot  of  water,  but  they '11  get  her 

out  by  dark, 

22 


THE  LOADING  OF  THE  PRIDB. 

And  I  '11  wager  half-a-crown, 
That  the  Monarch  's  deeper  down, 
Even  if  the  Pride  is  just  a  leetle  past  her  Plimsoll- 
mark." 

Agent    on    the    wharf    stands    smiling.     Says   to 

skipper  with  a  bow  ; 
"  We  have  kept  our  promise,  captain,  to  her  owners, 

you'll  allow." 
Hatches  down  and  gangway  hoisted — Pride's   in 

tow  behind  her  boat, 
And,  his  help  no  longer  needed,  stevedore  puts  on 

his  coat, 
"Re-a-rally!    ri-a-rally!    Now,   then,   fill    'em    up 

once  more  1 
All  the  crew  was  drunk  as  niggers  when  the   pilot 

kem  ashore ! 
And  the  captain  and  the  mate,  sirs,  was  as  tight 

as  tight  could  be  ; 

But  we  've  earned  a  '  bob  '  or  two, 
Let  her  sink  or  struggle  through, 
We  have  crammed  her  to  the  hatches — that 's  enough 

for  you  and  me." 


VI. 

DOWN    IN    HONOLULU. 

5  r-r-\  WAS  down  in  Honolulu, 
Way  off  one  night  afar, 
The  sea-breeze  comin'  coole. 

Across  the  coral  bar, 
When  Lulu's  eyes  were  brighter 

Than  any  girl's  I  knew, 
When  Lulu's  teeth  were  whiter 

Than  any  coral,  too. 
Oh!  Lulu,  Lulu,  Lulu, 

My  warm  Pacific  pearl  1 
My  lovely,  lively  Lulu— • 

My  own  Kanaka  girl  i 

I  kissed  her  for  her  mother, 

I  gev'  her  one,  two,  three  ; 
I  squoze  her  for  her  brother — 

'T  was  all  the  same  to  me. 
The  moon  went  settin',  later, 

Below  the  mango  trees, 
One  horn  towards  the  crater, 

One  pointin'  over  seas. 
Oh!  Lulu,  Lulu,  Lulu, 

I  taste  them  kisses  still ! 
That  tropic  moon  's  a-settin* 

Beyond  the  darkened  hill  ? 

For,  oh  !  your  heart  was  beatin'  \ 
For,  oh  I  your  breath  was  sweet ! 

24 


DOWN  IN  HONOLULU. 

And  you  was  good  for  eatin'. 

If  gals  was  good  to  eat —  • 
And,  oh  !  your  lips  were  cherry  ! 

And,  oh !  your  teeth  was  white- 
I  've  tried  in  vain  to  bury 

The  memory  of  that  night. 
Ah  !  Lulu,  Lulu,  Lulu, 

I  'd  give  my  life,  I  vow, 
To  live  that  starlight  over — 

I  know  I  loved  you,  now! 

We  heard  the  ripples  feelin' 

The  white  edge  of  the  sand, 
The  good,  kind  music  stealin'— 

"That  Yankee  war-ship's  band  ; 
I  never  hear  them  playin' 

That  old  star-spangled  air 
But  'neath  the  trees  I  'm  layin*. 

And  you,  my  girl,  are  there. 
Oh  !  Lulu,  Lulu,  Lulu, 

Wherever  you  may  be, 
That  old  "  Star-spangled  Banner" 

Still  brings  you  back  to  me ! 

The  sea-breeze,  perfume-laden. 

It  rustled  through  the  palms 
That  night,  that  night  I  laid  in 

Your  warm,  soft,  twining  arms. 
You  swore  to  love  me  ever, 

I  swore  to  love  you  true 


DOWN  IN  HONOLULU. 

Forever  an'  forever — 

The  way  we  used  to  do. 
Oh !  Lulu,  Lulu,  Lulu, 

T  was  years  and  years  ago ; 
I  don't  forget  it,  somehow, 

Although  I  ought,  I  know. 

We  heard  the  Chinkies  prattle 

Way  up  in  China  Town, 
We  heard  the  hawse-chains  rattle 

That  let  the  anchor  down, 
"  Eight  bells  !  "  I  hear  them  falling — 

The  Yankee's  bugles  blow  ; 
"  Eight  bells !  "  the  bo's'n  's  calling — 

Dear  Love,  I  've  got  to  go  1 
Oh  I  Lulu,  Lulu,  Lulu, 

Don't  cling  so  awful  tight ; 
The  old  man  's  got  his  papers, 

Good-bye !  Ah,  no  !    ...    Good-night  I 

I  feel  your  arms  still  clinging— 

Oh !  what 's  the  use  to  cry  ? 
It's  "  Homeward  Bound"  they'  re  singing- 

I  Ml  come  back  by-and-by. 
Eight  bells  1  It 's  done  and  over  ; 

While  ships  still  sail  the  sea, 
A  sailor  man  's  a  rover — 

Good-bye,  and  think  of  me  I 
Oh  1  Lulu,  Lulu,  Lulu, 

I  broke  the  sailor's  vow ; 

26 


DOWN  IN  HONOLULU. 


I  want  to  live  it  over, 
I  know  I  loved  you,  now! 

'Twas  down  in  Honolulu, 

Way  back  in  other  years, 
I  left  you,  lovely  Lulu, 

The  starlight  and  the  tears. 
But,  oh  !  your  face  was  fairer 

Than  any  face  I  've  met, 
And,  oh  !  your  charms  were  rarer 

Than  any  woman's  yet. 
And,  Lulu,  Lulu,  Lulu, 

Wherever  you  may  be, 
My  brown  Kanaka  Lulu— 

Do  you  remember  me  ? 


VII. 

SAILOR-MAN. 

5    A    RF    a    pint   for    me,   old   party — thank'ee, 
J-\     mister — 'ere 's  yer  'ealth — 

'Opes  y  '11  live  to  be  a  nundred ;  'opes  yer 

luck  '11  bring  y'u  wealth  ; 
Mine  ain't  bin  as  good  as  might  be — never  knowed 

a  syler  yet, 
When  'is  days  o'  leave  was  over,  as  could  even  go 

a  wet. 
Ship  's  yer  'ouse  and  'ome  an'  country  ;  'tween  'er 

ports  't  is  graft  and  go  ; 

Ain't  no  chanst  o'  findin'  nuggets,  ain't  no  chanst 
to  save,  ye  know  ; 

Come  ashore  red  'ot  an'  thusty, 
Sick  o'  sea,  an  salt,  an'  rusty, 
Cheque  is  bust  on  beer  an'  wimmen — ship  again, 
an'  cuss  an'  go — 
Junk  an'  biskit, 
'Loft  an'  risk  it — 

Oh,   it's  grand    to    sail   the    "hoshun" — "Yah, 
merrily  me  lads,  yo  hoi  " 

'Oly  Smoke  !  They  gives  a  concert  in  the  Seamen's 

'All,  one  night, 
An'  I  goes  an'  takes  a  lydy — real  lydy — square  an' 

strite  I 
'Ears  a  joker  rise  a   chanty   'bout  the  bloomin' 

"Hoshun  Wyve," 

to 


SAILOR-MAN. 


'Ears  a  gal    a-singin'    mournful  of  the    "  Lonely 

Syler's  Gryve ;  " 
Then  a  bloke  comes  up  an'  tells  'em  of  a  "  Little 

Midshipmite, " 

Which  for  Queen  and  Hingland's  'oner  shed  'is  gore 
an'  won  the  fight. 

Looks  at  Poll,  an'  finds  'er  cryin', 
When  that  bloomin'  kid  is  dyin', 
In  a  sad  an'  tragic  manner,  in  "  the  middle  watch 
at  night" — 

Drivel,  drivel, 
Sobs  an'  snivel, 

Gals  with  pocket-wipes  a-weepin,1  woman  faintin' 
on  the  right. 

"Cheese  it,  mate !"  I  sez,  "it's  orful,"  reachin' 

for  me  bloomin'  'at ; 
"  Life  upon  the  bloomin'  hoshun  ain't  a  blessed  bit 

like  that!" 
"  'Ush  !  "  sez  Poll,  "  the  folks  '11  'ear  yer,"  an'  she 

snivels  an'  she  jaws 
'  Coz  I  would  n't  clap  for  "Anchor"  or  weigh  in 

with  the'r  applause. 
W'en  I  ups  an'  tells  that  joker  as  'ad  come  aloft  to 

sing 
That  he  didn't  know  'is  business — w'y,  they  'owled 

like  anything  ! 

An'  me  bloomin'  'at  got  busted, 
An'  I  left  the  'all  disgusted ; 

29 


SAILOR-MAN 


Poll,  she  swore  she  would  n't  'ave  me,  an'  she  gev 
me  back  me  ring — 
Gin  an'  sorrer — 
Ships  to-morrer, 

Leaves  the  blarsted  port  a-cussin'  like  "a  sea-burd 
on  the  wing." 

An'  they  tells  me  that  them  jokers  gets  as  much  as 

twenty  quid 
For  a  song  like  that  ere  ditty  of  the  dyin'  sailor 

kid! 
Now,  I  never  knowed  a    'prentice  as  was   given 

to  expire 
Like  a  sang-win-airy  'ero  w'en  'is  bloomin'  ship 

took  fire ; 
But  I  've  known  'em  play  the  devil  with  the  morals 

of  a  crew ; 
I  could  also  tell  a  story  of  the  sinful  things  they 

do— 

'Ow  they  chaws  an'  spits  terbakker, 
'Ow  they  does  the  dirty  yakker  ; 
'Ow  they  washes  decks  o'  mornin's  on  the  "  boosom 

o'  the  blue  ; " 

'Ow  they  damns  'er  and  they  blarsts  'er, 
An'  'er  owner  an'  'er  master, 
With  the  wind  a-makin'  music  an'  the  bo's'n  pipin' 

through. 

No,  'e'd  never  been  a  'prentice,  'ad  the  cove  who 
did  the  song, 

30 


SAILOR-MAN. 


Or  'e  would  n't  try  to  come  It  quite  so  (sang-win- 
airy)  strong ; 
'E  'ad  never  'ad  the  pleasure  of  a  trip  from  Puget 

Sound 
With  a  gory  lumber  cargo,  an'  a  chanst  o'  gettin' 

drowned, 
'E  'ad  never  sailed,  I  'm  thinkin' — or  'e'd  cuss  that 

'e  was  born — 

With    a     (sang-win-airy)    Scotchman    round    the 
(sang-win-airy)  Horn, 

With  a  slop-made  suit  o'  close  on 
An'  'is  fingers  stiff  and  frozen, 
With  the  ice  upon  the  gaskets  an'  her  canvas  ripped 
and  torn. 

If  'e  'd  'ad  to  shorten  sail 
In  a  good  Antarctic  gale, 

'E'd    a-sung    another   ditty  of    "A    Syler's    Life 
Forlorn." 

'E  'd  a-sung  a  diff'rent  ditty  if  'e'd  'ad  to  tackle 

junk 
In  the  harness-tub  a-churnin'  in  the  tropics  till  she 

stunk ; 
If  'e'd  'ad  to  pick  the  weevils  from  the  biskit  an'  be 

glad 
That  it  wa'  n't  to  pick  the  biskit  from  the  weevils 

that  'e  'ad  ; 
'E 'da-told  a  touchin' story  of  a  cove  as  died  on 

land 

31 


SAILOR-MAN. 


With  a  fig  o'  black  terbaccer  or  a  whisky  in  'is 
'and. 

For,  concernin'  graft  an'  vittles, 
'T ain't  exsactly  beer  and  skittles 
With  the  able-bodied  joker  on  the  "  mighty  hoshun 
grand" — 

On  the  "  deep  an'  vasty  hoshun," 
With  its  cargo  of  emoshun, 

An'  its  "  martyrs"  servin'  for'ard  an'  its  "  'eroes  " 
in  command. 

'Oly  Smoke  I    I  meets  the  skipper  of  a  bloomin' 

church  one  day, 
An'  sez  he,  "  My  syler-brother,  do  y'  ever  kneel 

an'  pray  ? 
W'en  the  tempest's  ragin'  round  y'  " — 'ere  'e  drops 

'is  bloomin'  breath, 
An'  'is  voice  gets  deep  an'  sollum — "  do  y'  ever 

think  o'  death?" 
"Garni"  sez  I,  "you  ain't  bin  sailin'  in  a  gory 

gale,"  sez  I, 

"  Or,"  sez  I,  "you  would  n't  ast  me  such  a  foolish 
question  :  w'y, 

It's  pipe  'em  up  like  monkeys, 
If  the  Old  Man  is  n't  drunk,  'e  's 
On  the  poop  a-cussin'  dreadful  and  a-damnin'  low 
an'  'igh ;  " 

"  Pull  away,  ye  sons  o'  thunder!  " — 
Divin'  in  and  decks  'alf  under — 

32 


SAILOR-MAM. 


"Send  all  'ands  aloft  an'  ease    'er  " — "Pass  the 
order  on!"   .   .    .    "Aye,  aye." 

Then  that  parson-cove  'e  tells  me  'ow  a  cove  as  fell 

from  grace 
Would  'ave  lots  o'  'eat  an'  torment  in  the  other 

(crimson)  place  ; 
'Ow  the  Christyun  bloke  was  sailin'  on  the  stormy 

sea  o'  life, 
An'  'e  ought  to  feel  right  thankful  for  'is  sorrers 

an'  'is  strife ; 
'Ow  the  likker  was  Ole  Satan,  an'  the  t'other  kinds 

o'  sin 

Kept  a  feller  out  of  'Eving  w'en'e  wanted  to  get  in. 
So  I  see  'is  good  intention, 
An  I  did  n't  want  to  mention 

That  I  'd  like  to  back  "  Temptation  "  an'  the  "  vile 
a-cussed  gin," 

An'  be  certain  sure  to  win  it, 
For  a  "  Christyun  soul  "  ain't  in  it 
With  one  night  ashore  in  fifty  an'  a  little  bit  o'  tin. 

'Arf-a-pint   again,   an'   thankee  1      ..."  Ere  's 

good  luck  to  you  an'  me  1 

May  y'u  never  'ave  to  yakker  as  a  qualified  A.  B. 
May  y'u  never  be  a  syler  of  the  mercantile  marine, 
Or  y'u '11  always  be  a  syler,  an'  y'u '11  never  'ave  a 

bean. 
Oh,  yer  Jack  the  king  of  all,  sir,  'fore  yer  bloomin' 

stuff  is  spent ; 

33 


SAILOR-MAN. 


Yer  a  drunken  syler  feller  w'en  'er  sails  is  beln' 
bent ; 

But  it 's  round  the  world  a-goin, 
With  the  ebbin'  an'  the  flowin', 
An'  y'u  needn't  fear  the  bailiff,  an'  y'u  need  n't  pay 
no  rent ; 

There 's  a  month  or  two  at  sea, 
Then  a  rattlin',  roarin'  spree    .    .    . 
An'  I  dunno  if  I  left  it  that  I  'd  ever  be  content  I 


34 


vm. 
THE  HIRAM  BROWN. 

POWER  o'  ploughs  and  clothes-pegs  in   her, 
pork  and  beans  for  ev'ry  sinner, 
Pork  and  beans  for  captain's  dinner — 
Pass  her  lines  and  pull  away  1 
Hiram  Brown,  of  New  Orleans,  men ;  lots  of  graft  ye 

know  it  means,  men, 
Lifting  out  those  big  machines,  men — 
Swing  her  in  there  !    Hip  hooray  ! 

Trim  old  tub,  the  Hiram  Brown,  some  dark  night 

she  '11  dive  right  down, 
Every  mother's  son  will  drown  ; 

She  's  insured  right  up,  you  bet. 
Built  in  'SO,  so  they  say ;  guess  she  's  almost  had 

her  day — 

Pass  that  shore-line  on  this  way — 
But  she  wobbles  round  it  yet  1 

Hand  the  boss  them  bills  o'  lading — once  she  did  a 

bit  o'  trading 
When  the  Yanks  were  South — blockading, 

In  the  days  of  Stars  and  Bars. 
Time  they  built  the  Alabama,  Union  steamer  tried  to 

ram  her, 

Sent  him  down  head-first,  goddammer  1 
Shook  her  engines,  saved  her  spars. 

35 


THE  HIRAM  BROWN. 

Cotton  cargo  crammed  to  hatches,  out  she  runs 

with  reb.  despatches — 
See  them  two  big  painted  patches  ? 
That 's  the  mark  o'  Yankee  shot. 
Out  she  runs  beneath  their  noses — bangs  away — 

oh,  Holy  Moses, 

Ship 's  afire  !     Hey,  man  the  hoses  1 
Go  she  must,  or  smash  the  lot. 

Left  and  right  the  guns   went  banging,   whistles 

tooting,  bells-a-clanging ; 
Lots  o'  gilt  to  that  trip  hanging, 

Worth  the  risk  and  worth  the  fight. 
Timbers  ripped  and  sails  all  tattered  ;  wheel-house 

smashed  and  starn-post  shattered, 
This  same  planking  blood-bespattered, 
Hiram  Brown  got  through  all  right. 

When  the  Yanks    had    finished    shooting,   Hiram 

Brown  she  went  recruiting — 
That  dark  trade  her  skipper  suiting 

In  the  year  of  sixty-eight. 
Changed   her  flag   and  got   new  papers;   altered 

down  to  funnel  scrapers  ; 
But  she  starts  her  same  old  capers — 
Seemed  they  couldn't  run  her  straight  I 

Blackbird  cargo  soon  she  'd  gathered — black-bird 
cargo,  tied  and  tethered — 

36 


THE  HIRAM  BROWN. 

Rain  and  storm  and  wind  safe  weathered, 

Sou'  by  East  away  she  slips  ; 
Maybe  cargo   was  n't  willing,   when    with  snowy 

sails  outfilling, 
And  the  bo's'n's  whistle  trilling, 

Squared  away  that  pride  of  ships. 

On  and  off  the  coast  o'  Chili,  Hiram  Brown  was  kept 

until  he 
Made  us  think  he  'd  gone  quite  silly, 

But  one  night  a  schooner  come 
Right  'longside,  and  making  fast,  sir,  o'er  our  side 

in  haste  we  passed,  sir 
(With  a  look  out  on  the  mast,  sir) 
Six-and-eighty  casks  of  rum  1 

Schooner  on  her  way  is  going,  when  our  skipper, 

cute  and  knowing, 
Sets  that  rare  old  stingo  flowing — 
Taps  a  cask  and  treats  his  men. 
Steam  's  got  up ;  she   makes  right  down  there  to 

a  small  plantation  town  where 
Niggers  black  and  niggers  brown  there, 
Served  their  Dons  (for  nothing)  then. 

Got  our  casks  ashore  at  first,  boys  ;  guess  that  job 

would  raise  your  thirst,  boys  ; 
Maybe  one  or  two  was  burst,  boys, 
Though  for  that  he  did  n't  stop ; 

37 


THE  HIRAM  BROWN. 

Landed  niggers   next   right   slickly  ;  ranged 

casks  on  wharf — corrictly; 
Next  (obeying  orders)  quickly, 
Perched  a  nigger  each  on  top. 

Then  our  skipper,  sleek  and  smiling,  In  a  manner 

most  beguiling, 
Law  and  commerce  reconciling, 

Mounts  upon  a  cotton-bale, 
Joking  with  the  senors  lightly,  speaking  Spanish 

there  politely, 

Calm  and  cool,  collected,  sprightly, 
Starts  a  lively  auction  sale. 

Each  rich  Don  who  wanted  labour  understood  his 

planter  neighbour, 
So  their  troops,  with  gun  and  sabre, 

To  arrest  us  did  not  come  ; 
Whilst  our  captain  grew  elated  as  the  bids  were 

elevated, 

And  the  same,  you  '11  guess,  related 
More  to  nigger  than  to  rum. 

So  each  buyer  quick  would  figger  out  the  value  of 

the  nigger, 
And  the  auctioneer  would  snigger 

When  he  threw  the  barrel  in ! 
Guess  that  cargo  paid  her  owners  :  likely  they  were 

psalm-song  groaners, 

38 


THE  HIRAM  BROWN. 

Scripture-text  and  proverb  moaners, 
But  they  winked  at  tricks  of  sin. 

Hiram  Brown 's  been  o'er  and  under,  'cross  the  seas 

in  storm  and  thunder ; 
Some  rough  night  she  '11  go  asunder, 

And  Old  Nick  will  have  a  lark, 
Jack's  poor  lass  will  be  a  griever — haul  her  in  and 

hitch  and  heave  her ; 
Guess  next  trip  the  rats  will  leave  her — 
She  's  as  old  as  Noah's  ark. 

There  's  the  guy-rope  rigged  and  ready!  Got  your 

hatches  broke  already  ? 
Let  her  zip !     Hey,  winchman,  steady, 
Case  o'  hardware  marked  "  B.A."  ; 
Longshore  loafers  down  below  there :  you  're  too 

derned  infernal  slow  there  1 
Hook  away,  and  up  ye  go  there  1 
Yankee  Packet 's  in,  hooray  I 


IX. 

LAYING   ON   THE   SCREW. 

YOU  can  dunnage  casks  o'  tallow  ;  you   can 
handle  hides  an'  horn  ; 
You  can  carry  frozen  mutton  ;  you  can  lumber 

sacks  o'  corn ; 
But  the  queerest  kind  o'  cargo  that  you  've  got  to 

haul  an'  pull 

Is    Australia's     "  staple    product  " — Is    her    God- 
abandoned  wool. 
For  it 's  greasy  an'  it 's  stinkin',  an'  them  awkward, 

ugly  bales 

Must  be  jammed  as  close  as  herrings  in  a  ship  afore 
she  sails. 

So  you  yakker,  yakker,  yakker, 
For  the  drop  o'  beer  an'  bacca, 
For  to  earn  your  bloomin'  clobber  an'  the  bit  o'  tuck  you 

eat, 

When  you  're  lay  in'  on  the  screw, 
With  the  boss  a-cursin'  you, 

An'  the  sweat  runs  like  a  river,  an'  you  're  chokin'  with 
the  heat. 

See    "  there  's  someone  got  to  do  It,"  as  I  've  often 

heard  'em  say, 

But  it  means  a  lot  o'  graftin'  for  a  very  little  pay, 
An'  I   ain't  a  bit   "contented  with  my  bloomin' 

earthly  lot," 

40 


LAYING  ON  THE  SCREW. 

An'  I  'd  take  an  easy  billet — oh,  I  'd  jump  it  on  the 

spot. 
For  it's  greasy  an'  it's  stinkin',  an'  I'm  getting 

pretty  full 
Of  this  everlastin'  sweatin'  over  blarsted  bales  o' 

wool. 

An'  they  stow  'em  close  together, 
An'  they  never  ask  you  whether 
There  is  room  enough  to  stand  in,  or  a  blessed  breath  o' 

air 

When  you  're  lay  in'  on  the  screw, 
When  you  're  haulin'  on  the  screw, 
And  the  skipper  starts  performin'  and  the  boss  begins  to 
swear. 

With  the  trollies  all  unloadin',  an'  the  press  upon 

the  go, 
You  can  bet  they  keep  us  at  it  like  the  devil  down 

below. 
You  can  take  your  affidavy  that  the  foreman  at  the 

hatch, 
When  the  tally  clerk  is  busy,  makes  the  talent  toe 

the  scratch. 
When  the  double  dumps  are  comin',  an'  the  winch 

begins  to  grind, 
They  will  raise  a  chanty  forrard  of  the  stevedorin1 

kind  : 

''I'm  goin'  down  to  Tennessee, 

Oh,  take  my  love  and  come  with  me;" 

41 


LAYING  ON  THE  SCREW. 

Or,  it's  "  Cheer  up,  Mrs.  Riley,"  or  "  Blow,  my  Bully 

Boys,  Blow" — 

When  you  're  lay  in'  on  the  screw, 
When  you  're  haulin'  on  the  screw, 
In  the  fluffy,  dirty  darkness  of  them   anchored  hells 
below. 


Oh  !  they  say  that  Labour's  noble  ;  but  I  'd  rather 

be  a  toff, 
An'  I  'd  wear  a  double-breaster,  an'  I  'd  never  take 

it  off. 

i  can  do  me  pint  o'  tangle,  an'  a  pipe  afore  the  bar, 
But  I  would  n't  sniff  at  sherry  an'  a  bloomin'  fine 

cigar. 
Costs   me  just  a  sprat  for  dinner — meat  an'  tea 

an'  spuds  for  that; 
I  'd  prefer  a  taste  o'  turkey,  nicely  browned,    0 

Lord  I  an'  fat*! 

For  it 's  twist  the  screw  and  turn  it, 

And  the  bit  you  get  you  earn  it ; 
You  can  take  the  tip  from  me,  sir,  that  it 's  anything  but 
play 

When  you  're  lay  in'  on  the  screw, 

When  you  're  draggW  on  the  screw, 
In  the  summer,  under  hatches,  in  the  middle  o'  the  day. 

If  Australia's  "staple  product"  is  her  glory,  an' 
her  pride, 

42 


LAYING  ON  THE  SCREW. 

An'  "  the  makin'  of  her  future,"  an'  a  lot  o'  things 

beside, 
Then  I  reckon  I  'm  assistin'  for  to  build  the  nation 

up, 
When  I  'm  graftin'  on  the  product  for  me  bloomin' 

bite  and  sup. 
An'  I  'd  strike  for  'igher  wages  if  I  thought  I  'ad  a 

show ; 
I  would  down  me  hook  this  minnit,  an'  I  'd  up  the 

hatch  an'  go. 

But  there  '5  plenty  of  'em  prayin' 
For  a  chance  to  graft,  an'  say  in' 
That  the  times  is  somethiri  dreadful;  an'  they  stand 

a-lookin'  on 

When  you  're  lay  in'  on  the  screw, 
When  you  're  toilin'  on  the  screw, 
An'  they  'd  jump  the  job  an'  keep  it  soon  as  ever  you 
was  gone. 

So  it 's  "  re-a-ri-a-rally,"  an'  another  tier  o'  bales 
For  the  glory  of  the  empire,  an'  the  good  of  New 

South  Wales  ; 
But  they're  stinkin'  an'  they're  heavy,  an'  they're 

awkward  for  to  lift, 
An'  the  place  you  've  got  to  stow  'em — w'y,  there 

is  n't  room  to  shift. 
But  you're  "  broadenin'   out  the  channels  of  our 

great  an'  growin'  trade," 

43  D 


LAYING  ON  THE  SCREW. 

An'  you're  "helpin1  make  our  progress" — though 
it  is  n't  yours  when  made. 

So  it's yakker,  yakker,  yakker, 
For  the  drop  o'  beer  an'  bacca, 
For  the  little  bit  o'  silver  that  you.  spend  in  meat  and 

bread, 

When  you  're  lay  in  on  the  screw, 
When  you  're  haulin'  on  the  screw, 
Till  yer  blessed  'eart  is  broken  an'  yer  faith  an'  'ope  is 
dead. 


X. 

THE   WHALER'S   PIG. 


W 


E  shipped  him  at  the  Sandwich  Isles — 

'Fore  God,  he  's  mostly  nose ! 
We  've  fetched  him  full  eight  thousand  miles 

To  fatten  in  the  floes. 


The  Arctic  wind  may  whistle  down 

The  ice-strewn  Okhart  Sea  ; 
Our  "  passenger  "  don't  care  a  darn — 

A  whaler's  pig  is  he. 

The  blubber  which  the  brute  devours, 

Hard  fruit  of  our  harpoon, 
He  merely  holds  in  trust ;  't  is  ours — 

Fresh  pork  !     God  send  it  soon  ! 

Now,  when  her  sloppy  deck 's  amuck 

With  stale  cetacean  spoil, 
The  glutton  wallows  in  the  ruck, 

An  alderman  a-drip  with  oil. 

When  from  the  crow's-nest  rings  the  shout 
Clear-echoed.  "  There  she  blows !  " 

"  Jeff  Davis  "  lifts  his  grizzled  snout 
To  let  us  know  he  knows. 

The  white  ash -blades  drop  down  and  rise  ; 

The  royal  chase  begins  ; 
He  watches  with  his  wicked  eyes, 

And  multiplies  his  sins. 

45 


THE   WHALER'S  PIG. 

With  critic  squint  he  stands  betide 

The  harpooner  prepares  ; 
And  if  the  erring  steel  goes  wide 

In  swinish  tongue  he  swears  1 

(Great  Heavens !  how  he  swears .') 

But  when  we  strike  her  good  and  fair, 

Before  the  line  runs  hot, 
He  '11  lift^a  hoarse  hog-cheer  out  there 

With  all  the  strength  he 's  got ; 

And  when  he  sees  the  steerer  take 

The  bold  boat-header's  place, 
A  gourmand  smile  will  slowly  break 

Like  sunrise  round  his  face. 

Around  the  loggerhead  the  line 

Grows  taut  as  taut  may  be — 
Three  turns  to  hang  your  life  and  mine 

High  o'er  Eternity  I 

Who  thinks  of  that  ?     Not  I,  not  you, 

Not  he  who  most  complains, 
When  leaping  fire  the  blood  swirls  through 

Our  thumping  hearts  and  veins. 

'Tis  "  Fast  she  is  !  "...  "  Now !  .  .  Let  her  go ! 

Our  college  stroke-oar  yells ; 
This  hour  is  worth  a  life  to  know  , 

T  is  now  the  savage  tells. 

46 


THE   WHALER'S  PIG. 

They  maybe  shared  (ere  progress  rose) 
Who  sired  first  earls  and  dukes, 

A  kindred  ecstacy  with  those 
Who  dodge  a  fighter's  flukes. 

So  felt  our  simian  sires  who  tied 
Their  sheet-o'-bark  canoes 

To  some  grim  mosasaur's  tough  hide, 
With  only  life  to  lose. 

But  this  Kanaka  hog  will  see 
The  whetted  lance  succeed ; 

Glad  epicure,  he  grunts  in  glee, 
Foreknowledged  of  his  feed. 

Thus  will  his  belly  teach  his  tongue 

What  eloquence  it  may 
(Some  noble  songs  by  poets  sung 

Have  been  inspired  that  way). 

So  will  he  squeal  approval  when 
Our  six-hour  fight  is  done, 

And  lord  it  bravely  in  his  pen 
O'er  quarry  chased  and  won. 

So  will  he  join  the  chanty  free 

That  echoes  as  she  tows 
To  bring  his  porcine  jubilee 

And  glad  his  adipose. 

47 


THE  WHALER'S  PIG 


It  is  not  clean  nor  nice  of  taste. 

This  episode  of  trade, 
That  lurches  with  indecent  haste 

Towards  the  blubber  spade. 

Yet  still  we  know  that  man  made  sail, 

Invented  rig  on  rig, 
And  God  Almighty  made  the  whale 

That  feeds  the  whaler's  pig. 

This  sorry  beast  which  might  have  drowned, 

As  hogs  and  humans  can, 
He  also  made,  so  runs  the  round, 

To  feed  the  whaler-man. 

The  whaler-man  will  get  his  "  lay," 

The  whaler's  pig  his  share — 
First  whale,  then  pig,  then  man.     Some  day 

The  worm  will  make  it  square  I 


48 


XI. 

THE   BLAZING  STAR. 

BLAZ1N'  STAR,    from    Boston    city— Yankee 
goods  and  kerosene ; 
Foreign   crew  and   cook  and  master ;    stout, 

old-fashioned  brigantine. 
Hamburg-built  and  rigged  and  coppered  'fore  the 

flying  days  of  steam  ; 
Square  in  bows  and  starn,  and  steady ;    well-set 

spars  and  broad  o'  beam. 
Rolled  across  the  rough  Atlantic,  round  the  Cape 

and  round  the  Horn, 
Been  a  famous  ocean  trader  'fore  the  younger  age 

was  born. 
Carried  corn   and  carried  sugar,  carried    cotton, 

carried  tea  ; 
Sailed  in  every  kind  of  water,  weathered  storm  and 

wind  and  sea  ; 
Been  to  Behring  Straits  a-whaling,  been  for  rice  to 

Singapore, 
Been  to  North  and  South,  and  round  it,  but  she's 

never  been  ashore. 
See  'er  manifest,  m'  hearties,  'piles  and  piles  o' 

hardware  stock, 
Case  and  crate   and  box  and  package — ram  her, 

jam  her  chock-a-block. 
So  you  '11  get  them  shore-lines  ready,  now  they  've 

run  'er  numbers  out, 

And  the  man  that  isn't  willing  he  can  face  to  right- 
about, 

49 


THE  BLAZING  STAR. 

For  the  agent 's  got  to  send  'er  down  to  Callao  with 

shale, 
And  ws  '11  empty  and  we  '11  fill  'er  in  a  fortnight — 

and  she  '11  sail. 

Heave  away,  you  damn  Dutch  devils!  and  we '11 

heave  away  ashore. 
She  'as  lost  a  bit  o'  canvas,    and  'er  planks  is 

weather-wore. 
Ease  'er  'ed  and  round  her  gently  I  Put  the  fenders 

out,  I  say  1 
Pass  that  line  a  trifle  forrard ;  let  'er  'ave  a  bit  o' 

way! 
By  the  livin'  ghost,  M'Ginnis,  if  I  'ave  to  talk  to 

you  /  .  .  . 
Steady,  steady  I  all  together  1    'Mother  turn — there, 

that  '11  do  I 

Round  the  Horn,  and  none  the  worse,  sir  ;  crew  and 
captain  safe  and  sound, 

Bar  a  Swede — there's  plenty  of  'em — he  went  over- 
board and  drowned. 

Bless  my  soull  there  ain't  a  vessel  hardly  ever 
comes  to  port, 

Be  the  passage  what  it  may  be,  but  the  list  is 
someone  short. 

Someone  slips  from  shrouds  or  mainyard ;  block 
hits  someone  on  the  'ed — 

What  the  devil  does  it  matter  'long  as  Someone  's 
safely  dead  ? 

50 


THE  BLAZING  STAR. 

Get  yer  tackle  right  and  ready  I  strip,  ye  lazy  sin- 
ners, strip  I 
Blaziri"  Star's  my  boat,  I  reckon.     I'm  the  boss  of 

this  yere  ship. 
I'm  the  foreman,  don't  forget  it !  and  begawd    I  '11 

let  ye  know 
Who  is   who  and   over  hatches  when   the  winch 

begins  to  go. 
Cook  'as  got  some  baked  beans  doin',  bit  o'  pork 

to  give  'em  tone — 
Foreign  captain,  fond  o'  livin',  Blazin1  Star's  a  boat 

to  own. 
Damn  the  duties!    lots  o'  bacca  stowed  in  corners 

here  and  there ; 
Want  to  get  it  safe  ashore,  sir  ?  foreman,  e  's  the 

man  to  square. 
Customs  cove  is  sharp  and  surly;  won't  accept  the 

mate's  invite 
Down  to  dinner  in  the  cabin,  won't  "  come  back  on 

board  to-night." 
Friend  o'  mine,  e  's  got  a  dingy —very  dark,  I  guess, 

at  ten — 
'Ave  the  'bacca  ready  forrard  ;  see  what  we  can  do 

by  then  1 

Blazin'  Star,  from  Boston  city  !     Break  the  hatches 

fore  and  aft  ; 
Twill  not  be  the  first  occasion  hatch  was  broke  on 

this  same  craft. 

51 


THE  BLAZING  STAR. 

Sailed  the  Star  myself  in   '60 — that   was   twenty 

year  before 
Women,  booze,  and  seaman's  worries  made  me  try 

my  luck  ashore, 
Sailed  the  Star  with  Yankee  captain  round  to  New 

Orleans  and  back  ; 
Blued  a  cheque   among  the  French   girls,   got   a 

touch  o'  Yaller  Jack. 
Oh,  she  's  staunch  and  stout  and  steady,  and  she  's 

got  the  proper  grit  ; 
You  should  see    'er — reefed  from  royals — dip  'er 

damn  Dutch  nose  in  it  i 
You  should  see  'er,  washed  with  waters  from  'er 

•'    bowsprit  to  'er  starn, 
Rise  and  shake  'erself  upon  'em 's  if  she  did  n't  care 

a  darn. 


Pat  M'Ginnis,  put  your  coat  on  I      PUT  IT  ON!     you 

loafing  sod  I 
Thought  I  was  n't  looking,  did  you  ?  but  you  can't 

'ave  me,  begawd  I 
Don't  I  catch  you  broaching  cargo  ?    When  /  start 

to  steal  a  hat 
/  won't  set  about  it,  sonny,  in  a  clumsy  way  like 

that. 


Yes  !  she  's  reckoned  small  and  ugly,  as  they  build 
'em  nowadays, 

52 


THE  BLAZING  STAR. 

But  she 's  strong  as  ever  floated  from  'er  keelson  to 

'er  stays  ; 
North  and  south  and  round  about  it,  sail  'er  near  or 

sail  'er  far, 
Any  flag  you  send  'er  under,  she  '11  come  back  the 

Blazin'  Star. 
East  and  west,  and  let  'er  'ave  it ;  give  'er  all  the 

sail  she  '11  take, 
Blazin'  Star  will  fetch  'er  cargo,  or   'er  bloomin' 

back  will  break. 

Now,  my  lads,  the  Dutchman  's  waiting — wants  to 

see  'er  on  the  go 
"Fore  he  comes  ashore  on  business — "  choost  for 

half-an-hour  or  so." 
Gets  up  town   and   drinking  whisky,   treating   Sis 

and  Sue  and  Kate ; 
"  Half-an-hour  "  will  spread  till  morning — boozy 

skipper,  boozy  mate ; 
Boozy   crew,   ashore  till  midnight ;    lots  of  ladies 

round  the  town ; 
Lots  of  foreign  friends  to  meet  'em  ;  lot  o'  folks  to 

take  'em  down. 
What 's  the   odds  ?    The  sailor  's  happy ;  let   him 

live  a  week  or  two  ; 
Junk  and  biscuit  make  him  moody — not  the  tack 

'    for  me  and  you  ! 
V/hat  's  the  odds  if  someone  robs  him  ?     Let   the 

lady  play  her  game  ; 

53 


THE  BLAZING  STAR. 

Robbed  he  will  be,  soon  or  later,  so  you  see  it 's  all 

the  same. 
Hi,  there!    Yonsen  ;    move  yer  body! — I'm  the 

foreman  of  this  ship  ; 
If  you  don't — so  help  me  scarlet  I — up  the  gory 

hatch  you  skip  1 

Blazin'  Star  from  Boston  city  I  port  to  port  in  ninety 

days, 
With  the  sea  salt,  white  and  sparkling,  crustad  on 

'er  water-ways. 
Rolled  around  the  North  Atlantic,  tossed  about  by 

day  and  night, 
Weather-wore,  mayhap,  a  trifle,  but  she  's  spar  and 

timber  tight, 
Square  o'  bows  and  starn,  and  steady;  she  's  the 

proper  kind  o'  grit ; 
You  should  see  'er — clear  to  royals — dip  'er  damn 

Dutch  nose  in  it ; 
You  should  see  'er  waller  through  'em  at  a  Flyin'- 

Dutchman's  speed, 
With  the  winds  o'  hell  behind  'er,  on  the  night  they 

lost  the  Swede. 
God  o'  Glory!  she  's  a  scorcher — mainyard  under, 

decks  swept  clean — 

Blazin'    Star   ain't    built    for    sinking — good    old- 
fashioned  brigantine  I 


54 


XII. 

THE   FOR'ARD   HOLD. 

OH,  we  all  was  tired  o'  waiting  In  the  spring  of 
Eighty-three, 
When  The  Duke  came  up  the  'arbour  an'  was 

berthed  beside  the  Quay ; 
And  the  waiter  breaks  the  'atches,  an'  we  rushes  in 

a  mob 
To  the  side  of  that  'ere  vessel  in  the  'opes  to  get  a 

job! 
But  the  foreman  blocks  the  gangway  with  the  cove 

that  takes  our  time, 

And  we  stand  ashore  before  'em  an'  we  forms  a 
sort  o'  line. 

Then  it's  "You  I  want  !  "  an'  "You  there  1  " — and 

you  'd  fancy,  by  the  Lord  ! 
They  was  goin'  to  be  married  by  the  way  they  gets 

aboard. 
"  Here    you,    Sugar   Jack    and    Stitches  1    Here, 

Long  Jones  an'  Ginger  Law ! 
Hi!   stand  back  there — not  you,    Dutchy!" — an' 

he  drops  his  bloomin'  jaw. 
He  was  always  lean  an'  scraggy,  an'  his  bony,  ugly 

knees 
Seemed  a-pokin'  out  before  him  through  his  faded 

dungarees  ; 
An'  the  lads  had  called  him  "  Mudder"  'cause  he 

often  used  to  say, 

55 


THE  FOR'ARD  HOLD. 

"  I  haf  left   mine  poor  old  mudder  over  dere  in 

Norrovay, 
An'  I  save  up  all  mine  moneys  till  I  pay  her  passage 

6ut, 
Den  I  spend  mit  you  for  liquor  ;  den,  my  boys,  you 

see,  I  shout  I  " 
That  was    when    they  chyacked   Mudder,    called 

him  "  Dutch  1  "  and  "  Stingy  cur  1  " 
When  he  would  n't  shout  for  loafers — he  was  saving 

up  for  her. 

Well,    I   spotted  poor  old    Mudder,  an'   I  guessed 

though  times  were  bad, 
They  'd  been  extra  bad  with  Dutchy ;  an'  the  little 

bit  he  'ad, 
'Stead  of  going  home  to  Norway,  had  been  melting 

day  by  day 
Into  nightly  doss  and  tucker,    till  it  melted  right 

away. 
I  'ad  got  enough  for  breakfast,  an'  I  knew  a  place 

to  doss, 
An'  they  calls  me  up  the  gangway,  but  ,  stops  an' 

asks  the  boss 
(For  I  'appened  to  be  friendly,  an'  I  speaks  a  trifle 

free) 
Sez  I.  "  Mudder 's  pretty  'ungry.    Let  'im  go  instead 

o'  me  I " 
So  he  sings  out  "Come  on,  Mudderl"   an'  he 

didn't  come,  he  rolled  ; 

55 


THE  FOR'ARD  HOLD. 

An'  they  tells  us  to  go  for'ard  to  the  iron  In  the 
hold. 

Oh,  her  for'ard  is  a  daisy  1   an'  the  blasted  rails  she 

brings, 
'Tis  the  devil's  job  to  shift  'em  or  to  get  'em  in  the 

slings  ; 
An'  the  way  they  build  them  vessels  with  a  narrow 

kind  o'  bows 

It's  a  terror  to  discharge  'em,  as  yer  'umble  ser- 
vant knows. 
"  Hist  away  !  "  an'  up  she  travels.    "  Wup!     Hold 

on  now!    Steady  there!  " 
An'  the  sling  of  railroad  metal  hangs  above  us  in 

the  air, 
41  Lower  away  now,  winchman,  easy  !    Hey  !    Look 

out,  there!  Hey!  Hey!"  .  .  .  smack!  .   .    . 
Chain  has  parted — rotten  tackle — poor  old  Dutchy 

— broken  back ! 

"Oh,  my  Mudder!  "...   No  one  knew  her.  but  I 

think  that  all  the  day 
Most  of  us  could  dimly  see  her,  waiting  for  him 

far  away  ; 
Waiting  for  her  sailor  laddie — and  him  gettin'  stiff 

an'  cold, 
An'  the  ciots  upon  the  iron  drying  in  the  for'ard- 

hold. 


THE  FOR'ARD  HOLD. 

He  was  always  lean  an'  scraggy,  an'  his  ugly,  bony 
knees  ^ 

Seemed  a-poking  out  before  him  through  his  faded 
dungarees  ; 

But  I  know  if  there's  a  future,  and  Saint  Peter 
minds  the  'atch, 

That  he  '11  give  a  show  to  Dutchy  and  he  '11  save 
him  from  Old  Scratch. 

Though  I  ain't  so  very  pious — fact,  I  guess  I  'm 
full  o'  sin — 

Yet  I  '11  swear,  if  there 's  a  Heaven,  that  us  steve- 
dores gets  in ; 

So  I  '11  go  and  look  for  "  Mudder  "  if  I  reach  the 
Land  o'  Gold, 

An*  I  guess  I  '11  find  him  for'ard  with  the  angels  in 
the  hold ! 


XIII. 

SARAH   DOW. 

R  mother  kep'  a  lodgin'  place — 

I  got  to  know  'er  there — 
She  'ad  the  sunrise  on  'er  face, 
The  sunset  in  'er  'air. 
To  other  wimmen  that  I  've  met 

I  'd  rather  not  refer, 
But  I  'd  'ave  sold  (an*  paid  the  debt !) 
My  willin'  soul  for  'er! 

Oh,  Sarah  Dow  !    Oh,  Sarah  Dow  ! 
You  were  too  good  for  me,  I  vow; 
But  if  I  could  'ave  died,  I  would — 
To  serve  you,  Sarah  Dow  ! 

I  mustered  up  the  pluck  one  day — 

Twas  pretty  'ard  to  do  ; 
I  'ad n't  'arf  the  'eart  to  say 

One  'arf  I  wanted  to  ; — 
I  asked  'er  if  she  'd  be  my  wife — 

I  'ad  no  chance,  I  know, 
But  it  was,  somehow,  death  in  life 

To  'ear  'er  tell  me — "  No  1  " 

I  've  been  like  sailormen  ashore 
To  spend  my  'ard-earned  pence , 

I  'd  been  a  reckless  dog  before 
An'  little  better  since  ; 


E 


SARAH  DOW. 


/  \ 


\ 


1  never  saw  'er  face  agen. 

The  face  that  'urt  me  so, 
I  never  saw  'er  face  since  then — 

She  died  ten  year  ago. 

But  I  've  a  picture  in  my  bunk 

I  don't  let  no  one  see, 
An'  when  I'm  done  an'  drowned  an'  sunk 

That  picture  goes  with  me. 
I  've  been  an'  hid  it  in  my  kit, 

I  would  n't  'ear  them  laugh, 
An'  onst  a  while  I  looks  at  it, 

An  old  tin  photograrf. 


Oh,  Sarah  Dow!    Oh,  Sarah  Dow! 
It 's  gettW  brown  an'  faded  now; 
But  you  are  there  still  young  an'  fair. 
My  Sarah,  Sarah  Dow  I 


60 


XIV, 

McFEE   OF   ABERDEEN. 

THEY'VE  scraped   her   sides,   and  tarred  her 
ropes,  and  patched  her  suit  o'  sails  ; 
They  've  filled  her  full  o'  varied  stock  for  firms 

in  New  South  Wales  ; 
She  's  left  her  berth  in  London  Docks,  she's  left  the 

Lizard  light, 
And  in  the  rough  Atlantic  now  her  bowsprit  stabs 

the  night. 
But,  rough  or  smooth,  or  foul  or  fair,  whate'er  the 

waters  be, 

He  '11  take  her  out  and  bring  her  home,  or  sink  her, 
will  McFee. 

They  've  seen  the  sun  go  down,  go  down,  and  turn 

her  canvas  red. 
And  as  she  rides  the  darkened  seas  they  '11  watch 

the  stars  o'erhead  ; 
They'll  watch  the  stars  that  splash  the  skies  with 

sparkling  silver  spray, 
Out  in  the  Great  Unfathomed  Deep  away,  and  still 

away ! 
But  when  the  Trades  have  stretched  her  sheets  and 

sing  among  her  shrouds, 
Like   some    glad,    buoyant   spirit-thing  she  '11  leap 

towards  the  clouds  ; 
From   morn  to  noon,  from  noon  to   night,  she'll 

pitch  and  roll  and  toss, 


McFEE  OF  ABERDEEN. 

And  as  the  Bear  goes  out  of  sight  they  '11  see  the 

Southern  Cross ; 
Across  the  Line  and  off  the  land,  hull-down  this 

side  the  Cape, 
By  chart  and  compass  and  the  sun  her  outward 

course  he  '11  shape  ; 
And  be  the  ocean  deep  and  blue,  or  be  the  ocean 

green, 
'Twill    not    affect    his    wonted  calm — McFee    of 

Aberdeen  I 

The  Glasgie  skipper,  towing  down,  will  pass  him 
on  the  way, 

And  as  she  dips  her  colours  aft  his  crew  will  hip- 
hooray, 

For  in  the  ports  where  sailors  meet  and  out  across 
the  sea 

Hath  passed  the  name  and  gone  the  fame  of  sturdy 
Jock  McFee. 


Though  print  has  spread  and  wars  have  raged  and 

rebels  have  been  hung, 
Though  o'er  and  o'er  the  world  has  changed  since 

Jock  McFee  was  young, 
The  ways  of  steam  he  will  not  learn ;  but,  Lord  !  to 

hear  him  speak 
Of  racing  trips  and  rousing  deeds  when  ships  were 

built  of  teak, 

0 


McFEE  OF  ABERDEEN. 

Ere  paddle-wheels  or  double-screws  had  altered  all 

the  years, 
And    "sailor-men  were  sailor-men,    not    sea-sick 

engineers!  " 

So  build  your  steamboats  big  as  towns,   electric 

lights  and  all, 
By  wood  and  canvas  to  the  end,  McFee  will  stand 

or  fall ; 
For  wood  and  canvas,  wind  and  tide,  the  books  of 

sky  and  sea, 
With    strange    salt    oaths    and    curses  make  the 

knowledge  of  McFee. 

The  wars  may  come,  the  wars  may  end,  and  crowns 

be  lost  or  won, 
He  rolls  around  the  rolling  world  that  rolls  around 

the  sun ; 
And  men  may  write  most  wondrous   books,   and 

men  may  count  the  stars, 

His  aim  in  life  is  still  to  get  all  sail  upon  his  spars  ; 
Nor  does  he  care  how  kings  may  fare  or  empires 

may  decline, 
When    underneath  his  vessel's  keel    deep  lies  the 

cable-line ; 
But  skies  of  lead  and  seas  of  ink,  when  winds  like 

devils  roar, 
Will  find  her  reefed  or  taut  and  snug,   bare  poles 

and  well  off  shore. 

X 

63 


McFEE  OF  ABERDEEN. 

Some  fingers,  mate,  are  made  for  pens,  but  they 

be  white  and  soft, 
And  some  are  made  as  hard  as  nails  for  clewing 

sail  aloft, 
For  short'ning  sail  on  stormy  nights,  when  the 

wet  wind  takes  your  breath  ; 
For  holding  fast  to  greasy  yards  when  letting 

go  means  death  ! 
So  in  his  log-book,  "  out  and  in,"  no  flowing 

lines  you'll  see, 

But  scrawling   entries,   short   and   curt,   hard- 
written  by  McFee. 
Said  entries  treat,  in  sailor  terms,  of  how  "  the 

Betsy,  barque, 
Was  met  in  " — longitude  exact — "  May  25,  at 

dark ; " 
Or  "  Sighted  land  at  10  a.m.,"  with  soundings 

such  and  such, 
Or   "  Smith,    A.B.,    from   crosstrees    fell,"    or 

"  Passed  screw-steamer,  Dutch." 

Aye,  round  the  world,  and  round  the  world, 

where'er  his  owners  will, 
His  cargo  aft  to  land  and  leave,  his  for'ard  hold 

to  fill ; 
Across  the  seas  and  o'er  the  seas,  and  o'er  the 

seas  again, 
Through   night   and   morning,    clear   or   cloud, 

through  calm  and  wind  and  rain. 

64 


McFEB  OF  ABERDEEN. 

She'll  roll  along,  she'll  pitch  along,  she'll  tack, 
and  turn,  and  drive, 

And  while  her  spars  stiil  in  her  stand  she  '11  come 
to  port  alive. 

But  if  her  sticks  and  she  should  part,  and  jury- 
masts  should  fail, 

Tis  said  McFee  would  doff  his  shirt,  and  still 
contrive  to  sail. 

The  port  is  not  on  charts  laid  down,  nor  put  on 

maps,  I  ween. 
Where,  in  his  youth,  or  in  his  prime,  some  time  he 

hath  not  been. 
He  '11  talk  and   tell    of    Plymouth    town,    of    far 

Alaskan  bays, 
Of  New  Orleans  and  Puget  Sound,  Colombo  and 

its  ways, 
Of    arrack  drunks,    and  sam-shu  sprees,   of  Old 

Kaintucky  rye ; 
But  when  he  comes  to  talk  of  girls,  be  sure  that 

none  are  by : 
For  sailormen  are  sailormen — the  same  right  all 

the  way 
From  Glasgow  to  the  Golden  Gate,  from  Rio  to 

Bombay  ; 
And   Neptune  rules  the   rolling  deep,  but  Venus 

reigns  ashore, 
So  rest  assured  that  Venus  is — as  Venus  was  of 

yorel 

65 


McFEE  OP  ABERDEEN. 

A  lusty  glass  of  smoky  Scotch,  and  pass  the  cabin 

Jar; 
Here,  fill  yer  pipe  with  "  duty  free,"  and  smell  the 

smell  o'  tar. 
Oh,  hear  'em  tramp  the  planks  above — "  Ey-heyl  " 

they  strain  and  creak — 
The  music  of  the  blocks,  my  lads,  'tis  good  to  hear 

them  speak ; 
But,  oh,  the  sough  of  swirling  seas  that  from  her 

glide  and  go, 
The    song  of   lone  mid-ocean   winds,   and  all  the 

songs  ye  know  1 
So  roll  along,  so  race  along,  so  tack  and  turn  and 

drive, 
You  '11  get  a  taste  o"  sand  and  weed,  or  else — come 

back  alive ; 
You'll  take  a  swim  some  stormy  night,  but  not  for 

pleasure's  sake, 
Or  else,  in  ninety  days  from  now,  a  deep  long-beer 

you  '11  take  1 
So  pull  away  and  haul  away,  and  let  the  chanty 

rise — 
Tis  watch  and  watch  for  ninety  days  and  nights, 

and  "  damn  yer  eyesl  " 

'Tis  watch  and  watch  when  on  the  poop  your 

skipper  takes  his  stand  ; 
When  far  behind  and  low  behind  and  out  o'  sight 

the  land ! 

66 


McFEE  OP  ABERDEEN. 

"  Sou'-East  by  East  "  her  course  is  set,  and  "  Nor' 

by  East  "  again, 
With  every  inch  o'  canvas  on,  she  cuts  the  seas 

amain ; 
Across  the  world  and  round  the  world  and  bits  o' 

port  between, 
He   lives   the    life    that   sailors    live,    McFee    of 

Aberdeen  I 


6? 


XV. 

WOOL,    HO! 

WHEN  the  clipper  fleet  comes  over, 
When  the  scent  is  on  the  clover, 

And  the  scarlet  streaks  the  blue ; 
When  the  Western  sheds  are  ringing 
And  the  Western  men  are  singing 
As  their  toiling  teams  come  through, 
Then  it 's  ho,  ho —  Wool,  ho  t 
For  the  busy  shears  are  clipping,  and  a  stir  is  in 

the  shipping, 
And  it's yo,  ho — Wool,  ho. 


When  the  boys  have  got  together 
In  the  warm  October  weather, 
When  a  tempest  of  their  laughter 
Shakes  the  hut  from  floor  to  rafter, 

And  the  bush  is  turning  brown; 
When  the  lover  gets  his  maiden, 
When  the  Southern  teams  are  laden, 

And  the  clip  is  rolling  down, 

Then  it's  ho,  ho — Wool,  ho! 

For  the  trucks  are  at  the  siding  and  the  railway 
chaps  are  chiding, 

And  'tis  go,  go — Wool,  ho! 

Get  that  steamer  to  her  berth  there  I 
Get  the  men  of  all  the  earth  there  I 


68 


WOOL,  HO. 


Have  those  lorries  in  their  places  I 
Have  the  breeching  to  the  traces  ; 
Get  your  wool-hooks  fixed  to  heave. 
Get  your  truck-wheels  good  and  greasy ; 
Let  the  lower  shoot  run  easy, 

Have  the  fall-rope  through  the  sheave  I 

Hey  I  ho,  the  Wool,  ho ! 

Hitch  your  belt  until  she  pinches  1    Is  there  steam 
up  on  the  winches  ? 

Then  go ! —  Wool,  ho  I 

Have  the  store-hands  get  their  muster 
Ere  the  boss  begins  to  bluster, 
When  the  winch-man  starts  reversing 
And  the  stevedore  starts  cursing, 

And  the  wharf  "  stands  by  ' '  below ' 
For  she  's  bound  to  sail  by  Monday — 
"  Wool  aboard  "  at  midnight,  Sunday — 

Wool,  ho!    Wool,  ho! 

Oh,  the  hungry  looms  are  calling  and  the  markets 
may  be  falling — 

Wool,  ho!    Wool,  ho! 

Are  ye  ready  ?    Are  ye  ready  ? 
Heave  aboard  nowl    Steady,  steady! 
Let  them  stand  below  the  slings  there, 
Let  them  catch  it  as  it  swings  there, 
And  their  trust  be  in  the  Lord ; 

69 


WOOL,  HOI 


For  her  skipper 's  making  trouble. 
And  the  crowds  are  working  double, 
And  it  fairly  hums  aboard  ! 
Does  the  Wool,  ho!  the  Wool,  ho! 
Yea  I  the  agent's  clerk  is  growling,  and  the  for- 

rard  hatch  is  howling 
For  their  Wool,  the  Wool,  ho! 


You  can  ring  the  bell  for  dinner  : 
We  have  shoved  her  cargo  in  her, 
And  the  Blazer  must  n't  beat  her 
Though  he 's  flying  his  Blue  Peter — 

Hark  I  you  hear  the  hissing  steam  ) 
Now  she  's  straining  at  her  tether ; 
Now  they  're  swinging  out  together 

With  their  noses  to  the  stream, 

And  the  Wool!  the  Wool,  ho ! 

Yes  1  we  cursed  her  and  we  damned  her,  but  we  've 
rammed  her  and  we  've  crammed  her 

With  the  Wool!  the  Wool,  ho! 

Oh,  we  slung  it  and  we  slammed  it, 
And  we  squeezed  it  home  and  jammed  it 

For  the  glory  of  the  Trade — 
For  her  agent  and  her  skipper, 
And  the  comfort  of  the  clipper 

And  the  Broker-man's  Brigade. 

70 


WOOL,  HOI 


It  will  buy  their  fowl  and  truffles  and  their  ladies' 

lace  and  ruffles, 
Will  the  gritty,  greasy  Wool,  ho  ! 
Will  the  dirty,  dunnaged  Wool,  hoi 

With  ten  thousand  bales  of  plunder, 
And  a  cable  length  asunder  ; 
With  a  shouting  and  a  cheering, 
With  the  harbor  pilot  steering, 

They  are  flopping  down  the  bay. 
She  's  a  ripper  I  she  's  a  racer  I 
But  the  Blazer's  got  to  pace  her, 

And  he  '11  do  it — all  the  way ! 

With  the  Wool,  ho !  the  Wool,  ho ! 
With  his  engineers  and  stokers  and  his  able-bodied 
jokers, 

And  the  Wool!  the  Wool!  Wool,  ho! 

While  her  grinding  engine  's  grieving 
In  the  rolling  and  the  heaving  ; 
While  the  sogging  seas  are  swirling 
With  the  white-capped  surges  curling 

She  will  thunder  on  her  way  : 
With  her  piston  rods  a-thumping, 
While  her  heavy  bows  are  jumping 

Like  a  porpoise  at  his  play. 

And  the  Wool,  ho!  oh,  the  Wool,  ho! 
She  will  rise  and  buckle  to  it,  she  will  chew  a  road 
way  through  it, 

For  the  Wool!  for  the  Wool!  Wool,  hoi 

"71 


WOOL,  HO! 


As  her  blocks  aloft  are  creaking, 
As  her  steam-escape  is  shrieking, 
In  the  rising  and  the  falling 
Hear  the  bo's'n's  whistle  calling 

When  she  strips  to  face  the  gale  ! 
With  the  long  green  track  before  her, 
With  the  storm-clouds  black' ning  o'er  her 

In  the  waning  starlight  pale. 

But  the  Wool,  ho!  oh,  the  Wool,  ho! 
When  she  's  rolling  and  she  's  lifting  there  will  be 
no  cargo  shifting — 

For  'tis  Wool,  ho  !  London  brokers'  Wool,  ho ! 


With  an  albatross  to  guide  her, 
While  the  dolphins  race  beside  her, 
When  the  restless  screw  is  churning 
And  the  blue  a-wake  is  turning — 

As  she  surges  on — to  cream  ; 
As  the  smoke  shoots  from  her  funnel, 
As  the  shaft  rings  thro'  the  tunnel, 

As  the  sea-birds  wheel  and  scream  ; 

With  her  Wool,  ho !  the  Wool,  ho  ! 
She  will  romp  and  roll  and  toss  it ;  fetch  her  cargo 
safe  across  it — 

For  't  is  Wool,  ho !  the  Wool,  ho  I 


When  the  vintage  time  is  nearing, 
When  the  corn  ripes  in  the  clearing, 

72 


WOOL,  HO! 


Oh,  the  Wool,  ho!  the  Wool,  hot 

It  will  fill  their  pockets  full,  ho  ; 
When  its  scent  has  left  the  clover. 
When  the  summer  days  are  over 

And  the  South  wind  heads  the  rain ; 
With  a  rolling  swing  to  larboard, 
With  a  swinging  roll  to  starboard, 

She  '11  be  clamping  down  again 

For  the  Wool,  ho  ! 

With  her  goaded  engines  grieving  thro'  the  pitching 
and  the  heaving, 

For  the  Wool,  ho  ! 

When  the  bees  have  stored  their  honey, 
When  the  boys  have  spent  their  money, 
Ere  the  shears  have  started  clipping, 
Ere  the  stir  is  in  the  shipping 

She  '11  be  romping  down  the  track  ; 
With  the  long  green  road  before  her, 
With  the  bright  stars  beaming  o'er  her, 
Rolling,  rolling,  rolling  back 
For  the  Wool,  ho  !  the  Wool,  ho  ! 
Crowding  ev'ry  stitch  she  's  got   on  for  the  wool 

that  buys  our  cotton — 
For  the  yellow,  greasy  Wool,  ho  ! 

The  Wool,  ho  ! 
Ho,  ho !    The  blessed  holy  Wool,  ho  I 


XVI. 

'WITH   COAL   TO   CALLAO. 

THEY  slewed  her  in  to  dump  her  load, 
And  cleaned  her  aft  and  fore ; 
They  turned  her  out  to  take  the  road 

She  'd  taken  oft  before  ; 
All  geared  aloft,  all  free  aloft,  all  tight  and  trim 

below, 

To  take  the  road  and  make  the  road,  the  road  to 
Callao  ! 

He  kissed  the  girl  ashore  he  'd  found, 
And  said,  "  You  '11  never  miss  me  ; 
You  won't  start  weepin'  if  I  'm  drowned, 

But  kiss  me,  sweetheart  kiss  me  ! 
'Tis  miles  to  go,  long  miles  to  go,  eight  thousand 

miles  or  so, 

With  seas  about   and  seas    abeam,   and  coal   to 
Callao  ! 

Around  his  neck  she  twined  her  arms, 

"  Luck  speed  you,  Jack  I  "  cried  she, 
"  And  from  the  sea  and  all  its  harms 

Come  back  some  day  to  me. 
I  '11  wait  for  you,  I  '11  watch  for  you 

Though  well,  dear  lad,  I  know 
There 's  other  girls  and  fairer  girls — the   girls  of 
Callao  !  " 

He  took  his  sheath-knife  from  his  belt 
And  said,  "  'Fore  God,  my  beauty, 

74 


WITH  COAL    TO  CALLAO. 

Yon  sun  from  out  the  sky  may  melt 

But  /  won't  turn  from  dooty. 
This  lock  o'  yourn,  this  curl  o'  yourn 

Goes  with  me  where  I  go — 

Across  the  world,  around  the  world,  to  Death — or 
Callao  !  " 

Her  eyes  were  like  two  shining  stars 

That  sparkle  through  the  rain. 
All  sail  was  bent  upon  the  spars, 

He  kissed  his  love  again. 
Twas  "  Come  aboard,"  and  "All  aboard,  and  let 

her  shore  lines  go, 

And  take  the  road  and  make  the  road — the  road  to 
Callao!  " 

They  swung  across  Newcastle  bar 

And  sou'  by  east  away  ; 
They  saw  the  Cross  hung  out  afar 

Below  the  Milky  Way  ; 
They  saw  the  land  go  down  a-lee,  and  heard  the 

rollers  go 
Across  the  road,  along  the  road,  the  road  to  Callao  1 

The  sun  came  up  on  sixty  days 

And  set  on  sixty  nights  ; 
Beneath  the  star-lit  heaven's  maze 

She  kept  her  course  to  rights  ; 
Aad  while  the  cool  winds  kissed  her  wings  as  white 
as  driven  snow 

75  F 


WITH  COAL  TO  CALLAO. 

She  drove  the  dancing  spray  ahead — laid  down  for 
Callao  ! 

They  heaved  her  log  for  sizty  days, 

But  on  the  sixty-first 
Her  greasy  cargo  went  ablaze, 
And  then  the  hatches  burst ! 
'T  was  "Man  the  pumps  !     All  hands  to  pumps; 

and  curse  her  as  ye  go ; 

A  broken   ship,  a   burning  ship,    ten  days    from 
Callao!  " 

They  tied  the  air-pipes  throat  and  neck 

With  canvas  triple-fold, 
Then  passed  the  wet  hose  down  the  deck 

To  flood  her  flaming  hold  ; 
All  cursing  hard,  all  praying  Christ  to  heed  them  in 

their  woe, 

To  bring  their  feared  and  sinful  souls   alive  to 
Callao ! 

The  yellow  smoke  that  trailed  a-lee 

It  clouded  in  her  wake, 
The  steam  that  tore  the  lashings  free 

Hissed  like  a  scalded  snake, 
And,   blinded,  beaten,  driven   back,  they  watched 

the  Fire-Fiend  grow, 

And  cursed  the  hour  and  damned   the  day  they 
sailed  for  Callao  I 

76 


WITH  COAL   TO  CALLAO. 

Death's  Angel  bared  his  flaming  sworj 

And  smote  her  hip  and  thigh ; 
Her  foremast  splintered  by  the  board 

Like  twig  three  seasons  dry ; 
But   when    the    mainmast   crashed    to    port    they 

sweltered  in  their  woe, 

To  see   her  useless  boats  drift   by — ten  days  to 
Callao  ! 

The  prisoned  gas  shot  out  aflame 

And  licked  her  Cro  jick  yard  ; 
Her  broken  bones  against  her  frame 
Jammed  home  again  and  jarred ; 
They  flung  the  hurried  scrawl  adrift  to  let  their 

fellows  know 

What  fare  was  theirs  who  'd  fought   with   Death, 
bound  out  for  Callao  ! 

She  lurched  abeam  until  the  brine 

Began  to  lap  her  rail. 
Till  Doom  and  she  with  level  twine 

Were  reeving  neck  and  tail. 
They  dragged  the  rum-keg  aft  at  that,  and  let  th« 

liquor  flow, 

To  die  the  death  they  had  to  die,  ten  days  from- 
Callao  1 

But  when  she  gulfed  the  water  in, 
And  when  her  stern  heaved  clear, 

77 


WITH  COAL   TO  CALLAO. 

With  God's  good  grace  to  shrive  their  sin 

They  rose  a  British  cheer — 
Then  choked  like  men  who  pay  the  debt  all  men  to 

Nature  owe, 

On  either  road,   on  every  road   'tween  this  and 
Callao ! 


They  're  swinging  coal  aboard  the  Star 

'Longside  Newcastle  quay, 
And  out  across  Newcastle  bar 
Far  spreads  the  lonely  sea ; 
And  Jack's  fond  lass  has  found  a  friend  to  love  her 

ere  he  go 
Along  the  road,  the  level  road,  the  road  to  Callao ! 


78 


xra. 

THE   WOOL    FLEET. 

WE  have  other  tales  for  telling,  we  have  othfti 
songs  to  sing, 
Who  have  looped  the  planet's  waters  in  a 

plait  of  tarry  string ; 
With  a  tarry  rope  a-tether,  with  the  sun,  the  wind, 

and  weather, 

From  the  muddy  banks  o'  Yarra  to  the  ice-bound 
Arctic  ring. 

We  have  ladled  up  the  oceans  in  the  hollow  of  a 

spoon  ; 
We  have  hailed  the  iceberg  sailing  'neath  a  grey 

midwinter  moon ; 
We  have  been  to  greet  the  devil  when  the  water 

lifted  level 
And  the  whirring  line  made  answer  to  the  whiz  of 

the  harpoon. 

You  have  seen  the    gas-lamps  glisten  on  the  water 

where  they  lie, 
With  the  southern  stars  far  showing  through  their 

rigging  in  the  sky. 
You  have  heard  the  clear  bells  clanging  while  the 

rowdy  winch  is  banging 
To  the  squeaking  screw's  caresses,  to  the  sobbing 

of  the  presses 
\Vhen  it's  "  Bully  in  Our  Alley,"  and  "  We'll  meet 

You  By-and-By" 

79 


THE   WOOL  FLEET. 

Have  you  heard  the  night  wind  talking  to  the  Wool 

Fleet  ere  the  rose 
From  the  blushing  face  of  Morning,  like  a  dream  of 

lovers,  goes  ? 
Have  you  fevered  for  the  lotion  of  its  ever-potent 

potion, 
For  the  calm  of  open  ocean  and  the  freest  breath 

that  blows  ? 

You  must  see   them    at    the    sun-up,    with    their 

redd'ning  sails  aglow, 
V/hen  the  gangs  begin  to  muster  and  the   laden 

lighters  go, 
When  the  night  clouds  wheel  and  scatter  and  their 

crews  commence  to  chatter 
In  the  polygot  palaver  of  a  dozen  tongues  or  so. 

They  have  rallied  to  the  gorging.  At  the  uproar  of 
the  feast, 

They  are  swooping  South  to  swallow  eighty  thou- 
sand bales  at  least, 

With  an  appetite  unsated,  with  a  hunger  unabated, 

For  a  greedy  London  market  and  the  markets 
further  East. 

Oh,  the  ragged  ewes  are  bleating  on  the   downs 

among  their  lambs, 
Vhere    a    squatter-man    hath    mated    them    with 

Tassie's  choicest  rams, 

M 


THE   WOOL  FLEET. 

And  our  shearer  men  are  riding,  for  there  's  little 

time  for  biding 
When   the   noisy    North   starts   knocking   and   the 

silken  East  salaams. 

So  it's  "Haul  upon  the  bowl'nl  "    and  another 

clipper  in, 
With  a  salt-dried  score  of  sinners  who  are  wasting 

for  their  sin  ; 
While  the  crowd  that  gathers  round  her  turns  to 

cheer  the  outward-bounder 
That   with   locks   and   fleeces   freighted,   with    our 

staple  product  weighted, 
Slips  her  slackened  hawser  gaily  in  the  ramping, 

rousing  din. 

Have  you  hearkened  to  the  Night-Wind  that  hath 

drifted  over-sea, 
Where  the  dead   men  lie  a-rocking  in  their  deep 

graves  restlessly  ? 
In  their  weighted  hammocks  rotten,  on  the   outer 

ways  forgotten, 
On  the  unremembered  inner  ways  these  countless 

dead  men  be. 

And  the   Night-Wind  tells  his  story  of  the  ghostly 

ships  that  sail 
By  their  ghostly  helmsmen  guided  till  the  dawn- 

light  cometh  pale  ; 

81 


THE  WOOL  FLEET. 

Of  the  sallow  arms  that  beckon,  of  that  drowned 

Vanderdecken 
Who  for  ancient  sin  unshriven,  still  by  storm  and 

thunder  driven, 
In  the  teeth  of  tempests  horrid  sets   his   course 

against  the  gale  I 

But  a  sweeter  tale  for  telling  hath  the  Night-Wind  as 

he  rides 
Of    the   flaking   foam   fast-flying    from    a    roving 

trader's  sides, 
Of  the  sunlit  waters  swelling  where  the  sea-man 

makes  his  dwelling 
Twixt  the  parting  of  the  oceans  and  the  meeting 

of  the  tides. 

There's  a  drowsy  Dutchman  over,  who  will  sing 

his  "  Wacht  am  Rhein  " 
When    this     Frenchman's    finished    shouting    for 

"  revanche  "  and  further  wine  : 
There 's  a   dainty  English  clipper,  with  a  dainty, 

dandy  skipper 
Who  was  educated  early  at  Newcastle-on-the-Tyne. 

There  's  a  squat,  big-bellied  Belgian  with  a  fore- 
hold  like  a  tank ; 

There's  a  Swedish  barque  'longside  him  and  the 
other  side  a  Yank; 

82 


THE   WOOL  FLEET. 

There  's  an  old  New  Bedford  whaler  rubbing  noses 

with  a  sailer 
Of    the    latest  modern   fashion    and    the    highest 

modern  rank 

There  's  a  jaunty  White  Star  liner,  and  her  decks 

are  scrubbed  and  clean, 
And  her  tall  white  spars  are  spotless,  and  her  hull 

is  painted  green. 
Don't  you  smell  the  smoky  stingo?     Ech!    ye '11 

ken  the  Gaelic  lingo 
Of  the  porridge-eating  person  \vho   was  shipped  in 

Aberdeen. 

There  's  a  whiff  of  foreign  cooking  and  a  stronger 

stink  of  tar, 
And  the  rattle  of  the  chop-sticks  and  "  'e  dunno 

where  'e  are." 
Oh,  it's  "Crachious!  Vot 's  der   madder?"     Oh 

it 's  ankles  down  the  ladder, 
And   a  woman   laughing   softly   where  the   cabin 

door  's  ajar. 

There 's  a  pretty   girl   a-flirting  with  the  second 

engineer ; 
There 's  a  virgin  shy  declining   skipper  Yonson's 

•   pottled  peer ; 

And  you  '11  find  them   gaily  tripping  in  their  gew- 
gaws to  the  shipping, 

83 


THE   WOOL  FLEET. 

"  Jah,  I  lofe  you !  "  "  Oui,  you  lof  me  I  No  spik 
Englees  moch,  my  dear." 

So  you'll  grease  the  whole  caboodle,  and  the  pis- 
ton-rods you  '11  shine ; 

So  you  '11  paint  em  aft  and  forrard,  though  they  '11 
blister  on  the  Line  ; 

Oh,  you  '11  clean  the  whole  caboodle  to  the  tune  of 
"  Yankee  Doodle," 

But  you  '11  sing  another  ditty  at  the  Horn,  oh, 
skipper  mine  1 

Ye  have  answered  to  the  message  that  they  flashed 
along  the  ooze  : 

Now  the  ink  it  drieth  quickly,  and  there  's  little 
time  to  lose  ; 

Tis  the  Philistines'  to  barter.  Take  your  manifest 
and  charter, 

Hence,  ye  tro user-hitching  legion,  we  have  busi- 
ness with  the  Jews ! 

Let  the  Four  Winds  rise  and  whisper  as  ye  carry 

over  sea — 
Let  them  speak  of  drowned  dead  men.    it   hath 

naught  to  do  with  ye. 
Be  it  yours  to  freight  our  plunder  o'er  their  grey 

bones  rocking  under  : 
Be  it  yours  to  freight  our  plunder  o'er  the  plunder 

of  the  sea. 

84 


THE   WOOL  FLEET 

There 's  another  song  for  singing,  there  's  another 

tale  to  tell, 
When  the  rim  of  Heaven  toucheth  on  the  upward 

rim  of  Hell: 
When   they  've  spliced   the   stars  together  with  a 

tarry  rope  a-tether — 
When  the  dead  men  all  foregather  with  the  sun  and 

wind  and  weather, 
Who  have  tied  the  seas  together,  who  have  tied 

them  very  well. 


XV1I1. 

YANKEE  PACKET. 

YANKEE  packet 's  down  the  water— 
Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 
Third  mate  loved  the  skipper's  daughter- 
Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow. 
Wey-hey-ho  !     Wey-hey-Ao  / 

Blow,  blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow! 

How  'd  you  know  'twas  a  Yankee  packet  > 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 
Know'd  her  by  the  awful  racket — 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow. 
Wey-hey-ho,  the  cook  was  jealous, 
Spiled  the  soup  and  bust  his  bellus— 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  I 

Once  she  did  a  bit  o'  tradin' — 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 
Third  mate  killed  the  cook  at  Aden — 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 
Fill  her  up  an'  let  her  go, 
Down  with  coal  to  Callao — 

Blow,  blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  I 

Go  she  must,  or  go  to  blazes — 
Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 

Shout  the  good  old  packet's  praises- 
Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow. 

86 


YANKEE  PACKET. 

Lively  Loo  from  Boston  sailing, 
All  the  girls  were  left  bewailing — 
Blow,  blow,  my  bully  boys,  bio*  i 

Lively  Loo  she  took  my  fancy- — 
Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 
So  I  shipped  with  Captain  Clancy- 
Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow. 
Wind  abaft — a  lively  breeze- 
Sailed  away  to  China  seas — 

Blow,  blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow! 

Sad  we  left  our  loves  behind  us — • 
Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 

To  be  true  they  long  enjoined  us — 
Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow. 

But  we  found  in  foreign  places 

Welcome  smiles  on  fairer  faces — 
Blow,  blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow ! 

Oh !  our  skipper  was  a  daisy — 
Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 

Drove  the  whole  fo'castle  crazy — 
Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow. 

So  we  left  him  ruck  and  rumbo 

In  the  harbour  of  Colombo — 

Blow,  blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  I 

87 


YANKEE  PACKET. 

Lively  Loo  was  heard  no  more  on — 
Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow ; 

Went  one  night  a  dark  lee  shore  on—- 
Blow, my  bully  boys,  blow. 

Sharks,  they  ate  the  old  man's  nose  off, 

Bit  his  ears  and  then  his  toes  off — 
Blow,  blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ! 

'Longshore  lasses  came  to  greet  us — 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 
Bumboat  men  were  glad  to  meet  us — 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 
Sold  our  togs  to  buy  bad  liquor, 
Pawned  my  pants  and  popped  the  ticker — 

Blow,  blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  1 

Got  another  ship  to  sail  in — 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 
Went  to  Arctic  Ocean  whalin', 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 
Struck  a  'berg  one  night  and  sunk  it, 
Freezin'  cold,  but  couldn't  funk  it — 

Blow,  blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  1 

Saw  a  right  whale  busy  spoutin' — 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 
"  There  she  blows  1  "  the  look-out  shoutin' 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 
'  Lower  away  1  "  and  off  we  goes,  mate. 

88 


YANKEE  PACKET. 

Sticks  a  harpoon  in  her  nose,  mate — 
Blow,  blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  I 

Off  she  goes  and  us  behind  her — 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 
Got  a  calf,  but  never  mind  her — 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow : 
Down  she  dives,  our  lances  shunning—- 
Keeps the  harpoon-reel  a-running, 

Blow,  blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow! 

Up  she  comes,  and  right  beside  us — 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 
Goes  about ; — now  woe  betide  us  ! 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 
Turned  her  tail — gee-whoop! — and  thrashed  us, 
Into  fifty  pieces  smashed  us — 

Blow,  blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  I 

Missed  the  coxswain  as  we  wallowed — 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow ; 
Angry  whale  poor  chap  had  swallowed — 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  . 
Second  boat,  she  saw  her  spout  then, 
Killed  the  whale  and  cut  him  out,  men— - 

Blow,  blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ! 

Yankee  packet 's  down  the  river— * 
Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow  ; 

89 


YANKEE  PACKET. 


Fifteen  hundred  bales  to  give  her — • 

Blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow. 
Wey-hey-ho !  Wey-hey-to  / 
Fill  her  up  and  let  her  go — 
B'ow,  blow,  my  bully  boys,  blow! 


XIX. 

THE   WAYS   ARE   WIDE. 

TWO  women  watched  on  a  windy  pier 
(Three  turns  and  a  line  to  pass !) 
And  one  was  the  drunken  skipper's  dear, 

And  one  was  a  sailor's  lass  ; 
The  full  o'  flood  and  the  fall  o'  tide 

There  's  little  to  guide  between, 
But  ways  are  wide  where  the  seas  divide 
Wi'  places  to  bide  between. 

The  sun  rose  red,  but  the  night  fell  grey — 
Cheer 'ly  men,  her  load-line 's  low  ! 

Who  drinks  to-morrow  may  thirst  to-day-~ 
Cheer  ly  men,  still  cheerily  ho  t 

They  trailed  her  out  from  the  rowdy  pier; 

They  turned  her  nose  to  the  Sea  ; 
They  lent  their  lungs  to  a  burly  cheer, 

And  speeded  her  merrily. 
Her  skipper  rolled  to  his  bunk  dead-tight ; 

Her  mate  in  the  scuppers  lay, 
With  a  starboard  red  and  a  green  port  light 

To  gladden  them  on  their  way. 

They  lit  their  lamps  on  the  lonely  pier 
As  the  twilight  brought  the  rain, 

And  the  skipper's  dear  laughed  long  and  clear. 
But  the  other  laughed  in  pain. 

91  G 


THE   WAYS  ARE  WIDE. 

For  woman  is  woman  and  man  is  man 

And  the  flesh  it  pricketh  sore — 
He  carries  his  burden  as  best  he  can, 

She  carries  her  load  and  more. 

Two  women  turned  from  the  windy  pier, 

One  hurried  her  home  to  weep  : 
But  the  skipper's  dear  she  was  married  next  year 

To  a  bank  account — and  sheep. 
The  ship  that  sailed  as  the  ship  went  down 

(Three  turns  and  a  rope  to  pass!) 
Is  posted  "  Lost,"  and  the  grass  goes  brown 

On  the  grave  o'  the  sailor's  lass. 

The  dank  ooze  silts  where  the  deep  hulks  lie — 
Cheerily  men — her  load-line 's  low  ! 

For  men  may  drown  and  women  will  die — 
Cheer 'ly  men,  still  cheerily  ho  ! 


XX. 

THE   PASSING   OF  PARKER. 

NO,  you    "'aven't  'eard  of   Parker,"    as  was 
with  us  in  The  Bay, 
Ah'  you  '"aven't  dropped  acrost  'im  in  yer 

cruises,"  as  you  say  ; 
An'  you  ain't  a-go'n  to  meet  'im,  for  'e  's  safe  an' 

snug  is  Joe — 

If  the  fishes   'as  n't  eat   'im — fifty   fathom    down 
below  ; 

Gawd  rest  'is  bleedin'  bones  ! 
'E  'as  gone  to  Davy  Jones, 

An'  I  'opes,  as  passun  told  us,  that  'is  soul  is  with 
the  Lord, 

For  'e  slid  down  like  a  plummet, 
'E  went  quick  an'  lively  summat  ; 
Two  shots  about  'is  feet,  mate,  an'  two  above  'is 

'ead 

When  'e  dived  astarn  one  mornin'  like  a  bloomin' 
chunk  o'  lead. 

Now,  we  '11  'ave  a  pipe  o'  baccy,  an'  another  sip  o* 

rum, 
An'  we  '11  drink  to  ole  Joe  Parker,  an'  I  '11  tell  you 

'ow  it  come   .    .   . 
We   was   on  the   China  station,    in  the  'arbor  of 

Shanghai 
(An1   the  cuss  o    Gawd  upon  it  for  a  dirty  'ole, 

sez  1), 


THE  PASSING  OF  PARKER. 

In  the  port  o'  Nagasaki 
(Ta,  that 's  decent  baccy), 
Up  to  bloomin'  Daddy  Stock-Pot  where  the  cold 

'd  freeze  a  man, 

Back  again    to    Yokohama  an'  the  south'ard  o' 
Japan. 

Then  a-cruisin',  cruisin',  cruisin', 
For  some  gory  fool's  amusin', 
With  Sir  Stinker  Jones  an'  Toecaps  on  a  nasty, 

choppy  sea, 

An'   a  extra    dose    o'   drillin' — Gawd    above  1    it 
sickened  me. 

Waal,  we  're  back  at  Shanghai,  messmate,  an'  that 

bloomin'  place  o'  sin 
We  are  makin'  pretty  lively  when  a  Rooshun  ship 

comes  in, 
An',  of  course,  that  starts  the  rowin'  in  the  drums 

an'  pubs  ashore, 

For  a  Rooshun  is  a  Rooshun,  an'  'e  can't  be  any 
more  ; 

An'  as  Britons  we  despise  'em, 
An'  in  fightin'  times  chastise  'em, 
For  our  vittles  an'  our  medals  an'  our  kiddies  an' 

our  wives — 

"Sides,  I  'ates  them  bleedin'  Rooshuns,  'cause  they 
always  carries  knives. 

So,  from  arguin'  an'  skitin', 

One  fine  night  it  comes  to  fightin'. 

94 


THE  PASSING  OF  PARKER. 

.  An'  they  stiffens  out  a  jolly — though  for  that   I 

wouldn't  grieve, 

But  Ole  Toecaps  'ears  about  it  an'  'e  stops  a  week 
o'  leave. 


Waal,  we  goes  ashore  again,  mate,  when  our  pun- 
ishment is  done, 

An'  our  fellers  starts  a-boozin'  in  a  pub  they  calls 
"The  Sun," 

An'  a  Rooshun  chivvies  Parker,  in  is  lingo,  so  'e 
said, 

An'  Joe  'auls  off  an'  'its  'im — such  a  wonner  on 
the  'ead! 

Gawd!  there  wa'nt  a  blessed  windy 
But  we  busted  in  that  shindy  ; 

There  was  broken  glass  an'  bottles,  beer  an'  blood 
along  the  floor ; 

Oh,  we  played  the  very  devil  with  the   woman's 
furnitoor  1 

There  was  picters  torn  an'  labels, 
An'  we  broke  the  chairs  an'  tables, 

Smashed  the  mugs  an'  things  to  blazes,  turned  'er 
over  'old  an'  deck  ; 

Till  you  never  see,  so  'elp  me,  such  a  gawd-aban- 
doned wreck  I 


Aye !    we    gev    'em    "  Rule     Britannia,"    but    a 
Rooshun 's  'ard  to  beat, 

95 


THE  PASSING  OF  PARKER 

An'  we  'eard  that  more  was  comln',  so  we  slips 

along  the  street, 
Through  the  foreign  quarter  runnin'  through  them 

narrer,  dirty  lanes, 

For  we  didn't  want  no  trouble  with  Old  Toecaps 
for  our  pains. 

It  was  dark  as  'ell  an'  darker, 

So  we  never  knew  that  Parker 

'Ad  been  stiffened   in  the  scrimmage  by  a  flyin' 

whisky-jar 

An'  was  layin'  on  'is  stummick  in  a  'cap  behind 
the  bar. 

Fust  we  thought  'e  'd  gone  to  glory — 
Which  'ad  ended  up  me  story  ; 
But  'e  comes  aboard  next  mornin'  with   'is  top- 
piece  in  a  sling, 

An*  Ole  Toecaps  'ears  about  it,  an'  performs  like 
anything. 

But  it  wa'n't  no  use  to  Parker,  so  our  ole  ship's 

doctor  said, 
For  'e  'd  got  a  brain  con-cushion  on  the  inside  of 

'is  'ead, 
An'    'e    couldn't    do    'is  duty  for   'is   case    was 

"  criti-cal," 
So  they  'ad  to  give  'im  treatment  in  the  blessed 

'ospital. 

'E  was  gettin'  wuss  an'  ravin' 
Till  they  gev  'is  'ead  a  shavin', 

96 


THE  PASSING  OF  PARKER. 

For  to  do  a  operation  that  they  reckoned  very  fine! 
But  I  want  no  sawbones  foolin"  round  a  broken  'ead 
o'  mine — 

'Cause  they  cut  that  'ere  con-cushion 
That  was  gev  him  by  the  Rooshun 
From  the  inside  of  his  top-piece,  an' — the  solemn 

truth  I  tell— 

They  took  out  a  bit  o'  skull-bone  'bout  as  big  as 
that!  as  well. 

Waal,   Ole  Toecaps  gets   'is   orders,  an'  we  says 

"  Good-bye  "  ashore, 

An'  the  engineers  is  ready  an'  we  'eads  for  Singa- 
pore. 

Joe  'e  feels  a  trifle  better  on  the  fust  day  out  at  sea, 
But  the  next  day  out  'e  's  goin'  an'  'e  asks  'em 
send  for  me. 

Gawd  1   I  ain't  a  cove  for  cryin', 
But  I  'ates  to  see  'im  dyin', 
So  1  sits  beside  'is  'ammock  an'  I  tries  to  cheer  'is 

'eart, 

Though  'e  's  groanin'  somethin"  'orrid,  an'  'is  lips 
is  wide  apart. 

There  's  a  lump  inside  my  throat,  mate, 
An'  my  eyes  is  all  afloat,  mate, 
But  I  sings  out,  "  Cheer  up,  messmate  !   cheer  up, 

Parker  1  cheer  up,  Joe ! 

Pull   yer  bleedin'   self  together,   give   ole'    Davy 
Jones  the  go  I  " 

97 


THE  PASSING  OF  PARKER. 

Lawd  I    'e  stares  me  white  an'  orful  with  'is  'ead 

all  bandaged  up, 
An'  'e  could  n't  make  no  answer  till  I  let  'im  'ave 

a  sup ; 
Then  sez  'e,  "  I  've  got  my  papers,  't  ain't  no  tearin' 

use,"  sez  'e, 
"That  'ere  Rooshun 's  put  my  lights  out,"  an*   'e 

glares  like  'ell  at  me. 

"  Cuss  the  crimson  gory  Rooshun 
As  'as  give  you  that  con-cushion  ! 
But  it  were  n't  MY  fault,  Joe  Parker,"  in  a  bloomin' 

funk,  sez  1. 
"No,  old  man,  I  know  ft  weren't!"    .    .    .     An'  I 

thought  I  'd  'ave  to  cry; 

But  I  'ate  them  women's  squealin's, 
So  I  cussed  to  ease  me  feelin's — 
All  the  dirty  furrin'  varmints  up  an'  down  an1  all 

I  could, 
An'  'e  brightened  as  'e  'card  me  an'  I  see  it  did  'im 

good  I 

"Ned,"  sez  'e,   "you'll  go  to  Chatham,  see  the 

missus  an'  the  kid  ?  " 
"Joe,"  sez  I,  "I  won't  forget  it  nor  neglect  it, 

Gawd  forbid ; 
But  you  ain't  a-dyiri ',  messmate  ;  you  ain't  turning 

.     turtle  yet?  " 
But   'e  shook  'is  'ead  and  muttered  orful  feeble, 

"  Don't  forget  1  " 

93 


THE  PASSING  Of  PARKER. 

Fust  'e  lay  awhile  a-dreamin  , 
Then  'e  started  up  a-screamin' : 
"  Blarst  all  Rooshun  dogs  to  blazes  !  " — ripped  the 

bandage  from  'is  'ead, 

Clawed  the  bloomin'    air  a  minute,    dropped    'is 
'ands  and  flopped  back — dead. 

Then  that  bloomin'  Doctor  Carker 
Comes  along  to  look  at  Parker, 
An'  I  'ears  the  sinner  mutter  'fore  they  orders  me 

away, 

"  Too  much  cuttin'  to  recover!"     What  a  bloomin' 
shame,  I  say ! 

So  they  sewed  'im  in  'is  'ammock,  as  accordin'  to 

the  rule, 
'Fore  'e  'd  stiffened   out,    I   reckon,   or   'ad  time 

enough  to  cool ; 
An'  we  'ears  the  bo's'n  pipin'  in  the  mornin'-watch 

all-right, 

'Sif  they  'd  got  to  feelin'  sorry  'cause  they  kept  'im 
over-night — 

For  it 's  run  'em  out,  an'  shove  'em  I 
Get  the  water  quick  above  'em  I 
When  a  Jack  is  dead  'e  's  done  for,  an'  'is  body 

ain't  no  use ; 

'E  'as  skipped  'is  earthly  dooty  an'  'is  troubles  an' 
abuse. 

Sew  'is  'ammock  up  around  'im  I 
Chuck  Mm  overboard  an'  drownd  'im  I 

99 


THE  PASSING  OF  PARKER. 

For  there  's  no  one  wants  to  worry  an'  there  's  no 

one  got  to  weep 
When   the  chaplain  starts   "  committin'    this    'ere 

body  to  the  deep  I  " 

"  Fall  in  aft,  there,  fun'ral  party  I  " — an'  they  tells 

'em  wot  to  wear. 
"  Mess  one  to  ten,  two  men  from  each !  "  an'  don't 

them  two  men  swear. 
"  Chaplain  's  ready  I     Rig  yer  gratin' !     Fire  three 

volleys!  " — rattle  !  bang! 
Someone  shoves  the  bloomin'  body — gone!    and 

no  one  cares  a  'ang. 

P'r'aps  in  fallin'  that  poor  feller 
Struck  'is  bloomin'  ship's  propeller — 
If    they   'ave  n't  stopped  the  vessel   through  the 

weather  or  the  whim 
Of  the  admiral  or  skipper — an'  it  plays  the  deuce 

with  him. 
What 's  the  odds  ?     He  can't  come  back.     It  only 

means  a  dead  bluejacket — 
Which  for  that  same  matter,  messmate,  might  be 

either  you  or  me — 
Gets  a  double  kind  o'  doin'  as  they  puts  'im  down 

at  sea. 


When  I  leaves  the  China  station  with  me  "compo  " 
in  me  'and, 

100 


THE  PASSING  OF  PARKER. 

Goes   I  down   'er  side  at  Portsmouth  for  a  good 

spell-ho  on  land  ; 
Then  I  thinks  o'  poor  ole  Parker,  an'  I  starts  to 

feelin'  blue, 

For  I  said  I  'd  see  the  missus,  an'  I  've  got  to  get  it 
through. 

"Wot  a  pretty  pickle  this  is  : 
'Ere  I  'm  bound  for  Parker's  missus, 
An'  the  news   I  've   got    to    fetch    her  won't  be 

welcome,  'less  I  lie  ; 

An'    she  '11   want   the   truth   or   nuthink,"    to   me 
bloomin'  self  sez  I. 

Now,  1  'ate  to  start  a-lyin' 
'Bout  a  decent  messmate  dyin' ; 
But  'is  dyin'  came  so  ugly,  'cause  it  started  in  a 

row — 

"  Damn,"  sez  I,  "  I  '11  say  it  didn't,  and  I  '11  chance 
it,  anyhow  !  " 

No,  she  didn't  start  to  faintin',  and  she  didn't  weep 

nor  wail, 
For  they  'd  told  her  all  about  it,  an'  'er  grief  was 

tired  and  stale  ; 
But  I  see  ole  Parker's   kiddie,   an'   I  chucked   it 

'arf-a-crown, 
An'  1  sez,  "You  '11  soon  be  married,"  'fore  I  took 

the  'bus  to  town  ; 

But  she  sez,  before  I  'm  leavin' — 
"  Ned,"  says  she,  "  I  ain't  a-grievin'; 

101 


FHB  PASSING  OF  PARKER. 

'E  was  always  kind  an'  gentle  to  the  young-'un 

an'  to  me, 

But  1  feel  it  orful  sometimes  that  'e's  layin'  out  at  sea, 
An'  it  do  seem  hard  an'  funny 
That  they  asked  me  for  the  money 
For  the  'ammock  that  they  sewed  my  poor  dead 

'usband's  body  in!  " 

'"Ard?"    sez  I,   "Gawd  strike  me  silly,  it  was 
nuthink  but  a  SIN  !  " 

Now,    them  there   newspaper   jokers  they  would 

hardly  credit  that ; 
But  for  every  such  the  Navy  charges  seving-an'-a- 

sprat ; 
So  I  tells  'er  "Never  mind,  mum,"  an'  I  gives 

another  quid 

In  abito'  Parker's  tunic  (an' me  blessin'l)  to  the  kid, 
An'  I  left  'em  as  I  found  'em, 
With  their  bits  o'  sticks  around  'em, 
With  the  flower-pot  in  the  windy  and  'is  chest  agen 

the  wall, 

An'    that    gallant    little    woman    bearin'   bravely 
through  it  all. 

Gawd  rest  'is  bleedin'  bones  ! 
'E  'as  gone  to  Davy  Jones  ; 

But    I  'm    goin'   back   to   Chatham   when    I   gets 
relieved  from  'ere, 

An'  I  '11  ask  her No,  she  would  n't  'ave  me. 

.     .     .    Take  another  beer  I 

102 


XXI. 

THE   GREAT   GRAY  WATER. 

NOW  two  have  met,  now  two  have  met. 
Who  may  not  meet  again — 
Two  grains  of  sand,  two  blades  of  grass 

Two  threads  within  the  skein — 
Beside  the  Great  Gray  Water. 

Two  hands  to  touch,  two  hearts  to  touch ; 

And,  here  foregathered,  we 
Will  not  forget,  may  not  forget, 

Where  last  foregathered  three — 
Beyond  the  Great  Gray  Water. 

Two  glasses  filled,  two  pipes  to  fill — 
"  To  all  our  fortunes,  brother  !  " 

And  as  they  clink — like  so — we  drink 
Fair  passage  to  the  other 

Across  the  Great  Grey  Water. 

For  three  have  sailed,  and  one  has  sailed, 
His  sins,  like  ours,  still  on  him. 

God  sleep  his  soul !    five  oceans  roll 
Their  long  weight  all  upon  him. 

0  God !  thy  Great  Gray  Water  1 

But  I  am  still,  and  you  are  still, 
And  here  our  chance  has  flung  us  ; 

True  comrades  we,  but  .  .  .  there  were  three 
And  one  is  not  among  us 

Beside  the  Great  Gray  Water. 


THE   GREAT  GRAY  WATER. 

A  breathing  space,  a  biding  place, 
Soft  lights  and  beakers  beaded, 

Then  out  again  and  on  again, 
Unminded  and  unheeded, 

Across  the  Great  Gray  Water. 

Now  two  have  met  where  three  have  met 
With  curses  or  with  laughter  ; 

And  so  our  Day  shall  pass  away, 
And  so  our  Night  come  after — 

But,  ah !  the  Great  Gray  Water ! 


XXII. 

WHAT   THE    BOTTLE   SAID. 


A 


BLISTERED  span  of  blazing  sand, 
A  burning  arch  of  sky     .     .     . 

Despair  and  Death  on  either  hand    .     . 
Alone     .     .     . 

And  so  to  die. 

A  sandbank  in  the  Indian  Sea, 
With  not  a  patch  of  shade     .     .    . 

An  atoll  in  the  awful  sea, 
Outside  the  tracks  of  trade. 

Here  write  I  this     .     .     .     and  gaunt  fiends  too 

Have  written,  mocking  me — 
One  thrice-cursed  wretch  of  all  a  crew, 

One  saved  of  twenty-three. 

For  twenty-two  the  sharks  have  ta'en, 

And  hungrily  they  fed  ; 
For  twenty-two  ha'  done  with  pain. 

They  suffered     .     .     .     They  are  dead. 

One  yet  survives     .     .     .     Just  God,  the  thirst 

That  tears  my  veins  to-day     .     .     . 
The  last !  the  last !     .     .     . 

Why  last,  not  FIRST? 
.     .     .     And  why  not  yesterday? 

No  sail !     No  chance  !     I  've  tried  to  pray  I 
The  end  is  coming — close     .     .    . 

109 


WHAT  THE  BOTTLE  SAID. 

Christ,  ease  my  soul !     Ah,  take  away 
That  face  1     ...     Ah,  Nancy  Mose ! 

The  calm,  wide  waste !     The  sky  spread  clear  ! 

All  things  to  jibe  my  woe  ! 
The  girl  who  waits — so  dear,  so  dearl 

My  Nance  I     I  loved  her  so. 

And  I  had  sworn  to  come  back  soon  ! 

.     .     .     That  this  should  be  the  last ! 
A  boiling  surf !     A  mad  typhoon  1 

An  hour  1     And  all — the  Past ! 

One  battered  wretch  to  fight  for  breath 

And  beat  the  breakers  through — 
Spared.     Spared!     My  God!  when  kinder  death 

Has  smiled  on  twenty-two. 

Not  mad     ...     not  yet :  but  deep  in  Hell, 
Ten  fathoms  deep,  I  've  seen  I     ... 

Kind  God,  I  sinned  !    Thou  knowest  well    .    .    . 
But  I  was  living  clean. 

Clean  for  her  sake !     .     .     . 

Just  now  I  stood 

Where  cool,  clear  water  flows     .     .     . 
And  rushed  to  drink !    .  .  .  I  fell   ...  My  God  I 

.     .     .     Ah,  Nancy — Nancy  Mose  ! 

I've  prayed  to  Christ  to  let  me  go  : 
I  've  cursed,  I  've  called,  I  've  cried    .    . 

106 


WHAT  THE  BOTTLE  SAID. 

And  all  the  world  may  never  know 
The  horrid  way  I  died. 

A  heap  of  bones  that  wind  and  sun 

Bleach  whiter  day  by  day — 
A  thing  that  festers  in  the  sun  1 

A  woman  far  away. 

Our  there  1    Out  there  I    Ah,  pain  !     I  thinfc    .     . 

Cool,  beaded  wines     .     .     iced,  frothing  beer  I 
Food !   Food  !   Yes,  food  I    Yes,  food  and  drink  I 

.     .     .     Oh !  I  am  raving     .     .     .     here. 

Have  sucked  the  vein    .    .    .    have  eaten    .    .    . 
sandl 

May  Jesus  pity  me  ! 
My  brain  gone  strange  to-day    .    .    .    my  hand 

Here  signed    ...     of  twenty-three  ! 

The  Bristol,  ship    .    .    .    bound  out 

.    .    .    Rangoon    .    .    . 
June    .    .    .    twenty    .    .    .    forty-three    .    .    . 

Hard  hit    ...    nor'-east  typhoon  ; 
All  hands   .    .   .    lost    .    .    .   lost   .    .    .    but  me. 

The  Bristol,  ship    ...    in  case  ye  find 

The  bottle  .  .  .    tell — if   .  .  .    none  but  those 

Who  suffer  thirst    ...    am  going  blind   .    .    , 
God  bless  you        .    .    Nancy  Mose. 


107 


WHAT  THE  BOTTLE  SAID. 

Floated  round,  and  washed  around ; 

Flung  a  thousand  leagues ; 
Carried  round  and  eddied  round 

In  ocean's  mad  intrigues — 
Grim  words  upon  a  shred  of  cloth, 

With  human  blood  scrawled  red, 
A  drifted  tale  of  wreck  and  wrath — 

And  thus  the  Bottle  said. 

But  only  those  can  know  and  care 
Who  fight  the  Sea  for  bread 

The  inner  Truth,  red-written  there, 
Of  what  the  Bottle  said. 


108 


xxm. 
A   VIKING   FORAY. 

THERE  'S  an  echo  at  the  ford, 
Where  a  sobbing  tide  out-poured 
When  the  mid-sun  rose  a-noon  ; 
There  's  a  clamour  on  the  hills,  where  the  clear  sky 

slowly  fills 
With  the  glory  of  the  moon. 

Hear !    a  rousing  clang  of  steel 
To  the  belted  Norseman's  heel 
As  his  corsair  hosts  come  down, 
With  the  blood-light  in  their  eyes,  with  their  long 

swords  at  their  thighs, 
And  their  curling  beards  and  brown. 

Hark  !  a  woman's  laugh  afield, 
Where  the  strong  Norsemaidens  yield 
To  their  War-Man's  hot  request. 
Hark !  the  children's  shout  afar,  where  the  Wolf- 
cub  plays  at  war 
With  the  cub-wolf's  savage  zest. 

They  have  bared  the  naked  sword 
To  the  Saxon  and  his  horde, 
As  a  wild  wolf  bares  its  fang  : 
And  to-night  they  '11    sniff   the    breeze    on   their 

chilly  Northern  seas, 
While  the  fretted  rowlocks  claftg. 

109 


A    VIKING  FORAY. 

Oh,  to-night  they  '11  scent  the  brine, 
With  their  level  oars  a-line, 
And  the  sea-froth  in  their  trail ; 
While  their  shining    axes  gleam,  and  along  the 

moonlit  stream 
Glides  the  shadow  of  the  sail. 

They  will  wassail  long  and  deep 
Where  the  curling  surges  leap 
At  the  whip-strokes  of  the  wind, 
With  the  Dragon  in  the  lead  and  her  Viking  drunk 

with  mead, 
And  his  roaring  crews  behind. 

As  the  rolling  Raven  reels, 
And  the  Great  Ox  kicks  his  heels, 
And  the  Were-wulf  strains  and  snarls, 
They  will  gather  to  the  song  of   their  Nor'  land, 

bold  and  strong, 
And  the  sagas  of  her  jarls. 

Tis  "  Valhalla  for  our  brave  1  " 
'Tis  the  guerdon  that  they  crave 
When  the  red  torch  throws  its  glare  ; 
When   the    glutted    raven   feeds    by  the    English 

Severn's  reeds, 
And  the  spoiler  takes  his  share. 

Oh  I  't  is  'ware,  ye  English  earls  I 
And  'tis  woel  ye  Saxon  girls! 

110 


A   VIKING  FORAY 

And  'tis  woe!  the  Wolf's  Intent, 
When  he  comes  to  cut  a  way  to  his  plunder  and 

his  play 
With  the  captured  maids  of  Kent  I 

With  a  hauberk  and  a  helm, 
And  with  bull-hide  and  with  elm, 
Ye  must  gather,  ye  must  band, 
When  the  Eagle  flouts  the  gale,  when   the  Black 

Ship  swings  her  sail, 
And  her  helmsman  heads  to  land. 

For  they  love  to  hear  the  sledge 
Of  a  bitter,  biting  edge 
On  the  stalwart  Saxon's  crown  : 
For  they  revel  in  the  game   that   is  played  with 

sword  and  flame 
When  the  heavy  hand  comes  down. 

Oh,  to  parry  and  to  thrust  1 
And  to  cleave  us,  like  a  crust 
Of  our  rye  bread,  fresh  and  new ! 
It  were  sweeter  than    the  tune   of  their  boldest 

bardic  rune — 
It  were  strong  man's  deed  to  do. 

They  have  harried,  they  have  held  ; 
They  were  robber-born  of  Eld, 
E'en  as  robber-bred  we  be  : 


A   VIKING  FORAY. 

We    must    meet    them    in    the    wrack    with    our 

strong  men  back  to  back. 
And  our  ships  upon  the  sea. 

We  will  track  them,  as  they  go, 
By  our  women's  wail  of  woe 
And  the  roof-tree  charred  once  more ; 
By  our  good  swords  hacked  and  hewed  we  will 

know  the  Rover's  brood 
Till  the  young  Wolf-cub  comes  o'er. 

We  must  light  the  beacon's  blaze 
In  our  English  creeks  and  bays 
Till  the  English  coast's  aglow, 
For   to-night,    along    the  breeze,   on  their  chilly 

Northern  seas 
Rings  the  war  song  of  our  foe. 

For  the  Great  Ox  and  his  load 
And  the  Were-wulf  feel  the  goad 
Of  the  steady  Nor'-west  wind; 
And  the  Dragon  's   in  the   lead,   with  her  Viking 

drunk  with  mead, 
And  his  roaring  crews  behind. 

For  they  swell  the  runic  rhyme 
While  their  steady  oars  keep  time, 
And  the  great  sail  spreads  the  yard  : 
For  the  sea-foam  floats  a-lea,  and  the  Robber  's 

on  the  sea — 
Keep  watch,  ye  Saxon  earls  1     Keep  guard  I 

112 


xxtv. 
SONG   OF  THE   SOUTHERN    TRADES. 

THE  tall  bergs  Nor'ward  straying 
Their  sisters  once  have  been— 
White  ladies,  still  displaying 

Their  fading  charms  serene  , 
Lost  maidens,  gone  a-Maying, 
Decked  all  in  opal  sheen. 

The  dull  Antarctic  bound  them 

Who  were  not  born  to  pine ; 
Now,  far  and  fair,  around  them 

The  brave  blue  billows  shine  ; 
The  Clipper  Fleet  hath  found  them, 

Loud  laughing  to  the  Line. 

On  their  swelled  bosoms  sleeping 
These  gay  winds  pillowed  drearn 

Of  dim,  cold  coasts  still  keeping 
Long  vigils  in  the  gleam 

Of  Southern  lights,  up-leaping 
Beyond  the  World's  extreme. 

The  penguin,  standing  lonely 

'Neath  weird,  snow-darkened  skies, 

Sees  wearing  Night,  that  pronely 
On  wearied  Nature  lies 

In  silence,  broken  only 

By  groans,  and  screams,  and  sighs  . 

113 


SONG  OP  THE  SOUTHERN  TRADES. 

Gaunt  Northern  waves  are  beating 
Their  wild  weight  on  the  bar  ; 

Gray  fogs  gray  seas  are  meeting 
In  latitudes  afar ; 

With  no  glad  friendly  greeting, 
No  high-hung  Cross  or  star ! 

But  here,  in  worlds  grown  kinder, 
The  sun-bars  burn  and  blaze  : 

Each  bark,  with  storm  behind  her 
Doth  hail  the  pleasant  ways — 

With  sky  and  sea  to  bind  her 
A  wreath  of  summer  days. 

The  Sou' -east  trades  are  calling! 

Across  the  creamy  curls 
The  bow-thrown  spray  is  falling 

In  scattered  showers  of  pearls, 
Or  like  the  tears  enthralling 

Of  soft-eyed  island  girls. 

The  Sou' -west  trades  are  blowing! 

The  withered  seaman  smiles 
To  feel  his  strong  ship  throwing 

Behind  the  flying  miles  : 
His  swift-sailed  thought  is  going 

Towards  the  Blessed  Isles. 

Now  bears  the  Austral  trader 
Right  gallantly  away, 

114 


SONG  OF  THE  SOUTHERN  TRADES. 

The  brave  West  wind  to  aid  her 

Along  the  open  way — 
An  iron-heeled  Crusader 

Of  our  more  peaceful  day. 

A  twin  Sou'-easter  carries 
Her  copper-coloured  crew 

By  palm-clad  coast,  where  tarries 
The  chieftain's  war-canoe  ; 

Or,  fickle,  woos  and  harries 
The  long  Malay  prahu. 

Low  down  their  high  spars  frailly 
Go  swinging  South  amain  ; 

Far  down  the  great  hulls  daily 
Fair  haven  do  attain, 

To  dress  them  glad  and  gaily, 
And  journey  out  again. 

Brave  Southern  Trades,  o'erladen 
With  scent  of  tropic  bowers  I 

They  tell  of  some  warm  Aidenn 
Where,  lulled  by  opiate  flowers, 

A  comely,  brown-skinned  maiden 
Dreams  idly  out  the  hours. 

With  Bornean  spices  freighted, 
With  breath  of  Austral  glades — 

Which  yet,  mayhap  belated, 
No  white  man's  foot  invades — 

Still  sweep  they,  unabated, 

The  Trades !   the  Southern  Trades ! 
115 


XXV. 

THEY   HAVE   BOUND   US. 

THE  round  world  glows  in  its  green  and  rose, 
And  the  full  buds  burst  to  bloom : 
The  earth  is  ours  with  its  wine  and  flowers — 
But  the  shore-shot  rollers  boom  ; 

And  we  'd  cramp  and  choke  in  the  grit  and  smoke, 
And  our  hearts  would  yearn  alway 

For  the  sight  and  smell  of  the  ocean  swell, 
And  the  splash  of  the  sparkling  spray. 

For  the  roll  and  dip  of  a  royal  ship 

In  the  trough  of  the  turgid  seethe, 
For  the  ramp  and  roar  of  the  free  winds  four 

And  the  breath  that  a  man  may  breathe. 

The  land-bird  sings  on  its  high-poised  wings, 

And  the  coaxing  girls  are  fair  ; 
The  rich  earth  teems  in  its  slopes  and  streams 

As  we  laugh  and  take  our  share. 

"T  is  good  to  move  in  the  level  groove — 

To  drink,  and  to  love — but  still 
Do  the  spring-tides  rise  in  the  moon's  white  eyes, 

And  her  sails  will  flap  and  fill ; 

And  the  sun  streaks  dim  on  the  water's  rim, 
With  the  heaving  miles  before, 

116 


THEY  HA  VE  BOUND  US. 

And  the  still  stars  beam  on  the  swirling  stream 
As  she  heels,  hull  down,  once  more. 

Aye,  her  yards  will  sway  on  the  inward  way, 

And  swing  on  the  outward  track, 
And  we  '11  haul  her  through  to  the  land-line  blue, 

And  we  '11  merrily  haul  her  back. 

Oh  I    her  blocks  may  creak    when   the    typhoons 
shriek 

As  the  white  surf  beats  ahead, 
But  we  '11  all  come  back  on  the  outward  track, 

Or  we  '11  all  be  damned  and  dead  ! 

By  the  gull's  white  breast  on  the  rising  crest 

Of  the  far,  unfathomed  sea  ; 
By  the  roll  and  dip  of  a  royal  ship, 

By  a  thousand  things  that  be  ; 

By  the  girls  we  love,  by  the  God  above, 
By  the  Surge,  and  the  Surf,  and  the  Wind, 

By  the  Sun  and  Air,  and  the  Death  we  dare, 
Is  the  charm  of  the  chains  that  bind. 

By  those  days  of  yore,  when  their  captain  swore 

In  the  beards  of  his  canoneers, 
By  the  steel  that  rang  in  the  battle  clang, 

And  the  shouts  of  our  privateers ; 

By  the  clean  back-stroke  in  the  rifted  smoke, 
When  the  grappling-irons  held 

117 


THEY  HAVE  BOUND  US. 

•By  the  right  arm  red  of  the  Rover,  dead 
In  the  fighting  years  of  Eld ; 

By  the  pirate's  flag,  where  the  mangroves  sag 

To  the  edge  of  the  dark  bayou, 
By  the  tale  and  song  of  the  Rover's  wrong, 

And  the  deeds  of  his  derring-do  ; 

By  those  black  eyes  bold  on  the  Coast  of  Gold, 

By  the  fire  of  the  Creole's  kiss, 
By  the  Hindoo  dance  and  the  French  girl's  glance, 

The  chain  of  our  bondage  is. 

Oh,  the  seas  that  roll  to  the  frozen  Pole 

In  the  bright  Aurora's  beam, 
And  the  seas  that  sleep  by  the  palm-clad  steep, 

Where  the  brown-skinned  beauties  dream  ; 

Oh,  the  waves  that  doze  where  the  Gulf  Stream  flows 
From  its  head  to  the  warm  Antilles 

Are  the  books  we  read  and  the  signs  we  heed, 
And  the  things  we  know  and  feel! 

And  the  Sea  's  our  place  from  around  Cape  Race 

To  the  bergs  of  Behring  Strait, 
And  we  've  Tokio  tied  to  the  Firth  o'  Clyde, 

With  a  hitch  of  the  Rio  Plate. 

We  have  swilled  sam-shu  with  the  Chinese  crew 
Of  a  swab-nosed  pirate  junk  ; 

ua 


THEY  HAVE  BOUND   US. 

We  have  seen  Ceylon  with  her  colours  on 
Go  mad  on  an  arrack  drunk  : 

We  have  heard  the  crash  of  the  lightning  flash 

In  the  dark  of  the  Indian  Sea, 
We  have  seen  men's  lives  cut  out  with  the  knives 

Of  the  treacherous  Portugee. 

We  have  made  our  call  where  the  ladies  tall 

Of  the  coral  islands  laze  ; 
We  have  known  Japan,  as  a  sailor  can; 

We  have  fooled  with  the  dark  Malays. 

We  are  burnt  and  brown,  with  our  lips  clewed  down 

By  the  salt  of  the  ocean  spume, 
We  are  hard  and  lean,  we  are  none  too  clean, 

And  the  tar  is  our  own  perfume ; 

But  we  've  come  to  drink  and  to  burst  our  jink 
With  the  girls  who  are  fair  and  free, 

If  we  pay  the  price  of  our  varied  vice 
When  she  skips  on  the  open  sea. 

Oh,  the  Spaniard  went  when  his  sails  were  bent, 
And  the  Dutchman  kissed  his  frau, 

And  the  days  were  good  when  they  built  of  wood 
What  they  build  of  iron  now. 

But  the  Dawn  will  red  and  the  Day  will  spread 
On  the  track  of  the  Rovers  old, 

119 


THEY  HA  VE  BOUND  US. 

Where  the  galleon  brave  to  her  seething  grave 
Lurched  down  with  the  Inca's  gold. 

And  the  sea  's  our  ground  from  the  Land's  End 
round 

To  the  sight  of  the  Golden  Gate, 
For  we  've  Tokio  tied  to  the  Firth  o'  Clyde, 

With  a  hitch  of  the  River  Plate. 

By  the  roll  and  dip  of  a  royal  ship 

Is  the  link  of  our  bondage  chain  ; 
By  her  dip  and  roll  from  the  frozen  Pole 

To  the  Indies — and  round  again  ! 


ISO 


J 


XXVI. 

HOW   JACK   BOWLIN   STEERED 
"JONES." 

(As  TOLD  BY  BARWON  JOE.) 

'ACK  BOWLIN  wuzthe  joker's  name, 

A  sailor  chap  wuz  'e, 
Who  left  his  ship,  the  Golden  Flame. 

To  run  away  from  sea. 
Jack  Bowlin  wuz  the  feller's  sign. 
No  greener  chap  I  do  incline 
To  think  you  'd  find  than  'e. 
'E  kem  to  graft  with  Bill  an'  me 

Last  week  at  Cockatoo. 
Sez  Bill  to  me,  "  I  bet,"  sez  he, 

We  '11  'ave  a  lark  or  two  : 
This  sailor  bloke,  what  smells  o'  tar. 
'E  '11  shortly  find  out  where  'e  are 

Along  o'  me  an'  you  1" 
Sez  I,  "  Ole  man,  that 's  true; 
We'll  put  this  joker  through." 

So  Bill  'e  went  an'  saddled  "  Jones," 

An'  whispered  in  'is  ear  : 
"  Don't  break  this  sailor's  bleedin'  bones, 

But  buck  'im  good  an'  clear." 
An'  "  Jones  "  'e  neighs  'is  cunning  neigh  : 
That  'orse  'e  knows  'is  blessed  way 

About,  you  need  n't  fear  ; 
"  Jones  "  was  n't  born  last  year, 
My  oath,  you  need  n't  fear. 

121 


HOW  JACK  BOWUN  STEERED  "JONES." 

'E  says  to  Jack,  sez  Bogan  Bill  : 

'•We  don't  get  paid  ter  sleep, 
So  mount  yer  'orse,  an"  then  we  will 

Go  out  and  count  them  sheep." 
When  Jack  sees  "  Jones  "  'e  turned  jist  red 
"  I  ain't  sailed  'orses  much,"  'e  said; 

"  His  decks  is  pretty  steep  ; 

Port  'ard  and  stiddy  keep 
Until  I  gets  aboard  1  "     An'  Jack 

'E  grips  the  stirrup  tight, 
An'  climbs  on  "  Jones's  "  blessed  back 

Wrong  foot  instead  of  right. 
Oh  1  Bill  an*  me  'ad  like  ter  die, 
For  "  Jones  "  'e  looked  as  meek  as  pie: 

'E  saw  the  joke  all  right. 

But  Jack  'e  faced  the  'orse's  tail, 
An'  as  'e  scratched  'is  'ead — 

"  I  'm  'anged  if  I  can  make  'im  sail 
Starn  fust  like  this,"  'e  said. 

An'  then  'e  turns  an'  shouts  to  us : 

"Say,  messmates,  'old  the  cuss 
Until  I  get  his  rudder-head ; 
I  'm  green  side  up  instead  o'  red !  " 
(Them  wuz  the  very  words  'e  said.) 

"  I  '11  get  about  I  "  but  "  Jones  "  'e  saw 

Twas  time  to  take  a  'and ; 
E  'ad  n't  studied  sailin'  law, 
But  '«  could  understand. 

122 


HOW  JACK  BOWLIN  STEERED  "JONES." 

'E  put  'is  'ead  between  'is  knees 

An'  chucked  towards  the  bloomin'  trees 

His  busted  belly-band — 

Oh !  "  Jones  "  could  understand. 

An'  then  'e  stood  stock  still,  till  Jack, 

Who  'd  took  a  flyin'  trip, 
In  'arf-a-'our  or  so  kem  back 

An'  lit  on  "  Jones's  "  hip. 
Jack  Bowlin's  face  was  pale  as  death, 
But  soon  as  'e  could  get  'is  breath 

He  shouts  :  "  Shove  off !     'Bout  ship  ! 

Hey  !    Let  'is  blank  bow-anchor  slip  !  " 

"  All  'ands  aloft  1  "    "  His  steerin'  gear 

Has  gone  to — Inverell !  " 

"  Jib-sheets    blowed    loose  !  " — slch    langwidge 
queer 

I  'm  dashed  if  I  could  tell. 
T  was  ' '  Stiddy  !    Hard-a-lee  1 
Wo-back,  you  silly  brute  I    Let  go  ! 
Port  helm !    Stand  clear  1    Wo,  Moses — wo ! 

Beam  seas  !  an'  blank  ground  swell !  " 

I  'm  dashed  if  I  could tell; 

No  more  could  Bill  as  well. 

"  Jones  "  'card  'is  captain  order  'im 

"  Go  'ard  ahead !  "  an'  went, 
An'  as  'e  struck  the  sunset's  rim 

His  blessed  back  unbent. 

123 


HOW  JACK  BOWLIN  STEERED  "  JONES." 

We  see  Jack  sailin'  through  the  sky, 
An'  may  I — strike  me  dry  I — 

If  we  know  where  'e  went ; 

We  never  got  no  scent 

Of  where  that  sailor  went. 

Poor  Jack,  'e  ain't  come  back  as  yet 

To  work  at  Cockatoo. 
'E 's  flyin*  still,  I  'm  game  to  bet, 

Acrost  the  'eavens  blue, 
Or  else  'e  's  got  'is  'arp  an'  crown, 
An'  thinks  'e  'd  better  not  come  down 

Till  "  Jones"  'as  shifted  through — 

T  is  maybe  better,  too. 

For  "  Jones  "  'as  never  moved,  I  swear. 

'Is  'ead  between  'is  knees  : 
That  cunnin'  'orse  is  bravin'  there 

The  battle  an'  the  breeze. 
'E  waits  all  day,  'e  waits  all  night, 
'E  waits,  no  doubt,  for  Jack  to  light — 

Oh  !  "  Jones  "  'is  duty  sees ; 

He  'II  brave  the  blessed  breeze  ; 

My  oath,  he  is  the  cheese. 


124 


XXVlt. 

A   RHYME   OF   THE   ROADS. 

THEY  slope  away  from  Greenwich 
To  Mother  Carey's  ground, 
The  routes  of  outward-going, 

The  tracks  of  homeward-bound  : 
From  Melbourne  pier  to  Plymouth 

In  level  miles  are  laid 
The  highways  of  the  waters, 
The  streets  and  lanes  of  trade. 

Though  no  man  marked  a  passage, 

Though  no  man  blazed  the  trees, 
That  other  feet  might  follow 

His  footsteps  on  the  seas  ; 
Though  no  man  lit  the  camp-fire, 

Or  carried  staff  and  chain, 
The  pathways  of  the  waters 

Were  ever  placed  and  plain ; 

With  here  and  there,  for  milestones, 

A  roving  sailor's  bones  ; 
Or,  by  some  coral  cross-roads, 

The  Inn  of  Davy  Jones, 
Where  rowdy  Jacks  make  revel 

And  drunken  pirates  roar — 
St.  Elmo's  lights  to  flicker 

Their  shadows  on  the  floor. 

Perchance  by  night  they  gather, 
A  grizzled  company, 

125 


A   RHYME   OF    THE  ROADS 

Who  bore  the  flags  of  Traffic 
And  War  across  the  Sea, 

To  count  the  glinting  moidores 
Deep-fathomed  where  they  lie, 

To  watch  the  cutlass  flashing 
And  drain  their  beakers  dry. 

The  silk-and-ruffle  gallants 

Of  Frobisher  and  Drake, 
The  brawling  men  of  Morgan, 

Mayhap  by  night  awake 
To  loot  the  Spaniard's  cargoes. 

To  lop  the  Frenchman's  ears, 
To  share  again  the  gleanings 

Of  Rotterdam  Mynheers. 

Oh,  what  gay  converse  making. 

They  meet  along  the  roads, 
These  friends  and  friendly  foemen 

Of  storied  episodes! 
These  simple,  pig-tailed  heroes, 

These  wags  of  Wapping  Stairs, 
These  rowdy-dowdy  ruffians — 

Fire-eaters  and  corsairs. 

The  loads  they  brought  and  carried 
Have  left  no  trace  of  wheels. 

No  track  of  stout  caragues 
Or  deep  Dutch  trader's  keels — 

126 


A   RHYME  OF   THE  ROADS. 

Of  galleons  full-freighted, 

Of  clumsy  brigantines, 
Or  jaunty  India  traders 

With  silks  and  bugazeens. 

But  they  have  trimmed  and  travelled 

From  Ganges-Mouth  to  Thames 
With  their  stout  hulls,  low  laden, 

Their  idols'  eyes  and  gems  ! 
They  scoured  the  Western  oceans, 

They  ploughed  the  Eastern  seas, 
To  sell  on  London  markets 

Their  spices  and  their  teas  1 

They  raced  for  cotton  cargoes 

To  merry  Mobile  Bay, 
And  out  of  Buenos-Ayres 

They  walked  in  brave  array, 
With  drums  and  bugles  sounding 

And  bouncing  cannonade, 
These  Arabs  of  the  ocean 

Rode  out  in  cavalcade  1 

Across  the  rolling  desert, 

And  haply  home  again, 
With  rum  and  sperm  and  spices, 

With  Yankee  pork  and  grain, 
They  trafficked  and  they  traded  ; 

And  wealth  was  any  man's 

127 


A  RHYME  OF   THE  ROADS. 

With  lust  of  wealth  to  courage 
His  white-sailed  caravans. 

Though  Time  shall  write  his  traces 

Upon  the  ways  of  men, 
The  ways  of  open  waters 

Are  even  now  as  then  ; 
But  where  the  sunrise  reddened 

Columbus'  creeping  sail, 
Now  whirls  her  great  propeller 

The  strong  Atlantic  mail. 

And  where  the  ships  of  Ophir 

Came  crawling  south'ard  slow 
Now  flaunts  in  pride  of  progress 

The  painted  P.  and  0.  ; 
Aye,  where  their  fearful  helmsman 

First  trimmed  his  lonely  light 
Ablaze  the  cargo  steamer 

Churns  onward  through  the  night. 

But,  circled  by  the  sunrise, 

And  spread  beyond  his  set, 
The  breezy  roads  and  bonny 

Are  rolling  bravely  yet  I 
Beneath  the  grand  expanses 

Of  guiding,  starlit  sky 
The  tracks  the  rovers  traveled 

Still  wide,  unbounded  lie. 

128 


A  RHYME  OF  THE  ROADS. 

And  till  old  Gabriel's  trumpet 

Shall  echo  overhead, 
And  from  their  place  of  biding 

Come  up  the  wakened  dead  ; 
Till  lost  ships  all  deliver 

Their  long-forgotten  loads, 
Still  will  they  shine  and  sparkb 

The  splendid  water-roads  I 


129 


XXVIII. 

ROLL   THE   COTTON   DOWN. 

T  T  7E  sing  no  song  of  Right  or  Wrong, 
y  Y      Or  War,  or  Fame,  or  Duty  ; 
Our  chanty  free  it  still  shall  be 

Of  ships,  and  beer,  and  beauty ; 
So  roll  the  cotton  down  ! 
The  Ocean  Pride  swings  with  the  tide — 
Oh,  roll  the  cotton  down  I 

Aye,  messmates  true  1     Kit's  eyes  are  blue, 

And  Bet 's  a  dainty  clipper — 
Black  brow,  red  lip,  one  day  we  '11  ship 
With  Cupid  for  our  skipper. 
Ho,  roll  the  cotton  down  I 
With  bridal  veils  to  be  our  sails. 
Yah,  roll  the  cotton  down  ! 

Long  nights,  long  days,  calm,  clear  and  haze, 

She  's  kicked  and  guttered  through  it ; 
A  racing  run,  storm,  wind  and  sun, 
And  men  to  drive  her  to  it. 

Now  roll  the  cotton  down  ! 
Our  fight  is  fought,  her  wharf-line  's  taut, 
We  'II  roll  the  cotton  down  ! 

Now  we  shall  eat  good,  fat,  fresh  meat, 
And  take  our  hard-won  pleasure  ; 

130 


ROLL  THE  COTTON  DOWN. 

Now  we  shall  laugh,  jest,  love,  and  quaff, 
And  sing  our  drunken  measure 

Of  "  Roll  the  cotton  down  !  " 
Our  mint  of  joy  may  prove — alloy, 

But  roll  the  cotton  down  ! 

True  sailors  we,  let  loose  from  sea, 
And  tavern-turned  and  townward  : 
Blear  aftermath  of  barren  path 
That  grades  life's  journey  downward. 

Bah,  roll  the  cotton  down  ! 
Let  care  go  sink — drink,  comrades,  drink ! 
And  roll  the  cotton  down  ! 

Before  our  days  they  walked  our  ways 

And  held  our  hot  emotions, 
Who  at  world's  gates  dared  Death  and  Fates 
And  opened  up  five  oceans. 

So  roll  the  cotton  down  ! 
All  damned  are  they  (as  we  some  day), 
But  roll  the  cotton  down ! 

Black  Bet 's  a  queen,  Kit's  eyes  a-sheen 

Are  deeper  than  blue  waters. 
Red  tides  of  Hell  I    Our  souls  we  'd  sell 
For  these  white  devil's-daughters. 

Hey,  roll  the  cotton  down ! 
"  You  love  me  true  ? ' '     Then  /  love  you. 
Oh,  roll  the  cotton  down  ! 

131 


ROLL   THE  COTTON  DOWN. 

Let  preachers  fault :  all  blood  is  salt, 

All  flesh  both  red  and  human. 
We  've  songs  to  sing,  we  've  hearts  to  fling 
Before  the  feet  of  woman. 
So  roll  the  cotton  down  ! 
Life's  pleasures  pass,  fill  up  your  glass, 
We  'II  roll  the  cotton  down, 
Cotton  down  ! 
Roll,  roll  the  cotton  down  I 


132 


XXIX. 

NETS   BELOW   THE   GANGWAY. 

FOR  the  grey-nurse  knows  the  barb-hook 
As  the  codfish  kens  the  line, 
And  the  bull-whale's  blood  is  fountained 

Where  the  dripping  lances  shine, 
And  the  clumsy  turbot  wriggles, 

And  the  fatted  herrings  leap 
When  the  heavy  nets  come  sweeping 
From  the  harvest  of  the  deep. 

There  are  trawls  for  deep-sea  dredging 

Where  the  Grimsby  smacksman  goes  ; 
There  are  Lim'riek  hooks  fine-pointed 

That  the  great  red  schnapper  knows  ; 
There  are  nets  for  shallow  waters, 

Where  the  brown  sand-mullet  be  ; 
But  the  net  below  the  gangway 

Is  the  net  for  you  and  me. 

So  they  "shoot  "  them  in  the  Hudson, 

In  the  Thames  and  at  the  Tay ; 
So  they  're  "  cast"  in  Sydney  Harbour 

And  in  San  Francisco  Bay. 
Oh,  the  net  below  the  gangway, 

It  is  sweeter  for  our  togs 
Than  the  slush  about  the  Bridges 

Or  around  the  Isle  of  Dogs. 

133 


NETS  BELOW  THE  GANGWAY. 

So  they  cast  'em  down  at  Plymouth, 

Where  the  water  's  deep  and  cool ; 
So  they  drop  'em  round  from  Melbourne 

To  the  wharves  of  Liverpool ; 
And  'tis  pleasant  to  remember, 

When  we  're  blind  and  cannot  see, 
That  the  net  below  the  gangway 

Is  awaiting  you  and  me. 

Oh,  't  is  better  that  we  gather 

In  the  meshes  of  the  "  trawls  " 
Where  a  drunken  shellback  flounders, 

Where  a  swearing  man-crab  sprawls—- 
Than the  bubbles  at  the  surface, 

Than  a  splashing  in  the  dark, 
Than  a  drag-hooked  boozer  bloated, 

Or  a  picnic  for  John  Shark. 

So  ye  rowdy,  roaring  devils, 

With  your  roaring,  rowdy  song, 
Hitch  your  trousers  to  your  jumpers, 

Say  "  Good-night  "  and  come  along 
With  your  vulgar  quids  a-turning, 

With  your  cutties  to  the  lip, 
And  a  net  below  the  gangway 

For  to  catch  ye  if  ye  slip  ! 

Little  lambs !  the  old  man  loves  us, 
And  he  's  loath  to  see  us  drown 


134 


NETS  BELOW  THE  GANGWAY. 

When  we  've  rolled  for  recreation 
With  our  sweethearts  round  the  town; 

For  she  's  grinding  on  her  fenders, 
And  your  head  's  a  rotten  spud 

That  she  'd  use  to  paint  the  wharf-piles 
With  a  streak  of  brains  and  blood. 

Oh,  the  owner  loves  the  master. 

And  the  master  loves  the  men, 
And  we  '11  take  it  as  we  find  it 

Till  we  fill  'em  up  again. 
So  "Old  Ranzo  was  a  tailor," 

And  he  ran  away  to  sea, 
And  the  net  below  the  gangway 

Will  be  kind  to  you  and  me. 


135 


XXX. 

"WHICH  HIS  WEAKNESS  IS  WOMEN." 

WHEN  first  I  met  Dolores 
I  swore — a  'prentice  kid — 
'Er  Spanish  eyes  was  glories  : 
Gord  'elp  me  1     So  I  did. 
But  that  was  Valparaiso, 
Before  1  got  to  know — 
Yes,  that  was  Valparaiso, 
An'  very  long  ago. 


Which  'is  weakness  is  women; 

Oh,  let  us  confess 
It  might  'ave  been  greater, 

'  T would  hardly  be  less. 
Two  sins  what  'e 'II  boast  of 

In  'Ell,  we  opine, 
Two  sins  what  'e  'II  roast  of— 
That 's  women — an'  wine. 

She  sipped  aguardiente, 
An'  she  was  hot  as  flame : 

I  loved  'er  good  an'  plenty — 
She  swore  she  did  the  same ; 

She  vowed  in  West  Coast  lingo, 
"Pordios!  luf  I  you," 

An'  left  me  for  a  gringo 
With  pesos  for  to  blue. 


WHICH  HIS  WEAKNESS  IS  WOMEN." 

Since  which  I  've  crossed  the  waters, 

To  spend  my  cash  an'  leave 
A-courtin'  of  the  daughters 

Of  good  ole  Mother  Eve ; 
Since  which  I  've  fooled  with  women, 

With  women  white  an'  brown, 
With  Dagoes  an'  she-devils 

From  'Amburg  to  Cape  Town. 

I  might  'ave  saved  my  money — 

God  knows  how  hard  't  was  won — 
But  this  is  certain,  sonny, 

A  chap  will  'ave  'is  fun. 
There  's  not  a  man  that 's  human — 

An'  men  ain't  stone  nor  wood — 
Who,  when  it  comes  to  woman, 

As  would  n't  if  he  could. 

If  1  could  'arp  like  David, 

As  always  'arped  in  tune, 
My  chanty  it  would  echo 

From  Rio  to  Rangoon, 
An'  places  intervenin' 

Some  answer  it  might  find, 
For  every  port  I  've  been  in 

I  've  left  my  love  be'ind  I 

Which  'is  weakness  is  ivomen — 
Oh,  let  us  confess 

137 


"  WHICH  HIS  WEAKNESS  IS  WOMEN.' 


It  might  have  been  greater, 
'  T  would  hardly  be  less, 

For  out  of  each  "undred 
There  "s  ninety  an"  nine 

Is  damned  and  condemned  for 
Said  women — an'  wine. 


138 


XXXI. 

A    BALLAD   OF  THE   FLAG. 


T 


HE  Lord  hath  loosed  his  thunder 
And  let  his  lightnings  free, 

And  in  a  red  robe  walketh 
With  Death  upon  the  Sea. 


Then  "  Clear  your  decks  for  action  I  '* 

Ye  will  not  fight  alone  : 
Your  quarter-decks  are  crowded 

With  Shades  of  high  renown. 

The  blood-and-iron  heroes 

Come  out  from  South  and  West, 

By  roaring  guns  reveilled 
From  their  immortal  rest. 

And  from  the  Dark  Sea  sailing 

The  fighting  English  lads 
Range  up  in  phantom  silence 

Before  the  ironclads. 

The  Deeper  Deep  hath  hearkened  : 
The  sleeping  Vikings  wake ; 

And  Nelson  hails  "  Good  morning" 
To  Captain  Francis  Drake. 

Now  Blake  has  left  the  Dutchman 
All  broken,  out  of  line  ; 


139 


K 


A   BALLAD  OF    THE  FLAG. 

Now  Rodney  comes  a-roving 
With  Rupert  of  the  Rhine. 

Now  brave  old  Benbow  chuckles, 
Now  Anson's  laughter  flows, — 

Lord  Howard  boweth  courtly 
To  Grenville  as  he  goes. 

Brave  Frobisher  hath  taken 
Bold  Hawkins  by  the  hand : 

Tom  Cavendish  is  toasting 
My  Lord  of  Cumberland. 

Now  Jervis,  stern  and  silent, 
Comes  scudding  from  the  Nore, 

With  Troubridge  hard  behind  him, 
And  half-a-hundred  more. 

From  out  the  silted  wreckage 

In  wide  Aboukir  Bay, 
From  off  the  shallow  Sandheads, 

From  Trinidad  away ; 

From  where  the  galleons'  bones  lie 
Along  the  Spanish  Main, 

A  sound  of  ghostly  cheering 
Is  echoed  out  again. 

They  come  in  silken  doublets, 
They  come  in  braid  and  gold, 

140 


A    BALLAD  OF   THE  FLAG. 

The  builders  of  an  Empire, 
In  derring  days  of  old. 

They  come  in  Bristol  galleys, 
With  mighty  sweep  of  oars , 

They  come  in  wooden  frigates 
To  guard  the  Devon  shores. 

And  some  have  iron  ordnance 
Be-named  of  English  maids, 

And  some  have  saucy  swivels 
And  burnished  carronades. 

And  some  are  scant  of  powder, 
And  some  are  scarce  of  food, 

But  none  have  lack  of  relish 
For  fighting  By  the  Rood ! 

How  can  your  hearts  be  craven  ? 

How  can  your  courage  fail 
When  twice  ten  thousand  heroes 

Sail  with  you  when  you  sail  ? 

For  when  you  serve  your  Armstrongs 
And  sight  them  at  the  mile 

You  '11  think  how  close  they  gathered 
At  sunset  on  the  Nile. 

For  when  the  bow-gun  crashes, 
And  when  the  broadside  roars, 


A  BALLAD  OF  THE  FLAG. 

You  '11  bear  in  mind  how  Nelsort 
Once  fought  his  Forty-fours. 

The  flag  that  floats  above  you-^ 

The  flag  that  Nelson  flew—- 
He nailed  it  to  his  topmast 
In  heritage  to  you! 

The  Lord  may  loose  his  thunder 
And  let  His  lightnings  free, 

The  flag  of  Drake  and  Nelson 
Shall  wave  triumphantly. 

Then  "  Clear  your  decks  for  action  ! 

The  fighting  English  lads 
Will  lay  their  guns  in  silence 

'Longside  the  ironclads. 

And  He  shall  leash  His  thunders 
And  home  His  lightnings  call, 

A  nd  leave  the  old  flag  flaunting 
Still  bravely  o'er  them  all. 


XXXII. 

YOU   AND    US. 

YOU  do  your  pioneering, 
You  clear  the  forest  lands  ; 
To  ploughing  and  to  shearing 

You  give  your  yeoman  hands  ; 
But  we  were  toilers  ever, 
And  we  were  exiles  ever — 
What  was,  it  yet  shall  be. 
We  found  the  way  down  under 
To  your  appointed  plunder  : 
We  opened  up  the  Sea ! 

Now,  what  was  Father  Noah 

Except  a  sailor-man  ? 
Yes,  who  was  Uncle  Noah  ? 

Just  tell  us,  if  ye  can. 
A  shellback,  hard  and  crusty, 
A  shellback,  rude  and  rusty, 

Who,  maybe,  could  n't  read. 
He  had  no  chart  or  compass — 
'Longshoremen  raised  that  rumpus — 

He  saved  the  human  breed. 

And  when  his  cruise  was  over, 

Say,  what  did  Noah  do  ? 
Like  any  good  old  rover, 

He  took  a  drink  or  two. 
He  'd  brought  his  great  tank  through  it, 

143 


YOU  AND  US. 


He  'd  drove  his  big  tub  through  it 

And  fetched  her  to  the  pier  ; 
So  when  he  'd  paid  their  wages — 
*T  is  logged  on  Bible  pages — 
He  went  upon  the  beer  ! 

You  talk,  you  talk  of  horses, 

Of  runnin'  brumbies  down, 
Of  fordin'  water-courses, 

An*  bein'  like  to  drown  ; 
You  boast  of  lonely  trampin', 
Of  sleepin'  out  an'  campin', 

Of  bravin'  wind  an'  cold, 
Of  meetin'  desert  dangers, 
Prospectin'  savage  ranges, 

An'  starvin'  after  gold. 

You  had  your  share  of  doin' — 

You  had  your  share  to  do — 
But  you  had  wives  for  wooin'. 

An'  homes  an'  kiddies  too. 
You  heard  the  chink  o'  glasses, 
You  heard  the  laugh  o'  lasses, 

Had  time  to  rest  and  play, 
To  let  your  racked  souls  borrow, 
In  promise  of  To-Morrow, 

Some  comfort  for  To-Day. 

But  Us  !  We  crouched  together 
'  Longside  the  weather-rail, 

144 


TOU  AND  US. 


An'  saw  the  howlin'  weather 

Slog  down  the  stingin'  hail ; 
We  heard  dark  Legions  shoutin* 
When  Davy  Jones  was  floutin' 
Our  souls — give  up  for  dead. 
With  brine-cut,  bleedin'  faces, 
We  manned  the  weather-braces 
When  You  were  safe  abed. 

We  shipped  with  old  Columbus, 

We  signed  with  Captain  Cook, 
To  make  the  Sea's  romances 

That  make  the  landsman's  book  ; 
For  we  were  toilers  ever, 
For  we  were  exiles  ever, 

To-Day  and  Yesterday. 
You  toil — and  there  you  've  said  it 
You  toil — and  that 's  your  credit , 

But  Us  !    We  show  the  way, 

We  found  the  Western  highways 

That  opened  up  the  East ; 
We  left,  along  its  by-ways, 

Our  bones  for  sharks  to  feast ; 
And  when  they,  later,  wanted 
Dare-devil  dogs  undaunted 

To  head  for  Hindostan, 
With  cutlass  sharp  and  handy, 
We  worked  and  wore  the  dandy 

East-India  merchantman. 

145 


YOU  AND  US. 


We  cruised  with  Bass  and  Flinders, 

Boscawen  knew  us  well 
Before  the  smoke  and  cinders 

Of  ocean  liners  fell. 
Magellan  sometimes  praised  us— 
The  sea-girt  Earth  that  raised  us 

Was  not  so  narrow  then — 
And  Dampier  often  told  us, 
Though  Satan  bought  and  sold  us, 

That  we  were  proper  men. 

We  know  the  Nor'-West  waters 

Where  spouts  the  bottle-nose, 
Up  where  the  seal-man  slaughters 

For  furs  among  the  floes ; 
We  know  the  Straits  o'  Behrin', 
We  know  the  place  of  herrin', 

The  codfish  banks  know  we  ; 
We  've  seen  the  dugong  swimming, 
We  've  seen  the  cow-whale  trimming 

Her  great  flukes  in  the  sea. 

You  fight  with  Death,  and  ever 

You  get  the  corn  and  oil ; 
We  fight  with  Death  forever, 

But  Death  is  all  our  spoil ; 
And  to  our  combat's  fitness 
Let  weed  and  coral  witness, 

Dark  coasts  and  darker  waves  : 
Wrack  1  thirst  I   gaunt  wretches  raving 

146 


YOU  AND  US. 


Blood-mad,  alone,  death-craving; 
Lost  hopes  and  unmarked  graves ! 

Despair  has  been  our  master, 

The  winds  our  enemies  ; 
We've  hobnobbed  with  Disaster 

And  slept  with  Mysteries  ; 
Storm-flogged  and  starved  and  stinted, 
For  pay  hot  coin  fresh-minted 

By  Beelzebub  below ! 
Fresh  scenes  and  fleeting  blisses, 
Deep  drinks  and  quick,  hot  kisses — 

"  Heave  up!  "  "  Good-bye  1  "  and  go. 

You  plough  the  lands  we  find  you  ; 

You  burn  some  powder,  too  ; 
But,  when  your  work  's  behind  you, 

You  rest  and  take  your  due  ; 
But  we  are  toilers  ever, 
And  we  are  exiles  ever — 

'Twas  foretime,  'twill  be  thus. 
You  get  the  virgins,  brothers  ! 
We  get,  God  wot — the  others ! 

Your  cast-offs  come  to  Us. 

You  make  your  women  mothers  ; 
'Ti's  right,  'fore  God,  the  others 

Should  derelict  to  Us. 
For  you  the  chink  of  glasses, 
The  homes,  the  bairns,  the  lasses  ; 

Your  leavings,  dregs,  for  Us. 

147 


XXXIlt. 

HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

WITH  tallow  casks  all  dunnaged  tight,  with 
tiers  on  tiers  ol  bales, 
With  cargo  crammed  from  hatch  to  hatch, 

she  's  racing  for  the  sales  ; 
A  clipper  barque,  a  model  ship,  a  "  flyer  "  through 

and  through, 

0  skipper  bluff  I  0  skipper  brave  1  1  would  1  went 
with  you ! 

T  is  turn  of  tide,  't  is  time  to  sail,  the  flood  is  out- 
ward flowing ; 

Another  glass,  another  shake,  and  then,  my  lads, 
for  going  1 

Black  eyes  'long  shore  beam  bright  farewell,  blue 
eyes  with  tears  grow  bonny — 

Around  the  capstan  head  we  go — "Yo-hol  "  and 
"Whisky  Johnny  1  " 

He  swings  her  round — The  Ocean  Belle — in  slow  and 

stately  way  ; 
Her   house-flag    flutters   main-truck   high ;    she  's 

heading  down  the  bay. 
Then  as    his    hawser    slacks   and  strains,    whilst 

wharf-men  cheer  and  shout, 
'Midst  bo's'n's  pipe  and  captain's  curse,  the  tugboat 

hauls  her  out. 

148 


HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

'Tis  "Good-bye,   Sis  1  "  and  "Good-bye,   Sal!" 

and  "  Good-bye,  Liz  and  Polly!  " 
Good-bye  to  all  the  girls  ashore,  and  all  a  sailor's 

folly  I 
Blue  Peter  flies  ;  the  hatches  down  ;  our  boys  have 

spent  their  money  ; 
"  Stand  by,  my  lads,    to  ease  her   lines  I    Stand 

by  1  " — and  "  Whisky  Johnny  1  " 

Her  sails  were  bent  ten  days  ago ;   her  decks  are 

scrubbed  and  clean, 
Her  spars  are  white  as  seagull's  breast,  her  hull  is 

painted  green, 
Her  blocks  are  greased  to  run  with  ease,  her  yards 

swing  easy  too — 
The  time  is  short,  the  way  is  long — she  has  her  work 

to  do ! 

The  tide  has  turned,  the  wind  is  fair,  the  joys  of 

land  are  over — 
Whilst  ships  are  made  to  roll  the  seas,  poor  Jack 

shall  be  a  rover. 
So   sweethearts   dark    and  sweethearts   fair,    look 

blithely  sad  and  bonny, 
And  wave  your  handkerchiefs  once  more — Heigh, 

ho  !  and  "  Whisky  Johnny  !  " 

He  's  cast  his  lines  ;  the  tug  's  about — her  master 
shouts  "  Good-bye  !  " 

149 


HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

Now  some  will  sulk  and  some  will  laugh,  but  one 

mayhap  will  sigh, 
As  from  the  ratlines  glancing  round,  a  second  as 

she  swings, 
He  sees  the  land  to  starboard  lie  and   thinks — of 

foolish  things  I 

Tis   homeward  bound  I    'tis  homeward   bound  1 

We  've  done  by  now  with  grieving, 
For  underneath  our  feet  we  feel  the  Old  Eternal 

heaving  ; 
So  lend  a  hand  to  loosen  sail,  and  dry  your  eye 

there,  sonny  1 
The  girls  ahead  are  just  as  fair — "  Wey,  ho  1  "  and 

"  Whisky  Johnny  !  " 

Oh,  when  he  crams  the  canvas  on,  and  shapes  his 

course  away, 
She  dips  and  dives  and  shakes  herself,  like  sea-bird 

at  her  play ; 
She  riots  like  a  wilful  child  from  punishment  set 

free 
To  feel  beneath  her  buoyant  keel  the  open,  joyous 

sea. 

For  "  Homeward  Bound  !  "  for  "  Homeward 
Bound  !  "  the  breeze  itself  is  singing, 

And  fore-and-aft,  through  shrouds  and  lines,  the 
melody  goes  ringing  : 

150 


HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

She  gathers  speed — "  More  sail !  "  he  cries  ;  and 

as  he  claps  it  on  he 
Sings  softly  to  the  ship  he    loves,   the  strain   of 

"  Whisky  Johnny!  " 

Hull  down,  at  dusk — The  Ocean  Belle — and  ere  the 

dark  afar, 
A  line  of    foam   upon    her  wake,   she   hails    the 

Evening  Star  ; 
A  watchful  shark  on  guard  astern,   a  porpoise  at 

her  bow, 
An  albatross  to  lead  the  way — she 's  cutting  through 

it  now  ! 

The   waves  may  roll,    the  winds  may  rant,    the 

hungry  sharks  may  follow — 
On  hills  of  water  she  may  pitch,  in  holes  of  water 

wallow  ; 
But  on  her  course  she  yet  will  keep,  that  gallant 

barque  and  bonny, 
Until  the   dockers  hear  the  ring  of   "Wey-hey! 

Whisky  Johnny  !" 

The  last  to  leave  of  eight  or  ten,  the  first  to  sight 

the  Nore, 
She  beats  the  record  homeward  bound,  she  leads 

the  fleet  once  more  ; 
And  won't  the  skipper  greet  his  friends,  and  won't 

the  agents  cheer! 

151 


HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

And  when  her  lines  are  fast  again,  oh,  won't  it  flow 
— the  beer ! 

To  Cousin  Sis  and  Cousin  Sal,  and  pretty  Kate  and 

Polly, 
To  all  the  Jews  and  "  seamen's  friends,"  and  all 

the  messmates  jolly, 
To  foaming  pints  and  cosy  fires  and  waiting  blue 

eyes  bonny, 
She  "paddles  in"  with  joyous  Hit  of    'Wey-ho! 

Whisky  Johnny  J  " 


153 


XXXIV. 

THE   PEOPLE  OF  THE   GATES. 

THE  Great  God  sate  in  His  council 
On  the  arch  of  a  rainbow  span, 
With  the  white  Archangel  Michael 

And  Peter  the  Fisherman. 
In  the  court  of  Anointed  Martyrs, 

In  the  place  of  the  Shining  Host, 
He  spake,  with  the  Voice  of  Voices, 
A  speech  of  the  Holy  Ghost : — 

"  I  will  portion  the  lands  to  my  peoples, 

The  Earth  will  I  share  them  anew, 
To  hold  with  the  bowstring  and  powder, 

To  keep  with  the  marrow  and  thew ; 
And  they  that  are  strong  shall  be  stronger 

And  they  that  are  weak — let  them  go  ! 
For  this  is  the  Word  of  My  Father, 

And  I  have  uttered  it  so.  " 

The  Great  God  called  to  His  peoples  ; 

The  breath  of  the  Spirit's  mouth, 
It  shifted  them  outward  and  onward, 

It  scattered  them  north  and  south. 
The  hail  and  the  frost  behind  them, 

With  Hunger  and  Death  to  fare, 
They  marched  in  the  track  of  the  Eagle, 

They  came  in  the  trail  of  the  Bear. 

153 


THE  PEOPLE  OF   THE  GATES. 

Then  the  harp  of  the  Angel  sounded 

The  song  of  the  Nation's  feet, 
And  the  battle  hymns  of  the  peoples 

Came  up  to  the  Council  seat. 
But  out  from  his  place  stood  Peter : 

"  O  Lord,  if  my  speaking  please, 
Thou  hast  given  the  lands  to  the  peoples, 

But  what  wilt  Thou  do  with  the  Seas  ? ' 

But  simply  the  Lord  made  answer : 

"  It  was  even  the  same  with  thee 
When  thou  stood'st  in  the  Hall  of  Pilate, 

Three  times  denying  me  ! 
Behold  how  the  lands  are  portioned, 

To  each  as  he  liketh  best ; 
But  here  be  a  little  people 

Have  taken  the  Isles  of  the  West. 

"  The  others  have  chosen  and  tarried, 

And  he  that  is  weak  let  him  fall ; 
The  others  shall  take  from  each  other. 

But  these  they  shall  take  from  them  all! 
For  strong  in  the  thew  and  the  marrow, 

And  richer  in  daring  be  these  ; 
Their  neighbours  have  gotten  the  places, 

But  they  have  gotten  the  Seas  ! 

"  The  others  have  builded  and  waited, 
But  these  will  abide  by  their  keels, 

154 


THE  PEOPLE  OP   THE  GATES. 

To  set  on  the  heels  of  the  oceans 
The  empire  and  sign  of  their  seals. 

Let  theirs  be  the  right  of  the  waters, 
Let  theirs  be  the  keys  of  the  straits, 

For  they  are  a  hardy  people 
Who  sit  at  the  Western  gates  1  " 

Thus  spake  the  Lord  in  his  Council, 

In  the  Hall  of  the  shining  Host, 
Who  spake  with  a  Voice  of  Voices 

The  speech  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
That  they  who  were  strong  shall  be  stronger, 

That  they  who  were  little  should  grow, 
Still  holding  the  Seas  in  their  keeping  : 

Our  Lord  He  hath  written  it  so. 


155 


Printed  by  Butler  &  Tanner  l-'roine  and  London 


A   CATALOGUE 
OF  BOOKS 


PUBLISHED    BY 

THOMAS    C.   LOTHIAN, 

226,  Little    Collins  St., 

MELBOURNE. 


All  prices  in  this  Catalogue  are  Net. 

JUNE,  1909. 


THOMAS    C.    LOTHIAN,    MELBOURNE 


THE  NUGGET   BOOKLETS. 

3  Series  of  Reprints  from  the  World's  Literature. 

Daintily  printed,  generally  in  two  colours,  with  attractive  art  covers,     gd.  each. 
Also  bound  in  enduring  green  ooze  leather,  zs.  6d.     Postage  id. 

"  Are  daintily  printed  and  intelligently  compiled." — The  Bulletin. 
"The  handy  and  neat  Nugget  Booklets."- — The  Register. 

1.  MAXIMS  AND  MORAL  REFLECTIONS  OF  THE  DUKE  DE  LA 

ROCHEFOUCAULD  (from  the  French). 

2.  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE   GOLDEN    CALF.      A    book    of   Witty 
Thoughts. 

3.  NAKED    TRUTHS    AND    VEILED    ALLUSIONS.     Touching    the 
passions,  the  tastes,  the  humours,  and  the  weaknesses  of  men  and  women. 
On  Australian-made  paper. 

4.  OMAR    KHAYYAM,  translated  by  EDWARD  FITZGERALD.     With 
introduction.     On  Australian-made  paper.     This  edition  contains  those 
stanzas  that  Swinburne  declared  were  "  the  Kernel  of  the  Whole." 

"  A  booklet  which  will  be  welcome  to  many." — The  Herald. 
"To  be  preferred  to  English  editions." — The  Bookfellow. 

5.  UNTO  THIS  LAST,  by  JOHN  RUSKIN. 
With  Introduction  by  Mr.  H.  H.  Champion. 

6.  SWEETHEARTS  AND    BEAUX,   wherein   you    may   learn   what 
tricks  the  Archer  plays,  and  so,  being  fore-armed,  grow  Wise. 

7.  THE  WISDOM  OF  THE  FOOLISH  AND  THE  FOLLY  OF  THE 

WISE,  Criticising  the  Fads  and  Follies  of  Society. 

"Got  up  and  printed  in  the  usual  attractive  manner." — The  Gadfly. 

8.  NEW  THOUGHTS  AND  OLD  NOTIONS. 

A  pocket-book  of  cheerful  wisdom.     Get  one,  and  be  happy. 

9.  THE    SUPREME   LITERARY  GIFT,  by  T.  G.  TUCKER,  Litt.D., 
Professor  of  Classical  Literature  in  University,  Melbourne. 

The  principles  of  Literary  Criticism,  a  contribution  to  the  foundation 
of  a  correct  taste. 

"This  masterly  treatise." — The  Register. 

"  A  valuable  and  stimulating  contribution." — The  Woman. 

10.  THE  MAKING  OF  A  SHAKESPEARE,  by  T.  G.  TUCKER,  Litt.D., 
Professor  of  Classical  Literature  in  University,  Melbourne. 


HOW  TO  HANDLE  A  CUSTOMER,  AND  OTHER  HELPS  TO 
MODERN  BUSINESS,  by  "  One  Who  Knows."  Uniform  with  Nugget 
Booklets.  Price  gd.  ;  postage  id. 


THOMAS  C.  LOTHIAN,  MELBOURNE 


Recommended    for   use   by  the    Educational    Departments  of 
Victoria  and  Tasmania. 

THE  USEFUL  BIRDS  OF  SOUTHERN  AUSTRALIA,  by  R.  HALL, 
F.L.S.  Crown  8vo,  full  of  illustrations,  312  pages.  Price  35. 6d. ;  postage 
$d.  A  comprehensive  and  popular  book  on  the  haunts  and  habits  of 
Australian  birds.  An  ideal  book  to  place  in  any  boy's  hands. 

"  Mr.  Hall's  careful  treatment  of  the  subject." — Nature. 
"  A  useful  book  on  an  important  subject." — The  Zoologist. 


GLIMPSES  OF  AUSTRALIAN  BIRD  LIFE,  being  a  dainty  booklet  of 
31  original  and  unique  photographs  taken  from  actual  birds  in  their 
native  haunts  by  A.  C.  MATTINGLEY  and  others.  Descriptive  notes 
by  ROBERT  HALL,  F.L.S.  Price  is.  ;  postage  id.  Third  thousand. 

"  An  excellent  souvenir  to  send  to  naturalists  in  other  lands." — Vic.  Naturalist. 
"  Unique  camera  work." — The  Emu. 

KEY  TO  THE  BIRDS  OF  AUSTRALIA,  by  ROBERT  HALL,  F.L.S. 
A  scientific  work  dealing  clearly  with  the  classification  and  geographical 
distribution  of  Australian  species.  Price  55.  ;  postage  6d. 


Recommended  by   the    Educational    Department  of 
New    South    Wales. 

A  GUIDE  TO  THE    STUDY  OF  AUSTRALIAN    BUTTERFLIES,   by 

W.  J.  RAINBOW,  F.L.S.,  F.E.S.,  Entomologist  to  the  Australian  Museum, 
Sydney.  300  pages  Crown  8vo,  over  250  illustrations,  and  a  fine  three- 
colour  frontispiece  (reproduced  direct  from  four  brilliant  Butterflies). 
Price  35.  6d.  ;  postage  6d.  A  thoroughly  scientific,  yet  popular  work 
for  all  who  desire  a  knowledge  of  Australian  Rhopaloceran  Fauna. 

"  An  Australian  scientific  classic." — The  Register. 

"  A  model  of  arrangement  and  sound  work." — Publisher's  Circular. 

"  A  useful  little  book  .  .  .  Very  well  executed." — Nature. 


MOSQUITOES  :     THEIR   HABITS   AND    DISTRIBUTION,   by   W.    J. 
RAINBOW,    F.L.S.,    F.E.S.,    Entomologist    to    the    Australian    Museum, 
Sydney.     A  neat  booklet  of  64  pp.,  well  illustrated,  dealing  with  this 
interesting  pest  and  its  extermination.     Price  is.  6d.  ;   postage  id. 
"  A  valuable  contribution  to  nature  study." — The  Herald. 

VICTORIAN  HILL  AND  DALE  :  A  Series  of  Geological  Rambles, 
by  T.  S.  HALL,  M.A.,  D.Sc.,  Lecturer  in  Biology  in  the  University  of 
Melbourne.  208  pages,  with  40  origi.ial  photographs.  Price  35.  6d.  ; 
postage  6d. 

This  is  a  most  interesting  and  unique  volume  and  one  that  will  appeal 
to  and  stimulate  all  readers.  The  matter  is  fresh  and  clearly  written.  No 
geological  knowledge  is  pre-supposed,  and  only  popular  terms  are  used, 


THOMAS  C.  LOTHIAN,  MELBOURNE 


THE  ELEMENTS  OF  ANIMAL  PHYSIOLOGY,  by  W.  A.  OSBORNE, 
M.B.,  D.Sc.,  Professor  of  Physiology  in  the  University,  Melbourne. 
152  pages,  64  illustrations.  Price  6s.  ;  postage  $d. 

In  this  book  an  attempt  has  been  made  to  give  an  elementary  account 
of  physiology  from  the  standpoint  of  the  mammal  and  with  special 
reference  to  man  and  the  domestic  animals.  It  is  hoped  that  it  may 
function  as  a  text-book  intermediate  between  the  primer  and  the  special 
manual  of  human  or  veterinary  physiology,  and  therefore  be  of  use  to 
students  of  medicine,  veterinary  science,  and  agriculture.  As  the  techni- 
cal terms  employed  are  all  denned,  and  as  no  presumption  is  made  that  the 
reader  has  studied  chemistry  or  physics,  the  book,  it  is  also  hoped,  may 
be  read  with  profit  by  others  who  may  not  be  entering  upon  a  definite 
course  of  professional  study. 

In  the  appendix  a  number  of  biochemical  data  are  given  for  the  sake 
of  those  who  have  some  chemical  knowledge. 


A  CHARnilNG  BOOK  TOR  NATURE  LOVERS. 

FROM  RANGE  TO  SEA  :  A  Bird  Lover's  Ways,  by  CHARLES  BARRETT. 
With  a  special  preface  by  DONALD  MACDONALD.  A  beautiful  booklet, 
dealing  in  a  sympathetic  manner  with  Nature  as  seen  and  felt  by  the 
author  on  his  rambles.  Printed  on  art  paper,  and  illustrated  by  40 
original  photographs  taken  by  Mr.  A.  H.  E.  MATTINGLEY.  Price  is.  ; 
postage  id.  Australian  ooze  calf,  35.  6d. 

"  A  harmonious  soliloquy  among  the  birds  .  .  .  contains  a  good  deal  of  valuable 
material." — Museum  Journal  (London). 


ROUND    THE    WORLD,    by    an    Australian     Native.        Price    15. ; 
'postage,  id.     An  instructive  and  fresh  account  of  an  Australian's  trip 
round  the  world.  64  pages,  art  paper,  with    nearly  fifty  photographs. 
A  book  to  be  read  by  all. 

"  A  chatty  and  interesting  one." — Western  Mail. 

"  An  informative  account  of  a  bushman's  trip." — The  Bulletin. 


GOOD  POETRy  B7  AUSTRALIAN 
POETS. 

"  THE  SILENT  LAND  "  AND  OTHER  VERSES,  by  BERNARD  O'DowD, 
Author  of  "  Dawnward  ?  "  "  Dominions  of  the  Boundary."  A  neat 
booklet  of  64  pages,  antique  paper.  Price  is.  ;  postage  id. 

"  The.most  arresting  work  of  the  younger  generation  is  that  of  Mr.  Bernard  O'Dowd." 
— The  Times  (London). 

•'DOMINIONS  OF  THE  BOUNDARY,"  by  BERNARD  O'Dowo. 
64  pag^s,  art  cover.  Price  is.  ;  postage  id. 

"  Mr.    Bernard    O'Dowd  stands  alone  among  modern   Australian   poets." — The 
Spectator  (London). 

4 


THOMAS  C.  LOTHIAN,  MELBOURNE 


"  DAWNWARD  ?  "  by  BERNARD  O'DowD,  Author  of  "  The  Silent 
Laud  "  and  "  Dominions  of  the  Boundary."  Price  zs.  6d.  ;  postage  j,d. 

"The  best  book  of  verses  yet  produced  in  Australia." — T.  G.  TUCKER,  Litt.D., 
Professor  of  Classical  Literature,  University  of  Melbourne. 

"  THE  SEVEN  DEADLY  SINS,"  a  sonnet  series.  By  BERNARD  O'Dowo. 
Price  35.  CM!,  ;  postage  id. 

"  THE  LABORATORY  "   AND  OTHER  VERSES,  by  W.  A.  OSBORNE. 

Small  Quarto,  Antique  paper,  printed  in  two  colours. 

Price  2s.  6d.  ;  postage  zd.  A  small  collection  of  fugitive  verses  by 
one  who  is  occupied  in  scientific  pursuits. 

"  Technique  almost  perfect,  a  command  of  varied  styles,  grace,  restraint." — The 
Register. 

' '  THE  WAYS  OF  MANY  WATERS "  AND  OTHER  VERSES,  by 
EDWIN  J.  BRADY.  Second  Edition.  Crown  8vo.  Illustrated  through- 
out by  ALEX.  SASS.  Price  35.  6d.  ;  postage  4^.  A  reprint  of  this  breezy 
volume  of  Sea  Verse  and  Chanteys  which  have  won  such  favourable 
notice. 

"  POEMS  OF  LOVE,  LIFE,  AND  SENTIMENT,"  by  ELLA  WHEELER 
WILCOX.  A  large  Crown  8vo  volume,  containing  the  best  poems  written 
by  this  wonderful  American.  Handsome  two-colour  cover.  Price  is.  6d.  ; 
postage  2d.  Also  bound  in  attractive  cloth.  Price  2s.  6d.  ;  postage  $d. 

"  LYRICS  IN  LEISURE,"  by  DOROTHY  FRANCES  McCRAE  (Mrs.  C.  E. 
PERRY).    Antique  paper,  84  pages,  white  art  cover.     Price  is.  ;  postage  id. 
A  delightful  and  dainty  volume  of  poems  that  will  charm  and  greatly 
delight  all  its  readers. 

"  THE  LAMP  OF  PSYCHE,"  by  JOHANNES  ANDERSON.  120  pp., 
Crown  8vo.  Antique  paper,  art  paper  cover.  Price  as.  6d.  ;  postage  zd. 

"  I  consider  that  '  The  Lamp  '  is  a  lofty,  inspiring,  gently  harmonious,  and  well- 
sustained  piece  of  work,  and  a  welcome  addition  to  good  Australian  poetry." — BERNARD 
O'Down  in  The  Socialist. 

"  MOODS    AND    MELODIES,"    SONNETS   AND    LYRICS,    by   MARY 

E.  FULLERTOX.      An  attractive    booklet  of  64   pages.     Antique  paper. 
Price  is. ;  postage  id. 

"  Cultured,  artistic  and  neatly  turned  lyrics  .  .  .  sonnets  always  skilfully  wrought 
and  fine  in  feeling." — Scotsman. 
"  Contain  many  striking  lines." — Spectator  (London). 

AUSTRALIAN  TALES  AND  VERSES,  by  P.  STEWART.  Second  edition 
now  ready.  Art  paper  cover,  price  is.  ;  cloth  cover,  price  zs.  6d. 

"  The  book  right  through  is  of  a  lofty  tone.  Mr.  Stewart  has  evidently  set  before 
him  a  high  ideal,  and  he  has  attained  it." — Review  of  Reviews. 


THOMAS  C.  LOTHIAN,  MELBOURNE 


"  SEA  AND  SKY,"  by  J.  LE  GAY  BRERETON.    Small  Quarto.     Edition 
limited  to  500  copies.     Price  35.  6d. 

"  One  of  the  most  purely  poetical  volumes  yet  produced  in  Australia." — The  Worker. 

"  Such  careful  work,  so  delicately  done,  is  a  rare  portent  in  our  vague  Australian 
sky."— The  Bulletin. 

"  There  is  nothing  whatever  in  it  about  horses  .  .  .  re3ects  no  little  credit  upon 
the  condition  of  poetical  culture  in  Melbourne,  and  should  be  read  with  a  hearty  interest 
by  lovers  of  poetry  anywhere." — The  Scotsman. 

"  EGMONT,"  by  HUBERT  H.  CHURCH.     Crown  8vo,  price  35.  6d. 

"  The  real  thing  is  there,  speaking  direct  from  the  heart  of  the  writer  to  the  heart 
of  the  reader  .  .  .  originality  as  well  as  charm.  .  .  .  He  is  a  real  poet  with  a  poet's 
insight,  and  a  poet's  faith  in  the  great  things  of  the  Unseen." — Otago  Daily  Witness. 

"  True  poetry  .  .  .  deep  earnest  thought  ...  in  him  New  Zealand  possesses  a 
poet  of  whom  she  may  well  be  pleased." — New  Zealand  Times. 

"  A  real  poet  ...  to  be  judged  by  high  standard." — Adelaide  Register. 

"  Melodious  and  sincere." — Argus. 

"...  his  masculine  intellectual  strength  is  making  his  work  memorable" — Christ- 
church  Press. 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  ROSE.  An  Illustrated  Quarterly  for  those 
who  love  inspiration  and  imagination  in  literature.  The  first  number 
appeared  on  December  9,  1907,  entitled  "  The  Heart  of  the  Rose,"  and 
was  quickly  bought  up.  This  number  is  now  sold  at  an  advanced  price. 
No.  2,  "  The  Book  of  the  Opal,"  appeared  on  March  9.  The  third  number 
is  entitled  "  The  Shadow  on  the  Hill,"  and  No.  4,  "  Fire  o'  the  Flame," 
is  now  on  sale  at  all  booksellers.  The  four  numbers,  price  55.  post  free. 

"  One  finds  in  the  little  magazine  many  things  of  interest,  and  some  things  of  real 
beauty  .  .  .  this  latest  of  Melbourne  magazines  deserves  a  warm  welcome." — "  Elzevir," 
The  Argus. 

ROSEMARY,  THAT'S  FOR  REMEMBRANCE,  of  ELENOR  MORDAUNT, 
Author  of  "  The  Garden  of  Contentment."  Crown  8vo,  204  pages. 
Price  35.  6d.  ;  postage  4^. 

THE  ENEMIES  OF  LITERATURE,  by  WALTER  MURDOCH.  A  delight- 
ful Literary  Essay  given  to  the  Literature  Society  of  Melbourne  by  the 
President.  Price  is.  ;  postage  id. 

"  Will  deserve  the  wider  publicity  it  will  now  receive." — Advertiser,  S.A. 

ALEXANDER  SUTHERLAND,  M.A.     A  reprint  of  an  address  given 
to    the    Australian    Literature    Society    by    HENRY    GYLES    TURNER. 
Price  is.  ;  postage  id.     An  attractive  booklet  of  36  pages,  art  cover. 
"Sympathetic  and  tender." — The  Woman. 


A  VOLUP1E  OF  CLEVERNESS. 

JETSAM,  by  EMMIE  ROBB.  A  dainty  and  fresh  booklet,  printed  in 
two  colours  on  art  paper,  tied  with  silk  ribbon.  A  charming  produc- 
tion. Price  is.  ;  postage  id. 

"  Marked  by  originality,  and  its  form  is  charming." — The  HerM. 
6 


THOMAS  C.  LOTHIAN,  MELBOURNE 


A  COMPLETE  COURSE  IN  HYPNOTISM. 

PRACTICAL  LESSONS  IN  HYPNOTISM,  by  Dr.  W.  W.  COOK,  A.M., 

M.D.,  containing  Complete  Instructions  in  the  Development  and  Practice 
of  Hypnotic  Power,  including  much  valuable  information  in  regard  to 
Mental  Healing,  Mind  Reading,  and  other  kindred  subjects.  The 
chapters  include  :  Philosophy  of  Hypnotism — Qualifications  of  a  Hypno- 
tist— Qualifications  of  a  Subject — Favourable  and  Unfavourable  Influ- 
ences— Precautions  to  be  observed — How  to  Hypnotise — Degrees  of 
Hypnosis — Clairvoyance — Self-Hypnotism  and  Auto-Suggestion — Acci- 
dental Development  of  Hypnotic  Power — The  Hypnotist's  Secret — 
Developing  a  Subject — Animal  Magnetism  and  Magnetic  Healing — 
Overcoming  Habits  by  Hypnotism — Criminal  Hypnotism — Hypnotism 
and  Disease — Anaesthesia  during  Hypnosis — Hypnotism  and  the  Insane 
— Hypnotising  Animals — Hypnotism  in  Business  and  Society — Hypno- 
tism in  the  Professions — General  Hypnotic  Influence — Post- Hypnotism 
— Awakening  a  Subject — Mind  Reading  and  Telepathy — Hypnotic 
Miscellany — Self-Anaesthesia — Method  of  Producing  Hypnosis,  etc.,  etc. 
All  complete  in  one  illustrated  book.  Price  55.;  postage  $d. 


AN  INDISPENSABLE  BOOK   TOR  EVERY  BUILDER, 
CONTRACTOR,  OR  ARCHITECT. 

AUSTRALIAN    BUILDING    ESTIMATOR.     A   Text   Book    of   Prices, 

by  WALTER  JEFFRIES.  320  pages,  strongly  bound  in  cloth,  Crown  8vo, 
with  full  tables  and  index.  7s.  6d.  ;  postage  5^.  This  book  is  written 
by  a  practical  man,  who  has  had  wide  and  varied  experience  in  the  build- 
ing world  of  more  than  one  Australian  State.  The  volume  is  most  com- 
prehensive and  complete.  His  own  knowledge  of  the  requirements  of 
the  trade  is  supplemented  on  many  points  by  the  advice  and  assistance 
received  from  many  specialistic  and  professional  friends,  making  the 
book  one  that  no  Builder,  Contractor,  or  Architect  can  afford  to  be 
without. 


A  POPULAR  VOLUME  OF  AUSTRALIAN  STORIES. 

QUINTON'S  ROUSEABOUT  AND  OTHER  STORIES,  by  EDWARD  S. 

SORENSON.  Crown  8vo,  280  pages,  cloth  ;  with  attractive  wrapper, 
by  ALEX.  SASS.  Price  35.  6d.  ;  postage  $d.  A  volume  of  18  original, 
fresh  and  breezy  Australian  stories  that  are  worth  reading. 


CLARKE'S  ELOCUTION  INSTRUCTOR,  a  large  volume  giving  in  a 
thoroughly  practical  manner  the  latest  and  best  methods  of  becoming 
a  successful  Elocutionist.  Many  and  varied  exercises  are  contained  in 
the  course.  The  author,  ARTHUR  CLARKE,  is  well  known  as  a  most 
successful  teacher,  and  it  is  anticipated  that  his  system  of  training  will 
be  largely  adopted.  Price  35.  6d.  ;  postage  6d. 


THOMAS  C.  LOTHIAN,  MELBOURNE 


THE  SECRET  OF  OPTINI5N. 

EATING  FOR  HEALTH,  by  Dr.  ABRAMOWSKI,  M.D.  (Berlin)  of  Mildura. 

Victoria.     142  -pages,  with  two  photographs.      Price  is.  6d.  ;    postage 
2d. 

Australia  too  long  has  obeyed  the  conventions  of  the  old  world  and 
has  suffered  in  consequence.  She  forgets  that  a  new  climate  has  to  be 
considered.  She  forgets  that  harmony  with  surroundings  is  the  basis  of 
happiness. 

This  book  is  written  from  actual  personal  knowledge  and  experience. 
It  is  the  evolution  of  a  common-sense  idea  of  disease  and  a  natural 
system  for  its  Prevention  and  Cure.  It  is  as  interesting  as  a  novel. 
Send  for  a  copy  and  benefit  yourself. 

CONTENTS  : — Eating  for  Disease.  Experiments  in  Eating.  The  Influence  of  Fruit 
Diet  on  Myself.  Influence  of  Natural  Diet  on  my  Family.  Influence  of  Natural 
Diet  in  Disease : — Typhoid — Diseases  of  the  Digestive  Organs — Chronic  Rheumatism — 
Acute  Rheumatism — Pleurisy — Cancer — Affections  of  the  Lungs — Colds.  Eating 
for  Death.  Eating  for  Life.  What  Shall  we  Eat  ?  What  Shall  we  Drink  ?  Humanity 
v.  Alcoholic  Stimulants.1  Humanity  v.  Alcohol— The  Defence.  Alcohol  and  the  Medical 
Profession.  How  to  Eat.  When  Shall  we  Eat  ?  How  Often  Shall  we  Eat  ?  Sum- 
mary. 


A    NEW    THING    IN    BOOKS. 


'FBOM     THE    OLD     DOG' 

Letters  on  Politics  from  an   ex-! 
his  Nephew. 

By    FRANK    FOX. 


Being  a  Series  of  Letters  on  Politics  from  an   ex-Prime   Minister   to 
his  Nephew. 


BRIGHT,  WITTY,  HUMOROUS,  INSTRUCTIVE. 
A  TEXT  BOOK  OF  WHITE  AUSTRALIAN  POLITICS. 


"  It  is  a  book  that  should  prove  of  value  to  the  young  liberal  aspirant  for  political 
honours." — The  Age. 

"  The  matter  is  good  and  so  is  the  style." — The  Adelaide  Register. 

"  It  is  full  of  gaiety  and  wise  humour,  and  more  absorbingly  interesting  than  most 
present-day  novels.     Amuses  and  interests  in  every  line." — Ballarat  Courier. 

Price  25.  6d.     Cloth  Edition,  35.  6d.      Postage  3^. 


Butler  &  Tanner,  The  Selwood  1'rinting  Works,  Frome,  and  London. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-Series  444 


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6003