Two hours passed, then a dim lightening came.Those frozen ones upon the yard could seeThe mainsail and the foresail still the same,Still battling with the hands and blowing free,Rags tattered where the staysails used to be.The lower topsails stood; the ship's lee deckSeethed with four feet of water filled with wreck.An hour more went by; the Dauber lostAll sense of hands and feet, all sense of allBut of a wind that cut him to the ghost,And of a frozen fold he had to haul,Of heavens that fell and never ceased to fall,And ran in smoky snatches along the sea,Leaping from crest to wave-crest, yelling. HeLost sense of time; no bells went, but he feltAges go over him. At last, at lastThey frapped the cringled crojick's icy pelt;In frozen bulge and bunt they made it fast.Then, scarcely live, they laid in to the mast.The Captain's speaking trumpet gave a blare,"Make fast the topsail, Mister, while you're there."Some seamen cursed, but up they had to go--Up to the topsail yard to spend an hourStowing a topsail in a blinding snow,Which made the strongest man among them cower.More men came up, the fresh hands gave them power,They stowed the sail; then with a rattle of chainOne half the crojick burst its bonds again.* * * * *They stowed the sail, frapping it round with rope,Leaving no surface for the wind, no fold,Then down the weather shrouds, half dead, they grope;That struggle with the sail had made them old.They wondered if the crojick furl would hold."Lucky," said one, "it didn't spring the spar.""Lucky!" the Bosun said, "Lucky! We are!She came within two shakes of turning topOr stripping all her shroud-screws, that first quiff.Now fish those wash-deck buckets out of the slop.Here's Dauber says he doesn't like Cape Stiff.This isn't wind, man, this is only a whiff.Hold on, all hands, hold on!" a sea, half seen,Paused, mounted, burst, and filled the main-deck green.The Dauber felt a mountain of water fall.It covered him deep, deep, he felt it fill,Over his head, the deck, the fife-rails, all,Quieting the ship, she trembled and lay still.Then with a rush and shatter and clanging shrillOver she went; he saw the water creamOver the bitts; he saw the half-deck stream.Then in the rush he swirled, over she went;Her lee-rail dipped, he struck, and something gave;His legs went through a port as the roll spent;She paused, then rolled, and back the water drave.He drifted with it as a part of the wave,Drowning, half-stunned, exhausted, partly frozen,He struck the booby hatchway; then the BosunLeaped, seeing his chance, before the next sea burst,And caught him as he drifted, seized him, held,Up-ended him against the bitts, and cursed."This ain't the George's Swimming Baths," he yelled;"Keep on your feet!" Another grey-back felledThe two together, and the Bose, half-blind,Spat: "One's a joke," he cursed, "but two's unkind.""Now, damn it, Dauber!" said the Mate. "Look out,Or you'll be over the side!" The water freed;Each clanging freeing-port became a spout.The men cleared up the decks as there was need.The Dauber's head was cut, he felt it bleedInto his oilskins as he clutched and coiled.Water and sky were devils' brews which boiled,Boiled, shrieked, and glowered; but the ship was saved.Snugged safely down, though fourteen sails were split.Out of the dark a fiercer fury raved.The grey-backs died and mounted, each crest litWith a white toppling gleam that hissed from itAnd slid, or leaped, or ran with whirls of cloud,Mad with inhuman life that shrieked aloud.The watch was called; Dauber might go below."Splice the main brace!" the Mate called. All laid aftTo get a gulp of momentary glowAs some reward for having saved the craft.The steward ladled mugs, from which each quaff'dWhisky, with water, sugar, and lime-juice, hot,A quarter of a pint each made the tot.Beside the lamp-room door the steward stoodLadling it out, and each man came in turn,Tipped his sou'-wester, drank it, grunted "Good!"And shambled forward, letting it slowly burn:When all were gone the Dauber lagged astern,Torn by his frozen body's lust for heat,The liquor's pleasant smell, so warm, so sweet,And by a promise long since made at homeNever to taste strong liquor. Now he knewThe worth of liquor; now he wanted some.His frozen body urged him to the brew;Yet it seemed wrong, an evil thing to doTo break that promise. "Dauber," said the Mate,"Drink, and turn in, man; why the hell d'ye wait?""Please, sir, I'm temperance." "Temperance are you, hey?That's all the more for me! So you're for slops?I thought you'd had enough slops for today.Go to your bunk and ease her when she drops.And--damme, steward! you brew with too much hops!Stir up the sugar, man!--and tell your girlHow kind the Mate was teaching you to furl."Then the Mate drank the remnants, six men's share,And ramped into his cabin, where he strippedAnd danced unclad, and was uproarious there.In waltzes with the cabin cat he tripped,Singing in tenor clear that he was pipped--That "he who strove the tempest to disarm,Must never first embrail the lee yardarm,"And that his name was Ginger. Dauber creptBack to the round-house, gripping by the rail.The wind howled by; the passionate water leapt;The night was all one roaring with the gale.Then at the door he stopped, uttering a wail;His hands were perished numb and blue as veins,He could not turn the knob for both the Spains.A hand came shuffling aft, dodging the seas,Singing "her nut-brown hair" between his teeth;Taking the ocean's tumult at his easeEven when the wash about his thighs did seethe.His soul was happy in its happy sheath;"What, Dauber, won't it open? Fingers cold?You'll talk of this time, Dauber, when you're old."He flung the door half open, and a seaWashed them both in, over the splashboard, down;"You' silly, salt miscarriage!" sputtered he."Dauber, pull out the plug before we drown!That's spoiled my laces and my velvet gown.Where is the plug?" Groping in pitch dark water,He sang between his teeth "The Farmer's Daughter."It was pitch dark within there; at each rollThe chests slid to the slant; the water rushed,Making full many a clanging tin pan bowlInto the black below-bunks as it gushed.The dog-tired men slept through it; they were hushed.The water drained, and then with matches dampThe man struck heads off till he lit the lamp."Thank you," the Dauber said; the seaman grinned."This is your first foul weather?" "Yes." "I thoughtUp on the yard you hadn't seen much wind.Them's rotten sea-boots, Dauber, that you brought.Now I must cut on deck before I'm caught."He went; the lamp-flame smoked; he slammed the door;A film of water loitered across the floor.The Dauber watched it come and watched it go;He had had revelation of the liesCloaking the truth men never choose to know;He could bear witness now and cleanse their eyes.He had beheld in suffering; he was wise;This was the sea, this searcher of the soul--This never-dying shriek fresh from the Pole.He shook with cold; his hands could not undoHis oilskin buttons, so he shook and sat,Watching his dirty fingers, dirty blue,Hearing without the hammering tackle slat,Within, the drops from dripping clothes went pat,Running in little patters, gentle, sweet,And "Ai, ai!" went the wind, and the seas beat.His bunk was sopping wet; he clambered in.None of his clothes were dry; his fear recurred.Cramps bunched the muscles underneath his skin.The great ship rolled until the lamp was blurred.He took his Bible and tried to read a word;Trembled at going aloft again, and thenResolved to fight it out and show it to men.Faces recurred, fierce memories of the yard,The frozen sail, the savage eyes, the jests,The oaths of one great seaman, syphilis-scarred,The tug of leeches jammed beneath their chests,The buntlines bellying bunts out into breasts.The deck so desolate-grey, the sky so wild,He fell asleep, and slept like a young child.But not for long; the cold awoke him soon,The hot-ache and the skin-cracks and the cramp,The seas thundering without, the gale's wild tune,The sopping misery of the blankets damp.A speaking-trumpet roared; a sea-boot's stampClogged at the door. A man entered to shout:"All hands on deck! Arouse here! Tumble out!"The caller raised the lamp; his oilskins clickedAs the thin ice upon them cracked and fell."Rouse out!" he said. "This lamp is frozen wick'd.Rouse out!" His accent deepened to a yell."We're among ice; it's blowing up like hell.We're going to hand both topsails. Time, I guess,We're sheeted up. Rouse out! Don't stay to dress!""Is it cold on deck?" said Dauber. "Is it cold?We're sheeted up, I tell you, inches thick!The fo'c'sle's like a wedding-cake, I'm told.Now tumble out, my sons; on deck here, quick!Rouse out, away, and come and climb the stick.I'm going to call the half-deck. Bosun! Hey!Both topsails coming in. Heave out! Away!"He went; the Dauber tumbled from his bunk,Clutching the side. He heard the wind go past,Making the great ship wallow as if drunk.There was a shocking tumult up the mast."This is the end," he muttered, "come at last!I've got to go aloft, facing this cold.I can't. I can't. I'll never keep my hold."I cannot face the topsail yard again.I never guessed what misery it would be."The cramps and hot-ache made him sick with pain.The ship stopped suddenly from a devilish sea,Then, with a triumph of wash, a rush of glee,The door burst in, and in the water rolled,Filling the lower bunks, black, creaming, cold.The lamp sucked out. "Wash!" went the water back,Then in again, flooding; the Bosun swore."You useless thing! You Dauber! You lee slack!Get out, you heekapoota! Shut the door!You coo-ilyaira, what are you waiting for?Out of my way, you thing--you useless thing!"He slammed the door indignant, clanging the ring.And then he lit the lamp, drowned to the waist;"Here's a fine house! Get at the scupper-holes"--He bent against it as the water raced--"And pull them out to leeward when she rolls.They say some kinds of landsmen don't have souls.I well believe. A Port Mahon baboonWould make more soul than you got with a spoon."Down in the icy water Dauber gropedTo find the plug; the racing water sluicedOver his head and shoulders as she sloped.Without, judged by the sound, all hell was loosed.He felt cold Death about him tightly noosed.That Death was better than the misery thereIced on the quaking foothold high in air.And then the thought came: "I'm a failure. AllMy life has been a failure. They were right.It will not matter if I go and fall;I should be free then from this hell's delight.I'll never paint. Best let it end to-night.I'll slip over the side. I've tried and failed."So in the ice-cold in the night he quailed.Death would be better, death, than this long hellOf mockery and surrender and dismay--This long defeat of doing nothing well,Playing the part too high for him to play."O Death! who hides the sorry thing away,Take me; I've failed. I cannot play these cards."There came a thundering from the topsail yards.And then he bit his lips, clenching his mind,And staggered out to muster, beating backThe coward frozen self of him that whined.Come what cards might he meant to play the pack."Ai!" screamed the wind; the topsail sheet went clack;Ice filled the air with spikes; the grey-backs burst."Here's Dauber," said the Mate, "on deck the first."Why, holy sailor, Dauber, you're a man!I took you for a soldier. Up now, come!"Up on the yards already they beganThat battle with a gale which strikes men dumb.The leaping topsail thundered like a drum.The frozen snow beat in the face like shots.The wind spun whipping wave-crests into clots.So up upon the topsail yard again,In the great tempest's fiercest hour, beganProbation to the Dauber's soul, of painWhich crowds a century's torment in a span.For the next month the ocean taught this man,And he, in that month's torment, while she wested,Was never warm nor dry, nor full nor rested.But still it blew, or, if it lulled, it roseWithin the hour and blew again; and stillThe water as it burst aboard her froze.The wind blew off an ice-field, raw and chill,Daunting man's body, tampering with his will;But after thirty days a ghostly sunGave sickly promise that the storms were done.VIIA great grey sea was running up the sky,Desolate birds flew past; their mewings cameAs that lone water's spiritual cry,Its forlorn voice, its essence, its soul's name.The ship limped in the water as if lame.Then in the forenoon watch to a great shoutMore sail was made, the reefs were shaken out.A slant came from the south; the singers stoodClapped to the halliards, hauling to a tune,Old as the sea, a fillip to the blood.The upper topsail rose like a balloon."So long, Cape Stiff. In Valparaiso soon,"Said one to other, as the ship lay over,Making her course again--again a rover.Slowly the sea went down as the wind fell.Clear rang the songs, "Hurrah! Cape Horn is bet!"The combless seas were lumping into swell;The leaking fo'c'sles were no longer wet.More sail was made; the watch on deck was setTo cleaning up the ruin broken bareBelow, aloft, about her, everywhere.The Dauber, scrubbing out the roundhouse, foundOld pantiles pulped among the mouldy gear,Washed underneath the bunks and long since drownedDuring the agony of the Cape Horn year.He sang in scrubbing, for he had done with fear--Fronted the worst and looked it in the face;He had got manhood at the testing-place.Singing he scrubbed, passing his watch below,Making the round-house fair; the Bosun watched,Bringing his knitting slowly to the toe.Sails stretched a mizen skysail which he patched;They thought the Dauber was a bad egg hatched."Daubs," said the Bosun cheerly, "can you knit?I've made a Barney's bull of this last bit."Then, while the Dauber counted, Bosun tookSome marline from his pocket. "Here," he said,"You want to know square sennit? So fash. Look!Eight foxes take, and stop the ends with thread.I've known an engineer would give his headTo know square sennit." As the Bose began,The Dauber felt promoted into man.It was his warrant that he had not failed--That the most hard part in his difficult climbHad not been past attainment; it was scaled:Safe footing showed above the slippery slime.He had emerged out of the iron time,And knew that he could compass his life's scheme;He had the power sufficient to his dream.Then dinner came, and now the sky was blue.The ship was standing north, the Horn was rounded;She made a thundering as she weltered through.The mighty grey-backs glittered as she bounded.More sail was piled upon her; she was houndedNorth, while the wind came; like a stag she ranOver grey hills and hollows of seas wan.She had a white bone in her mouth: she sped;Those in the round-house watched her as they ateTheir meal of pork-fat fried with broken bread."Good old!" they cried. "She's off; she's gathering gait!"Her track was whitening like a Lammas spate."Good old!" they cried. "Oh, give her cloth! Hurray!For three weeks more to Valparaiso Bay!"She smells old Vallipo," the Bosun cried."We'll be inside the tier in three weeks more,Lying at double-moorings where they rideOff of the market, half a mile from shore,And bumboat pan, my sons, and figs galore,And girls in black mantillas fit to make aPoor seaman frantic when they dance the cueca."Eight bells were made, the watch was changed, and nowThe Mate spoke to the Dauber: "This is better.We'll soon be getting mudhooks over the bow.She'll make her passage still if this'll let her.Oh, run, you drogher! dip your fo'c'sle wetter.Well, Dauber, this is better than Cape Horn.Them topsails made you wish you'd not been born.""Yes, sir," the Dauber said. "Now," said the Mate,"We've got to smart her up. Them Cape Horn seasHave made her paint-work like a rusty grate.Oh, didn't them topsails make your fishhooks freeze?A topsail don't pay heed to 'Won't you, please?'Well, you have seen Cape Horn, my son; you've learned.You've dipped your hand and had your fingers burned."And now you'll stow that folly, trying to paint.You've had your lesson; you're a sailor now.You come on board a female ripe to faint.All sorts of slush you'd learned, the Lord knows how.Cape Horn has sent you wisdom over the bowIf you've got sense to take it. You're a sailor.My God! before you were a woman's tailor."So throw your paints to blazes and have done.Words can't describe the silly things you didSitting before your easel in the sun,With all your colours on the paint-box lid.I blushed for you ... and then the daubs you hid.My God! you'll have more sense now, eh? You've quit?""No, sir." "You've not?" "No, sir." "God give you wit."I thought you'd come to wisdom." Thus they talked,While the great clipper took her bit and rushedLike a skin-glistening stallion not yet baulked,Till fire-bright water at her swing ports gushed;Poising and bowing down her fore-foot crushedBubble on glittering bubble; on she went.The Dauber watched her, wondering what it meant.To come, after long months, at rosy dawn,Into the placid blue of some great bay.Treading the quiet water like a fawnEre yet the morning haze was blown away.A rose-flushed figure putting by the grey,And anchoring there before the city smokeRose, or the church-bells rang, or men awoke.And then, in the first light, to see grow clearThat long-expected haven filled with strangers--Alive with men and women; see and hearIts clattering market and its money-changers;And hear the surf beat, and be free from dangers,And watch the crinkled ocean blue with calmDrowsing beneath the Trade, beneath the palm.Hungry for that he worked; the hour went by,And still the wind grew, still the clipper strode,And now a darkness hid the western sky,And sprays came flicking off at the wind's goad.She stumbled now, feeling her sail a load.The Mate gazed hard to windward, eyed his sail,And said the Horn was going to flick her tail.Boldly he kept it on her till she staggered,But still the wind increased; it grew, it grew,Darkening the sky, making the water haggard;Full of small snow the mighty wester blew."More fun for little fish-hooks," sighed the crew.They eyed the taut topgallants stiff like steel;A second hand was ordered to the wheel.The Captain eyed her aft, sucking his lip,Feeling the sail too much, but yet refrainingFrom putting hobbles on the leaping ship,The glad sea-shattering stallion, halter-straining,Wing-musical, uproarious, and complaining;But, in a gust, he cocked his finger, so:"You'd better take them off, before they go."All saw. They ran at once without the word"Lee-ay! Lee-ay!" Loud rang the clew-line cries;Sam in his bunk within the half-deck heard,Stirred in his sleep, and rubbed his drowsy eyes."There go the lower to'gallants." Against the skiesRose the thin bellying strips of leaping sail.The Dauber was the first man over the rail.Three to a mast they ran; it was a race."God!" said the Mate; "that Dauber, he can go."He watched the runners with an upturned faceOver the futtocks, struggling heel to toe,Up to the topmast cross-trees into the blowWhere the three sails were leaping. "Dauber wins!"The yards were reached, and now the race begins.Which three will furl their sail first and come down?Out to the yard-arm for the leech goes one,His hair blown flagwise from a hatless crown,His hands at work like fever to be done.Out of the gale a fiercer fury spun.The three sails leaped together, yanking high,Like talons darting up to clutch the sky.The Dauber on the fore-topgallant yardOut at the weather yard-arm was the firstTo lay his hand upon the buntline-barredTopgallant yanking to the wester's burst;He craned to catch the leech; his comrades cursed;One at the buntlines, one with oaths observed,"The eye of the outer jib-stay isn't served.""No," said the Dauber. "No," the man replied.They heaved, stowing the sail, not looking round,Panting, but full of life and eager-eyed;The gale roared at them with its iron sound."That's you," the Dauber said. His gasket woundSwift round the yard, binding the sail in bands;There came a gust, the sail leaped from his hands,
Two hours passed, then a dim lightening came.Those frozen ones upon the yard could seeThe mainsail and the foresail still the same,Still battling with the hands and blowing free,Rags tattered where the staysails used to be.The lower topsails stood; the ship's lee deckSeethed with four feet of water filled with wreck.
Two hours passed, then a dim lightening came.
Those frozen ones upon the yard could see
The mainsail and the foresail still the same,
Still battling with the hands and blowing free,
Rags tattered where the staysails used to be.
The lower topsails stood; the ship's lee deck
Seethed with four feet of water filled with wreck.
An hour more went by; the Dauber lostAll sense of hands and feet, all sense of allBut of a wind that cut him to the ghost,And of a frozen fold he had to haul,Of heavens that fell and never ceased to fall,And ran in smoky snatches along the sea,Leaping from crest to wave-crest, yelling. He
An hour more went by; the Dauber lost
All sense of hands and feet, all sense of all
But of a wind that cut him to the ghost,
And of a frozen fold he had to haul,
Of heavens that fell and never ceased to fall,
And ran in smoky snatches along the sea,
Leaping from crest to wave-crest, yelling. He
Lost sense of time; no bells went, but he feltAges go over him. At last, at lastThey frapped the cringled crojick's icy pelt;In frozen bulge and bunt they made it fast.Then, scarcely live, they laid in to the mast.The Captain's speaking trumpet gave a blare,"Make fast the topsail, Mister, while you're there."
Lost sense of time; no bells went, but he felt
Ages go over him. At last, at last
They frapped the cringled crojick's icy pelt;
In frozen bulge and bunt they made it fast.
Then, scarcely live, they laid in to the mast.
The Captain's speaking trumpet gave a blare,
"Make fast the topsail, Mister, while you're there."
Some seamen cursed, but up they had to go--Up to the topsail yard to spend an hourStowing a topsail in a blinding snow,Which made the strongest man among them cower.More men came up, the fresh hands gave them power,They stowed the sail; then with a rattle of chainOne half the crojick burst its bonds again.
Some seamen cursed, but up they had to go--
Up to the topsail yard to spend an hour
Stowing a topsail in a blinding snow,
Which made the strongest man among them cower.
More men came up, the fresh hands gave them power,
They stowed the sail; then with a rattle of chain
One half the crojick burst its bonds again.
* * * * *
They stowed the sail, frapping it round with rope,Leaving no surface for the wind, no fold,Then down the weather shrouds, half dead, they grope;That struggle with the sail had made them old.They wondered if the crojick furl would hold."Lucky," said one, "it didn't spring the spar.""Lucky!" the Bosun said, "Lucky! We are!
They stowed the sail, frapping it round with rope,
Leaving no surface for the wind, no fold,
Then down the weather shrouds, half dead, they grope;
That struggle with the sail had made them old.
They wondered if the crojick furl would hold.
"Lucky," said one, "it didn't spring the spar."
"Lucky!" the Bosun said, "Lucky! We are!
She came within two shakes of turning topOr stripping all her shroud-screws, that first quiff.Now fish those wash-deck buckets out of the slop.Here's Dauber says he doesn't like Cape Stiff.This isn't wind, man, this is only a whiff.Hold on, all hands, hold on!" a sea, half seen,Paused, mounted, burst, and filled the main-deck green.
She came within two shakes of turning top
Or stripping all her shroud-screws, that first quiff.
Now fish those wash-deck buckets out of the slop.
Here's Dauber says he doesn't like Cape Stiff.
This isn't wind, man, this is only a whiff.
Hold on, all hands, hold on!" a sea, half seen,
Paused, mounted, burst, and filled the main-deck green.
The Dauber felt a mountain of water fall.It covered him deep, deep, he felt it fill,Over his head, the deck, the fife-rails, all,Quieting the ship, she trembled and lay still.Then with a rush and shatter and clanging shrillOver she went; he saw the water creamOver the bitts; he saw the half-deck stream.
The Dauber felt a mountain of water fall.
It covered him deep, deep, he felt it fill,
Over his head, the deck, the fife-rails, all,
Quieting the ship, she trembled and lay still.
Then with a rush and shatter and clanging shrill
Over she went; he saw the water cream
Over the bitts; he saw the half-deck stream.
Then in the rush he swirled, over she went;Her lee-rail dipped, he struck, and something gave;His legs went through a port as the roll spent;She paused, then rolled, and back the water drave.He drifted with it as a part of the wave,Drowning, half-stunned, exhausted, partly frozen,He struck the booby hatchway; then the Bosun
Then in the rush he swirled, over she went;
Her lee-rail dipped, he struck, and something gave;
His legs went through a port as the roll spent;
She paused, then rolled, and back the water drave.
He drifted with it as a part of the wave,
Drowning, half-stunned, exhausted, partly frozen,
He struck the booby hatchway; then the Bosun
Leaped, seeing his chance, before the next sea burst,And caught him as he drifted, seized him, held,Up-ended him against the bitts, and cursed."This ain't the George's Swimming Baths," he yelled;"Keep on your feet!" Another grey-back felledThe two together, and the Bose, half-blind,Spat: "One's a joke," he cursed, "but two's unkind."
Leaped, seeing his chance, before the next sea burst,
And caught him as he drifted, seized him, held,
Up-ended him against the bitts, and cursed.
"This ain't the George's Swimming Baths," he yelled;
"Keep on your feet!" Another grey-back felled
The two together, and the Bose, half-blind,
Spat: "One's a joke," he cursed, "but two's unkind."
"Now, damn it, Dauber!" said the Mate. "Look out,Or you'll be over the side!" The water freed;Each clanging freeing-port became a spout.The men cleared up the decks as there was need.The Dauber's head was cut, he felt it bleedInto his oilskins as he clutched and coiled.Water and sky were devils' brews which boiled,
"Now, damn it, Dauber!" said the Mate. "Look out,
Or you'll be over the side!" The water freed;
Each clanging freeing-port became a spout.
The men cleared up the decks as there was need.
The Dauber's head was cut, he felt it bleed
Into his oilskins as he clutched and coiled.
Water and sky were devils' brews which boiled,
Boiled, shrieked, and glowered; but the ship was saved.Snugged safely down, though fourteen sails were split.Out of the dark a fiercer fury raved.The grey-backs died and mounted, each crest litWith a white toppling gleam that hissed from itAnd slid, or leaped, or ran with whirls of cloud,Mad with inhuman life that shrieked aloud.
Boiled, shrieked, and glowered; but the ship was saved.
Snugged safely down, though fourteen sails were split.
Out of the dark a fiercer fury raved.
The grey-backs died and mounted, each crest lit
With a white toppling gleam that hissed from it
And slid, or leaped, or ran with whirls of cloud,
Mad with inhuman life that shrieked aloud.
The watch was called; Dauber might go below."Splice the main brace!" the Mate called. All laid aftTo get a gulp of momentary glowAs some reward for having saved the craft.The steward ladled mugs, from which each quaff'dWhisky, with water, sugar, and lime-juice, hot,A quarter of a pint each made the tot.
The watch was called; Dauber might go below.
"Splice the main brace!" the Mate called. All laid aft
To get a gulp of momentary glow
As some reward for having saved the craft.
The steward ladled mugs, from which each quaff'd
Whisky, with water, sugar, and lime-juice, hot,
A quarter of a pint each made the tot.
Beside the lamp-room door the steward stoodLadling it out, and each man came in turn,Tipped his sou'-wester, drank it, grunted "Good!"And shambled forward, letting it slowly burn:When all were gone the Dauber lagged astern,Torn by his frozen body's lust for heat,The liquor's pleasant smell, so warm, so sweet,
Beside the lamp-room door the steward stood
Ladling it out, and each man came in turn,
Tipped his sou'-wester, drank it, grunted "Good!"
And shambled forward, letting it slowly burn:
When all were gone the Dauber lagged astern,
Torn by his frozen body's lust for heat,
The liquor's pleasant smell, so warm, so sweet,
And by a promise long since made at homeNever to taste strong liquor. Now he knewThe worth of liquor; now he wanted some.His frozen body urged him to the brew;Yet it seemed wrong, an evil thing to doTo break that promise. "Dauber," said the Mate,"Drink, and turn in, man; why the hell d'ye wait?"
And by a promise long since made at home
Never to taste strong liquor. Now he knew
The worth of liquor; now he wanted some.
His frozen body urged him to the brew;
Yet it seemed wrong, an evil thing to do
To break that promise. "Dauber," said the Mate,
"Drink, and turn in, man; why the hell d'ye wait?"
"Please, sir, I'm temperance." "Temperance are you, hey?That's all the more for me! So you're for slops?I thought you'd had enough slops for today.Go to your bunk and ease her when she drops.And--damme, steward! you brew with too much hops!Stir up the sugar, man!--and tell your girlHow kind the Mate was teaching you to furl."
"Please, sir, I'm temperance." "Temperance are you, hey?
That's all the more for me! So you're for slops?
I thought you'd had enough slops for today.
Go to your bunk and ease her when she drops.
And--damme, steward! you brew with too much hops!
Stir up the sugar, man!--and tell your girl
How kind the Mate was teaching you to furl."
Then the Mate drank the remnants, six men's share,And ramped into his cabin, where he strippedAnd danced unclad, and was uproarious there.In waltzes with the cabin cat he tripped,Singing in tenor clear that he was pipped--That "he who strove the tempest to disarm,Must never first embrail the lee yardarm,"
Then the Mate drank the remnants, six men's share,
And ramped into his cabin, where he stripped
And danced unclad, and was uproarious there.
In waltzes with the cabin cat he tripped,
Singing in tenor clear that he was pipped--
That "he who strove the tempest to disarm,
Must never first embrail the lee yardarm,"
And that his name was Ginger. Dauber creptBack to the round-house, gripping by the rail.The wind howled by; the passionate water leapt;The night was all one roaring with the gale.Then at the door he stopped, uttering a wail;His hands were perished numb and blue as veins,He could not turn the knob for both the Spains.
And that his name was Ginger. Dauber crept
Back to the round-house, gripping by the rail.
The wind howled by; the passionate water leapt;
The night was all one roaring with the gale.
Then at the door he stopped, uttering a wail;
His hands were perished numb and blue as veins,
He could not turn the knob for both the Spains.
A hand came shuffling aft, dodging the seas,Singing "her nut-brown hair" between his teeth;Taking the ocean's tumult at his easeEven when the wash about his thighs did seethe.His soul was happy in its happy sheath;"What, Dauber, won't it open? Fingers cold?You'll talk of this time, Dauber, when you're old."
A hand came shuffling aft, dodging the seas,
Singing "her nut-brown hair" between his teeth;
Taking the ocean's tumult at his ease
Even when the wash about his thighs did seethe.
His soul was happy in its happy sheath;
"What, Dauber, won't it open? Fingers cold?
You'll talk of this time, Dauber, when you're old."
He flung the door half open, and a seaWashed them both in, over the splashboard, down;"You' silly, salt miscarriage!" sputtered he."Dauber, pull out the plug before we drown!That's spoiled my laces and my velvet gown.Where is the plug?" Groping in pitch dark water,He sang between his teeth "The Farmer's Daughter."
He flung the door half open, and a sea
Washed them both in, over the splashboard, down;
"You' silly, salt miscarriage!" sputtered he.
"Dauber, pull out the plug before we drown!
That's spoiled my laces and my velvet gown.
Where is the plug?" Groping in pitch dark water,
He sang between his teeth "The Farmer's Daughter."
It was pitch dark within there; at each rollThe chests slid to the slant; the water rushed,Making full many a clanging tin pan bowlInto the black below-bunks as it gushed.The dog-tired men slept through it; they were hushed.The water drained, and then with matches dampThe man struck heads off till he lit the lamp.
It was pitch dark within there; at each roll
The chests slid to the slant; the water rushed,
Making full many a clanging tin pan bowl
Into the black below-bunks as it gushed.
The dog-tired men slept through it; they were hushed.
The water drained, and then with matches damp
The man struck heads off till he lit the lamp.
"Thank you," the Dauber said; the seaman grinned."This is your first foul weather?" "Yes." "I thoughtUp on the yard you hadn't seen much wind.Them's rotten sea-boots, Dauber, that you brought.Now I must cut on deck before I'm caught."He went; the lamp-flame smoked; he slammed the door;A film of water loitered across the floor.
"Thank you," the Dauber said; the seaman grinned.
"This is your first foul weather?" "Yes." "I thought
Up on the yard you hadn't seen much wind.
Them's rotten sea-boots, Dauber, that you brought.
Now I must cut on deck before I'm caught."
He went; the lamp-flame smoked; he slammed the door;
A film of water loitered across the floor.
The Dauber watched it come and watched it go;He had had revelation of the liesCloaking the truth men never choose to know;He could bear witness now and cleanse their eyes.He had beheld in suffering; he was wise;This was the sea, this searcher of the soul--This never-dying shriek fresh from the Pole.
The Dauber watched it come and watched it go;
He had had revelation of the lies
Cloaking the truth men never choose to know;
He could bear witness now and cleanse their eyes.
He had beheld in suffering; he was wise;
This was the sea, this searcher of the soul--
This never-dying shriek fresh from the Pole.
He shook with cold; his hands could not undoHis oilskin buttons, so he shook and sat,Watching his dirty fingers, dirty blue,Hearing without the hammering tackle slat,Within, the drops from dripping clothes went pat,Running in little patters, gentle, sweet,And "Ai, ai!" went the wind, and the seas beat.
He shook with cold; his hands could not undo
His oilskin buttons, so he shook and sat,
Watching his dirty fingers, dirty blue,
Hearing without the hammering tackle slat,
Within, the drops from dripping clothes went pat,
Running in little patters, gentle, sweet,
And "Ai, ai!" went the wind, and the seas beat.
His bunk was sopping wet; he clambered in.None of his clothes were dry; his fear recurred.Cramps bunched the muscles underneath his skin.The great ship rolled until the lamp was blurred.He took his Bible and tried to read a word;Trembled at going aloft again, and thenResolved to fight it out and show it to men.
His bunk was sopping wet; he clambered in.
None of his clothes were dry; his fear recurred.
Cramps bunched the muscles underneath his skin.
The great ship rolled until the lamp was blurred.
He took his Bible and tried to read a word;
Trembled at going aloft again, and then
Resolved to fight it out and show it to men.
Faces recurred, fierce memories of the yard,The frozen sail, the savage eyes, the jests,The oaths of one great seaman, syphilis-scarred,The tug of leeches jammed beneath their chests,The buntlines bellying bunts out into breasts.The deck so desolate-grey, the sky so wild,He fell asleep, and slept like a young child.
Faces recurred, fierce memories of the yard,
The frozen sail, the savage eyes, the jests,
The oaths of one great seaman, syphilis-scarred,
The tug of leeches jammed beneath their chests,
The buntlines bellying bunts out into breasts.
The deck so desolate-grey, the sky so wild,
He fell asleep, and slept like a young child.
But not for long; the cold awoke him soon,The hot-ache and the skin-cracks and the cramp,The seas thundering without, the gale's wild tune,The sopping misery of the blankets damp.A speaking-trumpet roared; a sea-boot's stampClogged at the door. A man entered to shout:"All hands on deck! Arouse here! Tumble out!"
But not for long; the cold awoke him soon,
The hot-ache and the skin-cracks and the cramp,
The seas thundering without, the gale's wild tune,
The sopping misery of the blankets damp.
A speaking-trumpet roared; a sea-boot's stamp
Clogged at the door. A man entered to shout:
"All hands on deck! Arouse here! Tumble out!"
The caller raised the lamp; his oilskins clickedAs the thin ice upon them cracked and fell."Rouse out!" he said. "This lamp is frozen wick'd.Rouse out!" His accent deepened to a yell."We're among ice; it's blowing up like hell.We're going to hand both topsails. Time, I guess,We're sheeted up. Rouse out! Don't stay to dress!"
The caller raised the lamp; his oilskins clicked
As the thin ice upon them cracked and fell.
"Rouse out!" he said. "This lamp is frozen wick'd.
Rouse out!" His accent deepened to a yell.
"We're among ice; it's blowing up like hell.
We're going to hand both topsails. Time, I guess,
We're sheeted up. Rouse out! Don't stay to dress!"
"Is it cold on deck?" said Dauber. "Is it cold?We're sheeted up, I tell you, inches thick!The fo'c'sle's like a wedding-cake, I'm told.Now tumble out, my sons; on deck here, quick!Rouse out, away, and come and climb the stick.I'm going to call the half-deck. Bosun! Hey!Both topsails coming in. Heave out! Away!"
"Is it cold on deck?" said Dauber. "Is it cold?
We're sheeted up, I tell you, inches thick!
The fo'c'sle's like a wedding-cake, I'm told.
Now tumble out, my sons; on deck here, quick!
Rouse out, away, and come and climb the stick.
I'm going to call the half-deck. Bosun! Hey!
Both topsails coming in. Heave out! Away!"
He went; the Dauber tumbled from his bunk,Clutching the side. He heard the wind go past,Making the great ship wallow as if drunk.There was a shocking tumult up the mast."This is the end," he muttered, "come at last!I've got to go aloft, facing this cold.I can't. I can't. I'll never keep my hold.
He went; the Dauber tumbled from his bunk,
Clutching the side. He heard the wind go past,
Making the great ship wallow as if drunk.
There was a shocking tumult up the mast.
"This is the end," he muttered, "come at last!
I've got to go aloft, facing this cold.
I can't. I can't. I'll never keep my hold.
"I cannot face the topsail yard again.I never guessed what misery it would be."The cramps and hot-ache made him sick with pain.The ship stopped suddenly from a devilish sea,Then, with a triumph of wash, a rush of glee,The door burst in, and in the water rolled,Filling the lower bunks, black, creaming, cold.
"I cannot face the topsail yard again.
I never guessed what misery it would be."
The cramps and hot-ache made him sick with pain.
The ship stopped suddenly from a devilish sea,
Then, with a triumph of wash, a rush of glee,
The door burst in, and in the water rolled,
Filling the lower bunks, black, creaming, cold.
The lamp sucked out. "Wash!" went the water back,Then in again, flooding; the Bosun swore."You useless thing! You Dauber! You lee slack!Get out, you heekapoota! Shut the door!You coo-ilyaira, what are you waiting for?Out of my way, you thing--you useless thing!"He slammed the door indignant, clanging the ring.
The lamp sucked out. "Wash!" went the water back,
Then in again, flooding; the Bosun swore.
"You useless thing! You Dauber! You lee slack!
Get out, you heekapoota! Shut the door!
You coo-ilyaira, what are you waiting for?
Out of my way, you thing--you useless thing!"
He slammed the door indignant, clanging the ring.
And then he lit the lamp, drowned to the waist;"Here's a fine house! Get at the scupper-holes"--He bent against it as the water raced--"And pull them out to leeward when she rolls.They say some kinds of landsmen don't have souls.I well believe. A Port Mahon baboonWould make more soul than you got with a spoon."
And then he lit the lamp, drowned to the waist;
"Here's a fine house! Get at the scupper-holes"--
He bent against it as the water raced--
"And pull them out to leeward when she rolls.
They say some kinds of landsmen don't have souls.
I well believe. A Port Mahon baboon
Would make more soul than you got with a spoon."
Down in the icy water Dauber gropedTo find the plug; the racing water sluicedOver his head and shoulders as she sloped.Without, judged by the sound, all hell was loosed.He felt cold Death about him tightly noosed.That Death was better than the misery thereIced on the quaking foothold high in air.
Down in the icy water Dauber groped
To find the plug; the racing water sluiced
Over his head and shoulders as she sloped.
Without, judged by the sound, all hell was loosed.
He felt cold Death about him tightly noosed.
That Death was better than the misery there
Iced on the quaking foothold high in air.
And then the thought came: "I'm a failure. AllMy life has been a failure. They were right.It will not matter if I go and fall;I should be free then from this hell's delight.I'll never paint. Best let it end to-night.I'll slip over the side. I've tried and failed."So in the ice-cold in the night he quailed.
And then the thought came: "I'm a failure. All
My life has been a failure. They were right.
It will not matter if I go and fall;
I should be free then from this hell's delight.
I'll never paint. Best let it end to-night.
I'll slip over the side. I've tried and failed."
So in the ice-cold in the night he quailed.
Death would be better, death, than this long hellOf mockery and surrender and dismay--This long defeat of doing nothing well,Playing the part too high for him to play."O Death! who hides the sorry thing away,Take me; I've failed. I cannot play these cards."There came a thundering from the topsail yards.
Death would be better, death, than this long hell
Of mockery and surrender and dismay--
This long defeat of doing nothing well,
Playing the part too high for him to play.
"O Death! who hides the sorry thing away,
Take me; I've failed. I cannot play these cards."
There came a thundering from the topsail yards.
And then he bit his lips, clenching his mind,And staggered out to muster, beating backThe coward frozen self of him that whined.Come what cards might he meant to play the pack."Ai!" screamed the wind; the topsail sheet went clack;Ice filled the air with spikes; the grey-backs burst."Here's Dauber," said the Mate, "on deck the first.
And then he bit his lips, clenching his mind,
And staggered out to muster, beating back
The coward frozen self of him that whined.
Come what cards might he meant to play the pack.
"Ai!" screamed the wind; the topsail sheet went clack;
Ice filled the air with spikes; the grey-backs burst.
"Here's Dauber," said the Mate, "on deck the first.
"Why, holy sailor, Dauber, you're a man!I took you for a soldier. Up now, come!"Up on the yards already they beganThat battle with a gale which strikes men dumb.The leaping topsail thundered like a drum.The frozen snow beat in the face like shots.The wind spun whipping wave-crests into clots.
"Why, holy sailor, Dauber, you're a man!
I took you for a soldier. Up now, come!"
Up on the yards already they began
That battle with a gale which strikes men dumb.
The leaping topsail thundered like a drum.
The frozen snow beat in the face like shots.
The wind spun whipping wave-crests into clots.
So up upon the topsail yard again,In the great tempest's fiercest hour, beganProbation to the Dauber's soul, of painWhich crowds a century's torment in a span.For the next month the ocean taught this man,And he, in that month's torment, while she wested,Was never warm nor dry, nor full nor rested.
So up upon the topsail yard again,
In the great tempest's fiercest hour, began
Probation to the Dauber's soul, of pain
Which crowds a century's torment in a span.
For the next month the ocean taught this man,
And he, in that month's torment, while she wested,
Was never warm nor dry, nor full nor rested.
But still it blew, or, if it lulled, it roseWithin the hour and blew again; and stillThe water as it burst aboard her froze.The wind blew off an ice-field, raw and chill,Daunting man's body, tampering with his will;But after thirty days a ghostly sunGave sickly promise that the storms were done.
But still it blew, or, if it lulled, it rose
Within the hour and blew again; and still
The water as it burst aboard her froze.
The wind blew off an ice-field, raw and chill,
Daunting man's body, tampering with his will;
But after thirty days a ghostly sun
Gave sickly promise that the storms were done.
VII
A great grey sea was running up the sky,Desolate birds flew past; their mewings cameAs that lone water's spiritual cry,Its forlorn voice, its essence, its soul's name.The ship limped in the water as if lame.Then in the forenoon watch to a great shoutMore sail was made, the reefs were shaken out.
A great grey sea was running up the sky,
Desolate birds flew past; their mewings came
As that lone water's spiritual cry,
Its forlorn voice, its essence, its soul's name.
The ship limped in the water as if lame.
Then in the forenoon watch to a great shout
More sail was made, the reefs were shaken out.
A slant came from the south; the singers stoodClapped to the halliards, hauling to a tune,Old as the sea, a fillip to the blood.The upper topsail rose like a balloon."So long, Cape Stiff. In Valparaiso soon,"Said one to other, as the ship lay over,Making her course again--again a rover.
A slant came from the south; the singers stood
Clapped to the halliards, hauling to a tune,
Old as the sea, a fillip to the blood.
The upper topsail rose like a balloon.
"So long, Cape Stiff. In Valparaiso soon,"
Said one to other, as the ship lay over,
Making her course again--again a rover.
Slowly the sea went down as the wind fell.Clear rang the songs, "Hurrah! Cape Horn is bet!"The combless seas were lumping into swell;The leaking fo'c'sles were no longer wet.More sail was made; the watch on deck was setTo cleaning up the ruin broken bareBelow, aloft, about her, everywhere.
Slowly the sea went down as the wind fell.
Clear rang the songs, "Hurrah! Cape Horn is bet!"
The combless seas were lumping into swell;
The leaking fo'c'sles were no longer wet.
More sail was made; the watch on deck was set
To cleaning up the ruin broken bare
Below, aloft, about her, everywhere.
The Dauber, scrubbing out the roundhouse, foundOld pantiles pulped among the mouldy gear,Washed underneath the bunks and long since drownedDuring the agony of the Cape Horn year.He sang in scrubbing, for he had done with fear--Fronted the worst and looked it in the face;He had got manhood at the testing-place.
The Dauber, scrubbing out the roundhouse, found
Old pantiles pulped among the mouldy gear,
Washed underneath the bunks and long since drowned
During the agony of the Cape Horn year.
He sang in scrubbing, for he had done with fear--
Fronted the worst and looked it in the face;
He had got manhood at the testing-place.
Singing he scrubbed, passing his watch below,Making the round-house fair; the Bosun watched,Bringing his knitting slowly to the toe.Sails stretched a mizen skysail which he patched;They thought the Dauber was a bad egg hatched."Daubs," said the Bosun cheerly, "can you knit?I've made a Barney's bull of this last bit."
Singing he scrubbed, passing his watch below,
Making the round-house fair; the Bosun watched,
Bringing his knitting slowly to the toe.
Sails stretched a mizen skysail which he patched;
They thought the Dauber was a bad egg hatched.
"Daubs," said the Bosun cheerly, "can you knit?
I've made a Barney's bull of this last bit."
Then, while the Dauber counted, Bosun tookSome marline from his pocket. "Here," he said,"You want to know square sennit? So fash. Look!Eight foxes take, and stop the ends with thread.I've known an engineer would give his headTo know square sennit." As the Bose began,The Dauber felt promoted into man.
Then, while the Dauber counted, Bosun took
Some marline from his pocket. "Here," he said,
"You want to know square sennit? So fash. Look!
Eight foxes take, and stop the ends with thread.
I've known an engineer would give his head
To know square sennit." As the Bose began,
The Dauber felt promoted into man.
It was his warrant that he had not failed--That the most hard part in his difficult climbHad not been past attainment; it was scaled:Safe footing showed above the slippery slime.He had emerged out of the iron time,And knew that he could compass his life's scheme;He had the power sufficient to his dream.
It was his warrant that he had not failed--
That the most hard part in his difficult climb
Had not been past attainment; it was scaled:
Safe footing showed above the slippery slime.
He had emerged out of the iron time,
And knew that he could compass his life's scheme;
He had the power sufficient to his dream.
Then dinner came, and now the sky was blue.The ship was standing north, the Horn was rounded;She made a thundering as she weltered through.The mighty grey-backs glittered as she bounded.More sail was piled upon her; she was houndedNorth, while the wind came; like a stag she ranOver grey hills and hollows of seas wan.
Then dinner came, and now the sky was blue.
The ship was standing north, the Horn was rounded;
She made a thundering as she weltered through.
The mighty grey-backs glittered as she bounded.
More sail was piled upon her; she was hounded
North, while the wind came; like a stag she ran
Over grey hills and hollows of seas wan.
She had a white bone in her mouth: she sped;Those in the round-house watched her as they ateTheir meal of pork-fat fried with broken bread."Good old!" they cried. "She's off; she's gathering gait!"Her track was whitening like a Lammas spate."Good old!" they cried. "Oh, give her cloth! Hurray!For three weeks more to Valparaiso Bay!
She had a white bone in her mouth: she sped;
Those in the round-house watched her as they ate
Their meal of pork-fat fried with broken bread.
"Good old!" they cried. "She's off; she's gathering gait!"
Her track was whitening like a Lammas spate.
"Good old!" they cried. "Oh, give her cloth! Hurray!
For three weeks more to Valparaiso Bay!
"She smells old Vallipo," the Bosun cried."We'll be inside the tier in three weeks more,Lying at double-moorings where they rideOff of the market, half a mile from shore,And bumboat pan, my sons, and figs galore,And girls in black mantillas fit to make aPoor seaman frantic when they dance the cueca."
"She smells old Vallipo," the Bosun cried.
"We'll be inside the tier in three weeks more,
Lying at double-moorings where they ride
Off of the market, half a mile from shore,
And bumboat pan, my sons, and figs galore,
And girls in black mantillas fit to make a
Poor seaman frantic when they dance the cueca."
Eight bells were made, the watch was changed, and nowThe Mate spoke to the Dauber: "This is better.We'll soon be getting mudhooks over the bow.She'll make her passage still if this'll let her.Oh, run, you drogher! dip your fo'c'sle wetter.Well, Dauber, this is better than Cape Horn.Them topsails made you wish you'd not been born."
Eight bells were made, the watch was changed, and now
The Mate spoke to the Dauber: "This is better.
We'll soon be getting mudhooks over the bow.
She'll make her passage still if this'll let her.
Oh, run, you drogher! dip your fo'c'sle wetter.
Well, Dauber, this is better than Cape Horn.
Them topsails made you wish you'd not been born."
"Yes, sir," the Dauber said. "Now," said the Mate,"We've got to smart her up. Them Cape Horn seasHave made her paint-work like a rusty grate.Oh, didn't them topsails make your fishhooks freeze?A topsail don't pay heed to 'Won't you, please?'Well, you have seen Cape Horn, my son; you've learned.You've dipped your hand and had your fingers burned."And now you'll stow that folly, trying to paint.
"Yes, sir," the Dauber said. "Now," said the Mate,
"We've got to smart her up. Them Cape Horn seas
Have made her paint-work like a rusty grate.
Oh, didn't them topsails make your fishhooks freeze?
A topsail don't pay heed to 'Won't you, please?'
Well, you have seen Cape Horn, my son; you've learned.
You've dipped your hand and had your fingers burned.
"And now you'll stow that folly, trying to paint.
You've had your lesson; you're a sailor now.You come on board a female ripe to faint.All sorts of slush you'd learned, the Lord knows how.Cape Horn has sent you wisdom over the bowIf you've got sense to take it. You're a sailor.My God! before you were a woman's tailor.
You've had your lesson; you're a sailor now.
You come on board a female ripe to faint.
All sorts of slush you'd learned, the Lord knows how.
Cape Horn has sent you wisdom over the bow
If you've got sense to take it. You're a sailor.
My God! before you were a woman's tailor.
"So throw your paints to blazes and have done.Words can't describe the silly things you didSitting before your easel in the sun,With all your colours on the paint-box lid.I blushed for you ... and then the daubs you hid.My God! you'll have more sense now, eh? You've quit?""No, sir." "You've not?" "No, sir." "God give you wit.
"So throw your paints to blazes and have done.
Words can't describe the silly things you did
Sitting before your easel in the sun,
With all your colours on the paint-box lid.
I blushed for you ... and then the daubs you hid.
My God! you'll have more sense now, eh? You've quit?"
"No, sir." "You've not?" "No, sir." "God give you wit.
"I thought you'd come to wisdom." Thus they talked,While the great clipper took her bit and rushedLike a skin-glistening stallion not yet baulked,Till fire-bright water at her swing ports gushed;Poising and bowing down her fore-foot crushedBubble on glittering bubble; on she went.The Dauber watched her, wondering what it meant.
"I thought you'd come to wisdom." Thus they talked,
While the great clipper took her bit and rushed
Like a skin-glistening stallion not yet baulked,
Till fire-bright water at her swing ports gushed;
Poising and bowing down her fore-foot crushed
Bubble on glittering bubble; on she went.
The Dauber watched her, wondering what it meant.
To come, after long months, at rosy dawn,Into the placid blue of some great bay.Treading the quiet water like a fawnEre yet the morning haze was blown away.A rose-flushed figure putting by the grey,And anchoring there before the city smokeRose, or the church-bells rang, or men awoke.
To come, after long months, at rosy dawn,
Into the placid blue of some great bay.
Treading the quiet water like a fawn
Ere yet the morning haze was blown away.
A rose-flushed figure putting by the grey,
And anchoring there before the city smoke
Rose, or the church-bells rang, or men awoke.
And then, in the first light, to see grow clearThat long-expected haven filled with strangers--Alive with men and women; see and hearIts clattering market and its money-changers;And hear the surf beat, and be free from dangers,And watch the crinkled ocean blue with calmDrowsing beneath the Trade, beneath the palm.
And then, in the first light, to see grow clear
That long-expected haven filled with strangers--
Alive with men and women; see and hear
Its clattering market and its money-changers;
And hear the surf beat, and be free from dangers,
And watch the crinkled ocean blue with calm
Drowsing beneath the Trade, beneath the palm.
Hungry for that he worked; the hour went by,And still the wind grew, still the clipper strode,And now a darkness hid the western sky,And sprays came flicking off at the wind's goad.She stumbled now, feeling her sail a load.The Mate gazed hard to windward, eyed his sail,And said the Horn was going to flick her tail.
Hungry for that he worked; the hour went by,
And still the wind grew, still the clipper strode,
And now a darkness hid the western sky,
And sprays came flicking off at the wind's goad.
She stumbled now, feeling her sail a load.
The Mate gazed hard to windward, eyed his sail,
And said the Horn was going to flick her tail.
Boldly he kept it on her till she staggered,But still the wind increased; it grew, it grew,Darkening the sky, making the water haggard;Full of small snow the mighty wester blew."More fun for little fish-hooks," sighed the crew.They eyed the taut topgallants stiff like steel;A second hand was ordered to the wheel.
Boldly he kept it on her till she staggered,
But still the wind increased; it grew, it grew,
Darkening the sky, making the water haggard;
Full of small snow the mighty wester blew.
"More fun for little fish-hooks," sighed the crew.
They eyed the taut topgallants stiff like steel;
A second hand was ordered to the wheel.
The Captain eyed her aft, sucking his lip,Feeling the sail too much, but yet refrainingFrom putting hobbles on the leaping ship,The glad sea-shattering stallion, halter-straining,Wing-musical, uproarious, and complaining;But, in a gust, he cocked his finger, so:"You'd better take them off, before they go."
The Captain eyed her aft, sucking his lip,
Feeling the sail too much, but yet refraining
From putting hobbles on the leaping ship,
The glad sea-shattering stallion, halter-straining,
Wing-musical, uproarious, and complaining;
But, in a gust, he cocked his finger, so:
"You'd better take them off, before they go."
All saw. They ran at once without the word"Lee-ay! Lee-ay!" Loud rang the clew-line cries;Sam in his bunk within the half-deck heard,Stirred in his sleep, and rubbed his drowsy eyes."There go the lower to'gallants." Against the skiesRose the thin bellying strips of leaping sail.The Dauber was the first man over the rail.
All saw. They ran at once without the word
"Lee-ay! Lee-ay!" Loud rang the clew-line cries;
Sam in his bunk within the half-deck heard,
Stirred in his sleep, and rubbed his drowsy eyes.
"There go the lower to'gallants." Against the skies
Rose the thin bellying strips of leaping sail.
The Dauber was the first man over the rail.
Three to a mast they ran; it was a race."God!" said the Mate; "that Dauber, he can go."He watched the runners with an upturned faceOver the futtocks, struggling heel to toe,Up to the topmast cross-trees into the blowWhere the three sails were leaping. "Dauber wins!"The yards were reached, and now the race begins.
Three to a mast they ran; it was a race.
"God!" said the Mate; "that Dauber, he can go."
He watched the runners with an upturned face
Over the futtocks, struggling heel to toe,
Up to the topmast cross-trees into the blow
Where the three sails were leaping. "Dauber wins!"
The yards were reached, and now the race begins.
Which three will furl their sail first and come down?Out to the yard-arm for the leech goes one,His hair blown flagwise from a hatless crown,His hands at work like fever to be done.Out of the gale a fiercer fury spun.The three sails leaped together, yanking high,Like talons darting up to clutch the sky.
Which three will furl their sail first and come down?
Out to the yard-arm for the leech goes one,
His hair blown flagwise from a hatless crown,
His hands at work like fever to be done.
Out of the gale a fiercer fury spun.
The three sails leaped together, yanking high,
Like talons darting up to clutch the sky.
The Dauber on the fore-topgallant yardOut at the weather yard-arm was the firstTo lay his hand upon the buntline-barredTopgallant yanking to the wester's burst;He craned to catch the leech; his comrades cursed;One at the buntlines, one with oaths observed,"The eye of the outer jib-stay isn't served."
The Dauber on the fore-topgallant yard
Out at the weather yard-arm was the first
To lay his hand upon the buntline-barred
Topgallant yanking to the wester's burst;
He craned to catch the leech; his comrades cursed;
One at the buntlines, one with oaths observed,
"The eye of the outer jib-stay isn't served."
"No," said the Dauber. "No," the man replied.They heaved, stowing the sail, not looking round,Panting, but full of life and eager-eyed;The gale roared at them with its iron sound."That's you," the Dauber said. His gasket woundSwift round the yard, binding the sail in bands;There came a gust, the sail leaped from his hands,
"No," said the Dauber. "No," the man replied.
They heaved, stowing the sail, not looking round,
Panting, but full of life and eager-eyed;
The gale roared at them with its iron sound.
"That's you," the Dauber said. His gasket wound
Swift round the yard, binding the sail in bands;
There came a gust, the sail leaped from his hands,