THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES 7 ' I POEMS BY JOHN MASEFIELD THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NBW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO DALLAS ATLANTA SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. TORONTO POEMS BY JOHN MASEFIELD SELECTED BT HENRY SEIDEL CANBY, PH.D. FREDERICK ERASTUS PIERCE, PH.D. WILLARD HIGLEY DURHAM, PH.D. OF THK DIPABTMENT OF KNSL.I8H, TH* SHBTTMLD SGIXKTiriO SCHOOL, TAiB UKIVBB8ITT [PUBLISHED WITH THE CONSENT OF ME. MASEFIELD] Nefo |f otfe THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1917 All righU r4nd Copyright, 1911, by John Masefield. Copyright, 1912, by The Macmillan Company. Copyright, 1913, by Harper and Brothers and by The Macmillan Company. Copyright, 1914, by the Century Company, by the McClure Publications, and by The Macmillan Company. Copyright, 1915, by John Masefield. Copyright, 1916, by John Masefield. Nortooofi J. 8. Gushing Co. Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. College Library TABLE OF CONTENTS PAQB ^"A CONSECRATION 1 THE EVERLASTING MERCY 3 DAUBER 96 BIOORAPHT . . . 258 CARGOES 281 ,/SBA FEVER 283 SPANISH WATERS 285 AN OLD SONG RE-SUNG 290 ,/THE WEST WIND 292 /ON MALVERN HILL 295 FRAGMENTS 297 TBWKBBBURY ROAD 301 SONNETS . 303 ^AUGUST, 1914 308 A CONSECRATION NOT of the princes and prelates with periwigged charioteers Riding triumphantly laurelled to lap the fat of the years, Rather the scorned the rejected the men hemmed in with the spears; The men of the tattered battalion which fights till it dies, Dazed with the dust of the battle, the din and the cries, The men with the broken heads and the blood running into their eyes. Not the be-medalled Commander, beloved of the throne, Riding cock-horse to parade when the bugles are blown, But the lads who carried the koppie and cannot be known. Not the ruler for me, but the ranker, the tramp of the road, The slave with the sack on his shoulders pricked on with the goad, The man with too weighty a burden, too weary a load. The sailor, the stoker of steamers, the man with the clout, The chantyman bent at the halliards putting a tune to the shout, The drowsy man at the wheel and the tired lookout. 1 2 SALT-WATER BALLADS Others may sing of the wine and the wealth and the mirth, The portly presence of potentates goodly in girth ; Mine be the dirt and the dross, the dust and scum of the earth ! THEIRS be the music, the colour, the glory, the gold; Mine be a handful of ashes, a mouthful of mould. Of the maimed, of the halt and the blind in the rain and the cold Of these shall my songs be fashioned, my tales be told. AMEN. THE EVERLASTING MERCY From '41 to '51 I was my folk's contrary son ; I bit my father's hand right through And broke my mother's heart in two. I sometimes go without my dinner Now that I know the times I've gi'n her. From '51 to '61 I cut my teeth and took to fun. I learned what not to be afraid of And what stuff women's lips are made of; I learned with what a rosy feeling Good ale makes floors seem like the ceiling, And how the moon gives shiny light To lads as roll home singing by't. 3 4 THE EVERLASTING M EEC T My blood did leap, my flesh did revel, Saul Kane was tokened to the devil. From '61 to '67 I lived in disbelief of Heaven. I drunk, I fought, I poached, I whored, t I did despite unto the Lord. I cursed, 'would make a man look pale, And nineteen times I went to gaol. Now, friends, observe and look upon me, Mark how the Lord took pity on me. > By Dead Man's Thorn, while setting wires, Who should come up but Billy Myers, A friend of mine, who used to be As black a sprig of hell as me, With whom I'd planned, to save encroachin', Which fields and coverts each should poach in. Now when he saw me set my snare, THE EVERLASTING MERCY 5 He tells me "Get to hell from there. This field is mine/' he says, "by right; If you poach here, there'll be a fight. Out now," he says, "and leave your wire; It's mine." "It ain't." "You put." "You liar." "You closhy put." "You bloody liar." "This is my field." "This is my wire." "I'm ruler here." "You ain't." "lam." "I'U fight you for it." "Right, by damn. Not now, though, I've a-sprained my thumb, We'll fight after the harvest hum. And Silas Jones, that bookie wide, 6 THE EVERLASTING MERCY Will make a purse five pounds a side." Those were the words, that was the place By which God brought me into grace. On Wood Top Field the peewits go Mewing and wheeling ever so ; And like the shaking of a timbrel Cackles the laughter of the whimbrel. In the old quarry-pit they say Head-keeper Pike was made away. He walks, head-keeper Pike, for harm, He taps the windows of the farm ; The blood drips from his broken chin, He taps and begs to be let in. On Wood Top, nights, I've shaked to hark The peewits wambling in the dark Lest in the dark the old man might Creep up to me to beg a light. But Wood Top grass is short and sweet And springy to a boxer's feet ; THE EVERLASTING MERCY 7 At harvest hum the moon so bright Did shine on Wood Top for the fight. \ When Bill was stripped down to his bends I thought how long we two'd been friends, And in my mind, about that wire, I thought " He's right, I am a liar. As sure as skilly's made in prison The right to poach that copse is his'n. I'll have no luck to-night," thinks I. "I'm fighting to defend a lie. And this moonshiny evening's fun Is worse than aught I've ever done." And thinking that way my heart bled so I almost stept to Bill and said so. And now Bill's dead I would be glad If I could only think I had. But no. I put the thought away For fear of what my friends would say. 8 THE EVERLASTING MEECT They'd backed me, see ? Lord, the sin Done for the things there's money in. The stakes were drove, the ropes were hitched, Into the ring my hat I pitched. My corner faced the Squire's park Just where the fir trees make it dark ; The place where I begun poor Nell Upon the woman's road to hell. I thought oft, sitting in my corner After the time-keep struck his warner (Two brandy flasks, for fear of noise, Clinked out the time to us two boys). And while my seconds chafed and gloved me I thought of Nell's eyes when she loved me, And wondered how my tot would end, First Nell cast off and now my friend ; And in the moonlight dim and wan I knew quite well my luck was gone ; THE EVEELA8TING MERCY 9 And looking round I felt a spite At all who'd come to see me fight ; The five and forty human faces Inflamed by drink and going to races, Faces of men who'd never been Merry or true or live or clean ; Who'd never felt the boxer's trim Of brain divinely knit to limb, Nor felt the whole live body go One tingling health from top to toe ; Nor took a punch nor given a swing, But just soaked deady round the ring Until their brains and bloods were foul Enough to make their throttles howl, While we whom Jesus died to teach Fought round on round, three minutes each. And thinking that, you'll understand I thought, "Til go and take Bill's hand. 10 THE EVERLASTING MERCY I'll up and say the fault was mine, He shan't make play for these here swine." And then I thought that that was silly, They'd think I was afraid of Billy ; They'd think (I thought it, God forgive me) I funked the hiding Bill could give me. And that thought made me mad and hot. "Think that, will they? Well, they shall not. They shan't think that. I will not. I'm Damned if I will. I will not." Time! From the beginning of the bout My luck was gone, my hand was out. Right from the start Bill called the play, But I was quick and kept away Till the fourth round, when work got mixed, And then I knew Bill had me fixed. THE EVERLASTING MERCY 11 My hand was out, why, Heaven knows ; Bill punched me when and where he chose. Through two more rounds we quartered wide, And all the time my hands seemed tied ; Bill punched me when and where he pleased. The cheering from my backers eased, But every punch I heard a yell Of "That's the style, BUI, give him hell." No one for me, but Jimmy's light " Straight left ! Straight left ! " and "Watch his right." I don't know how a boxer goes When all his body hums from blows ; I know I seemed to rock and spin, I don't know how I saved my chin ; I know I thought my only friend Was that clinked flask at each round's end When my two seconds, Ed and Jimmy, Had sixty seconds help to gimme. 12 THE EVERLASTING MERCY But in the ninth, with pain and knocks I stopped : I couldn't fight nor box. Bill missed his swing, the light was tricky, But I went down, and stayed down, dicky. "Get up," cried Jim. I said, "I will." Then all the gang yelled, "Out him, Bill. Out him." Bill rushed . . . and Clink, Clink, Clink. Time ! and Jim's knee, and rum to drink. And round the ring there ran a titter : "Saved by the call, the bloody quitter." They drove (a dodge that never fails) A pin beneath my finger nails. They poured what seemed a running beck Of cold spring water down my neck ; Jim with a lancet quick as flies Lowered the swellings round my eyes. They sluiced my legs and fanned my face Through all that blessed minute's grace ; THE EVERLASTING MERCY 13 They gave my calves a thorough kneading, They salved my cuts and stopped the bleeding. A gulp of liquor dulled the pain, And then the two flasks clinked again. Time! There was Bill as grim as death, He rushed, I clinched, to get more breath, And breath I got, though Billy bats Some stinging short-arms in my slats. And when we broke, as I foresaw, He swung his right in for the jaw. I stopped it on my shoulder bone, And at the shock I heard Bill groan A little groan or moan or grunt As though I'd hit his wind a bunt. At that, I clinched, and while we clinched, His old time right arm dig was flinched, And when we broke he hit me light As though he didn't trust his right, 14 THE EVERLASTING MERCY He flapped me somehow with his wrist As though he couldn't use his fist, And when he hit he winced with pain. I thought, "Your sprained thumb's crocked again." So I got strength and Bill gave ground, And that round was an easy round. During the wait my Jimmy said, "What's making Billy fight so dead? He's all to pieces. Is he blown?" "His thumb's out." "No ? Then it's your own. It's all your own, but don't be rash He's got the goods if you've got cash, And what one hand can do he'll do, Be careful this next round or two." Time. There was Bill, and I felt sick That luck should play so mean a trick THE EVERLASTING MERCY 15 And give me leave to knock him out After he'd plainly won the bout. But by the way the man came at me He made it plain he meant to bat me ; If you'd a seen the way he come You wouldn't think he'd crocked a thumb. With all his skill and all his might He clipped me dizzy left and right ; The Lord knows what the effort cost, But he was mad to think he'd lost, And knowing nothing else could save him He didn't care what pain it gave him. He called the music and the dance For five rounds more and gave no chance. Try to imagine if you can The kind of manhood in the man ; And if you'd like to feel his pain You sprain your thumb and hit the sprain. And hit it hard, with all your power 16 THE EVERLASTING MERCY On something hard for half-an-hour, While someone thumps you black and blue, And then you'll know what Billy knew. Bill took that pain without a sound Till halfway through the eighteenth round, And then I sent him down and out, And Silas said, "Kane wins the bout. 1 " When Bill came to, you understand, I ripped the mitten from my hand And went across to ask Bill shake. My limbs were all one pain and ache, I was so weary and so sore I don't think I'd a stood much more. Bill in his corner bathed his thumb, Buttoned his shirt and glowered glum. "I'll never shake your hand," he said. "I'd rather see my children dead. I've been about and had some fun with you, But you're a liar and I've done with you. THE EVERLASTING MERCY 17 You've knocked me out, you didn't beat me ; Look out the next time that you meet me, There'll be no friend to watch the clock for you And no convenient thumb to crock for you, And I'll take care, with much delight, You'll get what you'd a got to-night ; That puts my meaning clear, I guess, Now get to hell ; I want to dress." I dressed. My backers one and all Said, "Well done you," or "Good old Saul." "Saul is a wonder and a fly 'un, What'll you have, Saul, at the Lion?" With merry oaths they helped me down The stony wood path to the town. The moonlight shone on Cabbage Walk, It made the limestone look like chalk. It was too late for any people, 18 THE EVERLASTING MERCY Twelve struck as we went by the steeple. A dog barked, and an owl was calling, The squire's brook was still a-falling, The carved heads on the church looked down On "Russell, Blacksmith of this Town," And all the graves of all the ghosts Who rise on Christmas Eve in hosts To dance and carol in festivity For joy of Jesus Christ's Nativity (Bell-ringer Dawe and his two sons Beheld 'em from the bell-tower once), Two and two about about Singing the end of Advent out, Dwindling down to windlestraws When the glittering peacock craws, As craw the glittering peacock should When Christ's own star comes over the wood. Lamb of the sky come out of fold Wandering windy heavens cold. So they shone and sang till twelve THE EVERLASTING MERCY 19 When all the bells ring out of theirselve. Rang a peal for Christmas morn, Glory, men, for Christ is born. All the old monks' singing places Glimmered quick with flitting faces, Singing anthems, singing hymns Under carven cherubims. Ringer Dawe aloft could mark Faces at the window dark Crowding, crowding, row on row, Till. all the Church began to glow. The chapel glowed, the nave, the choir, All the faces became fire Below the eastern window high To see Christ's star come up the sky. 1 Then they lifted hands and turned, And all their lifted fingers burned, Burned like the golden altar tallows, Burned like a troop of God's own Hallows, 20 THE EVERLASTING MERCY Bringing to mind the burning time When all the bells will rock and chime And burning saints on burning horses Will sweep the planets from their courses And loose the stars to burn up night. Lord, give us eyes to bear the light. "* . We all went quiet down the Scallenge Lest Police Inspector Drew should challenge. But 'Spector Drew was sleeping sweet, His head upon a charges sheet, Under the gas jet flaring full, Snorting and snoring like a bull, His bull cheeks puffed, his bull lips blowing, His ugly yellow front teeth showing. Just as we peeped we saw him fumble And scratch his head, and shift, and mumble. Down in the lane so thin and dark The tan-yards stank of bitter bark, The curate's pigeons gave a flutter, THE EVERLASTING MERCY 21 A cat went courting down the gutter, And none else stirred a foot or feather. The houses put their heads together, Talking, perhaps, so dark and sly, Of all the folk they'd seen go by, Children, and men and women, merry all, Who'd some day pass that way to burial. It was all dark, but at the turning The Lion had a window burning. So in we went and up the stairs, Treading as still as cats and hares. The way the stairs creaked made you wonder If dead men's bones were hidden under. At head of stairs upon the landing A woman with a lamp was standing ; She greet each gent at head of stairs With "Step in, gents, and take your chairs. The punch'll come when kettle bubble, But don't make noise or there'll be trouble." 'Twas Doxy Jane, a bouncing girl 22 THE EVERLASTING MERCY With eyes all sparks and hair all curl, And cheeks all red and lips all coal, And thirst for men instead of soul. She's trod her pathway to the fire. Old Rivers had his nephew by her. I step aside from Tom and Jimmy To find if she'd a kiss to gimme. I blew out lamp 'fore she could speak. She said, "If you ain't got a cheek," And then beside me in the dim, "Did he beat you or you beat him ?" "Why, I beat him" (though that was wrong). She said, "You must be turble strong. I'd be afraid you'd beat me, too." "You'd not," I said, "I wouldn't do." "Never?" "No, never." "Never?" "No." THE EVERLASTING MERCY 23 "0 Saul. Here's missus. Let me go." It wasn't missus, so I didn't, Whether I mid do or I midn't, Until she'd promised we should meet Next evening, six, at top of street, When we could have a quiet talk On that low wall up Worcester Walk. And while we whispered there together I give her silver for a feather And felt a drunkenness like wine And shut out Christ in husks and swine. I felt the dart strike through my liver. God punish me for't and forgive her. Each one could be a Jesus mild, Each one has been a little child, A little child with laughing look, A lovely white unwritten book ; A book that God will take, my friend, As each goes out at journey's end. 24 THE EVERLASTING MEECY The Lord Who gave us Earth and Heaven Takes that as thanks for all He's given. The book he lent is given back All blotted red and smutted black. "Open the door," said Jim, "and call." Jane gasped "They'll see me. Loose me, Saul." She pushed me by, and ducked downstair With half the pins out of her hair. I went inside the lit room rollen Her scented handkerchief I'd stolen. "What would you fancy, Saul?" they said. "A gin punch hot and then to bed." "Jane, fetch the punch bowl to the gemmen ; And mind you don't put too much lemon. Our good friend Saul has had a fight of it, Now smoke up, boys, and make a night of it." The room was full of men and stink Of bad cigars and heavy drink. THE EVERLASTING NERCY 25 Riley was nodding to the floor And gurgling as he wanted more. His mouth was wide, his face was pale, His swollen face was sweating ale ; And one of those assembled Greeks Had corked black crosses on his cheeks. Thomas was having words with Goss, He "wouldn't pay, the fight was cross." And Goss told Tom that "cross or no, The bets go as the verdicts go, By all I've ever heard or read of. So pay, or else I'll knock your head off." Jim Gurvil said his smutty say About a girl down Bye Street way, And how the girl from Froggatt's circus Died giving birth in Newent work'us. And Dick told how the Dymock wench Bore twins, poor thing, on Dog Hill bench ; And how he'd owned to one in Court And how Judge made him sorry for't. 26 THE EVERLASTING MERCY Jack set a Jew's harp twanging drily ; "Gimme another cup," said Riley. A dozen more were in their glories With laughs and smokes and smutty stories ; And Jimmy joked and took his sup And sang his song of "Up, come up." Jane brought the bowl of stewing gin And poured the egg and lemon in, And whisked it up and served it out While bawdy questions went about. Jack chucked her chin, and Jim accost her With bits out of the "Maid of Gloster." And fifteen arms went round her waist. (And then men ask, Are Barmaids chaste ?) O young men, pray to be kept whole From bringing down a weaker soul. Your minute's joy so meet in doin' May be the woman's door to ruin ; The door to wandering up and down, THE EVERLASTING MERCT 27 A painted whore at half a crown. The bright mind fouled, the beauty gay All eaten out and fallen away, By drunken days and weary tramps From pub to pub by city lamps Till men despise the game they started Till health and beauty are departed, And in a slum the reeking hag Mumbles a crust with toothy jag, Or gets the river's help to end The life too wrecked for man to mend. We spat and smoked and took our swipe Till Silas up and tap his pipe, And begged us all to pay attention Because he'd several things to mention. We'd seen the fight (Hear, hear. That's you); But still one task remained to do, That task was his, he didn't shun it, 28 THE EVERLASTING MERCY To give the purse to him as won it. With this remark, from start to out He'd never seen a brisker bout. There was the purse. At that he'd leave it. Let Kane come forward to receive it. I took the purse and hemmed and bowed, And called for gin punch for the crowd ; And when the second bowl was done, I called, " Let's have another one." Si's wife come in and sipped and sipped (As women will) till she was pipped. And Si hit Dicky Twot a clouter Because he put his arm about her ; But after Si got overtasked She sat and kissed whoever asked. My Doxy Jane was splashed by this, I took her on my knee to kiss. And Tom cried out, " damn the gin ; Why can't we all have women in ? THE EVERLASTING MERCY 29 Bess Evans, now, or Sister Polly, Or those two housemaids at the Folly ? Let someone nip to Biddy Price's, They'd all come in a brace of trices. Rose Davies, Sue, and Betsy Perks ; One man, one girl, and damn all Turks." But, no. " More gin," they cried; "Come on. We'll have the girls in when it's gone." So round the gin went, hot and heady, Hot Hollands punch on top of deady. Hot Hollands punch on top of stout Puts madness in and wisdom out. From drunken man to drunken man The drunken madness raged and ran. "I'm climber Joe who climbed the spire." "You're climber Joe the bloody liar." "Who says I lie?" "I do." "You lie, 30 THE EVERLASTING MERCY I climbed the spire and had a fly." "I'm French Suzanne, the Circus Dancer, I'm going to dance a bloody Lancer." "If I'd my rights I'm Squire's heir." "By rights I'd be a millionaire." "By rights I'd be the lord of you, But Farmer Scriggins had his do, He done me, so I've had to hoove it, I've got it all wrote down to prove it. And one of these dark winter nights He'll learn I mean to have my rights ; I'll bloody him a bloody fix, I'll bloody burn his bloody ricks." From three long hours of gin and smokes, And two girls' breath and fifteen blokes, A warmish night, and windows shut, The room stank like a fox's gut. The heat and smell and drinking deep Began to stun the gang to sleep. THE EVERLASTING MERCY 31 Some fell downstairs to sleep on the mat, Some snored it sodden where they sat. Dick Twot had lost a tooth and wept, But all the drunken others slept. Jane slept beside me in the chair, And I got up ; I wanted air. I opened window wide and leaned Out of that pigstye of the fiend And felt a cool wind go like grace About the sleeping market-place. The clock struck three, and sweetly, slowly, The bells chimed Holy, Holy, Holy; And hi a second's pause there fell The cold note of the chapel bell, And then a cock crew, flapping wings, And summat made me think of things. How long those ticking clocks had gone From church and chapel, on and on, Ticking the time out, ticking slow 32 THE EVERLASTING MERCY To men and girls who'd come and go, And how they ticked in belfry dark When half the town was bishop's park, And how they'd rung a chime full tilt The night after the church was built, And how that night was Lambert's Feast, The night I'd fought and been a beast. And how a change had come. And then I thought, "You tick to different men." What with the fight and what with drinking And being awake alone there thinking, My mind began to carp and tetter, "If this life's all, the beasts are better." And then I thought, " I wish I'd seen The many towns this town has been; I wish I knew if they'd a-got A kind of summat we've a-not, If them as built the church so fair Were half the chaps folk say they were; THE EVERLASTING MEECY 33 For they'd the skill to draw their plan, And skill's a joy to any man ; And they'd the strength, not skill alone, To build it beautiful in stone ; And strength and skill together thus O, they were happier men than us. But if they were, they had to die The same as every one and I. And no one lives again, but dies, And all the bright goes out of eyes, And all the skill goes out of hands, And all the wise brain understands, And all the beauty, all the power Is cut down like a withered flower. In all the show from birth to rest I give the poor dumb cattle best." I wondered, then, why life should be, And what would be the end of me 84 THE EVERLASTING MERCY When youth and health and strength were gone And cold old age came creeping on ? A keeper's gun ? The Union ward ? Or that new quod at Hereford ? And looking round I felt disgust At all the nights of drink and lust, And all the looks of all the swine Who'd said that they were friends of mine ; And yet I knew, when morning came, The morning would be just the same, For I'd have drinks and Jane would meet me And drunken Silas Jones would greet me, And I'd risk quod and keeper's gun Till all the silly game was done. "For parson chaps are mad, supposin' A chap can change the road he's chosen." And then the Devil whispered, "Saul, Why should you want to live at all ? Why fret and sweat and try to mend ? THE EVERLASTING MERCY 35 It's all the same thing in the end. But when it's done," he said, "it's ended. Why stand it, since it can't be mended ? " And in my heart I heard him plain, "Throw yourself down and end it, Kane." " Why not ? " said I. " Why not ? But no. I won't. I've never had my go. I've not had all the world can give. Death by and by, but first I'll live. The world owes me my time of times, And that tune's coming now, by crimes." A madness took me then. I felt I'd like to hit the world a belt. I felt that I could fly through air, A screaming star with blazing hah*, A rushing comet, crackling, numbing The folk with fear of judgment coming, A 'Lijah in a fiery car, Coming to tell folk what they are. 36 THE EVERLASTING MERCY " That's what Til do," I shouted loud, "I'll tell this sanctimonious crowd This town of window peeping, prying, Maligning, peering, hinting, lying, Male and female human blots Who would, but daren't be, whores and sots, That they're so steeped in petty vice That they're less excellent than lice, That they're so soaked in petty virtue That touching one of them will dirt you, Dirt you with the stain of mean Cheating trade and going between, Pinching, starving, scraping, hoarding, Spying through the chinks of boarding To see if Sue, the prentice lean, Dares to touch the margarine. Fawning, cringing, oiling boots, Raging in the crowd's pursuits, Flinging stones at all the Stephens, THE EVERLASTING MERCY 37 Standing firm with all the evens, Making hell for all the odd, All the lonely ones of God, Those poor lonely ones who find Dogs more mild than human kind. For dogs," I said, "are nobles bora To most of you, you cockled corn. I've known dogs to leave their dinner, Nosing a kind heart in a sinner. Poor old Crafty wagged his tail The day I first came home from jail. When all my folk, so primly clad, Glowered black and thought me mad, And muttered how they'd been respected, While I was what they'd all expected. (I've thought of that old dog for years, And of how near I come to tears.) But you, you minds of bread and cheese, Are less divine than that dog's fleas. 88 THE EVERLASTING MERCY You suck blood from kindly friends, And kill them when it serves your ends. Double traitors, double black, Stabbing only in the back, Stabbing with the knives you borrow From the friends you bring to sorrow. You stab all that's true and strong, Truth and strength you say are wrong, Meek and mild, and sweet and creeping, Repeating, canting, cadging, peeping, That's the art and that's the life To win a man his neighbour's wife. All that's good and all that's true, You kill that, so I'll kill you." At that I tore my clothes in shreds And hurled them on the window leads ; I flung my boots through both the winders And knocked the glass to little flinders ; The punch bowl and the tumblers followed, THE EVERLASTING MERCY 39 And then I seized the lamps and holloed, And down the stairs, and tore back bolts, As mad as twenty blooded colts ; And out into the street I pass, As mad as two-year-olds at grass, A naked madman waving grand A blazing lamp in either hand. I yelled like twenty drunken sailors, "The devil's come among the tailors.'* A blaze of flame behind me streamed, And then I clashed the lamps and screamed "I'm Satan, newly come from hell." And then I spied the fire bell. I've been a ringer, so I know How best to make a big bell go. So on to bell-rope swift I swoop, And stick my one foot in the loop And heave a down-swig till I groan, "Awake, you swine, you devil's own." 40 THE EVERLASTING MERCY I made the fire-bell awake, I felt the bell-rope throb and shake ; I felt the air mingle and clang And beat the walls a muffled bang, And stifle back and boom and bay Like muffled peals on Boxing Day, And then surge up and gather shape, And spread great pinions and escape ; And each great bird of clanging shrieks Fire ! Fire, from iron beaks. My shoulders cracked to send around Those shrieking birds made out of sound With news of fire in their bills. (They heard 'em plain beyond Wall Hills.) Up go the winders, out come heads, 1 heard the springs go creak in beds ; But still I heave and sweat and tire, And still the clang goes "Fire, Fire !" " Where is it, then ? Who is it, there ? THE EVERLASTING MERCY 41 You ringer, stop, and tell us where." "Run round and let the Captain know." "It must be bad, he's ringing so." "It's in the town, I see the flame; Look there ! Look there, how red it came." "Where is it, then ? stop the bell." I stopped and called : "It's fire of hell ; And this is Sodom and Gomorrah, And now I'll burn you up, begorra." By this the firemen were mustering, The half-dressed stable men were flustering, Backing the horses out of stalls While this man swears and that man bawls, "Don't take th' old mare. Back, Toby, back. Back, Lincoln. Where's the fire, Jack?" "Damned if I know. Out Preston way." "No. It's at Chancey's Pitch, they say." "It's sixteen ricks at Pauntley burnt." 42 THE EVERLASTING MERCY "You back old Darby out, I durn't." They ran the big red engine out, And put 'em to with damn and shout. And then they start to raise the shire, "Who brought the news, and where's the fire?" They'd moonlight, lamps, and gas to light 'em. I give a screech-owl's screech to fright 'em, And snatch from underneath their noses The nozzles of the fire hoses. "I am the fire. Back, stand back, Or else I'll fetch your skulls a crack ; D'you see these copper nozzles here ? They weigh ten pounds apiece, my dear ; I'm fire of hell come up this minute To burn this town, and all that's in it. To burn you dead and burn you clean, You cogwheels in a stopped machine, You hearts of snakes, and brains of pigeons, THE EVERLASTING MERCY 43 You dead devout of dead religions, You offspring of the hen and ass, By Pilate ruled, and Caiaphas. Now your account is totted. Learn Hell's flames are loose and you shall burn." At that I leaped and screamed and ran, I heard their cries go, "Catch him, man." " Who was it ? " " Down him." " Out him, Ern." "Duck him at pump, we'll see who'll burn." A policeman clutched, a fireman clutched, A dozen others snatched and touched. "By God, he's stripped down to his buff." "By God, we'll make him warm enough." "After him," "Catch him," "Out him," "Scrobhim." " We'll give him hell." "By God, we'll mob him." 44 THE EVERLASTING MERCY "We'll duck him, scrout him, flog him, fratch him." "All right," I said. "But first you'll catch him." The men who don't know to the root The joy of being swift of foot, Have never known divine and fresh The glory of the gift of flesh, Nor felt the feet exult, nor gone Along a dim road, on and on, Knowing again the bursting glows, The mating hare in April knows, Who tingles to the pads with mirth At being the swiftest thing on earth. O, if you want to know delight, Run naked in an autumn night, And laugh, as I laughed then, to find A running rabble drop behind, And whang, on every door you pass, THE EVERLASTING MERCY 45 Two copper nozzles, tipped with brass, And doubly whang at every turning, And yell, "All hell's let loose, and burning." I beat my brass and shouted fire At doors of parson, lawyer, squire, At all three doors I threshed and slammed And yelled aloud that they were damned. I clodded squire's glass with turves Because he spring-gunned his preserves. Through parson's glass my nozzle swishes Because he stood for loaves and fishes, But parson's glass I spared a tittle. He give me a orange once when little, And he who gives a child a treat Makes joy-bells ring in Heaven's street, And he who gives a child a home Builds palaces in Kingdom come, And she who gives a baby birth Brings Saviour Christ again to Earth, 46 THE EVERLASTING MERCY For life is joy, and mind is fruit, And body's precious earth and root. r But lawyer's glass well, never mind, yv Th'old Adam's strong in me, I find. God pardon man, and may God's son Forgive the evil things I've done. What more ? By Dirty Lane I crept Back to the Lion, where I slept. The raging madness hot and floodin' Boiled itself out and left me sudden, Left me worn out and sick and cold, Aching as though I'd all grown old ; 50 there I lay, and there they found me On door-mat, with a curtain round me. 51 took my heels and Jane my head And laughed, and carried me to bed. And from the neighbouring street they reskied My boots and trousers, coat and weskit ; THE EVERLASTING MERCY 47 They bath-bricked both the nozzles bright To be mementoes of the night, And knowing what I should awake with They flannelled me a quart to slake with, And sat and shook till half past two Expecting Police Inspector Drew. I woke and drank, and went to meat In clothes still dirty from the street. Down in the bar I heard 'em tell How someone rang the fire bell, And how th' inspector's search had thriven, And how five pounds reward was given. And Shepherd Boyce, of Marley, glad us By saying it was blokes from mad'us, Or two young rips lodged at the Prince Whom none had seen nor heard of since, Or that young blade from Worcester Walk (You know how country people talk). Young Joe the ostler come in sad, 48 THE EVERLASTING MERCY He said th'old mare had bit his dad. He said there'd come a blazing screeching Daft Bible-prophet chap a-preaching, Had put th'old mare in such a taking She'd thought the bloody earth was quaking. And others come and spread a tale Of cut-throats out of Gloucester jail, And how we needed extra cops With all them Welsh come picking hops ; With drunken Welsh in all our sheds We might be murdered in our beds. By all accounts, both men and wives Had had the scare up of their lives. I ate and drank and gathered strength, And stretched along the bench full length, Or crossed to window seat to pat Black Silas Jones's little cat. At four I called, "You devil's own, THE EVERLASTING MERCY 49 The second trumpet shall be blown. The second trump, the second blast ; Hell's flames are loosed, and judgment's passed. Too late for mercy now. Take warning. I'm death and hell and Judgment morning." I hurled the bench into the settle, I banged the table on the kettle, I sent Joe's quart of cider spinning. "Lo, here begins my second inning." Each bottle, mug, and jug and pot I smashed to crocks in half a tot ; And Joe, and Si, and Nick, and Percy I rolled together topsy versy. And as I ran I heard 'em call, "Now damn to hell, what's gone with Saul?" Out into street I ran uproarious The devil dancing in me glorious. 50 THE EVERLASTING MERCY And as I ran I yell and shriek "Come on, now, turn the other cheek.'* Across the way by almshouse pump I see old puffing parson stump. Old parson, red-eyed as a ferret From nightly wrestlings with the spirit ; .^ I ran across, and barred his path. His turkey gills went red as wrath And then he froze, as parsons can. "The police will deal with you, my man." "Not yet," said I, "not yet they won't; And now you'll hear me, like or don't. The English Church both is and was A subsidy of Caiaphas. I don't believe in Prayer nor Bible, They're lies all through, and you're a libel, A libel on the Devil's plan When first he miscreated man. You mumble through a formal code To get which martyrs burned and glowed. THE EVERLASTING MERCY 51 I look on martyrs as mistakes, But still they burned for it at stakes ; Your only fire's the jolly fire Where you can guzzle port with Squire, And back and praise his damned opinions About his temporal dominions. You let him give the man who digs, A filthy hut unfit for pigs, Without a well, without a drain, With mossy thatch that lets in rain, Without a 'lotment, 'less he rent it, And never meat, unless he scent it, But weekly doles of 'leven shilling To make a grown man strong and willing, To do the hardest work on earth And feed his wife when she gives birth, And feed his little children's bones. I tell you, man, the Devil groans. With all your main and all your might You back what is against what's right ; 52 THE EVERLASTING MEECT You let the Squire do things like these, You back him in't and give him ease, You take his hand, and drink his wine, And he's a hog, but you're a swine. For you take gold to teach God's ways And teach man how to sing God's praise. And now I'll tell you what you teach In downright honest English speech. "You teach the ground-down starving man That Squire's greed's Jehovah's plan. You get his learning circumvented Lest it should make him discontented (Better a brutal, starving nation Than men with thoughts above their station), You let him neither read nor think, You goad his wretched soul to drink And then to jail, the drunken boor; O sad intemperance of the poor. You starve his soul till it's rapscallion, THE EVERLASTING MERCY 53 Then blame his flesh for being stallion. You send your wife around to paint The golden glories of "restraint." How moral exercise bewild'rin' Would soon result in fewer children. You work a day in Squire's fields And see what sweet restraint it yields, A woman's day at turnip picking, Your heart's too fat for plough or ricking. "And you whom luck taught French and Greek Have purple flaps on either cheek, A stately house, and time for knowledge, And gold to send your sons to college, That pleasant place, where getting learning Is also key to money earning. But quite your damndest want of grace Is what you do to save your face ; The way you sit astride the gates 54 THE EVERLASTING MERCY By padding wages out of rates ; Your Christmas gifts of shoddy blankets That every working soul may thank its Loving parson, loving squire Through whom he can't afford a fire. Your well-packed bench, your prison pen, To keep them something less than men ; Your friendly clubs to help 'em bury, Your charities of midwifery. Your bidding children duck and cap To them who give them workhouse pap. O, what you are, and what you preach, And what you do, and what you teach Is not God's Word, nor honest schism, But Devil's cant and pauperism." By this time many folk had gathered To listen to me while I blathered ; I said my piece, and when I'd said it, I'll do old purple parson credit, THE EVERLASTING MERCY 55 He sunk (as sometimes parsons can) His coat's excuses in the man. "You think that Squire and I are kings Who made the existing state of things, And made it ill. I answer, No, States are not made, nor patched ; they grow,- Grow slow through centuries of pain And grow correctly in the main, But only grow by certain laws Of certain bits in certain jaws. You want to doctor that. Let be. You cannot patch a growing tree. Put these two words beneath your hat, <-N These two : securus judicat. The social states of human kinds Are made by multitudes of minds, And after multitudes of years A little human growth appears Worth having, even to the soul Who sees most plain it's not the whole. 66 THE EVERLASTING MERCY This state is dull and evil, both, I keep it in the path of growth ; You think the Church an outworn fetter ; Kane, keep it, till you've built a better. And keep the existing social state ; I quite agree it's out of date, One does too much, another shirks, Unjust, I grant ; but still ... it works. To get the whole world out of bed And washed, and dressed, and warmed, and fed, To work, and back to bed again, Believe me, Saul, costs worlds of pain. Then, as to whether true or sham That book of Christ, Whose priest I am ; The Bible is a lie, say you, Where do you stand, suppose it true ? Good-bye. But if you've more to say, My doors are open night and day. Meanwhile, my friend, 'twould be no sin THE EVERLASTING MERCY 57 To mix more water in your gin. We're neither saints nor Philip Sidneys, But mortal men with mortal kidneys." He took his snuff, and wheezed a greeting, And waddled off to mothers' meeting ; I hung my head upon my chest, I give old purple parson best. For while the Plough tips round the Pole The trained mind outs the upright soul, As Jesus said the trained mind might, Being wiser than the sons of light, But trained men's minds are spread so thin They let all sorts of darkness in ; Whatever light man finds they doubt it They love, not light, but talk about it. But parson'd proved to people's eyes That I was drunk, and he was wise ; And people grinned and women tittered, And little children mocked and twittered. 58 THE EVERLASTING MERCY So, blazing mad, I stalked to bar To show how noble drunkards are, And guzzled spirits like a beast, To show contempt for Church and priest, Until, by six, my wits went round Like hungry pigs in parish pound. At half past six, rememb'ring Jane, I staggered into street again With mind made up (or primed with gin) To bash the cop who'd run me in ; For well I knew I'd have to cock up My legs that night inside the lock-up, And it was my most fixed intent To have a fight before I went. Our Fates are strange, and no one knows his ; Our lovely Saviour Christ disposes. Jane wasn't where we'd planned, the jade. She'd thought me drunk and hadn't stayed. So I went up the Walk to look for her THE EVERLASTING MERCY 59 And lingered by the little brook for her, And dowsed my face, and drank at spring, And watched two wild duck on the wing. The moon come pale, the wind come cool, A big pike leapt in Lower Pool, The peacock screamed, the clouds were strak- My cut cheek felt the weather breaking ; An orange sunset waned and thinned Foretelling rain and western wind, And while I watched I heard distinct The metals on the railway clinked. The blood-edged clouds were all in tatters, The sky and earth seemed mad as hatters ; They had a death look, wild and odd, Of something dark foretold by God. Perhaps when man has entered in His perfect city free from sin, The campers will come past the walls With old lame horses full of galls, And waggons hung about with withies, And burning coke in tinker's stithies, And see the golden town, and choose, And think the wild too good to lose. And camp outside, as these camped then With wonder at the entering men. So past, and past the stone heap white That dewberry trailers hid from sight, And down the field so full of springs, THE EVERLASTING MERCY 85 Where mewing peewits clap their wings, And past the trap made for the mill Into the field below the hill. There was a mist along the stream, A wet mist, dim, like in a dream ; I heard the heavy breath of cows, And waterdrops from th 'alder boughs ; And eels, or snakes, in dripping grass, Whipping aside to let me pass. The gate was backed against the ryme To pass the cows at milking time. And by the gate as I went out A moldwarp rooted earth wi's snout. A few steps up the Callows' Lane Brought me above the mist again, The two great fields arose like death Above the mists of human breath. All earthly things that blessed morning Were everlasting joy and warning. 86 THE EVERLASTING MERCY The gate was Jesus' way made plain, The mole was Satan foiled again, Black blinded Satan snouting way Along the red of Adam's clay ; The mist was error and damnation, The lane the road unto salvation. Out of the mist into the light, blessed gift of inner sight. The past was faded like a dream ; There come the jingling of a team, A ploughman's voice, a clink of chain, Slow hoofs, and harness under strain. Up the slow slope a team came bowing, Old Callow at his autumn ploughing, Old Callow, stooped above the hales, Ploughing the stubble into wales. His grave eyes looking straight ahead, Shearing a long straight furrow red ; His plough-foot high to give it earth To bring new food for men to birth. THE EVERLASTING MERCY 87 wet red swathe of earth laid bare, O truth, O strength, O gleaming share, patient eyes that watch the goal, O ploughman of the sinner's soul. Jesus, drive the coulter deep To plough my living man from sleep. Slow up the hill the plough team plod, Old Callow at the task of God, Helped by man's wit, helped by the brute, Turning a stubborn clay to fruit, His eyes forever on some sign To help him plough a perfect line. At top of rise the plough team stopped, The fore-horse bent his head and cropped. Then the chains chack, the brasses jingle, The lean reins gather through the cringle, The figures move against the sky, The clay wave breaks as they go by. 1 kneeled there in the muddy fallow, 88 THE EVERLASTING MERCY I knew that Christ was there with Callow, That Christ was standing there with me, That Christ had taught me what to be, That I should plough, and as I ploughed My Saviour Christ would sing aloud, And as I drove the clods apart Christ would be ploughing in my heart, Through rest-harrow and bitter roots, Through all my bad life's rotten fruits. Christ who holds the open gate, Christ who drives the furrow straight, Christ, the plough, Christ, the laughter Of holy white birds flying after, Lo, all my heart's field red and torn, And Thou wilt bring the young green corn, The young green corn divinely springing, The young green corn forever singing ; And when the field is fresh and fair Thy bless&i feet shall glitter there, THE EVERLASTING MERCY 89 And we will walk the weeded field, And tell the golden harvest's yield, The corn that makes the holy bread By which the soul of man is fed, The holy bread, the food unpriced, Thy everlasting mercy, Christ. The share will jar on many a stone, Thou wilt not let me stand alone ; And I shall feel (thou wilt not fail), Thy hand on mine upon the hale. Near Bullen Bank, on Gloucester Road, Thy everlasting mercy showed The ploughman patient on the hill Forever there, forever still, Ploughing the hill with steady yoke Of pine-trees lightning-struck and broke. I've marked the May Hill ploughman stay There on his hill, day after day Driving his team against the sky, 90 THE EVERLASTING MERCY While men and women live and die. And now and then he seems to stoop To clear the coulter with the scoop, Or touch an ox to haw or gee While Severn stream goes out to sea. The sea with all her ships and sails, A And that great smoky port in Wales, And Gloucester tower bright i' the sun, All know that patient wandering one. And sometimes when they burn the leaves The bonfires' smoking trails and heaves, And girt red flames twink and twire As though he ploughed the hill afire. And in men's hearts in many lands A spiritual ploughman stands Forever waiting, waiting now, The heart's "Put in, man, zook the plough." By this the sun was all one glitter, The little birds were all in twitter ; THE EVERLASTING MERCY 91 Out of a tuft a little lark Went higher up than I could mark, His little throat was all one thirst To sing until his heart should burst To sing aloft in golden light His song from blue air out of sight. The mist drove by, and now the cows Came plodding up to milking house. Followed by Frank, the Callows' cowman, Who whistled "Adam was a ploughman." There come such cawing from the rooks, Such running chuck from little brooks, One thought it March, just budding green, With hedgerows full of celandine. An otter 'out of stream and played, Two hares come loping up and stayed ; Wide-eyed and tender-eared but bold. Sheep bleated up by Penny's fold. I heard a partridge covey call, The morning sun was bright on all. 92 THE EVERLASTING MERCY Down the long slope the plough team drove The tossing rooks arose and hove. A stone struck on the share. A word Came to the team. The red earth stirred. I crossed the hedge by shooter's gap, I hitched my boxer's belt a strap, I jumped the ditch and crossed the fallow : I took the hales from farmer Callow. How swift the summer goes, Forget-me-not, pink, rose. The young grass when I started And now the hay is carted, And now my song is ended, And all the summer spended ; The blackbird's second brood Routs beech leaves in the wood ; The pink and rose have speeded, Forget-me-not has seeded. THE EVERLASTING MERCY 93 Only the winds that blew, The rain that makes things new, The earth that hides things old, And blessings manifold. lovely lily clean, O lily springing green, O lily bursting white, Dear lily of delight, Spring in my heart agen That I may flower to men. GREAT HAMPDEN. June, 1911. NOTE "The Everlasting Mercy" first appeared in The English Review for October, 1911. I thank the Editor and Proprietors of that paper for permitting me to reprint it here. The persons and events described in the poem are entirely imaginary, and no reference is made or intended to any living person. JOHN MASEFIELD. DAUBER I FOUR bells were struck, the watch was called on deck, All work aboard was over for the hour, And some men sang and others played at check, Or mended clothes or watched the sunset glower. The bursting west was like an opening j Q flower, And one man watched it till the light was dim, But no one went across to talk to him. He was the painter in that swift ship's crew, Lampman and painter tall, a slight-built man, 05 96 DAUBER Young for his years, and not yet twenty- two; Sickly, and not yet brown with the sea's tan. Bullied and damned at since the voyage began, "Being neither man nor seaman by his taUy/> *****?* II He bunked with the idlers just abaft the galley. His work began at five ; he worked all day, Keeping no watch and having all night in. His work was what the mate might care to say; He mixed red lead in many a bouilli tin ; His dungarees were smeared with paraffin. "Go drown himself" his round-house mates advised him, And all hands called him "Dauber"' and despised him. DAUBER 9T Si, the apprentice, stood beside the spar, Stripped to the waist, a basin at his side, Slushing his hands to get away the tar, And then he washed himself and rinsed and dried; Towelling his face, hair-towzelled, eager eyed, He crossed the spar to Dauber, and there stood Watching the gold of heaven turn to blood. They stood there by the rail while the swift ship Tore on out of the tropics, straining her sheets, Whitening her trackway to a milky strip, Dim with green bubbles and twisted water meets, Her clacking tackle tugged at pins and cleats, 98 DAUBER Her great sails bellied stiff, her great masts leaned : They watched how the seas struck and burst and greened. Si talked with Dauber, standing by the side. "Why did you come to sea, painter?" he said. "I want to be a painter," he replied, "And know the sea and ships from A to Z, And paint great ships at sea before I'm dead ; Ships under skysails running down the Trade Ships and the sea; there's nothing finer made. "But there's so much to learn, with sails and ropes, And how the sails look, full or being furled, DAUBER 99 And how the lights change in the troughs and slopes, And the sea's colours up and down the world, And how a storm looks when the sprays are hurled High as the yard (they say) I want to see ; There's none ashore can teach such things to me. "And then the men and rigging, and the way Ships move, running or beating, and the poise At the roll's end, the checking in the sway I want to paint them perfect, short of the noise ; And then the life, the half-decks full of boys, The foVsles with the men there, dripping wet: I know the subjects that I want to get. 100 DAUBER "It's not been done, the sea, not yet been done, From the inside, by one who really knows ; I'd give up all if I could be the one, But art comes dear the way the money goes. So I have come to sea, and I suppose Three years will teach me all I want to learn And make enough to keep me till I earn." Even as he spoke his busy pencil moved, Drawing the leap of water off the side Where the great clipper trampled iron- hooved, Making the blue hills of the sea divide, Shearing a glittering scatter in her stride, And leaping on full tilt with all sails draw- ing, Proud as a war-horse, snuffing battle, paw- ing. DAUBER 101 "I cannot get it yet not yet," he said; "That leap and light, and sudden change to green, And all the glittering from the sunset's red, And the milky colours where the bursts have been, And then the clipper striding like a queen Over it all, all beauty to the crown. I see it all, I cannot put it down. "It's hard not to be able. There, look there ! I cannot get the movement nor the light; Sometimes it almost makes a man despair To try and try and never get it right. Oh, if I could oh, if I only might, I wouldn't mind what hells I'd have to pass, Not if the whole world called me fool and ass." 102 DAUBER Down sank the crimson sun into the sea, The wind cut chill at once, the west grew dun. "Out sidelights!" called the mate. "Hi, where is he?" The Boatswain called, "Out sidelights, damn you! Run!" "He's always late or lazing," murmured one "The Dauber, with his sketching." Soon the tints Of red and green passed on dark water- glints. Darker it grew, still darker, and the stars Burned golden, and the fiery fishes came. The wire-note loudened from the straining spars; The sheet-blocks clacked together always the same; DAUBER 103 The rushing fishes streaked the seas with flame, Racing the one speed noble as their own: What unknown joy was in those fish un- known ! Just by the round-house door, as it grew dark, The Boatswain caught the Dauber with, "Now, you; Till now I've spared you, damn you ! now you hark : I've just had hell for what you didn't do; I'll have you broke and sent among the crew If you get me more trouble by a particle. Don't you forget, you daubing, useless article ! "You thing, you twice-laid thing from Port Mahon!" 104 DAUBER Then came the Cook's "Is that the Dauber there ? Why don't you leave them stinking paints alone ? They stink the house out, poisoning all the air. Just take them out." "Where to?" "I don't care where. I won't have stinking paint here." From then* plates: "That's right; wet paint breeds fever," growled his mates. He took his still wet drawings from the berth And climbed the ladder to the deck-house top; Beneath, the noisy half-deck rang with mirth, For two ship's boys were putting on the strop : One, clambering up to let the skylight drop, DAUBER 105 Saw him bend down beneath a boat and lay His drawings there, till all were hid away, And stand there silent, leaning on the boat, Watching the constellations rise and burn, Until the beauty took him by the throat, So stately is their glittering overturn; Armies of marching eyes, armies that yearn With banners rising and falling, and pass- ing by Over the empty silence of the sky. The Dauber sighed there looking at the sails, Wind-steadied arches leaning on the night, The high trucks traced on heaven and left no trails; The moonlight made the topsails almost white, The passing sidelight seemed to drip green light. 106 DAUBER And on the clipper rushed with fire-bright bows ; He sighed, "I'll never do't," and left the house. "Now," said the reefer, "up ! Come, Sam; come, Si, Dauber's been hiding something." Up they slid, Treading on naked tiptoe stealthily To grope for treasure at the long-boat skid. "Drawings!" said Sam. "Is this what Dauber hid? Lord ! I expected pudding, not this rot. Still, come, we'll have some fun with what we've got." They smeared the paint with turpentine until They could remove with mess-clouts every trace DAUBER 107 Of quick perception caught by patient skill, And lines that had brought blood into his ' face. They wiped the pigments off, and did erase, loll- With knives, all sticking clots. When they . j M^,-- had done. Under the boat they laid them every one. All he had drawn since first he came to sea, His six weeks' leisure fruits, they laid them there. They chuckled then to think how mad he'd be Finding his paintings vanished into air. Eight bells were struck, and feet from everywhere Went shuffling aft to muster in the dark; The mate's pipe glowed above, a dim red spark. 108 DAUBER Names in the darkness passed and voices cried; The red spark glowed and died, the faces seemed As things remembered when a brain has died, To all but high intenseness deeply dreamed. Like hissing spears the fishes' fire streamed, And on the clipper rushed with tossing mast, A bath of flame broke round her as she passed. The watch was set, the night came, and the men Hid from the moon in shadowed nooks to sleep, Bunched like the dead; still, like the dead, as when Plague in a city leaves none even to weep. DAUBER 109 The ship's track brightened to a mile- broad sweep ; The mate there felt her pulse, and eyed the spars: South-west by south she staggered under the stars. Down in his bunk the Dauber lay awake Thinking of his unfitness for the sea. Each failure, each derision, each mistake, There in the life not made for such as he; A morning grim with trouble sure to be, A noon of pain from failure, and a night Bitter with men's contemning and despite. This in the first beginning, the green leaf, Still in the Trades before bad weather fell; What harvest would he reap of hate and grief When the loud Horn made every life a hell ? 110 DAUBER When the sick ship lay over, clanging her bell, And no time came for painting or for draw- ing, But all hands fought, and icy death came clawing ? Hell, he expected, hell. His eyes grew blind ; The snoring from his messmates droned and snuffled, And then a gush of pity calmed his mind. The cruel torment of his thought was muffled, Without, on deck, an old, old, seaman shuffled, Humming his song, and through the open door A moonbeam moved and thrust along the floor. DAUBER 111 The green bunk curtains moved, the brass rings clicked, The Cook cursed in his sleep, turning and turning, The moonbeams' moving finger touched and picked, And all the stars in all the sky were burn- ing. "This is the art I've come for, and am learning, The sea and ships and men and travelling things. It is most proud, whatever pain it brings." He leaned upon his arm and watched the light Sliding and fading to the steady roll; This he would some day paint, the ship at night, And sleeping seamen tired to the soul; 112 DAUBER The space below the bunks as black as coal, Gleams upon chests, upon the unlit lamp, The ranging door hook, and the locker clamp. This he would paint, and that, and all these scenes, And proud ships carrying on, and men their minds, And blues of rollers toppling into greens, And shattering into white that bursts and blinds, And scattering ships running erect like hinds, And men in oilskins beating down a sail High on the yellow yard, in snow, in hail. With faces ducked down from the slant- ing drive Of half-thawed hail mixed with half-frozen spray, DAUBER 113 The roaring canvas like a thing alive, Shaking the mast, knocking their hands away, The foot-ropes jerking to the tug and sway, The savage eyes salt-reddened at the rims, And icicles on the south-wester brims. And sunnier scenes would grow under his brush, The tropic dawn with all things dropping dew, The darkness and the wonder and the hush, The insensate grey before the marvel grew; Then the veil lifted from the trembling blue, The walls of sky burst in, the flower, the rose, All the expanse of heaven a mind that glows. He turned out of his bunk; the Cook still tossed, 114 DAUBER One of the other two spoke in his sleep. A cockroach scuttled where the moonbeam crossed ; Outside there was the ship, the night, the deep. "It is worth while," the youth said; "I will keep To my resolve, I'll learn to paint all this. My Lord, my God, how beautiful it is!" Outside was the ship's rush to the wind's hurry, A resonant wire-hum from every rope, The broadening bow-wash in a fiery flurry, The leaning masts in their majestic slope, And all things strange with moonlight: filled with hope By all that beauty going as man bade, He turned and slept in peace. Eight bells were made. TV-K *-V^~ V *^ * DAUBER 115 II NEXT day was Sunday, his free painting day, While the fine weather held, from eight till eight. He rose when called at five, and did array The round-house gear, and set the kit-bags straight ; Then kneeling down, like housemaid at a grate, He scrubbed the deck with sand until his knees Were blue with dye from his wet dungarees. Soon all was clean, his Sunday tasks were done; His day was clear for painting as he chose. The wetted decks were drying in the sun, 116 DAUBER The men coiled up, or swabbed, or sought repose. The drifts of silver arrows fell and rose As flying fish took wing; the breakfast passed, Wasting good time, but he was free at last. Free for two hours and more to tingle deep, Catching a likeness in a line or tint, The canvas running up in a proud sweep, Wind-wrinkled at the clews, and white like lint, The glittering of the blue waves into glint; Free to attempt it all, the proud ship's pawings, The sea, the sky he went to fetch his drawings. Up to the deck-house top he quickly climbed, DAUBER H7 He stooped to find them underneath the boat. He found them all obliterated, slimed, Blotted, erased, gone from him line and note. They were all spoiled: a lump came in his throat, Being vain of his attempts, and tender skinned Beneath the skylight watching reefers grinned. He clambered down, holding the ruined things. " Bosun," he called, "look here, did you do these: Wipe off my paints and cut them into strings, And smear them till you can't tell chalk from cheese? 118 DAUBER Don't stare, but did you do it? Answer, please." The Bosun turned: "I'll give you a thick ear! Do it? I didn't. Get to hell from here ! "I touch your stinking daubs? The Dauber's daft." A crowd was gathering now to hear the fun; The reefers tumbled out, the men laid aft, The Cook blinked, cleaning a mess kid in the sun. "What's up with Dauber now?" said every- one. "Someone has spoiled my drawings look at this!" "Well, that's a dirty trick, by God, it is !" "It is," said Sam, "a low-down dirty trick, DAUBER 119 To spoil a fellow's work in such a way, And if you catch him, Dauber, punch him sick, For he deserves it, be he who he may." A seaman shook his old head wise and grey. "It seems to me," he said, "who ain't no judge, Them drawings look much better now they're smudge." "Where were they, Dauber? On the deck- house? Where?" "Under the long-boat, in a secret place." "The blackguard must have seen you put them there. He is a swine ! I tell him to his face : I didn't think we'd anyone so base." "Nor I," said Dauber. "There was six weeks' time Just wasted in these drawings : it's a crime !" 120 DAUBER "Well, don't you say we did it," growled his mates, "And as for crime, be damned ! the things were smears Best overboard, like you, with shot for weights ; Thank God they're gone, and now go shake your ears." The Dauber listened, very near to tears. "Dauber, if I were you," said Sam again, "I'd aft, and see the Captain and com- plain." A sigh came from the assembled seamen there. Would he be such a fool for their delight As go to tell the Captain? Would he dare? And would the thunder roar, the lightning smite? DAUBER 121 There was the Captain come to take a sight, Handling his sextant by the chart-house aft. The Dauber turned, the seamen thought him daft. The Captain took his sights a mate be- low Noted the times; they shouted to each other, The Captain quick with "Stop," the answer slow, Repeating slowly one height then another. The swooping clipper stumbled through the smother, The ladder brasses in the sunlight burned, The Dauber waited till the Captain turned. There stood the Dauber, humbled to the bone, Waiting to speak. The Captain let him wait, 122 DAUBER Glanced at the course, and called in even tone, "What is the man there wanting, Mr. Mate?" The logship clattered on the grating straight, The reel rolled to the scuppers with a clatter, The Mate came grim: "Well, Dauber, what's the matter?" "Please, sir, they spoiled my drawings." "Who did?" "They." "Who's they?" "I don't quite know, sir." "Don't quite know, sir? Then why are you aft to talk about it, hey ? Whom d'you complain of?" "No one." "No one?" "No, sir." "Well, then, go forward till you've found them. Go, sir. If you complain of someone, then I'll see. DAUBER 123 Now get to hell ! and don't come bothering me." "But, sir, they washed them off, and some they cut. Look here, sir, how they spoiled them." "Never mind. Go shove your head inside the scuttle butt, And that will make you cooler. You will find Nothing like water when you're mad and blind. Where were the drawings? in your chest, or where?" "Under the long-boat, sir; I put them there." "Under the long-boat, hey? Now mind your tip. I'll have the skids kept clear with nothing round them; 124 DAUBER The long-boat ain't a store in this here ship. Lucky for you it wasn't I who found them. If I had seen them, Dauber, I'd have drowned them. Now you be warned by this. I tell you plain Don't stow your brass-rags under boats again. "Go forward to your berth." The Dauber turned. The listeners down below them winked and smiled, Knowing how red the Dauber's temples burned, Having lost the case about his only child. His work was done to nothing and denied, And there was no redress : the Captain's voice Spoke, and called "Painter," making him rejoice. DAUBER 125 The Captain and the Mate conversed to- gether. "Drawings, you tell me, Mister?" "Yes, sir ; views : Wiped off with turps, I gather that's his blether. He says they're things he can't afford to lose. He's Dick, who came to sea in dancing shoes, And found the dance a bear dance. They were hidden Under the long-boat's chocks, which I've forbidden." "Wiped off with turps?" The Captain sucked his lip. "Who did it, Mister?" "Reefers, I sup- pose; Them devils do the most pranks in a ship; 126 DAUBER The round-house might have done it, Cook or Bose." "I can't take notice of it till he knows. How does he do his work?" "Well, no offence ; He tries; he does his best. He's got no sense." " Painter," the Captain called; the Dauber came. "What's all this talk of drawings? What's the matter?" "They spoiled my drawings, sir." "Well, who's to blame? The long-boat's there for no one to get at her; You broke the rules, and if you choose to scatter Gear up and down where it's no right to be, And suffer as result, don't come to me. DAUBER 127 "Your place is in the round-house, and your gear Belongs where you belong. Who spoiled your things? Find out who spoiled your things and fetch him here." "But, sir, they cut the canvas into strings." "I want no argument nor questionings. Go back where you belong and say no more, And please remember that you're not on shore." The Dauber touched his brow and slunk away- They eyed his going with a bitter eye.^ "Dauber," said Sam, "what did the Cap- tain say?" The Dauber drooped his head without reply. "Go forward, Dauber, and enjoy your cry." 128 DAUBER The Mate limped to the rail; like little feet Over his head the drumming reef-points beat. The Dauber reached the berth and entered in. Much mockery followed after as he went, And each face seemed to greet him with the grin Of hounds hot following on a creature spent. "Aren't you a fool?" each mocking visage meant. "Who did it, Dauber? What did Captain say? It is a crime, and there'll be hell to pay." He bowed his head, the house was full of smoke ; The Sails was pointing shackles on his chest. DAUBER 129 "Lord, Dauber, be a man and take a joke" - He puffed his pipe "and let the matter rest. Spit brown, my son, and get a hairy breast ; Get shoulders on you at the crojick braces, And let this painting business go to blazes. "What good can painting do to anyone? I don't say never do it; far from that- No harm in sometimes painting just for fun. Keep it for fun, and stick to what you're at. Your job's to fill your bones up and get fat; Rib up like Barney's bull, and thick your neck. Throw paints to hell, boy ; you belong on deck." 130 DAUBER "That's right," said Chips; "it's down- right good advice. Painting's no good; what good can paint- ing do Up on a lower topsail stiff with ice, With all your little fish-hooks frozen blue? Painting won't help you at the weather clew, Nor pass your gaskets for you, nor make sail. Painting's a balmy job not worth a nail." The Dauber did not answer ; time was pass- ing. He pulled his easel out, his paints, his stool. The wind was dropping, and the sea was glassing New realms of beauty waited for his rule; The draught out of the crojick kept him cool. DAUBER 131 He sat to paint, alone and melancholy. "No turning fools," the Chips said, "from their folly."., He dipped his brush and tried to fix a line, And then came peace, and gentle beauty came, Turning his spirit's water into wine, Lightening his darkness with a touch of flame: O, joy of trying for beauty, ever the same, You never fail, your comforts never end; O, balm of this world's way; O, perfect friend I III THEY lost the Trades soon after; then came calm, Light little gusts and rain, which soon in- creased 132 DAUBER To glorious northers shouting out a psalm At seeing the bright blue water silver fleeced ; Hornwards she rushed, trampling the seas to yeast. There fell a rain-squall in a blind day's end When for an hour the Dauber found a friend. Out of the rain the voices called and passed, The stay-sails flogged, the tackle yanked and shook. Inside the harness-room a lantern cast Light and wild shadows as it ranged its hook. The watch on deck was gathered in the nook, They had taken shelter in that secret place, Wild light gave wild emotions to each face. DAUBER One beat the beef-cask, and the others sang A song that had brought anchors out of seas In ports where bells of Christians never rang, Nor any sea mark blazed among the trees. By forlorn swamps, in ice, by windy keys, That song had sounded; now it shook the air From these eight wanderers brought to- gether there. Under the poop-break, sheltering from the rain, The Dauber sketched some likeness of the room, A note to be a prompting to his brain, A spark to make old memory reillume. "Dauber," said someone near him in the gloom, 134 DAUBER "How goes it, Dauber?" It was reefer Si. "There's not much use in trying to keep dry." They sat upon the sail-room doorway coam- ing, The lad held forth like youth, the Dauber listened To how the boy had had a taste for roam- ing, And what the sea is said to be and isn't. Where the dim lamplight fell the wet deck glistened. Si said the Horn was still some weeks away, "But tell me, Dauber, where d'you hail from? Eh?" The rain blew past and let the stars appear ; The seas grew larger as the moonlight grew ; DAUBER 135 For half an hour the ring of heaven was clear, ^ / v> / X Dusty with moonlight, grey rather than blue; In that great moon the showing stars were few. The sleepy time-boy's feet passed overhead. "I come from out past Gloucester," Dauber said; "Not far from Pauntley, if you know those parts ; The place is Spital Farm, near Silver Hill, Above a trap-hatch where a mill-stream starts. We had the mill once, but we've stopped the mill; My dad and sister keep the farm on still. We're only tenants, but we've rented there, Father and son, for over eighty year. 136 DAUBER "Father has worked the farm since grand- fer went; It means the world to him; I can't think why. They bleed him to the last half-crown for rent, And this and that have almost milked him dry. The land's all starved; if he'd put money by, And corn was up, and rent was down two- thirds. . . But then they aren't, so what's the use of words. "Yet still he couldn't bear to see it pass To strangers, or to think a time would come When other men than us would mow the grass, And other names than ours have the home. DA UBER 137 Some sorrows come from evil thought, but some Comes when two men are near, and both are blind To what is generous in the other's mind. "I was the only boy, and father thought I'd farm the Spital after he was dead, And many a time he took me out and taught About manures and seed-corn white and red, And soils and hops, but I'd an empty head ; Harvest or seed, I would not do a turn I loathed the farm, I didn't want to learn. "He did not mind at first, he thought it youth Feeling the collar, and that I should change. Then time gave him some inklings of the truth, 138 DAUBER And that I loathed the farm, and wished to range. Truth to a man of fifty's always strange; It was most strange and terrible to him That I, his heir, should be the devil's limb. "Yet still he hoped the Lord might change my mind. I'd see him bridle-in his wrath and hate, And almost break my heart he was so kind, Biting his lips sore with resolve to wait. And then I'd try awhile ; but it was Fate : I didn't want to learn; the farm to me Was mire and hopeless work and misery. "Though there were things I loved about it, too The beasts, the apple-trees, and going hay- ing. And then I tried ; but no, it wouldn't do, DAUBER 139 The farm was prison, and my thoughts were straying. And there'd come father, with his grey head, praying, '0, my dear son, don't let the Spital pass; It's my old home, boy, where your grand- fer was. 4 '"And now you won't learn farming; you don't care. The old home's nought to you. I've tried to teach you; I've begged Almighty God, boy, all I dare, To use His hand if word of mine won't reach you. Boy, for your granfer's sake I do beseech you, Don't let the Spital pass to strangers. Squire Has said he'd give it you if we require. 140 DAUBER "'Your mother used to walk here, boy, with me; It was her favourite walk down to the mill ; And there we'd talk how little death would be, Knowing our work was going on here still. You've got the brains, you only want the will- Don't disappoint your mother and your father. I'll give you time to travel, if you'd rather.' "But, no, I'd wander up the brooks to read. Then sister Jane would start with nagging tongue, Saying my sin made father's heart to bleed, And how she feared she'd live to see me hung. And then she'd read me bits from Dr. Yourfg. And when we three would sit to supper, Jane Would fillip dad till dad began again. DAUBER '"I've been here all my life, boy. I was born Up in the room above looks on the mead. I never thought you'd cockle my clean corn, And leave the old home to a stranger's seed. Father and I have made here 'thout a weed: We've give our lives to make that. Eighty years. And now I go down to the grave in tears.' "And then I'd get ashamed and take off coat, And work maybe a week, ploughing and sowing And then I'd creep away and sail my boat, Or watch the water when the mill was going. 142 DAUBER That's my delight to be near water flow- ing, Dabbling or sailing boats or jumping stanks, Or finding moorhens' nests along the banks. "And one day father found a ship Fd built; He took the cart-whip to me over that, And I, half mad with pain, and sick with guilt, Went up and hid in what we called the flat, A dusty hole given over to the cat. She kittened there; the kittens had worn paths Among the cobwebs, dust, and broken laths. "And putting down my hand between the beams LA USER 143 I felt a leathery thing, and pulled it clear: A book with white cocoons stuck in the seams. Where spiders had had nests for many a year. It was my mother's sketch-book; hid, I fear, Lest dad should ever see it. Mother's life Was not her own while she was father's wife. "There were her drawings, dated, pencilled faint. March was the last one, eighteen eighty- three, Unfinished that, for tears had smeared the paint. The rest was landscape, not yet brought to be. That was a holy afternoon to me; 144 DAUBER That book a sacred book; the flat a place Where I could meet my mother face to face. "She had found peace of spirit, mother had, Drawing the landscape from the attic there Heart-broken, often, after rows with dad, .Hid like a wild thing in a secret lair. That rotting sketch-book showed me how and where I, too, could get away; and then I knew That drawing was the work I longed to do. " Drawing became my life. I drew, I toiled, And every penny I could get I spent On paints and artist's matters, which I spoiled Up in the attic to my heart's content, Till one day father asked me what I meant ; DAUBER 145 The time had come, he said, to make an end. Now it must finish : what did I intend ? "Either I took to farming, like his son, In which case he would teach me, early and late (Provided that my daubing mood was done), Or I must go: it must be settled straight. If I refused to farm, there was the gate. I was to choose, his patience was all gone, The present state of things could not go on. "Sister was there; she eyed me while he spoke. The kitchen clock ran down and struck the hour, And something told me father's heart was broke, For all he stood so set and looked so sour. A pewter on the dresser; she was crying. I stood stock still a long time, not replying. "Dad waited, then he snorted and turned round. 'Well, think of it/ he said. He left the room, His boots went clop along the stony ground Out to the orchard and the apple-bloom. A cloud came past the sun and made a gloom ; I swallowed with dry lips, then sister turned. She was dead white but for her eyes that burned. "'You're breaking father's heart, Joe/ she began ; 'It's not as if ' she checked, in too much pain. 'O, Joe, don't help to kill so fine a man; DAUBER 147 You're giving him our mother over again. It's wearing him to death, Joe, heart and brain; You know what store he sets on leaving this To (it's too cruel) to a son of his. '"Yet you go painting all the day. 0, Joe, Couldn't you make an effort? Can't you see What folly it is of yours? It's not as though You are a genius or could ever be. O, Joe, for father's sake, if not for me, Give up this craze for painting, and be wise And work with father, where your duty lies.' "'It goes too deep,' I said; 'I loathe the farm; 148 DAUBER I couldn't help, even if I'd the mind. Even if I helped, I'd only do him harm; Father would see it, if he were not blind. I was not built to farm, as he would find. O, Jane, it's bitter hard to stand alone And spoil my father's life or spoil my own.' "'Spoil both,' she said, 'the way you're shaping now. You're only a boy not knowing your own good. Where will you go, suppose you leave here ? How Do you propose to earn your daily food? Draw? Daub the pavements? There's a feckless brood Goes to the devil daily, Joe, in cities Only from thinking how divine their wit is. '"Clouds are they, without water, carried away. DA USES 149 And you'll be one of them, the way you're going, Daubing at silly pictures all the day, And praised by silly fools who're always blowing. And you choose this when you might go a-sowing, Casting the good corn into chosen mould That shall in time bring forth a hundred- fold.' "So we went on, but in the end it ended. I felt I'd done a murder; I felt sick. There's much in human minds cannot be mended, And that, not I, played dad a cruel trick. There was one mercy : that it ended quick. I went to join my mother's brother : he Lived down the Severn. He was kind to me. 150 DAUBER "And there I learned house-painting for a living. I'd have been happy there, but that I knew I'd sinned before my father past for- giving, And that they sat at home, that silent two, Wearing the fire out and the evening through, Silent, defeated, broken, in despair, My plate unset, my name gone, and my chair. "I saw all that; and sister Jane came white White as a ghost, with fiery, weeping eyes. I saw her all day long and half the night, Bitter as gall, and passionate and wise. 'Joe, you have killed your father: there he lies. DAUBER 151 You have done your work you with our mother's ways.' She said it plain, and then her eyes would blaze. "And then one day I had a job to do Down below bridge, by where the docks begin, And there I saw a clipper towing through, Up from the sea that morning, entering in. Raked to the nines she was, lofty and thin, Her ensign ruffing red, her bunts in pile, Beauty and strength together, wonder, style. "She docked close to the gates, and there she lay Over the water from me, well in sight ; And as I worked I watched her all the day, Finding her beauty ever fresh delight. Her house-flag was bright green with strips of white; 152 DAUBER High in the sunny air it rose to shake Above the skysail poles' most splendid rake. "And when I felt unhappy I would look Over the river at her; and her pride, So calm, so quiet, came as a rebuke To half the passionate pathways which I rf tried; And though the autumn ran its term and died, And winter fell and cold December came, She was still splendid there, and still the same. "Then on a day she sailed; but when she went My mind was clear on what I had to try: To see the sea and ships, and what they meant, DAUBER 153 That was the thing I longed to do; so I Drew and worked hard, and studied and put by, And thought of nothing else but that one end, But let all else go hang love, money, friend. "And now I've shipped as Dauber I've begun. It was hard work to find a dauber's berth; I hadn't any friends to find me one, Only my skill, for what it may be worth ; But I'm at sea now, going about the earth, And when the ship's paid off, when we re- turn, I'll join some Paris studio and learn." He stopped, the air came moist, Si did not speak; 154 DAUBER The Dauber turned his eyes to where he sat, Pressing the sail-room hinges with his cheek, His face half covered with a drooping hat. Huge dewdrops from the stay-sails dropped and spat. Si did not stir, the Dauber touched his sleeve ; A little birdlike noise came from a sheave. Si was asleep, sleeping a calm deep sleep, Still as a warden of the Egyptian dead In some old haunted temple buried deep Under the desert sand, sterile and red. The Dauber shook his arm; Si jumped and said, "Good yarn, I swear! I say, you have a brain DAUBER 155 Was that eight bells that went?" He slept again. Then waking up, "I've had a nap," he cried. "Was that one bell? What, Dauber, you still here?" "Si there?" the Mate's voice called. "Sir," he replied. The order made the lad's thick vision clear; A something in the Mate's voice made him fear. "Si," said the Mate, "I hear you've made a friend - Dauber, in short. That friendship's got to end. "You're a young gentleman. Your place aboard Is with the gentlemen abaft the mast. You're learning to command; you can't afford 156 DAUB SB To yarn with any man. But there . . . it's past. You've done it once; let this time be the last. The Dauber's place is forward. Do it again, I'll put you bunking forward with the men. " Dismiss." Si went, but Sam, beside the Mate, Timekeeper there, walked with him to the rail And whispered him the menace of "You wait"- Words which have turned full many a reefer pale. The watch was changed ; the watch on deck trimmed sail. Sam, going below, called all the reefers down, DAUBER 157 Sat in his bunk and eyed them with a frown. "Si here," he said, "has soiled the half- deck's name Talking to Dauber Dauber, the ship's clout. A reefer takes the Dauber for a flame, The half-deck take the round-house walking out. He's soiled the half-deck's honour ; now, no doubt, The Bosun and his mates will come here sneaking, Asking for smokes, or blocking gangways speaking. "I'm not a vain man, given to blow or boast ; I'm not a proud man, but I truly feel That while I've bossed this mess and ruled this roast 158 DAUBER I've kept this hooker's half-deck damned genteel. Si must ask pardon, or be made to squeal. Down on your knees, dog; them we love we chasten. Jao, pasea, my son in English, Hasten." Si begged for pardon, meekly kneeling down Before the reefer's mess assembled grim. The lamp above them smoked the glass all brown ; Beyond the door the dripping sails were dim. The Dauber passed the door; none spoke to him. He sought his berth and slept, or, waking, heard Rain on the deck-house rain, no other word. DAUBER 159 IV OUT of the air a time of quiet came, Calm fell upon the heaven like a drouth ; The brass sky watched the brassy water flame. Drowsed as a snail the clipper loitered south Slowly, with no white bone across her mouth ; No rushing glory, like a queen made bold, The Dauber strove to draw her as she rolled. There the four leaning spires of canvas rose, Royals and skysails lifting, gently lifting, White like the brightness that a great fish blows When billows are at peace and ships are drifting ; 160 DAUBER With mighty jerks that set the shadows shifting, x \ The courses tugged their tethers : a blue haze Drifted like ghosts of flocks come down to graze. There the great skyline made her perfect round, Notched now and then by the sea's deeper blue; A smoke-smutch marked a steamer home- ward bound, The haze wrought all things to intenser hue. In tingling impotence the Dauber drew As all men draw, keen to the shaken soul To give a hint that might suggest the whole. DA UBER 161 A naked seaman washing a red shirt Sat at a tub whistling between his teeth; Complaining blocks quavered like some- thing hurt. A sailor cut an old boot for a sheath, The ship bowed to her shadow-ship beneath, And little slaps of spray came at the roll On to the deck-planks from the scupper- hole. He watched it, painting patiently, as paints, With eyes that pierce behind the blue sky's veil, The Benedictine in a Book of Saints Watching the passing of the Holy Grail ; The green dish dripping blood, the trump, the hail, The spears that pass, the memory and the passion, 162 DAUBER The beauty moving under this world's fashion. But as he painted, slowly, man by man, The seamen gathered near ; the Bosun stood Behind him, jeering; then the Sails began Sniggering with comment that it was not good. Chips flicked his sketch with little scraps of wood, Saying, "That hit the top-knot," every time. Cook mocked, "My lovely drawings; it's a crime." Slowly the men came nearer, till a crowd Stood at his elbow, muttering as he drew; The Bosun, turning to them, spoke aloud, "This is the ship that never got there. You Look at her here, what Dauber's trying to do. DAUBER 163 Look at her ! lummy, like a Christmas-tree. That thing's a ship; he calls this painting. See?" Seeing the crowd, the Mate came forward; then "Sir," said the Bosun, "come and see the sight ! Here's Dauber makes a circus for the men. He calls this thing a ship this hell's delight!" "Man," said the Mate, "you'll never get her right Daubing like that. Look here!" He took a brush. "Now, Dauber, watch; I'll put you to the blush. "Look here. Look there. Now watch this ship of mine." 164 DAUBER He drew her swiftly from a memory stored. "God, sir," the Bosun said, "you do her fine!" "Ay," said the Mate, "I do so, by the Lord ! I'll paint a ship with any man aboard." They hung about his sketch like beasts at bait. "There now, I taught him painting," said ^ the Mate. When he had gone, the gathered men dis- persed ; Yet two or three still lingered to dispute What errors made the Dauber's work the worst. They probed his want of knowledge to the root. "Bei Gott!" they swore, "der Dauber cannot do 't; He haf no knolich how to put der pense. DAUBER 1C5 Der Mate's is goot. Der Dauber haf no "You hear?" the Bosun cried, "you can- not do it!" "A gospel truth," the Cook said, "true as hell ! And wisdom, Dauber, if you only knew it ; A five year boy would do a ship as well." "If that's the kind of thing you hope to sell, God help you," echoed Chips. "I tell you true, The job's beyond you, Dauber; drop it, do. "Drop it, in God's name drop it, and have done ! You see you cannot do it. Here's the Mate Paints you to frazzles before everyone; 166 DAUBER Paints you a dandy clipper while you wait. While you, Lord love us, daub. I tell you straight, We've had enough of daubing ; drop it ; quit. You cannot paint, so make an end of it." "That's sense," said all; "you cannot, why pretend?" The Dauber rose and put his easel by. "You've said enough," he said, "now let it end. Who cares how bad my painting may be? I Mean to go on, and, if I fail, to try. However much I miss of my intent, If I have done my best I'll be content. "You cannot understand that. Let it be. You cannot understand, nor know, nor share. DAUBER 167 This is a matter touching only me; My sketch may be a daub, for aught I care. You may be right. But even if you were, Your mocking should not stop this work of mine; Rot though it be, its prompting is divine. "You cannot understand that you, and you, And you, you Bosun. You can stand and jeer, That is the task your spirit fits you to, That you can understand and hold most dear. Grin, then, like collars, ear to donkey ear, But let me daub. Try, you, to under- stand Which task will bear the light best on God's hand." 168 DAUBER THE wester came as steady as the Trades; Brightly it blew, and still the ship did shoulder The brilliance of the water's white cockades Into the milky green of smoky smoulder. The sky grew bluer and the air grew colder. Southward she thundered while the westers held, Proud, with taut bridles, pawing, but com- pelled. And still the Dauber strove, though all men mocked, draw the splendour of the passing thing, And deep inside his heart a something locked, Long pricking in him, now began to sting A fear of the disasters storm might bring; DAUBER 169 His rank as painter would be ended then He would keep watch and watch like other men. And go aloft with them to man the yard When the great ship was rolling scuppers under, Burying her snout all round the compass card, While the green water struck at her and stunned her; When the lee-rigging slacked, when one long thunder Boomed from the black to windward, when the sail Booted and spurred the devil in the gale For him to ride on men: that was the time The Dauber dreaded; then the test would come, 170 DAUBER When seas, half-frozen, slushed the decks with slime, And all the ah 1 was blind with flying scum; When the drenched sails were furled, when the fierce hum In weather riggings died into the roar Of God's eternal never tamed by shore. Once in the passage he had worked aloft, Shifting her suits one summer afternoon, In the bright Trade wind, when the wind was soft, Shaking the points, making the tackle croon. But that was child's play to the future : soon He would be ordered up when sails and spars Were flying and going mad among the stars. DAUBER 171 He had been scared that first time, daunted, thrilled, Not by the height so much as by the size, And then the danger to the man unskilled In standing on a rope that runs through eyes. "But in a storm," he thought, "the yards will rise And roll together down, and snap their gear !" The sweat came cold upon his palms for fear. Sometimes in Gloucester he had felt a pang Swinging below the house-eaves on a stage. But stages carry rails; here he would hang Upon a jerking rope in a storm's rage, Ducked that the sheltering oilskin might assuage The beating of the storm, clutching the jack, Beating the sail, and being beaten back. 172 DAUBER Drenched, frozen, gasping, blinded, beaten dumb, High in the night, reeling great blinding arcs As the ship rolled, his chappy fingers numb, The deck below a narrow blur of marks, The sea a welter of whiteness shot with sparks, Now snapping up in bursts, now dying away, Salting the horizontal snow with spray. A hundred and fifty feet above the deck, And there, while the ship rolls, boldly to sit Upon a foot-rope moving, jerk and check, While half a dozen seamen work on it ; Held by one hand, straining, by strength and wit To toss a gasket's coil around the yard, DAUBER How could he compass that when blowing hard? And if he failed in .any least degree, Or faltered for an instant, or showed slack, He might go drown himself within the sea, And add a bubble to the clipper's track. He had signed his name, there was no turn- ing back, No pardon for default this must be done. One iron rule at sea binds everyone. Till now he had been treated with con- tempt As neither man nor thing, a creature borne On the ship's articles, but left exempt From all the seamen's life except their scorn. But he would rank as seaman off the Horn, Work as a seaman, and be kept or cast By standards set for men before the mast. 174 DAUBER Even now they shifted suits of sails; they bent The storm-suit ready for the expected time ; The mighty wester that the Plate had lent Had brought them far into the wintry clime. At dawn, out of the shadow, there was rime, The dim Magellan Clouds were frosty clear, The wind had edge, the testing-time was near. i And then he wondered if the tales were lies Told by old hands to terrify the new, For, since the ship left England, only twice Had there been need to start a sheet or clew, Then only royals, for an hour or two, And no seas broke aboard, nor was it cold. DAUBER 175 What were these gales of which the stories told? The thought went by. He had heard the Bosun tell Too often, and too fiercely, not to know That being off the Horn in June is hell : Hell of continual toil in ice and snow, Frostbitten hell in which the westers blow Shrieking for days on end, in which the seas Gulf the starved seamen till their marrows freeze. Such was the weather he might look to find, Such was the work expected : there re- mained Firmly to set his teeth, resolve his mind, And be the first, however much it pained, 176 DAUBER And bring his honour round the Horn un- stained, And win his mates' respect; and thence, untainted, Be ranked as man however much he painted. He drew deep breath; a gantline swayed aloft A lower topsail, hard with rope and leather, Such as men's frozen fingers fight with oft Below the Ramirez in Cape Horn weather. The arms upon the yard hove all together, Lighting the head along ; a thought occurred Within the painter's brain like a bright bird: That this, and so much like it, of man's toil, DAUBER 177 Compassed by naked manhood in strange places, .fH Was all heroic, but outside the coil Within which modern art gleams or grim- aces; That if he drew that line of sailor's faces Sweating the sail, their passionate play and change, It would be new, and wonderful, and strange. That that was what his work meant; it would be A training in new vision a revealing Of passionate men in battle with the sea, High on an unseen stage, shaking and reeling ; And men through him would understand their feeling, 178 DAUBER Their might, their misery, their tragic power, And all by suffering pain a little hour; High on the yard with them, feeling their pain, Battling with them; and it had not been done. He was a door to new worlds in the brain, A window opening letting in the sun, A voice saying, "Thus is bread fetched and ports won, And life lived out at sea where men exist Solely by man's strong brain and sturdy wrist." So he decided, as he cleaned his brasses, Hearing without, aloft, the curse, the shout Where the taut gantline passes and re- passes, DAUBER 179 Heaving new topsails to be lighted out. //It was most proud, however self might doubt, To share man's tragic toil and paint it true. ? He took the offered Fate : this he would do. That night the snow fell between six and seven, A little feathery fall so light, so dry An aimless dust out of a confused heaven, Upon an air no steadier than a sigh ; The powder dusted down and wandered by So purposeless, so many, and so cold, Then died, and the wind ceased and the ship rolled. Rolled till she clanged rolled till the brain was tired, Marking the acme of the heaves, the pause 180 DAUBER While the sea-beauty rested and respired, Drinking great draughts of roller at her hawse. Flutters of snow came aimless upon flaws. "Lock up your paints," the Mate said, speaking light : "This is the Horn; you'll join my watch to-night!" . VI ALL through the windless night the clipper rolled In a great swell with oily gradual heaves Which rolled her down until her time-bells tolled, Clang, and the weltering water moaned like beeves. The thundering rattle of slatting shook the sheaves, DAUBER Startles of water made the swing ports gush, The sea was moaning and sighing and say- ing "Hush!" It was all black and starless. Peering down Into the water, trying to pierce the gloom, One saw a dim, smooth, oily glitter of brown Heaving and dying away and leaving room For yet another. Like the march of doom Came those great powers of marching silences ; Then fog came down, dead-cold, and hid. the seas. They set the Dauber to the foghorn. There He stood upon the poop, making to sound 182 DAUBER Out of the pump the sailor's nasal blare, Listening lest ice should make the note resound. She bayed there like a solitary hound Lost in a covert; all the watch she bayed. The fog, come closelier down, no answer made. Denser it grew, until the ship was lost. The elemental hid her; she was merged In mufflings of dark death, like a man's ghost, New to the change of death, yet thither urged. Then from the hidden waters something surged Mournful, despairing, great, greater than speech, A noise like one slow wave on a still beach. DAUBER 183 Mournful, and then again mournful, and still Out of the night that mighty voice arose; The Dauber at his foghorn felt the thrill. Who rode that desolate sea? What forms were those? Mournful, from things defeated, in the throes Of memory of some conquered hunting- ground, Out of the night of death arose the sound. "Whales!" said the Mate. They stayed there all night long Answering the horn. Out of the night they spoke, Defeated creatures who had suffered wrong, But were still noble underneath the stroke. They filled the darkness when the Dauber woke; 184 DAUBER The men came peering to the rail to hear, And the sea sighed, and the fog rose up sheer. A wall of nothing at the world's last edge, Where no life came except defeated life. The Dauber felt shut in within a hedge, Behind which form was hidden and thought was rife, And that a blinding flash, a thrust, a knife Would sweep the hedge away and make all plain, Brilliant beyond all words, blinding the brain. So the night passed, but then no morning broke Only a something showed that night was dead. A sea-bird, cackling like a devil, spoke, DAUBER 185 And the fog drew away and hung like lead. like mighty cliffs it shaped, sullen and red; Like glowering gods at watch it did ap- pear, And sometimes drew away, and then drew near. Like islands, and like chasms, and like hell, But always mighty and red, gloomy and ruddy, Shutting the visible sea in like a well; Slow heaving in vast ripples, blank and muddy, Where the sun should have risen it streaked bloody. The day was still-born ; all the sea-fowl scattering Splashed the still water, mewing, hovering, clattering. 186 DAUBER Then Polar snow came down little and light, Till all the sky was hidden by the small, Most multitudinous drift of dirty white Tumbling and wavering down and covering all Covering the sky, the sea, the clipper tall, Furring the ropes with white, casing the mast, Coming on no known air, but blowing past. And all the air seemed full of gradual moan, As though in those cloud-chasms the horns were blowing The mort for gods cast out and overthrown, Or for the eyeless sun plucked out and going. Slow the low gradual moan came in the snowing ; DAUBER 187 The Dauber felt the prelude had begun. The snowstorm fluttered by; he saw the sun Show and pass by, gleam from one towering prison Into another, vaster and more grim, Which in dull crags of darkness had arisen To muffle-to a final door on him. The gods upon the dull crags lowered dim, The pigeons chattered, quarrelling in the track. In the south-west the dimness dulled to black. Then came the cry of "Call all hands on deck!" The Dauber knew its meaning; it was come : Cape Horn, that tramples beauty into wreck, 188 DAUBER And crumples steel and smites the strong man dumb. Down clattered flying kites and staysails : some Sang out in quick, high calls: the fair- leads skirled, And from the south-west came the end of the world. "Caught in her ball-dress," said the Bosun, hauling ; "Lee-ay, lee-ay!" quick, high, came the men's call; It was all wallop of sails and startled calling. " Let fly ! " "Let go ! " "Clew up ! " and "Let go all!" "Now up and make them fast!" "Here, give us a haul ! " "Now up and stow them! Quick! By God! we're done,!" DAUBER 189 The blackness crunched all memory of the sun. / x .. s " Up! "said the Mate. "Mizen top- gallants. Hurry!" The Dauber ran, the others ran, the sails Slatted and shook; out of the black a flurry Whirled in fine lines, tattering the edge to trails. Painting and art and England were old tales Told in some other life to that pale man, Who struggled with white fear and gulped and ran. He struck a ringbolt in his haste and fell Rose, sick with pain, half-lamed in his left knee; He reached the shrouds where clambering men pell-mell 190 DAUBER Hustled each other up and cursed him; he Hurried aloft with them: then from the sea Came a cold, sudden breath that made the hair Stiff on the neck, as though Death whis- pered there. A man below him punched him hi the side. "Get up, you Dauber, or let me get past." He saw the belly of the skysail skied, Gulped, and clutched tight, and tried to go more fast. Sometimes he missed his ratline and was grassed, Scraped his shin raw against the rigid line. The clamberers reached the futtock- shrouoV incline. DAUBER 191 Cursing they came; one, kicking out be- hind, Kicked Dauber in the mouth, and one be- low Punched at his calves ; the futtock-shrouds inclined; It was a perilous path for one to go. "Up, Dauber, up!" A curse followed a blow. He reached the top and gasped, then on, then on. And one voice yelled "Let go!" and one "All gone!" Fierce clamberers, some hi oilskins, some in rags, Hustling and hurrying up, up the steep stairs. Before the windless sails were blown to 192 DAUBER And whirled like dirty birds athwart great airs, Ten men in all, to get this mast of theirs Snugged to the gale in time. "Up ! Damn you, run!" The mizen topmast head was safely won. "Lay out !" the Bosun yelled. The Dauber laid Out on the yard, gripping the yard, and feeling Sick at the mighty space of air displayed Below his feet, where mewing birds were wheeling. A giddy fear was on him; he was reeling. He bit his lip half through, clutching the jack. A cold sweat glued the shirt upon his back. The yard was shaking, for a brace was loose. DAUBER 193 He felt that he would fall; he clutched, he bent, Clammy with natural terror to the shoes While idiotic promptings came and went. Snow fluttered on a wind-flaw and was spent ; He saw the water darken. Someone yelled, "Frap it; don't stay to furl! Hold on!" He held. Darkness came down half darkness in a whirl; The sky went out, the waters disappeared. He felt a shocking pressure of blowing hurl The ship upon her side. The darkness speared At her with wind; she staggered, she careered, Then down she lay. The Dauber felt her go; 194 DAUBER He saw his yard tilt downwards. Then the snow Whirled all about dense, multitudinous, cold Mixed with the wind's one devilish thrust and shriek, Which whiffled out men's tears, deafened, took hold, Flattening the flying drift against the cheek. The yards buckled and bent, man could not speak. The ship lay on her broadside; the wind's sound Had devilish malice at having got her downed. ***** How long the gale had blown he could not tell, DAUBER 195 Only the world had changed, his life had died. A moment now was everlasting hell. Nature an onslaught from the weather side, A withering rush of death, a frost that cried, Shrieked, till he withered at the heart; a hail Plastered his oilskins with an icy mail. "Cut!" yelled his mate. He looked the sail was gone, Blown into rags in the first furious squall; The tatters drummed the devil's tattoo. On The buckling yard a block thumped like a mall. The ship lay the sea smote her, the wind's bawl 196 DAUBER Came, "loo, loo, loo!" The devil cried his hounds On to the poor spent stag strayed in his bounds. "Cut! Ease her!" yelled his mate; the Dauber heard. His mate worme.d up the tilted yard and slashed, A rag of canvas skimmed like a darting bird. The snow whirled, the ship bowed to it, the gear lashed, The sea-tops were cut off and flung down smashed ; Tatters of shouts were flung, the rags of yells And clang, clang, clang, below beat the two bells. "0 God!" the Dauber moaned. A roar- ing rang, DAUBER 197 Blasting the royals like a cannonade; The backstays parted with a cracking clang, The upper spars were snapped like twigs decayed Snapped at their heels, their jagged splin- ters splayed, Like white and ghastly hair erect with fear. The Mate yelled, "Gone, by God, and pitched them clear I" "Up!" yelled the Bosun; "up and clear the wreck I" The Dauber followed where he led : below He caught one giddy glimpsing of the deck Filled with white water, as though heaped with snow. He saw the streamers of the rigging blow Straight out like pennons from the splin- tered mast, Then, all sense dimmed, all was an icy blast 198 DAUBER Roaring from nether hell and filled with ice, Roaring and crashing on the jerking stage, An utter bridle given to utter vice, Limitless power mad with endless rage Withering the soul; a minute seemed an age. He clutched and hacked at ropes, at rags of sail, Thinking that comfort was a fairy-tale Told long ago long, long ago long since Heard of in other lives imagined, dreamed There where the basest beggar was a prince To Mm in torment where the tempest screamed, Comfort and warmth and ease no longer seemed Things that a man could know : soul, body, brain, DAUBER 199 Knew nothing but the wind, the cold, the pain. "Leave that!" the Bosun shouted; "Cro- jick save !" The splitting crojick, not yet gone to rags, Thundered below, beating till something gave, Bellying between its buntlines into bags. Some birds were blown past, shrieking: dark, like shags, Their backs seemed, looking down. "Leu, leu !" they cried. The ship lay, the seas thumped her; she had died. They reached the crojick yard, which buckled, buckled Like a thin whalebone to the topsail's strain. 200 DAUBER They laid upon the yard and heaved and knuckled, Pounding the sail, which jangled and leapt again. It was quite hard with ice, its rope like chain, Its strength like seven devils; it shook the mast. They cursed and toiled and froze: a long tune passed. 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. DAUBER 201 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 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 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. 202 DAUBER 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 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, DA USER 203 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 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. 204 DAUBER 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 clang- ing 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 some- thing gave; DAUBER 205 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 felled The two together, and the Bose, half-blind, 206 DAUBER 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 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. DAUBER 207 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 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. 208 DAUBER 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 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 DAUBER 209 To break that promise. "Dauber," said the Mate, " Drink, and turn in, man; why the hell d'ye wait?" "Please, sir, I'm temperance." "Temper- ance are you, hey? That's all the more for me ! So you're for slops? I thought you'd had enough slops for to- day. 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. 210 DAUBER 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 dis- arm, Must never first embrail the lee yard- arm," 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; DAUBER 211 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 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 sea Washed them both in, over the splash- board, down; 212 DAUBER "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 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 DAUBER 213 The man struck heads off till he lit the lamp. ''Thank you," the Dauber said; the sea- man 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 lies Cloaking the truth men never choose to know; x i 4- 214 DAUBER 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 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. DA USER 215 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, 216 DAUBER 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 stamp Clogged at the door. A man entered to shout : "All hands on deck! Arouse here! Tum- ble out!" The caller raised the lamp ; his oilskins clicked As the thin ice upon them cracked and fell. DAUBER 217 " 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. 218 DAUBER 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! Fve 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. DAUBER 219 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 I 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. 220 DAUBER 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 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. DAUBER 221 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. 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 de- light. 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 hell Of mockery and surrender and dismay This long defeat of doing nothing well, 222 DAUBER Playing the part too high for him to play. "0 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 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. DAUBER 223 "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, 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. 224 DAUBER 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 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 DAUBER 225 More sail was made, the reefs were shaken out. 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 foVsles were no longer wet. More sail was made; the watch on deck was set 226 DAUBER To cleaning up the ruin broken bare Below, aloft, about her, everywhere. The Dauber, scrubbing out the round- house, 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, DAUBER 227 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 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 228 DAUBER 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 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 ; DAUBER 229 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 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. 230 DAUBER "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 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 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. DAUBER 231 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 seas Have made her paint-work like a rusty grate. , Oh, didn't them topsails make your fish- hooks freeze? A topsail don't pay heed to 'Won't you, please ? ' Well, you have seen Cape Horn, my son; you've learned. 232 DAUBER 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 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 did DAUBER 233 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 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 234 DAUBER 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 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, hi 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 ; DAUBER 235 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. 236 DAUBER Boldly he kept it on her till she staggered, But still the wind increased; it grew, it grew, Darkening the sky, making the water hag- gard; 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 refrain- ing From putting hobbles on the leaping ship, The glad sea-shattering stallion, halter- straining, Wing-musical, uproarious, and complain- ing; DAUBER 237 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 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." 238 DAUBER 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. DAUBER 239 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 westerns 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 gas- ket wound 240 DAUBER Swift round the yard, binding the sail in bands ; There came a gust, the sail leaped from his hands, So that he saw it high above him, grey, And there his mate was falling; quick he clutched An arm in oilskins swiftly snatched away. A voice said "Christ!" a quick shape stooped and touched, Chain struck his hands, ropes shot, the sky was smutched With vast black fires that ran, that fell, that furled, And then he saw the mast, the small snow hurled, The fore-topgallant yard far, far aloft, And blankness settling on him and great pain; DAUBER 241 And snow beneath his fingers wet and soft, Ajnd topsail sheet-blocks shaking at the chain. He knew it was he who had fallen ; then his brain Swirled in a circle while he watched the sky. Infinite multitudes of snow blew by. "I thought it was Tom who fell," his brain's voice said. "Down on the bloody deck!" the Cap- tain screamed. The multitudinous little snow-flakes sped. His pain was real enough, but all else seemed. Si with a bucket ran, the water gleamed Tilting upon him; others came, the Mate . . . They knelt with eager eyes like things that wait 242 DAUBER For other things to come. He saw them there. "It will go on," he murmured, watching Si. Colours and sounds seemed mixing in the air, The pain was stunning him, and the wind went by. "More water," said the Mate. "Here, Bosun, try. Ask if he's got a message. Hell, he's gone ! Here, Dauber, paints." He said, "It will go on." Not knowing his meaning rightly, but he spoke With the intenseness of a fading soul Whose share of Nature's fire turns to smoke, Whose hand on Nature's wheel loses control. The eager faces glowered red like coal. DAUBER 243 They glowed, the great storm glowed, the sails, the mast. "It will go on," he cried aloud, and passed. Those from the yard came down to tell the tale. "He almost had me off," said Tom. "He slipped. There come one hell of a jump-like from the sail. . . . He clutched at me and almost had me pipped. He caught my 'ris'band, but the oilskin ripped. . . . It tore clean off. Look here. I was near gone. I made a grab to catch him; so did John. "I caught his arm. My God ! I was near done. 244 DAUBER He almost had me over; it was near. He hit the ropes and grabbed at every one." "Well," said the Mate, "we cannot leave him here. Run, Si, and get the half-deck table clear. We'll lay him there. Catch hold there, you, and you, He's dead, poor son; there's nothing more to do." Night fell, and all night long the Dauber lay Covered upon the table; all night long The pitiless storm exulted at her prey, Huddling the waters with her icy thong. But to the covered shape she did no wrong. He lay beneath the sailcloth. Bell by bell The night wore through; the stars rose, the stars fell. DAUBER 245 Blowing most pitiless cold out of clear sky The wind roared all night long; and all night through The green seas on the deck went washing by, Flooding the half-deck ; bitter hard it blew. But little of it all the Dauber knew- The sopping bunks, the floating chests, the wet, The darkness, and the misery, and the sweat. He was off duty. So it blew all night, And when the watches changed the men would come Dripping within the door to strike a light And stare upon the Dauber lying dumb, And say, "He come a cruel thump, poor chum." Or, "He'd a-been a fine big man;" or, "He I AC . . . 246 DAUBER A smart young seaman he was getting to be." Or, "Damn it all, it's what we've all to face ! . . I knew another fellow one time ..." then Came a strange tale of death in a strange place Out on the sea, in ships, with wandering men. In many ways Death puts us into pen. The reefers came down tired and looked and slept. Below the skylight little dribbles crept Along the painted woodwork, glistening, slow, Following the roll and dripping, never fast, But dripping on the quiet form below, Like passing time talking to time long past. DAUBER 247 And all night long "Ai, ai !" went the wind's blast, And creaming water swished below the pale, Unheeding body stretched beneath the sail. At dawn they sewed him up, and at eight bells They bore him to the gangway, wading deep, Through the green-clutching, white-toothed water-hells That flung his carriers over in their sweep. They laid an old red ensign on the heap, And all hands stood bare-headed, stooping, swaying, Washed by the sea while the old man was praying Out of a borrowed prayer-book. At a sign 248 DAUBER They twitched the ensign back and tipped the grating A creamier bubbling broke the bubbling brine. The muffled figure tilted to the weight- ing; It dwindled slowly down, slowly gyrating. Some craned to see; it dimmed, it disap- peared ; The last green milky bubble blinked and cleared. "Mister, shake out your reefs," the Cap- tain called. "Out topsail reefs!" the Mate cried; then all hands Hurried, the great sails shook, and all hands hauled, Singing that desolate song of lonely lands, Of how a lover came in dripping bands, DAUBER 249 Green with the wet and cold, to tell his lover That Death was in the sea, and all was over. Fair came the falling wind; a seaman said The Dauber was a Jonah; once again The clipper held her course, showing red lead, Shattering the sea-tops into golden rain. The waves bowed down before her like blown grain; Onwards she thundered, on; her voyage was short, Before the tier's bells rang her into port. Cheerly they rang her in, those beating bells, The new-come beauty stately from the sea, Whitening the blue heave of the drowsy swells, 250 DAUBER Treading the bubbles down. With three times three They cheered her moving beauty in, and she Came to her berth so noble, so superb; Swayed like a queen, and answered to the curb. Then in the sunset's flush they went aloft, And unbent sails in that most lovely hour, When the light gentles and the wind is soft, And beauty hi the heart breaks like a flower. Working aloft they saw the mountain tower, Snow to the peak; they heard the launch- men shout; And bright along the bay the lights came out. And then the night fell dark, and all night long DAUBER 251 The pointed mountain pointed at the stars, Frozen, alert, austere; the eagle's song Screamed from her desolate screes and splintered scars. On her intense crags where the air is sparse The stars looked down; their many golden eyes Watched her and burned, burned out, and came to rise. Silent the finger of the summit stood, Icy in pure, thin air, glittering with snows. Then the sun's coming turned the peak to blood, And in the rest-house the muleteers arose. And all day long, where only the eagle goes, Stones, loosened by the sun, fall ; the stones falling Fill empty gorge on gorge with echoes calling. EXPLANATIONS OF SOME OF THE SEA TERMS USED IN THE POEM Backstays. Wire ropes which support the masts against lateral and after strains. Barney's bull. A figure in marine proverb. A jewel in marine repartee. Bells. Two bells (one forward, one aft) which are struck every half-hour in a certain manner to mark the passage of the watches. Bitts. Strong wooden structures (built round each mast) upon which running rigging is secured. Block. A sheaved pulley. Boatswain. A supernumerary or idler, generally at- tached to the mate's watch, and holding consid- erable authority over the crew. Bouilli tin. Any tin that contains, or has contained, preserved meat. Bows. The forward extremity of a ship. Brace-blocks. Pulleys through which the braces travel. Braces. Ropes by which the yards are inclined for- ward or aft. Bumboat pan. Soft bread sold by the bumboat man, a kind of sea costermonger who trades with ships in port. Bunt. Those cloths of a square sail which are nearest to the mast when the sail is set. The central portion of a furled square sail. The human ab- domen (figuratively). 252 DAUBER 253 Buntlines. Ropes which help to confine square sails to the yards in the operation of furling. Chocks. Wooden stands on which the boats rest. Cleats. Iron or wooden contrivances to which ropes may be secured. Clew-lines. Ropes by which the lower corners of square sails are lifted. Clews. The lower corners of square sails. Clipper. A title of honour given to ships of more than usual speed and beauty. Coaming. The raised rim of a hatchway; a barrier at a doorway to keep water from entering. Courses. The large square sails set upon the lower yards of sailing ships. The mizen course is called the " crojick." Cringled. Fitted with iron rings or cringles, many of which are let into sails or sail-roping for various purposes. Crojick (or cross-jack). A square sail set upon the lower yard of the mizen mast. Dungarees. Thin blue or khaki-coloured overalls made from cocoanut fibre. Fairleads. Rings of wood or iron by means of which running rigging is led in any direction. Fife-rails. Strong wooden shelves fitted with iron pins, to which ropes may be secured. Fish-hooks. I.e., fingers. Foot-ropes. Ropes on which men stand when working aloft. Fo'c'sle. The cabin or cabins in which the men are berthed. It is usually an iron deck-house divided through the middle into two compartments for the two watches, and fitted with wooden bunks. 254 DAUBER Sometimes it is even fitted with lockers and an iron water-tank. Foxes. Strands, yarns, or arrangements of yarns of rope. Freeing-ports. Iron doors in the ship's side which open outwards to free the decks of water. Frap. To wrap round with rope. Futtock-shrouds. Iron bars to which the topmast rigging is secured. As they project outward and upward from the masts they are difficult to clam- ber over. Galley. The ship's kitchen. Gantline (girtline). A rope used for the sending of sails up and down from aloft. Gaskets. Ropes by which the sails are secured in furling. Half-deck. A cabin or apartment in which the ap- prentices are berthed. Its situation is usually the ship's waist ; but it is sometimes further aft, and occasionally it is under the poop or even right forward under the top-gallant fo'c'sle. Halliards. Ropes by which sails are hoisted. Harness-room. An office or room from which the salt meat is issued, and in which it is sometimes stored. Hawse. The bows or forward end of a ship. Head. The forward part of a ship. That upper edge of a square sail which is attached to the yard. House-flag. The special flag of the firm to which a ship belongs. Idlers. The members of the round-house mess, gener- ally consisting of the carpenter, cook, sailmaker, boatswain, painter, etc., are known as the idlers. DAUBER 255 Jack (or jackstay). An iron bar (fitted along all yards in sailing ships) to which the head of a square sail is secured when bent. Kites. Light upper sails. Leeches. The outer edges of square sails. In furling some square sails the leech is dragged inwards till it lies level with the head upon the surface of the yard. This is done by the first man who gets upon the yard, beginning at the weather side. Logship. A contrivance by which a ship's speed is measured. Lower topsail. The second sail from the deck on square rigged masts. It is a very strong, important sail. Marline. Tarry line or coarse string made of rope- yarns twisted together. Mate. The First or Chief Mate is generally called the Mate. Mizen-topmast-head. The summit of the second of the three or four spars which make the complete mizen-mast. Mudhooks. Anchors. Pins. Iron or wooden bars to which running rigging is secured. Pointing. A kind of neat plait with which ropes are sometimes ended off or decorated. Poop-break. The forward end of the after superstruc- ture. Ratlines. The rope steps placed across the shrouds to enable the seamen to go aloft. Reefers. Apprentices. Reef-points. Ropes by which the area of some sails may be reduced in the operation of reefing. Reef- points are securely fixed to the sails fitted with 256 DAUBER them, and when not in use their ends patter con- tinually upon the canvas with a gentle drumming noise. Reel. A part of the machinery used with a logship. Round-house. A cabin (of all shapes except round) in which the idlers are berthed. Royals. Light upper square sails; the fourth, fifth, or sixth sails from the deck according to the mast's rig. Sail-room. A large room or compartment in which the ship's sails are stored. " Sails." The sailmaker is meant. Scuttle-butt. A cask containing fresh water. Shackles. Rope handles for a sea-chest. Sheet-blocks. Iron blocks, by means of which sails are sheeted home. In any violent wind they beat upon the mast with great rapidity and force. Sheets. Ropes or chains which extend the lower corners of square sails in the operation of sheeting home. Shifting suits (of sails). The operation of removing a ship's sails, and replacing them with others. Shrouds. Wire ropes of great strength, which support lateral strains on masts. Shroud-screws. Iron contrivances by which shrouds are hove taut. Sidelights. A.sailing ship carries two of these between sunset and sunrise : one green, to starboard ; one red, to port. Sights. Observations to help in the finding of a ship's position. Skid. A wooden contrivance on which ship's boats rest. DA UBER 257 Skysails. The uppermost square sails ; the fifth, sixth, or seventh sails from the deck according to the mast's rig. Slatting. The noise made by sails flogging in the wind. Slush. Grease, melted fat. South-wester. A kind of oilskin hat. A gale from the south-west. Spit brown. To chew tobacco. Square sennit. A cunning plait which makes a four- square bar. Staysails. Fore and aft sails set upon the stays be- tween the masts. Stow. To furl. Strop (the, putting on). A strop is a grument or rope ring. The two players kneel down facing each other, the strop is placed over their heads, and the men then try to pull each other over by the strength of their neck-muscles. Swing ports. Iron doors in the ship's side which open outwards to free the decks from water. Tackle (pronounced " taykel "). Blocks, ropes, pul- leys, etc. Take a caulk. To sleep upon the deck. Topsails. The second and third sails from the deck on the masts of a modem square-rigged ship are known as the lower and upper topsails. Trucks. The summits of the masts. Upper topsail. The third square sail from the deck on the masts of square-rigged ships. Yards. The steel or wooden spars (placed across masts) from which square sails are set. BIOGRAPHY WHEN I am buried, all my thoughts and acts Will be reduced to lists of dates and facts, And long before this wandering flesh is rotten The dates which made me will be all for- gotten ; And none will know the gleam there used to be About the feast days freshly kept by me, But men will call the golden hour of bliss "About this time," or " shortly after this." Men do not heed the rungs by which men climb Those glittering steps, those milestones upon Time, 258 BIOGRAPHY 259 Those tombstones of dead selves, those hours of birth, Those moments of the soul in years of earth They mark the height achieved, the main result, The power of freedom in the perished cult, The power of boredom hi the dead man's deeds, Not the bright moments of the sprinkled By many waters and on many ways I have known golden instants and bright days; The day on which, beneath an arching sail, I saw the Cordilleras and gave hail; The summer day on which in heart's delight I saw the Swansea Mumbles bursting white, The glittering day when all the waves wore 260 BIOGRAPHY And the ship Wanderer came with sails in rags; That curlew-calling time in Irish dusk When life became more splendid than its husk, When the rent chapel on the brae at Slains Shone with a doorway opening beyond brains ; The dawn when, with a brace-block's creak- ing cry, Out of the mist a little barque slipped by, Spilling the mist with changing gleams of red, Then gone, with one raised hand and one turned head; The howling evening when the spindrift's mists Broke to display the four Evangelists, Snow-capped, divinely granite, lashed by breakers, BIOGRAPHY 261 Wind-beaten bones of long since buried acres; The night alone near water when I heard All the sea's spirit spoken by a bird; The English dusk when I beheld once more (With eyes so changed) the ship, the citied shore, The lines of masts, the streets so cheerly trod (In happier seasons) and gave thanks to God. All had their beauty, their bright moments' gift, Their something caught from Time, the ever-swift. All of those gleams were golden ; but life's hands Have given more constant gifts in changing lands, 262 BIOGRAPHY And when I count those gifts, I think them such As no man's bounty could have bettered much: The gift of country life, near hills and woods Where happy waters sing in solitudes, The gift of being near ships, of seeing each day A city of ships with great ships under weigh, The great street paved with water, filled with shipping, And all the world's flags flying and seagulls dipping. Yet when I am dust my penman may not know Those water-trampling ships which made me glow, BIOGRAPHY 263 But think my wonder mad and fail to find Their glory, even dimly, from my mind, And yet they made me: not alone the ships But men hard-palmed from tallying-on to whips, The two close friends of nearly twenty years, Sea-followers both, sea-wrestlers and sea- peers, Whose feet with mine wore many a bolt- head bright Treading the decks beneath the riding light. Yet death will make that warmth of friend- ship cold And who'll know what one said and what one told Our hearts' communion and the broken spells 264 BIOGRAPHY When the loud call blew at the strike of bells? No one, I know, yet let me be believed A soul entirely known is life achieved. Years blank with hardship never speak a word Live in the soul to make the being stirred, Towns can be prisons where the spirit dulls Away from mates and ocean-wandering hulls, Away from all bright water and great hills And sheep-walks where the curlews cry their fills, Away in towns, where eyes have nought to see But dead museums and miles of misery And floating life unrooted from man's need And miles of fish-hooks baited to catch greed And life made wretched out of human ken BIOGRAPHY 265 And miles of shopping women served by men. So, if the penman sums my London days Let him but say that there were holy ways, Dull Bloomsbury streets of dull brick man- sions old With stinking doors where women stood to scold And drunken waits at Christmas with their horn Droning the news, hi snow, that Christ was born; And windy gas lamps and the wet roads shining And that old carol of the midnight whining, And that old room (above the noisy slum) Where there was wine and fire and talk with some Under strange pictures of the wakened soul To whom this earth was but a burnt-out coal. 266 BIOGRAPHY Time, bring back those midnights and those friends, Those glittering moments that a spirit lends That all may be imagined from the flash The cloud-hid god-game through the light- ning gash Those hours of stricken sparks from which men took Light to send out to men in song or book. Those friends who heard St. Pancras' bells strike two Yet stayed until the barber's cockerel crew. Talking of noble styles, the Frenchman's best, The thought beyond great poets not ex- pressed, The glory of mood where human frailty failed, The forts of human light not yet assailed, BIOGRAPHY 267 Till the dim room had mind and seemed to brood Binding our wills to mental brotherhood, Till we became a college, and each night Was discipline and manhood and delight, Till our farewells and winding down the stairs At each grey dawn had meaning that Time spares, That we, so linked, should roam the whole world round Teaching the ways our brooding minds had found Making that room our Chapter, our one mind Where all that this world soiled should be refined. Often at night I tread those streets again And see the alley glimmering in the rain, 268 BIOGRAPHY Yet now I miss that sign of earlier tramps A house with shadows of plane-boughs under lamps, The secret house where once a beggar stood Trembling and blind to show his woe for food. And now I miss that friend who used to walk Home to my lodgings with me, deep in talk, Wearing the last of night out in still streets Trodden by us and policemen on their beats And cats, but else deserted ; now I miss That lively mind and guttural laugh of his And that strange way he had of making gleam, Like something real, the art we used to dream. BIOGRAPHY 269 London has been my prison ; but my books Hills and great waters, labouring men and brooks, Ships and deep friendships and remembered days Which even now set all my mind ablaze As that June day when, hi the red bricks' chinks I saw the old Roman ruins white with pinks And felt the hillside haunted even then By not dead memory of the Roman men. And felt the hillside thronged by souls un- seen Who knew the interest in me and were keen\, That man alive should understand man | dead So many centuries since the blood was shed. And quickened with strange hush because this comer 270 BIOGRAPHY Sensed a strange soul alive behind the summer. That other day on Ercall when the stones Were sunbleached white, like long unburied bones, While the bees droned and all the air was sweet From honey buried underneath my feet, Honey of purple heather and white clover Sealed in its gummy bags till summer's over. Then other days by water, by bright sea, Clear as clean glass and my bright friend with me, The cove clean bottomed where we saw the brown Red spotted plaice go skimming six feet down And saw the long fronds waving, white with shells, BIOGRAPHY 271 Waving, unfolding, drooping, to the swells; That sadder day when we beheld the great And terrible beauty of a Lammas spate Roaring white-mouthed in all the great cliff's gaps Headlong, tree-tumbling fury of collapse, While drenching clouds drove by and every sense Was water roaring or rushing or hi offence, And mountain sheep stood huddled and blown gaps gleamed Where torn white hair of torrents shook and streamed. That sadder day when we beheld again A spate going down in sunshine after rain, When the blue reach of water leaping bright Was one long ripple and clatter, flecked with white. And that far day, that never blotted page 272 BIOGRAPHY When youth was bright like flowers about old age Fair generations bringing thanks for life To that old kindly man and trembling wife After their sixty years : Time never made A better beauty since the Earth was laid Than that thanksgiving given to grey hair For the great gift of life which brought them there. Days of endeavour have been good: the days Racing hi cutters for the comrade's praise, The day they led my cutter at the turn Yet could not keep the lead and dropped astern, The moment in the spurt when both boats' oars Dipped in each other's wash and throata grew hoarse BIOGRAPHY 273 And teeth ground into teeth and both strokes quickened Lashing the sea, and gasps came, and hearts sickened And coxswains damned us, dancing, banking stroke, To put our weights on, though our hearts were broke And both boats seemed to stick and sea seemed glue, The tide a mill race we were struggling through And every quick recover gave us squints Of them still there, and oar tossed water- glints And cheering came, our friends, our foemen cheering, A long, wild, rallying murmur on the hear- ing "Port Fore!" and "Starboard Fore!" "Port Fore." "Port Fore." 274 BIOGRAPHY "Up with her, Starboard," and at that each oar Lightened, though arms were bursting, and eyes shut And the oak stretchers grunted in the strut And the curse quickened from the cox, our bows Crashed, and drove talking water, we made vows Chastity vows and temperance ; in our pain We numbered things we'd never eat again If we could only win ; then came the yell " Starboard," "Port Fore," and then a beaten bell Rung as for fire to cheer us. "Now." Oars bent Soul took the looms now body's bolt was spent, "Damn it, come on now," "On now," "On now," "Starboard." BIOGRAPHY 275 "Port Fore." '"Up with her, Port"; each cutter harboured Ten eye-shut painsick stragglers, "Heave, oh, heave," Catcalls waked echoes like a shrieking sheave. "Heave," and I saw a back, then two. "Port Fore." "Starboard." "Come on." I saw the mid- ship oar And knew we had done them. "Port Fore." "Starboard." "Now." I saw bright water spurting at then- bow Their cox' full face an instant. They were done. The watchers' cheering almost drowned the gun. We had hardly strength to toss our oars; our cry Cheering the losing cutter was a sigh. 276 BIOGEAPHY Other bright days of action have seemed great: Wild days in a pampero off the Plate ; Good swimming days, at Hog Back or the Coves Which the young gannet and he corbie loves ; Surf-swimming between rollers, catching breath Between the advancing grave and breaking death, Then shooting up into the sunbright smooth To watch the advancing roller bare her tooth, And days of labour also, loading, hauling ; Long days at winch or capstan, heaving, pawling; The days with oxen, dragging stone from blasting, And dusty days in mills, and hot days masting. BIOGRAPHY 277 Trucking on dust-dry deckings smooth like ice, And hunts in mighty wool-racks after mice ; Mornings with buckwheat when the fields did blanch With White Leghorns come from the chicken ranch. Days near the spring upon the sunburnt hill, Plying the maul or gripping tight the drill. Delights of work most real, delights that change The headache life of towns to rapture strange Not known by townsmen, nor imagined; health That puts new glory upon mental wealth And makes the poor man rich. But that ends, too, Health with its thoughts of life; and that bright view 278 BIOGRAPHY That sunny landscape from life's peak, that glory, / And all a glad man's comments on life's story And thoughts of marvellous towns and liv- ing men And what pens tell and all beyond the pen End, and are summed in words so truly dead They raise no image of the heart and head, The life, the man alive, the friend we knew, The mind ours argued with or listened to, None ; but are dead, and all life's keenness, all, Is dead as print before the funeral, Even deader after, when the dates are sought, And cold minds disagree with what we thought. This many pictured world of many passions BIOGRAPHY 279 Wears out the nations as a woman fashions, And what life is is much to very few, Men being so strange, so mad, and what men do So good to watch or share; but when men count Those hours of life that were a bursting fount, Sparkling the dusty heart with living springs, There seems a world, beyond our earthly things, Gated by golden moments, each bright tune Opening to show the city white like lime, High towered and many peopled. This made sure, Work that obscures those moments seems impure, Making our not-returning time of breath 280 BIOGRAPHY Dull with the ritual and records of death, That frost of fact by which our wisdom gives Correctly stated death to all that lives. - Best trust the happy moments. What they gave Makes man less fearful of the certain grave, And gives his work compassion and new eyes. The days that make us happy make us wise. CARGOES QUINQUIREME of Nineveh from distant Ophir, Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, With a cargo of ivory, And apes and peacocks, Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine. Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus, Dipping through the Tropics by the palm- green shores, With a cargo of diamonds, Emeralds, amethysts, Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores. 281 282 CARGOES Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack, Butting through the Channel in the mad March days, With a cargo of Tyne coal, Road-rails, pig-lead, Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays. SEA FEVER I MUST go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking, I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. 283 284 SEA FEVER I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife ; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laugh- ing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over. SPANISH WATERS SPANISH waters, Spanish waters, you are ringing in my ears, Like a slow sweet piece of music from the grey forgotten years; Telling tales, and beating tunes, and bring- ing weary thoughts to me Of the sandy beach at Muertos, where I would that I could be. There's a surf breaks on Los Muertos, and it never stops to roar, And it's there we came to anchor, and it's there we went ashore, Where the blue lagoon is silent amid snags of rotting trees, Dropping like the clothes of corpses cast up by the seas. 285 286 SPANISH WATERS We anchored at Los Muertos when the dip- ping sun was red, We left her half-a-mile to sea, to west of Nigger Head; And before the mist was on the Cay, before the day was done, We were all ashore on Muertos with the gold that we had won. We bore it through the marshes in a half- score battered chests, Sinking, in the sucking quagmires, to the sunburn on our breasts, Heaving over tree-trunks, gasping, damning at the flies and heat, Longing for a long drink, out of silver, in the ship's cool lazareet. The moon came white and ghostly as we laid the treasure down, SPANISH WATERS 287 There was gear there'd make a beggannan as rich as Lima Town, Copper charms and silver trinkets from the chests of Spanish crews, Gold doubloons and double moydores, louis d'ors and portagues, Clumsy yellow-metal earrings from the Indians of Brazil, Uncut emeralds out of Rio, bezoar stones from Guayaquil; Silver, in the crude and fashioned, pots of old Arica bronze, Jewels from the bones of Incas desecrated by the Dons. We smoothed the place with mattocks, and we took and blazed the tree, Which marks yon where the gear is hid that none will ever see, 288 SPANISH WATERS And we laid aboard the ship again, and south away we steers, Through the loud surf of Los Muertos which is beating hi my ears. I'm the last alive that knows it. All the rest have gone then- ways Killed, or died, or come to anchor hi the old Mulatas Cays, And I go singing, fiddling, old and starved and hi despair, And I know where all that gold is hid, if I were only there. It's not the way to end it all. I'm old, and nearly blind, And an old man's past's a strange thing, for it never leaves his mind. And I see in dreams, awhiles, the beach, the sun's disc dipping red, SPANISH WATERS And the tall ship, under topsails, swaying in past Nigger Head. I'd be glad to step ashore there. Glad to take a pick and go To the lone blazed coco-palm tree in the place no others know, And lift the gold and silver that has mouldered there for years By the loud surf of Los Muertos which is beating in my ears. AN OLD SONG RE-SUNG I SAW a ship a-sailing, a-sailing, a-sailing, With emeralds and rubies and sapphires hi her hold; And a bosun in a blue coat bawling at the railing, Piping through a silver call that had a chain of gold; The summer wind was failing and the tall ship rolled. I saw a ship a-steering, a-steering, a-steering, With roses in red thread worked upon her sails; With sacks of purple amethysts, the spoils of buccaneering, 290 AN OLD SONG RE-SUNG 291 Skins of musky yellow wine, and silks in bales, Her merry men were cheering, hauling on the brails. I saw a ship a-sinking, a-sinking, a-sinking, With glittering sea-water splashing on her decks, With seamen hi her spirit-room singing songs and drinking, Pulling claret bottles down, and knocking off the necks, The broken glass was chinking as she sank among the wrecks. THE WEST WIND IT'S a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries; I never hear the west wind bu,t tears are in my eyes. For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills, And April's in the west wind, and daffodils. It's a fine land, the west land, for hearts as tired as mine, Apple orchards blossom there, and the air's like wine. There is cool green grass there, where men may lie at rest, And the thrushes are in song there, fluting from the nest. 292 THE WEST WIND 293 "Will you not come home, brother? You have been long away. It's April, and blossom tune, and white is the spray: And bright is the sun, brother, and warm is the rain, Will you not come home, brother, home to us again? The young corn is green, brother, where the rabbits run; It's blue sky, and white clouds, and warm rain and sun. It's song to a man's soul, brother, fire to a man's brain, To hear the wild bees and see the merry spring again. Larks are singing in the west, brother, above the green wheat, 294 THE WE8T WIND So will you not come home, brother, and rest your tired feet? I've a balm for bruised hearts, brother, sleep for aching eyes," Says the warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries. It's the white road westwards is the road I must tread To the green grass, the cool grass, and rest for heart and head, To the violets and the brown brooks and the thrushes' song In the fine land, the west land, the land where I belong. ON MALVERN HILL A wind is brushing down the clover, It sweeps the tossing branches bare, Blowing the poising kestrel over The crumbling ramparts of the Caer. It whirls the scattered leaves before us Along the dusty road to home, Once it awakened into chorus The heart-strings in the ranks of Rome. There by the gusty coppice border The shrilling trumpets broke the halt, The Roman line, the Roman order, Swayed forwards to the blind assault. Spearman and charioteer and bowman Charged and were scattered into spray, Savage and taciturn the Roman Hewed upwards in the Roman way. 295 296 02V MALVERN HILL There in the twilight where the cattle Are lowing home across the fields, The beaten warriors left the battle Dead on the clansmen's wicker shields. The leaves whirl hi the wind's riot Beneath the Beacon's jutting spur, Quiet are clan and chief, and quiet Centurion and signifer. FRAGMENTS TROY TOWN is covered up with weeds, The rabbits and the pismires brood On broken gold, and shards, and beads Where Priam's ancient palace stood. The floors of many a gallant house Are matted with the roots of grass; The glow-worm and the nimble mouse Among her ruins flit and pass. And there, in orts of blackened bone, The widowed Trojan beauties lie, And Simois babbles over stone And waps and gurgles to the sky. Once there were merry days in Troy, Her chimneys smoked with cooking meals, The passing chariots did annoy The sunning housewives at their wheels. 297 298 FRAGMENTS And many a lovely Trojan maid Set Trojan lads to lovely things; The game of life was nobly played, They played the game like Queens and Kings. So that, when Troy had greatly passed In one red roaring fiery coal, The courts the Grecians overcast Became a city in the soul. In some green island of the sea, Where now the shadowy coral grows In pride and pomp and empery The courts of old Atlantis rose. In many a glittering house of glass The Atlanteans wandered there; The paleness of their faces was Like ivory, so pale they were. FRAGMENTS 299 And hushed they were, no noise of words In those bright cities ever rang; Only their thoughts, like golden birds, About then* chambers thrilled and sang. They knew all wisdom, for they knew The souls of those Egyptian Kings Who learned, in ancient Babilu, The beauty of immortal things. They knew all beauty when they thought The air chimed like a stricken lyre, The elemental birds were wrought, The golden birds became a fire. And straight to busy camps and marts The singing flames were swiftly gone; The trembling leaves of human hearts Hid boughs for them to perch upon. And men in desert places, men Abandoned, broken, sick with fears, 300 FRAGMENTS Rose singing, swung their swords agen, And laughed and died among the spears. The green and greedy seas have drowned That city's glittering walls and towers, Her sunken minarets are crowned With red and russet water-flowers. In towers and rooms and golden courts The shadowy coral lifts her sprays; The scrawl hath gorged her broken orts, The shark doth haunt her hidden ways. But, at the falling of the tide, The golden birds still sing and gleam, The Atlanteans have not died, Immortal things still give us dream. The dream that fires man's heart to make, To build, to do, to sing or say A beauty Death can never take, An Adam from the crumbled clay. TEWKESBURY ROAD IT is good to be out on the road, and going one knows not where, Going through meadow and village, one knows not whither nor why; Through the grey light drift of the dust, in the keen cool rush of the air/ Under the flying white clouds, and the broad blue lift of the sky. And to halt at the chattering brook, in the tall green fern at the brink Where the harebell grows, and the gorse, and the foxgloves purple and white; Where the shy-eyed delicate deer troop down to the brook to drink When the stars are mellow and large at the coming on of the night. 301 302 TEWKSBURY SO AD O, to feel the beat of the rain, and the homely smell of the earth, Is a tune for the blood to jig to, a joy past power of words; And the blessed green comely meadows are all a-ripple with mirth At the noise of the lambs at play and the dear wild cry of the birds. SONNETS Men are made human by the mighty fall The mighty passion led to, these remain. The despot, at the last assaulted wall, By long disaster is made man again, The faithful fool who follows the torn flag, The woman marching by the beaten man, Make with their truth atonement for the brag, And earn a pity for the too proud plan. For hi disaster, in the ruined will, In the soiled shreds of what the brain con- ceived, Something above the wreck is steady still, Bright above all that cannot be retrieved, Grandeur of soul, a touching of the star That good days cover but by which we are. 303 304 SONNETS Ah, we are neither heaven nor earth, but men; Something that uses and despises both, That takes its earth's contentment in the pen, Then sees the world's injustice and is wroth, And flinging off youth's happy promise, flies Up to some breach, despising earthly things, And, hi contempt of hell and heaven, dies, Rather than bear some yoke of priests or lungs. Our joys are not of heaven nor earth, but man's, A woman's beauty or a child's delight, The trembling blood when the discoverer scans The sought-for world, the guessed-at satellite ; The ringing scene, the stone at point to blush For unborn men to look at and say "Hush." SONNETS 305 They took the bloody body from the cross, They laid it in its niche and rolled the stone. One said, " Our blessed Master," one "His loss Ends us companions, we are left alone." And one, "I thought that Pilate would acquit Right to the last;" and one, "The sergeant took The trenching mall and drove the nails with it . " One who was weeping went apart and shook. Then one, "He promised that in three short days He would return, oh God ; but He is dead." And one, "What was it that He meant to raise? The Temple? No? What was it that He said? He said that He would build? That He would rise?" "No," answered one, "but come from Para- dise. 306 SONNETS "Come to us fiery with the saints of God To judge the world and take His power and reign." Then one. "This was the very road we trod That April day, would it could come again ; The day they flung the flowers." "Let be," said one, "He was a lovely soul, but what He meant Passes our wit, for none among us, none, Had brains enough to fathom His intent. His mother did not, nor could one of us, But while He spoke I felt I understood." And one, "He knew that it would finish thus. Let His thought be, I know that He was good. There is the orchard, see, the very same Where we were sleeping when the soldiers 80NNET8 307 So from the cruel cross they buried God ; So, in their desolation, as they went They dug him deeper with each step they trod, Their lightless minds distorting what He meant. Lamenting Hun, their leader, who had died, They heaped the stones, they rolled the heavy door; They said, "Our glory has been crucified, Unless He rise our glory will be o'er." While in the grave the spirit left the corpse Broken by torture, slowly, line by line, And saw the dawn come on the eastern thorpes, And shook his wings and sang in the divine, Crying "I told the truth, even unto death, Though I was earth and now am only breath." AUGUST 1914 How still this quiet cornfield is to-night; By an intenser glow the evening falls, Bringing, not darkness, but a deeper light ; Among the stocks a partridge covey calls. The windows glitter on the distant hill ; Beyond the hedge the sheep-bells in the fold Stumble on sudden music and are still ; The forlorn pine woods droop above the wold. An endless quiet valley reaches out Past the blue hills into the evening sky ; Over the stubble, cawing, goes a rout Of rooks from harvest, flagging as they fly. So beautiful it is I never saw So great a beauty on these English fields 308 AUGUST 1914 309 Touched by the twilight's coming into awe, Ripe to the soul and rich with summer's yields. . . . These homes, this valley spread below me here, The rooks, the tilted stacks, the beasts in pen, Have been the heartfelt things, past speak- ing dear To unknown generations of dead men, Who, century after century, held these farms And, looking out to watch the changing sky, Heard, as we hear, the rumors and alarms Of war at hand and danger pressing nigh. And knew, as we know, that the message meant The breaking off of ties, the loss of friends, 310 AUGUST 1914 Death, like a miser getting in his rent, And no new stones laid where the trackway ends. The harvest not yet won, the empty bin, The friendly horses taken from the stalls, The fallow on the hill not yet brought in, The cracks unplastered in the leaking walls. Yet heard the news, and went discouraged home, And brooded by the fire with heavy mind, With such dumb loving of the Berkshire loam As breaks the dumb hearts of the English kind, Then sadly rose and left the well-loved Downs, And so by ship to sea, and knew no more The fields of home, the byres, the market towns, Nor the dear outline of the English shore, AUGUST 1914 311 But knew the misery of the soaking trench, The freezing in the rigging, the despair In the revolting second of the wrench When the blind soul is flung upon the air, ** And died (uncouthly, most) in foreign lands For some idea but dimly understood Of an English city never built by hands, .Which love of England prompted and made good. . . . If there be any life beyond the grave, It must be near the men and things we love, Some power of quick suggestion how to save, Touching the living soul as from above. An influence from the Earth from those dead hearts So passionate once, so deep, so truly kind, That in the living child the spirit starts, Feeling companioned still, not left behind. 312 AUGUST 1914 Surely above these fields a spirit broods, A sense of many watchers muttering near, Of the lone Downland with the forlorn woods Loved to the death, inestimably dear. A muttering from beyond the veils of Death From long-dead men, to whom this quiet scene Came among blinding tears with the last breath, The dying soldier's vision of his queen. All the unspoken worship of those lives Spent in forgotten wars at other calls Glimmers upon these fields where evening drives Beauty like breath, so gently darkness falls. Darkness that makes the meadows holier still, The elm trees sadden in the hedge, a sigh AUGUST 1914 313 Moves in the beech clump on the haunted hill, The rising planets deepen in the sky, And silence broods like spirit on the brae, A glimmering moon begins, the moonlight runs Over the grasses of the ancient way Rutted this morning by the passing guns. Printed in the United Bute* of America. / T V HE following pages contain advertisements of Macmillan boob by the same author BY THE SAME AUTHOR Salt Water Poems and Ballads. Twelve full-page illustrations in color, and twenty in black and white. By Charles Pears. Price, $2.00 A book of permanent value by the foremost living poet, illus- trated in colors by a widely known artist, selling at a reasonable price. "The salt of the sea is in these jingles; not the mystic sea of the older poets who had an art, but the hard sea that men fight, even in these days of leviathan liners, in stout-timbered hulls with blocks to rattle and hemp for the gale to whistle through and give the salt-lipped chantey man his rugged meters." New York Sun. "His verse has the accent of old chanties, the rudeness and the mysticism, simple and matter-of-fact, of the deep-sea mariner." New York Times. "They have the roar and dash and swing of crashing breakers, the sharp tang of the salt sea air, and at times they creak and strain like a stout clipper ship in the roaring forties." Philadel- phia North American. "They have the tang of salt spray, and the blue light of corpse candles. Wassail and song echo through the lines, and the spirit of youth that finds interest and excitement in bad and good alike. Their lyric quality is true. Reckless and daring they are in spirit." Baltimore Sun. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York BY THE SAME AUTHOR Captain Margaret Cloth, $1.35 Captain Margaret, owner of the Broken Heart, mild dreamer and hardy adventurer in one, is a type of character one does not often meet in fiction, and his troubled pursuit of the vision he is always seeing, in Mr. Masefield's telling, is a story such as we seldom hear. From England to Virginia and the Spanish Main with men at arms between decks goes the Broken Heart following her master's dream, and her thrilling voyage with its storms and battles is strongly and stirringly told. When John Masefield -writes of the sea, the sea lives. "Worthy to rank high among books of its class. The story has quality, charm, and spirited narrative." Outlook. The Locked Chest, and the Sweeps of Ninety-Eight $'25 The place of Mr. Masefield as a dramatist has been amply proved by the plays which he has published hitherto " The Faithful," " Philip the King," " The Tragedy of Pompey," among others. 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Philip the King, and Other Poems Cloth, I2tno, $1.25. Leather, $1.60 "Mr. Masefield's new poetical drama is a piece of work such as only the author of 'Nan' and 'The Tragedy of Pompey' could have written, tense in situation and impressive in its poetry. . . . In addition to this important play, the volume contains some new and powerful narrative poems of the sea the men who live on it and their ships. There are also some shorter lyrics as well as an impressive poem on the present war in Europe which expresses, perhaps, better than anything yet written, the true spirit of Eng- land in the present struggle." "Mr. Masefield has never done anything better than these poems." Argonaut. "The compelling strength of John Masefield's genius is revealed in the memorable poem, 'August, 1914,' published in his latest volume of poetry." Review of Reviews. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York BY THE SAME AUTHOR The Daffodil Fields Cloth, i2mo, $/.2j. Leather, tt.6o "Neither in the design nor in the telling did or could 'Enoch Arden ' come near the artistic truth of ' The Daffodil Fields.' " Sir Quiller-Couch, Cambridge University. A Mainsail Haul Cloth, i2mo, l/^j. Leather, $f.6o As a sailor before the mast Masefield has traveled the world over. Many of the tales in this volume are his own experiences written with the same dramatic fidelity displayed in " Dauber." The Tragedy of Pompey Cloth, tamo, $f ^5. Leather, $1.60 A play such as only the author of "Nan" could have written. Tense in situation and impressive in its poetry it conveys Mast- field's genius in the handling of the dramatic form. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue Hew Tork BY THE SAME AUTHOR The Story of a Round-HoUse, and Other Poems BY JOHN MASEFIELD New and revised edition, $1.30. Leather, $/.6o " The story of that rounding of the Horn ! Never in prose has the sea been so tremen- dously described." Chicago Evening Post. " A remarkable poem of the sea." San Francisco Chronicle. "Vivid and thrillingly realistic." Current Literature. " A genuine sailor and a genuine poet are a rare combination ; they have produced a rare poem of the sea, which has made Mr. Maseneld's position in literature secure beyond the reach of caviling." Everybody's Magazine. ' Masefield has prisoned in verse the spirit of life at sea." N. Y. Sun. The Everlasting Mercy and The Widow in the Bye Street (Awarded the Royal Society of Literature's prize of $500) New and revised edition, $1,25. leather, $1.60 " Mr. Masefield comes like a flash of light across contemporary English poetry. The Improbable has been accomplished; he has made poetry out of the very material that has refused to yield it for almost a score of years." Boston Evening Transcript. " Originality, force, distinction, and deep knowledge of the human heart." Chicago Record-Herald. " They are truly great pieces." Kentucky Post. " A vigor and sincerity rare in modern English literature." The Independent. * John Masefield is the man of the hour, and the man of to-morrow too, in poetry and in the play writing craft." JOHN GALSWORTHY. " recreates a wholly new drama of existence." WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE, N. Y. Times. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publisher* 64-66 Fifth Avenue New Tork UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES COLLEGE LIBRARY This book is due on the last date stamped below. Book Slip-25m-9,'59(A4772s4)4280 UCLA-Coltege Library PR 6025 M37A17 1916 005 725 31 wretcg Crawls beneath heav brother's blood, c days the planets i their s'ylc, vhom all earth is slave food. ering man, within wh hell yet the seed, the spr. nine corn, me and Sun will cht. te cell -een meadows, in tr < n. be a dream, do shall come, tha clay -lake perfect College Library PR 6025 M37A] 1916 *C./ry i it 001327 ,