SMALL CRAFT C. FOX SMITH SMALL CRAFT C. FOX SMITH BY C. FOX SMITH AUTHOR OF "SAILOR TOWN," ETC. NEW XS^ YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1919, BT GEORGE H. DOBAN COMPANY PRINTED IN THE TTNITED STATES OF AMERICA The Author is indebted, for permission to reprint, to the Proprietors of Punch, and the Editors of The Spectator, The Sphere, The Windsor Magazine, Country Life, Grand Magazine, Patt Mall Gazette, Westminster Gazette, Daily Chronicle t Canada Monthly, and Week (British Columbia). CONTENTS I: CHANTYS , AQB SMALL CRAFT 13 A BALLAD OF OLD AND NEW 17 SQUAREHEADS 21 THE NORTH ATLANTIC TRADE 25 ADMIRAL DUGOUT 29 "Snips THAT PASS" 82 "IN PRIZE" 36 THE FIGHTING MERCHANTMAN 39 BILLY'S YARN 42 PHILOSOPHY 44 THE BALLAD OF THE "DINKINBAR" 46 GOOD LUCE 52 THE DEFAULTER 53 THE LITTLE THINGS 55 THE SONG OF THE MILL 57 THE FIVE RICKS 60 BULLINGTON 62 THE GIPSY SOLDIER 65 MERCHANTMEN 68 THE OPEN BOAT 70 THE JOLLY BARGEMAN 72 vii CONTENTS PAGE "New HEAVENS NEW EARTH" 74 ST. ANDREW'S EVE 77 THE BALLAD OF THE RESURRECTION PACKET 78 LIGHT CRUISERS (OLD) 82 H: SONGS IN SAIL THE COAST OF BARBART 87 PARADISE STREET . 89 THE OLD FIDDLE 91 DEEP WATER JACK 96 THE BLUE PETER 98 SHIPMATES 100 A SEA BURTHEN 102 SACRAMENTO 103 CAPE STIFF 105 THE LONG ROAD HOME 107 THE LOST SHIP 109 THE OLD WHALE Ill HI: SONGS OF HOME A MESSAGE 115 NEWS FROM THE NORTH 117 A GARDEN m THE NORTH 120 GHOSTS IN THE GARDEN 122 ALL HALLOWS 124 viii CONTENTS IV: SONGS OF THE WILD VAGI! PHASER RIVER . 129 THE PLAINS OF MEXICO 131 ALONG THE PRAIRIE TRAIL 133 PRAIRIE WIND 135 PRAIRIE SUNSET 137 THE OLD-TIMER 138 THE CIRCUS IN THE WEST 140 V: ROMANCE ROMANCE 145 MORGAN LE FAT 147 RONCEVAL ..... 149 THE WATERS OF OBLIVION 151 LOVE'S MARKETING .. 156 -IX- I: CHANT YS SMALL CRAFT WHEN Drake sailed out from Devon to break King Philip's pride, He had great ships at his bidding and little ones beside, "Revenge" was there and "Lion," and others known to fame, And likewise he had Small Craft (which hadn't any name!). Small Craft Small Craft to harry and to flout 'em! Small Craft Small Craft you cannot do without 'em! Their deeds are unrecorded, their names are never seen, But we know that there were Small Craft because there must have been! SMALL CRAFT When Nelson was blockading for three long years and more, With many a bluff first-rater and oaken "Seventy- four," To share the fun and fighting, the good chance and the bad, Oh, he had also Small Craft because he must have had! Upon the skirts of battle from Sluys to Trafalgar We know that there were Small Craft because there always are! Yacht, sweeper, sloop and drifter to-day as yes- terday The big ships fight the battles but the Small Craft clear the way! They scout before the squadrons when mighty fleets engage; They glean War's dreadful harvest when the fight has ceased to rage ; Too great they count no hazard, no task beyond their power; And merchantmen bless Small Craft a hundred times an hour! 14 SMALL CRAFT In Admirals' despatches their names are seldom heard, They justify their being by more than written word; In battle, toil and tempest, and dangers manifold, The doughty deeds of Small Craft will never all be told. Scant ease and scantier leisure they take no heed of these, For men lie hard in Small Craft when storm is on the seas; A long watch and a weary from dawn to set of sun The men who serve in Small Craft, their work is never done. And if, as chance may have it, some bitter day they lie Out-classed, out-gunned, out-numbered, with nought to do but die, When the last gun's out of action, good-bye to ship and crew But men die hard in Small Craft, as they will always do! Oh, Death comes once to each man, and the game it pays for all, And Duty is but Duty, in great ship and in small, 15 SMALL CRAFT And it will not vex their slumbers, or make less sweet their rest, Though there's never a big black headline for Small Craft going west. Great ships and mighty captains to these their meed of praise For patience, skill and daring, and loud victorious days, To every man his portion, as is both right and fair, But oh ! forget not Small Craft, for they have done their share. Small Craft Small Craft from Scapa Flow to Dover; Small Craft Small Craft all the wide world over ; At risk of war and shipwreck, torpedo, mine and shell- All honour be to Small Craft, for oh, they've earned it well! A BALLAD OF OLD AND NEW As I went down through Portsmouth Town, with my bundle in my hand, I met a chap in a pigtail rig, just newly come to land; I met a fellow of an old-style build, with a look both bold and free, With varnished hat and buckled shoes, like the men of the Old Navee. "What news, what news, young fellow," he said. *'of rigging loft and yard; What ships are new, and what are built this year at Buckler's Hard? And is the cry, 'More frigates,' still, as I mind it used to be? Do England's oaks build ships this day like the ships of the Old Navee? "And when these things you've answered all, why, then, lad, tell me true, Who stands this day where Nelson stood (if any so may do), SMALL CRAFT What prizes late our Fleet has won, what victories gained at sea; Does England hold what she fought for of old, in the days of the Old Navee ?" ###*## "By Tyne and Clyde and Merseyside our ships lie keel by keel, And a man must stop his ears to hear the hammers on the steel; By Buckler's Hard nought now you hear but song of bird and tree, But the ships of grey will be first in the fray like the ships of the Old Navee. "Dogger and Bight and Falklands fight, and one or two beside, And Jutland Bank shall one day rank with the names of Nelson's pride; But that's a tale is all too hard for simple lads like me, Not word, but deed, is the sailor's creed, as it was in the Old Navee. "But when the time for deeds is come, we've fighting lads a few, Can hit and hold, both swift and bold, the same's they used to do, 18 A BALLAD OF OLD AND NEW Can hunt the pirate submarine from broad and narrow sea, And strike the raider in his lair as they did in the Old Navee. "So let the Navy have her fling, she'll show in the Navy's way Our frontier is the foeman's shore, to-day as yes- terday : For the fights that are fought on blue water will win or lose the sea, As it was when Hawke and Nelson sailed in the ships of the Old Navee. "And all we ask is to finish our task some day with a free sky o'er us, A day fair and fine, with a clear skyline, and a foe that will stand before us : We've a man from Wexford that we know full well for as good as any may be, And the bulldog grip that never lets slip, as it was in the Old Navee!" As I went down through Portsmouth Town, a cold rain falling fast, I saw the flap of old "Victory's" flag, where she dreams of victories past, 19 SMALL CRAFT And this was the word the salt wind bore that blew from the English sea: "Be it steam or sail, you weather the gale by the New as the Old Naveel'* -20 SQUAREHEADS "I NEVER did 'ave no use for Germans" (said Bill the bosun to me, As he sat on the after hatchway coaming, smoking and drinking his tea) ; "Never did 'ave no use for square'eads, sonny, an' that's the truth, Since I went to sea in the old *Lorid Clive,' back there in the days o' my youth. "Danes I 'ave knowed, an' Swedes I 'ave knowed, as was white men through and through, Norwegian nigger yeller an' brown an* hard- case citizens too: I've sailed in my time with most o* the brands, Dago, Dutchman, and Finn, But never a decent shipmate yet did I strike in a German skin. "Never the feller a man M choose to be with in a watch together, Never the feller you'd like to know was around in the worst o' weather, 21 SMALL CRAFT Never the chap as you'd want by your side when caught aback in a gale, Or lay in* aloft in your shirt, maybe, off the Plate there shortenin' sail. "All very well for a harbour job they are, as I make no doubt, Or 'andin' plates in a restorong, or sweepin* the cuddy out; But I never did 'ave no use for the beggars, though why I can 'ardly say, An' I always used to 'ammer 'em good, which I'm glad to 'ave done to-day! #***## "An* I wish I may lie where the lost ships lie that never mounted a gun, Them as was raked with shrapnel fire they could neither fight nor run; Them as spread the sea with their dead when the day was sunny and fine, Or went down slow as the dark come on, with their guts ripped out by a mine. "I wish I may lie where them ships lie, the little ships an' big, Liner an' tank an' leaky tramp, barge an' schooner an* brig, SQUAREHEADS The smacks an' Frenchy onion boats, an' the poor crews they bore, Murdered in sight of open day by square'eads makin* war! "I wish I may lie where them ships lie, an' no more sail the sea, An' drink the drink them dead men drank, poor sailormen like me, So let me drink if I forget, an' so for ever lie, If ever I ship with square'eads more until the day I die. "An' if ever I take a German's pay again, in steam or sail, Or 'andle German cargo more, baulk or barrel or bale, If ever I put a finger o' mine on stuff a German owns, Or 'elp to fill a German till with workin' o' my bones, "If ever I risk this life o' mine, as I 'ave done before, To bring some Bremen merchant 'ome 'is nitrates or 'is ore, I wish I may dream o' nothin' but sinkin' ships an' drownin' men, An' wake out o' the dream, an* sleep, an' dream it all again, 23 SMALL CRAFT "Dead bodies liftin' on the swell, strong seamen once like me, An 5 fellers wounded, freezin' to death in open boats at sea, Babies, an' girls with long wet hair, an' mothers mad with woe, The devil's job the square'eads' job I seen it an' I know! "I never did 'ave no use for Germans an' when this war is done, There may be those that will forget well, I shall not be one! And by them ships I pass my word an' by them souls I swear There'll be 'ot times in sailor-town when I meet a square'ead there i" 24 THE NORTH ATLANTIC TRADE As I was walking beside the docks I met a pal of mine I sailed with once on the Colonies' run in Thomson's White Star Line; Said I: "What cheer what brings you here?" "Why, 'aven't you 'eard," he said. "I'm under the Windsor 'ouse flag now in the North Atlantic trade. We sweep a bit an' we fight a bit (an' that's what we like the best), But a towin' job or a salvage job, it all goes in wi' the rest; When we aren't too busy upsettin' old Fritz an' his frightfulness blockade, A bit of all sorts don't come amiss in the North, Atlantic trade." "And how does old Atlantic look?" "Oh, round an* about the same; 'E 'asn't seemed to alter a lot since I've been in the game; 25 SMALL CRAFT 'E's about as big as 'e always was, an* Vs pretty well just as wet (Or if there's some parts drier 5 n the rest, well, I 'aven't struck none yet!) There's the same old bust-up, same old mess when a green sea breaks inboard, An* the equinoctials roarin' by the same as they've always roared; An* the west wind playin' the same old larks Vs been at since the world was made, They've a peach of a time, 'ave sailormen in the North Atlantic trade." "And who's your skipper and what is he like?" "Oh, well, if you want to know, I'm sailin' under a hard-case mate as I sailed with years ago; He's big an' bucko an' full o' beans, the same as he used to be When I knowed 'im last in the windbag days when first I followed the sea. 'E was worth two men at the lee for brace, an' three at the bunt of a sail, 'E'd a voice you could 'ear to the royal yards in the teeth of a Cape 'Orn gale; THE NORTH ATLANTIC TRADE But now Vs a full-blown lootenant an* wears the twisted braid, Commandin' one of 'is Majesty's ships in the North Atlantic trade." "And what is the ship you're sailin' in?" "Oh she's a bit of a terror, She ain't no bloorain' lewyathan, an' that's no fatal error ; She scoops the seas like a gravy spoon when the winds are up an' blowin', But Fritz he loves 'er above a bit when 'er fightin' fangs are showin'! The liners go their 'aughty way, and the cruisers take their ease, But where would they be if it wasn't for us, with the water up to our knees? We're wadin' when their soles are wet, we're swim- min' when they wade, Oh, I tell you small craft gets it a treat in the North Atlantic trade." "And what is the port you're plyin* to?" "When the last long trick is done There'll some come back to the old 'ome port 'ere's 'opin' I'll be one! 07 /v I SMALL CRAFT But some'll 'ave made a new landfall an' sighted an- other shore, An* it ain't no use to watch for them, for they won't come 'ome no more: There ain't no 'arbour dues to pay when once they're over the bar, Moored bow an' stern in a quiet berth where the lost three-deckers are: An' there's Nelson 'oldin' 'is one 'and out, an' wel- comin' them that's made The roads o' Glory an' the port o* Death in the North Atlantic trade." 28 ADMIRAL DUGOUT HE had done with fleets and squadrons, with the restless, roaming seas, He had found the quiet haven he desired, And he lay there to his moorings with the dignity and ease Most becoming to Rear-Admirals (retired). He was reared 'mid "Spit and Polish," he was bred to "stick and string" All the things the ultra-moderns never name ; But a wind blew up to seaward, and it meant the Real Thing, And he had to slip his cable when it came. So he hied him up to London, for to hang about Whitehall, And he sat upon the steps there soon and late; He importuned night and morning, he bombardeid great and small, From messengers to Ministers of State. He was like a guilty conscience, he was like a ghost unlaid, He was like a debt of which you can't get rid, oq /Wt7 SMALL CRAFT Till the Powers that Be, despairing, in a fit of tem- per said, "For the Lord's sake give him something" and they did! They commissioned him a trawler with'' a high and raking bow, Black and workmanlike as any pirate craft, With a crew of steady seamen very handy in a row, And a brace of little barkers fore and aft. And he blessed the Lord his Maker when he faced the North Sea sprays, And exceedingly extolled his lucky star, That had given his youth renewal in the evening of his days, (With the rank of Captain Dugout, R.N.R.) He is jolly as a sandboy, he is happier than a king, And his trawler is the darling of his heart, (With her cuddy like a cupboard where a kitten couldn't swing, And a scent of fish that simply won't depart). He has found upon occasion sundry targets for his guns, He could tell you tales of mine and submarine ; 30 ADMIRAL DUGOUT Oh, the holes he's in and out of, and the glorious risks he runs Turn his son (who's in a Super-Dreadnought) green. He is fit as any fiddle, he is hearty, hale and tanned, He is proof against the coldest gales that blow, He has never felt so lively since he got his first com- mand, (Which is rather more than forty years ago). And of all the joyful picnics of his wild and wander- ing youth, Little dust-ups 'tween Taku and Zanzibar, There was none to match the picnic, he declares in sober sooth, That he has as Captain Dugout, R.N.R. "SHIPS THAT PASS": AN EPISODE OF THE CRUISER PATROL. THERE are ships that pass in the night-time, some poet has told us how, But a ship that passed in the day-time is the one I'm thinking of now, Where the seas roll green from the Arctic and the wind comes keen from the Pole, 'Tween Rockall Bank and the Shetlands, up North on the long patrol. We sighted her one clay early; the forenoon watch was begun, There was mist like wool on the water, and a glimpse of a pale cold sun, And she came through the dim grey weather a thing of wonder and gleam, From the port o' the Past on a bowline, close-hauled on a wind of dream. 32 "SHIPS THAT PASS" The rust of years was upon her she was weathered by many a gale The flag of a Dago republic went up to her peak at our hail; But I knew her Lord God! I knew her, as how could I help but know The ship that I served my time in, no matter how long ago! I'd have climbed to her royals blindfold, I'd have known her spars in a crowd; Aloft and alow, I knew her, brace and halliard and shroud From the scroll-work under her stern-ports to the paint on her figure-head And the shout, "All hands," on her maindeck would have tumbled me up from the dead. She moved like a queen on the water, with the grace that was hers of yore, The sun on her shining canvas what had she to do with war, With a world that is full of trouble and seas that are stained with crime? She came like a dream remembered, dreamt once in a happier time. 33 SMALL CRAFT She was youth, and its sorrow that passes the light, the laughter, the joy, The South, and the small white cities, and the care- free heart of a boy, The farewell flash of the Fastnet to light you the whole world round, And the hoot of the tug at parting and the song of the homeward bound. The sun, and the flying-fish weather night, and a fiddle's tune And palms, and the warm maize-yellow of a low West Indian moon Storm in the high South latitudes and the boom of a Trade-filled sail And the anchor watch in the tropics, and the old Sou* Spainer's tale. Was it the lap of the wave I heard or the chill wind's cry, Or a snatch of a deep-sea chantey I knew in the years gone by? Was it the whine of the gear in the sheaves, or the seagulls' call, Or the ghost of my shipmates' voices, tallying on to the fall? ****** 34 "SHIPS THAT PASS" I went through her papers duly and no one, I hope, could see A freight of the years departed was the cargo she bore for me! I talked with her Dago captain while we searched her for contraband, And ... I longed for one grip of her wheel- spokes like a grip of a friend's right hand. And I watched while her helm went over, and the sails were sheeted home, And under her moving forefoot the bubbles broke into foam, Till she faded from sight in the greyness a thing of wonder and gleam, For the port of the Past on a bowline closehauled on a wind of dream! "IN PRIZED A SHIP was built in Glasgow, and oh, she looked a daisy (Just the way that some ships do!) An' the only thing against 'er was she allus steered so crazy (An* it's true, my Johnnie Bowline, true !) They sent 'er out in ballast to Oregon for lumber, An* before she dropped 'er pilot she all but lost 'er number. They sold 'er into Norway because she steered so funny, An' she nearly went to glory before they drawed the money. They sold 'er out o' Norway they sold 'er into Chile, An' Chile got a bargain because she steered so silly. "IN PRIZE" They chartered 'er to Germans with a bunch o' greasers forrard; Old shellbacks wouldn't touch 'er because she steered so 'orrid. She set a course for Bremen with contraband in- side 'er, An' she might 'ave got there sometime if a cruiser 'adn't spied er. She nearly drowned the boarder's because she cut such capers, But they found she was a German through inspectin' of her papers. So they put a crew on board 'er, which was both right an' lawful, An' the prize crew 'ad a picnic because she steered so awful. But they brought 'er into Kirkwall, an' then they said, "Lord lumme If I ever see an 'ooker as steered so kind o' rummy !" 37 SMALL CRAFT But she'll fetch her price at auction, for oh, she looks a daisy. (Just the way that some ships do!) An* the chap as tops the biddin* won't know she steers so crazy (But it's true, my Johnnie Bowline, true!) 38 As I looked over the water as I looked over the foam, I saw an old-time packet-ship come cheerily plung- ing home; I saw the holes in her riddled sails, and the shine of a little brass gun On either side of her battered poop in the light of the westering sun. I hailed her over the water, I hailed her over the tide: "What news of war down Channel, what news from the ocean wide?" And from her shadowy bulwarks a shadowy voice replied : "Oh, homeward from the Indies bound, abeam of Tuskar light, We met a saucy privateer she bade us strike or fight; SMALL CRAFT And we sent her home with a pain in her ribs, and her maintopmast shot down, To 1'arn her to meddle with his Majesty's mails, bound home to Falmouth town!" (Frigate or sloop or chasse-maree, let 'em bang us if they can, They will maybe find not much to their mind in a fighting merchantman!) As I looked over the water, as I looked over the foam, I there did see a ship's longboat come wearily labour- ing home; I saw the crew bend to their oars, like tired men they rowed, As gunwale deep in the sunset tide she wallowed with her load. I hailed her over the water, I hailed her over the tide: "What news of war down Channel, what news from the ocean wide?" And in her stern sheets standing, a bull-voiced mate replied : 40 THE FIGHTING MERCHANTMAN "Oh, homeward bound from the River Plate, abeam of Tuskar light, We met a pirate submarine at the coming on of night, She knew her game was safe to play, as safe 'twill be again When the game is not with fighting craft, but peace- ful merchantmen. "They raked us first with shrapnel fire above deck and below, They slipped a tin-fish into our bilge and left us sinking slow; We left our skipper on the bridge with a bullet in his head; We've our wounded here in the boat's bottom, and most by now are dead. "Our foes, they say, when war is done, shall pay us ton for ton ; But better now is shot for shot and gun to answer gun; Give England's ships their fighting chance then let him catch who can, He will maybe find not much to his mind in a fighting merchantman!" 41 "Oo seen her off?" . . . "Me," says the tide, "I 'ad to, for why, there was no one beside; For sailor-folks' women, they're busy enough, "Thout 'angin' round pier-'eds to see their chaps off. The gulls all about 'er they wrangled an' cried, An' I seen 'er off," says the Liverpool tide. "Oo waved 'er good-bye?" . . ,. "Me," says old Tuskar, "When the sun it went down an' the light it got dusker, (With a sea gettin' up an' the wind blowin' keen), An' the smoke of 'er funnels could 'ardly be seen, An' the last of the sunset was red in the sky . . . With the first of my flashes I waved 'er good-bye." "Oo seen 'er sink?" . . . "Me," says the sun, "At the top o* my climbin' I seen the thing done ,. : t ., 42 BILLY'S YARN I seen 'er 'eave to, an' I seen 'er 'ull shiver, Settle, an* stumble, an' tremble, an' quiver, An' 'er stern it went up, an' 'er bow it went down, An* the most of 'er people they just 'ad to drown, An' I'd never a cloud for to shut out the sight, So I seen 'er sink," says the sun in 'is might. "Oo seen the last of 'er?" ... "Us," says the crew, All that was left out o* twenty-and-two, "We seen the last of 'er floatin' around On a bottom-up boat among dead uns an' drowned We seen 'er waterways runnin' with blood We seen poor mates of ours shot where they stood But them chaps as done it, I tell you now true, They ain't seen the last of us yet," says the crew, "No, you bet your sweet life," says what's left o' the crew. 43 PHILOSOPHY I "LAST night in the Baltic Tavern tap I met," Mike said, "a longshore chap And said, 'Don't sailorin' look queer With all them mines an' suchlike gear? If I was you,' 'e says, says 'e, 'I'd take a shore job same as me, An* leave this trouble that's around For them that's fond o' gettin' drowned.' " 'No, no,' I says, 'I ain't a-givin' It up for any square'ead livin', The way I puts it in my 'ead Is no man's done until 'e's dead, An' if it comes to dyin', sure, A man dies once, an' then no more.' "I says, 'When ships 'as left off goin', An' grass on London docks is growin', (The same's it is, so I've 'card say, On all them 'Amburg wharves this day), 44 PHILOSOPHY When Lloyd's is broke an' on their uppers, An' all the owners in the scuppers, Why, then,' I says, *I might be lookin* For a job o' cartin' coals, or cookin', Or washin' pots, or sellin' tapes, Or leadin' bears, or learnin' apes, But since, as I 'ear tell, so far There's ships still passin' Mersey Bar, An' one or two comes in each day To London Docks, so I've 'card say, An' ships can't sail without no crew, So long as they sail, I sail too. " 'If you, young man, 'ad follered the sea Your 'ole life long, the same as me, 'Ad knowed it wakin' an' asleep, An' seen God's wonders in the deep, I guess you'd not be rattled much By mines or submarines or such, Or care a bloomin' finger snap For no fool Kaiser or such chap. . . > " 'Besides,' I says, 'when all is said, Just think o' them poor chaps that's dead Poor pals o' mine as 'ad to die They took their chances . . . so do I !' " 45- THE BALLAD OF THE "DINKINBAR" IT was the steamship "Dinkinbar," From the Gulf of Mexico For Liverpool in time of war With a thousand mules below, And a bunch of polyglot muleteers To tend on them also. A swarthy breed from Eagle Butte, And a greaser from Brazil, And Daly of the broken nose, And Ike, and Texas Bill, In divers tongues that yarned and swore And wrangled o'er their play, As they dealt their decks of greasy cards To pass the hours away, And talked of how to burn good pay And play the blooming fool Among the wenches and the sharks In the port of Liverpool. 46 THE BALLAD OF THE "DINKINBAR" But Texas Bill a bitter laugh He'd laugh and shake his head: "It's me for a new style jamboree When I strike land," he said. "My brother lies in deep water Not over far from here, Where a U-boat sank both ship and men, A bit beyond Cape Clear. "They left him to drown with his drownin' mules In the light of open day, An' I guess I'll not sleep easy o' nights While that score's yet to pay. "So I'm goin' in for a khaki suit When I get in from cea, I kin shift my birthplace north o* the line As handy as kin be, An' ... I guess there'll sure be a fightin' job For a big long thing like me !" ****** It was the steamship "Dinkinbar," At the stormy end o' the year That came in sight of the Bull and Cow Which are beside Cape Clear. 47 SMALL CRAFT And soon as rang the lookout's cry That hailed the sight of land, Oh, they were aware of a U-boat there signalled them to stand. She fired a shot across their hawse And they had to heave to them, For she could make her fifteen knots, And the "Dinkinbar" but ten, And she had her machine gun ready to fire On all but unarmed men. Her captain he came over the side, A cold-eyed swaggering Hun That wore the Iron Cross on his breast To tell of murders done, And his squarehead crew brought up their bombs To send the ship below With the poor living things she bore That knew not friend from foe. It was a British ship of war Was swiftly drawing near, For she had word of a submarine Was lurking off Cape Clear. 48 THE BALLAD OF THE "DINKINBAR" She came from the South with a bone in her mouth, Her shot sang over the sea, And straight for the pirate's conning tower It sped like a hiving bee, It struck it smashed it like a shell That down like a stone went she. Then the pirate captain ran to the rail To signal to his crew, But all he saw was a smear of oil On the water's face that grew. And first he swore and gnawed his lip, And glanced around in fear, Till a thought came into his mind again That brought him better cheer. "Are not the English easy folk With pirates ta'en in war? And my luck is good that safe I stand On the deck of the 'Dinkinbar.' " He turned he saw the muleteers Come surging from below, (Like a rustlers' crowd you see on the screen At a moving picture show). 49 SMALL CRAFT And once he looked on Texas Bill, And then he turned and ran, For the look he saw it was not good To see on the face of man. Then in and out among the boats, By hatch and alleyway, Hunter and hunted, to and fro In deadly chase sped they. And through the engine-room where stilled Was now the engine's clang, On steel ladder and steel grating Their footsteps slipped and rang, Till in the screw shaft's stifling dark, With spent and gasping breath The U-boat's captain turned at last To pay his dues to death, . . . And twice Bill lifted his hand to strike, And twice he turned aside, But his brother's blood it called so loud It would not be denied, And down in the dark (like those he slew) The U-boat's captain died. 50 THE BALLAD OF THE "DINKINBAR" The cruiser's boat came under the side, They hailed her with a cheer, And Texas Bill looked over the rail And called both loud and clear, "Come up, come up, now, Lootenant, But you'll find no prisoner here. "For Texas law is life for life Alike in peace and war, And life for life has paid this day On board o' the 'Dinkinbar.' ** GOOD LUCK THE hour was near for starting Ere Vimy ridge was won, And we said "Good luck" at parting As we had often done In folly, sport or fun. (For love and pride and passion With speech accord but ill, And if we had skill to fashion Brave words to speak our fill, We should be speaking still). All dreams men strive and sigh for, Or lose beyond recall, The things men live and die for, The great things and the small Our "Good luck" meant them all. "To each his dear ambition As unto each seems best, Love's crown or fate's fruition, The fame, the medalled breast . And to the dead their rest !" 62 THE DEFAULTER THE regimental jackdaw 'as a bright an* beady eye; 'E sits upon the tent-pole an* *e winks both bold an* sly: *E says: "You bloomin* idiot, you, to go an* get C.B. !'* An* I wish I was the jackdaw, an* I wish that *e was me! The regimental jackdaw, *e is like a bloomin' lord, 'E 'ops it when 'e thinks *e will, an' no one speaks a word: 'E takes 'is 'ook without no pass, *e don't come *ome to tea, An* I wish I was the jackdaw, an* I wish that e* was me! The regimental jackdaw, 'e can always speak 'is mind: 'E tells the Colonel what 'e thinks when thus 'e feels inclined, SMALL CRAFT 'E sauces of the Adjutant as 'andy as can be, An' I wish I was the j ackdaw, an* I wish that 'e was me! The regimental jackdaw, 'e *s the j oiliest thing I've seen, 'E 'as no pack to carry an' 'e 'as no pipe to clean, 'E 's breakin' rules the 'ole day long an' never gets C.B. An' I wish I was the jackdaw, an' I wish that 'e was me! 54 THE LITTLE THINGS I USED to be a peaceful chap as didn't ask for trouble, An* as for rows an* fightin', why, I'd mostly rather not, But now I'd charge an army single-'anded at the double, An' it's all along o' little things I've learned to feel so 'ot. It's 'orrid seein' burnin' farms, which I *ave often seen 'ere, An' fields all stinks an' shell-'oles, an' the dead among the flowers, But the thing I've 'ated seein' all the bloomin' time I've been 'ere Is the little gardens rooted up the same as might be ours. It's bad to see the chattos which means castles gone to ruins, An r big cathedrals knocked to bits as used to look that fine, 65 SMALL CRAFT But what puts me in a paddy more than all them sort o' doin's Is the little 'ouses all in 'caps the same as might be mine. An' when the what's-it line is bust an* we go rompin' through it, An' knock the lid off Potsdam an' the Kaiser off 'is throne, Why, what'll get our monkey up an' give us 'eart to do it? Just thinkin' o' them little things as might have been our own, (An' most of all the little kids as might 'ave been our own!) 56 THE SONG OF THE MILL As by the pool I wandered that lies so clear and still With tall old trees about it, hard by the silent mill Whose ancient oaken timbers no longer creak and groan With the roar of wheel and water, and grind of stone on stone. The idle mill-race slumbered beneath the mouldering wheel, The pale March sunlight gilded no motes of floating meal, But the stream went singing onward, went singing by the weir And this, or something like it, was the song I seemed to hear: "By Teviot, Tees and Avon, by Esk and Ure and Tweed, Here's many a trusty henchman would rally to your need; 57 SMALL CRAFT By Itchen, Test and Waveney, by Tamar, Trent and Ouse, Here's many a loval servant will help you if you choose. "Do they no longer need us who needed us of yore? We stood not still aforetime when England marched to war; Like those our wind-driven brothers, far seen o'er weald and fen, We ground the wheat and barley to feed stout Englishmen. "You call the men of England, their strength, their toil, their gold, But us you have not summoned, who served your sires of old; For service high or humble, for tribute great and small, You call them and they answer but us you do not call. "Yet we no hoarded fuel of mine or well require, That drive your fleets to battle or light the poor man's fire; 58 THE SONG OF THE MILL We need no white-hot furnace for tending night and day, No power of harnessed lightnings to speed us on our way. "By Tavy, Dart and Derwent, by Wharf e and Usk and Nidd, Here's many a trusty vassal is yours when you shall bid, With the strength of English rivers to push the wheels along, And the roar of many a mill-race to join the victory song." THE FIVE RICKS FIVE ricks in a row Stand in my father's field, I know, Five ricks beside the hedge That marks the long field's topmost edge . There they stand; from there you see Coppice, cottage, field and tree, The shining vane on the church steeple, And houses full of decent people I've known since I was a little chap, Good folks that sometimes say, mayhap, "I wonder, now, what young Jim's doin* Out there in all that noise and ruin" . . a Five ricks in a row Stand in my father's field, I know, And over them there's a blue sky Where small white clouds go floating high, Like shell-bursts round a battle-plane . . But night'll come and the light'll wane, Bats'll flit, and not a sound Be heard in all the fields around, 60-- THE FIVE RICKS But a hunting owl, and a little breeze That makes a rustling in the trees. And by the ricks and round about The lean grey rats slip in and out, Here and there on every hand, Like snipers out in No Man's Land. If times was what times used to be, What sport there for old Vic and me ! The same old girl, the same old dear, That's been my pal now many a year, Since first I bought her, one Spring fair, A six weeks' pup from a gipsy there . ,. ... But now she's growing old and grey At home, and I am far away, And there ain't no games for her, I reckon, Though the night seems just about to beckon For little dogs to hunt their fill Of rats and such-like things to kill; And so Vic shakes herself, and sighs, turns three Times round and down she lies, And stretches out before the blaze Her old rheumatic bones, and lays Between her paws her grizzled head And torn ears, waiting for my tread. 61 BULLINGTON IT was in the high midsummer, and the sun was shin- ing strong, And the lane was rather flinty, and the lane was rather long, When up and down the gentle hills beside the strip- ling Test I chanced to come to Bullington and stayed a while to rest. It was drowned in peace and quiet, as the river reeds are drowned In the water clear as crystal, flowing by with scarce a sound, And the air was like a posy with the sweet haymak- ing smells, And the roses and Sweet Williams and Canterbury Bells. Far away as some strange planet seemed the old world's dust and din, And the trout in sun-warmed shallows hardly seemed to stir a fin; 62 BULLINGTON And there's never a clock to tell you how the hur- rying world goes on In the little ivied steeple down in drowsy Bullington. Small and sleepy, there it nestled, seeming far from hastening Time As a teeny-tiny village in some quaint old nursery rhyme ; And a teeny-tiny river by a teeny-tiny weir Sang a teeny-tiny ditty that I stayed awhile to hear. "Oh, the stream runs to the river, and the river to the sea, But the reedy banks of Bullington are good enough for me; Oh, the lane runs to the highway, and the highway o'er the down, But it's better here in Bullington than there in London town." Then high above an aeroplane in humming flight went by, With the droning of its engines filling all the cloud- less sky, And like the booming of a knell across that perfect day There came the gun's dull thunder from the ranges far away. 63 SMALL CRAFT And while I lay and listened, oh, the river's sleepy tune Seemed to change its rippling music, like the cuck- oo's stave in June; And the cannon's distant thunder, and the engine's war-like drone Seemed to mingle with its burthen in a solemn undertone. "Oh, the stream runs to the river, and the river to the sea, And there's war on land and water, and there's work for you and me ! And on many a field of glory there are gallant lives laid down As well for tiny Bullington as mighty London town!" i So I roused me from my daydream, for I knew the song spoke true That it isn't time for dreaming while there's duty still to do; And I turned into the highway where it meets the flinty lane, And the world of wars and sorrows was about me ence again. 64 THE GIPSY SOLDIER THE gipsy wife came to my door with pegs and brooms to sell They make by many a roadside fire and many a greenwood dell, With bee-skeps and with baskets wove of osier, rush and sedge, And withies from the river-bed and brambles from the hedge. With her stately grace like Pharaoh's queen (for all her broken shoon), You'd marvel one so proud and tall should ever ask a boon; But "livin's dear for us poor folk," and "money can't be had," And her "man's in Mespotamia," and "times is cruel bad." Yes, times is cruel bad, we know, and passing strange also, And it's strange as anything I've heard that gipsy men should go 65 SMALL CRAFT To lands through which their forebears trod from some unknown abode The way that ended long ago upon the Portsmouth Road. I wonder if the Eastern skies and Eastern odours seem Familiar to that gipsy man as memories of a dream ; Does Tigris' flow stir ancient dreams from imme- morial rest Ere ever gipsy poached the trout of Itchen or of Test? Does something in him seem to know those red and arid lands Where dust of ancient cities sleeps beneath the drifted sands? Do Kurdish girls with lustrous eyes beneath their drooping lids And Eastern babes look strangely like the Missis and the kids? I wonder if the waving palms, when desert winds do blow, In their dry rustling seem to sing a song he used to know, 66 THE GYPSY SOLDIER Or does he only curse the heat, and wish that he were laid Beneath the spread of Rufus' oaks or Harewood's beechen shade? Well, luck be with the gipsy man, and lead him safely home To the old familiar caravan and ways he used to roam, And bring him, as it brought his sires from their far first abode To where the gipsy camp-fires burn along the Ports- mouth Road. 67 MERCHANTMEN ALL honour be to merchantmen, And ships of all degree In warlike dangers manifold Who sail and keep the sea, In peril of unlitten coast And death-besprinkled foam, Who daily dare a hundred deaths To bring their cargoes home. A liner out of Liverpool a tanker from the Clyde A hard-run tramp from anywhere a tug from Mer- seyside A cattle-boat from Birkenhead a coaler from the Tyne All honour be to merchantmen while any star shall shine ! All honour be to merchantmen, And ships both great and small, The swift and strong to run their race, And smite their foes withal; 68 MERCHANTMEN The little ships that sink or swim, And pay the pirates' toll, Unarmoured save by valiant hearts And strong in nought but soul. All honour be to merchantmen So long as tides shall run, Who gave the seas their glorious dead From rise to set of sun, All honour be to merchantmen, While England's name shall stand, Who sailed and fought, and dared and died, And served and saved their land. A sailing ship from Liverpool a tanker from the Clyde- A schooner from the West countrie a tug from Merseyside A fishing smack from Grimsby town a coaler from the Tyne All honour be to merchantmen while sun and moon do shine! 69 THE OPEN BOAT WHEN this 'ere war is done (says Dan) and all the fightin's through, There's some will pal with PVitz again as they've been used to do . . . But not me (says Dan the sailorman), not me (says he), Lord knows it's nippy in an open boat on winter nights at sea! When the last battle's lost an' won, an' won or lost the game, There's some'll think no 'arm to drink with square- 'eads just the same, But not me (says Dan the sailorman), an' if you ask me why, Lord knows it's thirsty in an open boat when the water breaker's dry ! When all the bloomin' mines are swep' an' ships are sunk no more, There's some'll set them down to eat with Germans as before, 70 THE OPEN BOAT But not me (says Dan the sailorman), not me for one . . . Lord knows it's 'ungry in an open boat when the last biscuit's done! When peace is signed an' treaties made an' trade begins again, There's some'll shake a German's 'and and never see the stain, But not me (says Dan the sailorman), not me, as God's on high . . . Lord knows it's bitter in an open boat to see your shipmates die! THE JOLLY BARGEMAN I'VE put the old mare's tail in plaits now ain't she lookin' gay, With ribbons in 'er mane likewise, you'd think it First o' May; For why? We're under Government, though it ain't quite plain to me If we're in the Civil Service or the Admiralitee! An' it's "Gee hup, Mabel," an' we'll do the best we're able, For the country's took us over an' we're 'elpin' 'er to win, An' when the war is over, oh, we'll all lie down in clover, With a drink all together at the Navigation Inn! I brought the news to Missis, an' to 'er these words did say: "Just chuck yon old broom-'andle an' a two-three nails this way: THE JOLLY BARGEMAN We're bound to 'ave a flag-staff for our old red, white an' blue, For now we're under Government we'll 'ave our en- sign too." The Navy is the Navy, an' it sails upon the sea, The Army is the Army, an' on land it 'as to be ; There's the land an' there's the water, an' the Cut comes in between, An' I don't know what they'll call me if it ain't an 'Orse Marine. The Missis sits upon the barge, the same's she used to sit, But they'll 'ave 'er in the papers now for Doin* 'er Bit: An' I walk upon the tow-path 'ere as proud as any- thing, If I 'aven't got no uniform, I'm serving of the King. An' it's "Gee hup, Mabel," oh, we'll do the best we're able, For the country's been an' called us, an' we've got to 'elp to win; An' when the war is over, then we'll all lie down in clover, With a drink all together at the Navigation Inn! 73 "NEW HEAVENS NEW EARTH": CHRISTMAS, 1916 NIGH Bethlehem town poor shepherds heard Beside their cotes a wondrous word : "Nowell, Nowell" (the song did pour), "Nowell, Nowell, from shore to shore, Nowell, Nowell, the whole world o'er, New Heavens, new Earth, for evermore!" Is this, then, all earth's countless dead, Her homes whence Christmas joy is fled, Such spilth of blood, such seas of tears The harvest of two thousand years? And shall the War Star's blood-red light Put out the Star of Bethlehem quite? The cannon's thunder wholly drown The Angels* song nigh Bethlehem town? "Nowell, Nowell, from shore to shore, For ever and for evermore !" You Christmas bells, how shall you ring? You Christmas choirs, how shall you sing, 74 'NEW HEAVENS NEW EARTH": CHRISTMAS, 1916 When bells whose praise for centuries rung To earth in molten heaps are flung, And shrill the heedless bullet sings By altars of the King of Kings, How shall you sing as oft of yore, "Nowell, Nowell, the whole world o'er, New Heavens, new Earth, for evermore?" Be still, O doubting heart, recall How but through Death came Life for all; The road was trod for you and me From Bethlehem even to Calvary: The light which round the Manger shone More glorious lit the rolled-back stone. You hero souls, rejoicing bear Your gold, your frankincense and myrrh; More rich than gold, more sweet than spice The fragrance of your sacrifice ! You mourners, lift your weeping eyes, Look up, behold the rifted skies: Lo, darkest night hath brightest morn, The glory of a world re-born! And all the molten bells shall ring, And all the broken hearts shall sing, 75 SMALL -CRAFT And all the risen dead shall raise With one accord their endless praise: "Nowell, Nowell" (the song shall pour), "Nowell, Nowell, from shore to shore, New Heavens, new Earth, the whole world o'er, For ever, yea, for evermore!" -76 ST. ANDREW'S EVE THE last night of November All dreaming as I lay, I saw a fisher toiling In stormy seas and grey, A glimmering seine-net casting In foam as white as wool . . And sometimes it came empty, And sometimes it came full. That port that fisher hailed from Was the port of Heaven above: The shining net he cast there Was the net of Christ His love. That seine it shone like silver Or the Milky Way come down . . And, oh ! the catch he took there Was the souls of those who drown. 77 THE BALLAD OP THE RESURRECTION PACKET OH, she's in from the deep water, she's safe in port once more, With shot-'oles in 'er funnel which were not there before ; Yes, she's 'ome, dearie, 'ome, an' we've *alf the sea inside ! Ought to 'ave sunk, but she couldn't if she tried. An* it was " 'Ome, dearie, 'ome, oh she'll bring us 'ome some day, Rollin' both rails under in the old sweet way ! Freezin' in the foul weather, fryin' in the fine, The resurrection rmcket of the Salt 'Orse Line!" If she'd been built for sinkin' she'd 'ave done it long ago; She's tried *er best in every sea an' all the winds that blow; In 'urricanes at Galveston, pamperos off the Plate, An' icy Cape 'Orn snorters which freeze you while you wait. 78 THE BALLAD OF THE RESURRECTION PACKET She's been ashore at Vallipo, Algoa Bay likewise, She's broke 'er screw-shaft off Cape Race an' stove 'er bows in ice; She's lost 'er deck-load overboard an' 'alf 'er bul- warks too, An' she's come in with fire aboard, smokin' like a flue. But it's " 'Ome, dearie, 'ome, oh she gets there just the same, Reekin', leakin', 'alf a wreck, scarred an' stove an' lame; Patch 'er up with putty, lads, tie 'er up with twine, The resurrection packet of the Salt 'Orse Line!" A bit west the Scillies the sky was stormy red ; "To-night we'll lift Saint Agnes' Light if all goes well," we said : But we met a slinkin* submarine as dark was comin' down, An' she ripped our rotten plates away an* left us there to drown. A bit west the Scillies we thought 'er sure to sink, There was 'alf a gale blowin', the sky was black as ink; 79 SMALL CRAFT The seas begun to mount an' the wind begun to thunder, An' every wave that come, oh we thought 'twould roll *er under. But it was " 'Ome, dearie, 'ome, an' she gets there after all Steamin' when she can steam, an' when she can't she'll crawl, This year, next year, rain or storm or shine, The resurrection packet of the Salt 'Orse Line! H We thought about the bulk-'eads, we wondered if they'd last, An' the cook 'e started groanin' an' repentin' of the past; But thinkin' an' groanin*, oh they wouldn't shift the water, So we got the pumps a-workin', same as British sea- men oughter. If she'd been a crack liner, she'd 'ave gone like a stone, An' why she didn't sink is a thing as can't be known, Our arms was made o* lead, our backs was split with achin', But we pumped 'er into port just before the day was breakin'! 80 THE BALLAD OF THE RESURRECTION PACKET An' it was " 'Ome, dearie, 'ome, oh she'll bring us 'ome some day, Don't you 'ear the pumps a-clankin' in the old sweet way? This year, next year, rain or storm or shine, She's the resurrection packet of the Salt 'Orse Line!" 81 LIGHT CRUISERS (OLD) (Vide Naval Expert's Classification) WHEN you've marshalled your navies and gloried your fill In the latest they show of invention and skill, The lion in strength and the lizard in speed, The watchful in waiting, the present in need The great Super-Dreadnoughts gigantic and grim, The thirty-knot cruisers both subtle and slim, The weight and the range of each wonderful gun Remember the cruisers, the out-of-date cruisers, The creaky old cruisers whose day is not done, Built some time before Nineteen Hundred and One ! You may look to the South, you may seek in the North, You may search from the Falklands as far as the Forth, From Pole unto Pole all the oceans between, Patrolling, protecting, unwearied, unseen, 82 LIGHT CRUISERS (OLD) By night or by noonday the Navy is there, And the out-of-date cruisers are doing their share; Yes, anywhere, everywhere under the sun, You will find an old cruiser, an off-the-map cruiser, An out-of-date cruiser whose work's never done, Built some time before Nineteen Hundred and One! It may be you'll meet with her lending a hand In clearing a way for the soldiers to land, Escorting an army, and feeding it too, Or sinking a raider (and saving her crew) ; Blockading by sea or attacking by dry land, Bombarding a coast or annexing an island, Where there's death to be daring or risk to be run, You may look for the cruiser, the out-of-date cruiser, The creaky old cruiser that harries the Hun, Built some time before Nineteen Hundred and One. In wild nights of winter when warmly you sleep, She is plugging her way through the dark and the deep, With Death in the billows which endless do roll, And the wind blowing cold with the kiss of the Pole ; 83 SMALL CRAFT While seas slopping over both frequent and green, Call forth on occasion expressions of spleen, Of all the old kettles awarding the bun To the out-of-date cruiser the obsolete cruiser The creaky old cruiser whose work's never done, Built some time before Nineteen Hundred and One! And when the day breaks for whose smoke-trail afar We scan the grey waters by sunlight and star, The day of great glory the splendour, the gloom, The lightning, the thunder, the judgment, the doom, The breaking of navies, the shaking of kings, When the Angel of Battle makes night with his wings, Oh somewhere, be sure, in the thick o* the fun You will find an old cruiser, a gallant old cruiser, A creaky old cruiser whose day is not done, Built some time before Nineteen Hundred and One! II: SONGS IN SAIL THE COAST OF BARBARY MY lad is on the water and far away from me, And I pray God be good to him wherever he may be, Up the sea and down the sea, And along the coast of Barbary. Oh, night and day the ships come in, the ships both great and small, But never one among them brings a word of him at all, From Port o' Spain and Trinidad, from Rio or Funchal, And along the coast of Barbary. If I must think he comes no more across yon seas forlorn, If I must think there is no tide may bring him night or morn, I'd curse the light that I look on, and the day that I was born, And the cruel coast of Barbary. 87 SMALL CRAFT But well I know that soon or late he'll come back blithe and brown, When the fire's a good thing to see, and the dark drawing down, From many a wild and stormy sea, and many a for- eign town, And along the coast of Barbary. With a gay silk handkerchief and a parrot red and green, And shells and bits o' things to show from the places where he's been, Up the sea and down the sea, And along the coast of Barbary. 88 PARADISE STREET As I was a-walking down Paradise Street, A bonny young maiden I chanced for to meet : She gave me good-morning all as I went by, With lips full of laughter and love in her eye. "Here's wine in a flagon, and white bread and brown, And a bright pretty parlour where you may sit down, A fiddle to dance to, and friends two or three : Turn again, turn again, lad from the sea !" As I was a-walking down Paradise Street, The roses and posies, all blushing and sweet, They bloomed in the gardens and breathed on the air, A breath that smelt fine as the roses were fair. They said: "Oh, young sailor, why go you so soon Before the flower's open that budded in June? Oh, stay for to-day, before faded we be: Turn again, turn again, lad from the sea!" As I was a-walking down Paradise Street, All out of the westward I heard a wind beat, 89 SMALL CRAFT All out of the sunset so loudly it blew, It fluttered the flowers in the gardens that grew, It shook the green shutters and rattled the pane, And shrill round the gables it whistled amain. And the smell it came blowing, yes, blowing to me, From the white flowers that bloom on the fields of the sea. As I was a-walking down Paradise Street, So heavy my heart grew, so weary my feet, I said : "I must go, for I hear my friends call, From the wine and the fiddles and dancing and all. Oh, keep you your white bread and keep you your brown, And by your fireside let some other sit down, For I hear a ship calling, yes, calling to me: 'Turn again, turn again, lad, to the sea !' " -90 THE OLD FIDDLE BY Chinese Charley's junk-store, by the Panama Saloon, Where 'longshore loafers lean and spit, at morning, night, and noon, All among the leys without a lock, and locks without a key, The old boss-eyed binoculars and sextants on the spree, New Brummagem and old Bombay a-tumbling side by side, A brown bald-headed idol and an "'Extra Master's Guide," Mouldy, musty, dumb and dusty, broken on the shelf, I thought I heard the sailor's fiddle singing to itself. Singing in a queer old quaver, shaky, shrill, and sad, Like an old man singing songs he knew when he was yet a lad, Q1 J/JL SMALL CRAFT Singing of a good old time that all too fast did fly, When the world was rather younger in the years gone by. There were scraps of dead old choruses and snatches of old tunes, We surely knew in other worlds and under other moons ; There was singing in the half-deck, and the sky full o j stars ; And bits o* tipsy shouting out of gaudy, glary bars; Little tunes on Chinese fiddles in a quiet street Full of dinky Chinee houses, where the East and West do meet ; "Ranzo, Ranzo, Reuben Ranzo" came the sound to me Of a chantey chorus roaring with the roaring sea. Was it only seagulls piping faint and far away, All in rows along the freight-sheds where they sit all day, Mewing round the inner harbour where the tugboats lie Or a song we sang together in the years gone by ? 92 THE OLD FIDDLE There were ships that once I sailed in, sail and steam, and great and small. And some were good and some were bad, but, Lord, I loved 'em all ; There were rusty-red old hookers going plugging round the world, And Clyde-built China clippers with their splendid wings unfurled. And all the winds of all the seas came singing down the street, With its smell of beer and harbour-mud, and tread of weary feet, Till I heard the stormy westerlies go thrashing through the sails, And the Trades' low thunder, and the Biscay gales. Was I waking, was I sleeping, did the wet wind go Thrumming in the slender tops of ships I used to know, With the deep-sea glory on them all against a sunset '9 On the tide o' dreams a-sailing out of years gone by ? There were faces long forgotten, friends both false and true I sailed with once and lost again, the way that sailors do. 93 SMALL CRAFT There were folks I loved and lost with smiling faces all a-shine, Came and walked a while beside me with a hand in mine. Are you dead or living, comrade, near or far away ? Do you ever think of me, lad, friend upon a day? Late or soon, lad, night or noon, lad, you and I will meet, All the seas and years behind us, strolling down the street. Was it but the muttering tide that by the wharf did go, Or the footstep of a comrade out of long ago? Did I only hear the wave lap and the light wind sigh, Or the voices of my shipmates in the years gone by ? By Chinese Charley's junk-store, by the Panama Saloon, I walked and talked with shadows there in all the glare of noon, Where among the keys without a lock and locks without a key, The old boss-eyed binoculars and sextants on the spree, THE OLD FIDDLE New Brummagem and old Bombay a-tumbling side by side, A brown bald-headed idol and an "Extra Master's Guide," Mouldy, musty, dumb and dusty, broken on the shelf, I thought I heard the sailor's fiddle singing to itself. 95 DEEP WATER JACK OH, it's "ah, fare you well," for the deep sea's crying, You thought you could forget it, but it's no use trying, Trying to forget it when it calls you so ! ... Hey, Deep Water Johnnie, kiss your girl and go ! Here's warmth, and soft living, and an easy bed! It's toil, and much peril, that you're going to in- stead, Hard life, and bitter faring, and a poor man's fee Are all of a man's portion that follows the sea. But it's "ah, fare you well," the deep sea's calling Back to cold and hunger and heaving and hauling, To decks awash and frozen yards, as very well you know: But ah, Deep Water Johnnie, kiss your girl and go ! How can a man help it, when the God that made him Set his feet to follow where the four winds bade him ? 96 DEEP WATER JACK How should a man help it, when his heart goes jigging To the sea's song and the sail's song and wind through the rigging? And it's "ah, fare you well," for the deep sea's crying You thought you could forget it, but it's no use trying, Trying to forget it when it calls you so! ... Hey, Deep Water Johnnie, kiss your girl and go ! 97 THE BLUE PETER LAST night when I left her my true love was weeping For sorrow at parting, but parting must be : What use for her tears, and what use to be keeping A lad by the fireside that follows the sea? For the cold day's a-breaking, the town hardly wak- ing, The moon like a ghost in the pale morning sky, And the Blue Peter's blowing to tell ye we're going, And the gulls in the river all calling good-bye ! The last hawser's cast and the tug-whistle's blowing, The shore growing dim in the mist and the rain : And wide, very wide, is the world where we're going, And long, very long, till ye see us again ! Farewell and adieu to ye still we'll be true to ye, Still we'll remember wherever we be, Hope we'll be meeting ye, hope ye'll be greeting Some day your sailormen home from the sea ! 98 THE BLUE PETER All in the cold morning, all in the grey weather, On the sheds and the shipping the rain slating down, All hands to the capstan bars, roaring together A stave for farewell to the folk of the town : Hong Kong and Vancouver, Callao and Suva, The Cape and Kowloon, it's a very far cry From the slow river creeping by houses all sleeping, And the gulls in the wake of us, calling good-bye ! 99 SHIPMATES GOOD-BYE and fare ye well; for we'll sail no more together, Broad seas and narrow in fair and foul weather: We'll sail no more together in foul weather or fine, And ye'll go your own way, and I'll go mine. Oh, the seas are very wide, and there's never any knowing The countries we'll see or the ports where we'll be going, All across the wide world, up and down the sea, Before we come together, as at last may be. Good-bye and fare ye well and maybe I'll be strolling And watching the ships there and the crews a-coal- In a queer foreign city and a gay gaudy street; And who but yourself will I chance there for to meet? 100 SHIPMATES You'll blow up from Eastward, and I'll blow in from West, And of all the times we ever had, it's then we'll have the best, Back from deep sea wanderings, back from wind and weather, You and me from all the seas, two friends together ! Good-bye and fare ye well: may nought but good attend ye All across the wide world where sailor's luck may send ye, Up and down the deep seas, north and south the Line, And ye'll go your own way, and I'll go mine ! 101 A SEA BURTHEN A SHIP swinging As the tide swings, up and down, And men's voices singing, . . . East awaj O! West away! And a very long way from London Town ! A lantern glowing And the stars looking (down, And the sea smells blowing, . . . East away 0! West away! And a very long way from London Town ! Lights in wild weather From a tavern window old and brown, And men singing together, . . . East away O! West away! And a very long way from London Town! SACRAMENTO 'Fmsco City's grand and gay (Sacramento, Sacramento!) And the roaring night's as bright as day ! And many ships go, small and great, In and out by the Golden Gate, (And away O! Sacramento!) Who was it called across the night? (Sacramento, Sacramento!) What was it flashed so keen and bright? Who is it drives down 'Frisco tide With a six-inch blade deep in his side? (And away O! Sacramento!) Oh, don't you see Blue Peter flying? (Sacramento, Sacramento!) Oh, don't you hear the good wind crying? Oh, don't you hear the capstan chorus And smell the open sea before us? (And away O! Sacramento!) 103 SMALL CRAFT We'll miss you, running easting down ( Sacramento, Sacramento ! ) With a following wind from 'Frisco town We'll miss you beating off the Horn, One man less at the pumps forlorn (And away O! Sacramento!) No more time to spend on grieving ( Sacramento, Sacramento ! ) All because o' the man we're leaving: The salt tides drive his clrowned bones In and out o' the Farallones (And away O! Sacramento!) CAPE STIFF CBTTEL is the sea, and the hardest thing of all Is her taking and her leaving, and the way it seems to fall, How always it's the best men who have to hear the caU . . . Ah, Cape Stiff, and the big seas pouring! And of all good sailormen that use the deep sea Where would you find a better or a truer lad than he That we lost in the dirty weather from the fourmast barque Tralee By Cape Stiff, and the great gale roaring? It was all hands on deck that night, to heave her to ; The sails were frozen hard, the cold wind bit you through, You couldn't hear a man beside you speak, so loud it blew, Near Cape Stiff, and her yards dipping under ! 105 SMALL CRAFT The night was black as hell ... I never saw him go ... It wasn't till the dawn broke I'd time to ask and know The sea that swept us out and back had rolled him far below By Cape Stiff, in the great seas' thunder. And fair weather or foul weather it's all one to him, Though the sea's in the half-deck and the empty bunk aswim, It's a long watch below for weary head and aching limb By Cape Stiff, and the loud wind crying! And now we're rolling home before the good Trade Wind, But I'm thinking night and day how we've left him far behind Him that was so merry, him that was so kind, By Cape Stiff, in the cold deeps lying! 106 THE LONG ROAD HOME THERE'S a wind up and a sighing along the water- side, And we're homeward bound at last on to-night's full tide: Round the world and back again is very far to roam . . . And San Juan Strait to England, it's a long road home! We'll tow out to Flattery before the sun is high : We'll shake the harbour dust away and give the land good-bye : And singing in her topsails, O, the deep-sea wind'll come, And lift us through it lively on the long road home. The old man he goes smiling, for he's gathered in a crew: We've various Turks and infidels, we've most things but a Jew: 107 SMALL CRAFT He's got the pick of all the stiffs from Panama to Nome, And we'll make 'em into sailors on the long road home. The leaves that just are open now, they'll have to fade and fall, There'll be reaping time and threshing 1 time and ploughing time and all : But we'll not see the harvest fields nor smell the fresh- cut loam: We'll be rolling gun'le under on the long road home. We've waited for a cargo and we've waited for a crew, And last we've waited for a tide, and now the wait- ing's through: Oh, don't you hear the deep-sea wind and smell the deep-sea foam, Out beyond the harbour on the long road home? And it's "home, dearie, home" when the anchor rat- tles down In the reek of good old Mersey fog a-rolling rich and brown: Round the world and back again is very far to roam . . . And all the way to England it's a long road home ! 108 THE LOST SHIP COME you up from southward, oh, come you there away? And saw you not my ship there that's late now many a day? And touched you ne'er a port where she came a-s ailing thither? Where's the barque Aurora and all her people with her? Ah, good-bye and fare you well now, ship and sailor : Ah, good-bye, for never harbour more shall hail her : Ask the unsleeping drift if still it lifts her westing, Or the Tuscarora Deeps if there she's resting. Home, come home: it is no use at all to linger: Never will be tide so late that it will bring her: Salt like tears the scud is, cold the sea tides streaming : Never will you greet your man but in your dreaming. 109 SMALL CRAFT Ask the roaring Norther: ask the berg that broke her: Ask the growlers of the Horn where last they spoke her. Ask the seas that, pouring through the splintered hatches, Last relieved for good and all her labouring watches. Ask the crazy gale that, hither-thither shifting, Snatched the last tired chantey stave their lips were lifting. Ask the Austral lights that in their dances reeling Mocked across the empty skies her flares' appealing. Ask the lonely dawn that, scarlet, silent, splendid, Looked across the world and found the fight was ended. Ask the wind and wave that bruised and broke and shook her . . . And the sea's great silence at the last that took her. 110 THE OLD WHALE WHEN I'm growing old ( if I'm getting tired of sailing Up and down the seas, and alway: finding some- thing new), When I come to feel the sight and strength of me are failing, Maybe I'll curl up then, as the old whales do. When I live on land, and never feel the fret and fever Pull me back to seaward (as may one day be), When I hear my old bones saying that it's time for me to leave her, Maybe I'll curl up then ashore, and leave the sea ! I'll grow a few flowers then; I'll have a few friends nigh me, Lie soft, and never care for all the winds that blow; Eat, and sleep, and smoke, and let the hours go by me, In the little easy ways that old men know. Or sit by a winter fire, and tell the old tales over, Listen for a shipmate's step coming to the door, 111 SMALL CRAFT Talk of men and ships I knew, from Torres Strait to Dover, And . . . maybe the heart of me'll be happy on the shore : Maybe I'll forget then how, when I was younger (Pleasant folks about me, and my girl's kiss on my When I'd been a month or less on land I'd feel the hunger Drive me through the ports again, looking for a ship. Maybe then the shore things won't seem stale : and I won't waken In the night and think of all my friends forgetting me, Nor know (when it's too late to know) how sore I was mistaken Curling up ashore there L . ^ ,.. with my heart at sea! -112 Ill: SONGS OF HOME A MESSAGE IT was about the midnight hour, I heard the wind go by : I heard on the wet mould the shower Beat, and the bare trees sigh. I heard your hand upon the pane, Your footstep at the door, A moment lingering in the rain, And then ... no more! One moment . . . then the door was wide, Yet none there was to hark, Nor any answer when I cried Your name across the dark. There was none there . . . although I knew Your footstep, ah, so plain! Only the weary wind that blew, And the driving rain! Was there no sign you could have brought, No word that you might say, To tell what thing it was you sought, And you so far away? 115 SMALL CRAFT They say I heard but the rain fall And the wind beat . . . yet I, Should I not know your step, though all The world went by? NEWS FROM THE NORTH As I went down by London Bridge (And I not long on land), I met a lad from the North Country, And gripped him by the hand, And said : "If you be late from home, Oh, quickly tell me true How fares it now with mine own country And with the folk I knew?" Oh, he looked up and he looked down, And slow he shook his head, And, "Sure the place is not the same This many a year," he said. "For this one's dead, and that one's wed, And that gone oversea: You scarce would know the place again So many changes be." "Tell me no more, no more," I cried, "This grievous news and ill: 117 SMALL CRAFT Full well I know, where'er you go The round world stands not still. "For folk must die and folk must wive, Since change and chance must be Alike for those who bide at home And those who use the sea. "Tell me if anything I'll find I knew and loved before : Do the trees stand up by Oakenclough, The winds blow off the Moor? "Do magpies in our planting build, And hares by Blackbrook run, And at Top o' th' Lowe the grasses blow All ruddy in the sun?" "Still runs the brook, the trees stand up By yonder cloughside still: You can see the roof of your father's barn Look over the windy hill." "There will I go, and there shall meet Old ghosts of joy and pain, And the folk I knew in the time that's gone Shall greet me once again. 118 NEWS FROM 'THE -NORTH "The lad that's dead, the lad that's wed, With me shall leap and run, As they did when we were boys at home Ere roving days begun. "There is no land so lone and far, There is no sea so wide, There is no grave so deep that there Shall they unheeding bide, When the winds that blow in mine own country Do call them to my side !" 119 A GARDEN IN THE NORTH YESTREEN I walked where wind and tree Called all the lost years back to me, Where shaken leaf and waft of bird Spoke to me each its well-known word. I knew ah, well I knew of old The wet earth and the sky's pale gold, The light wind stirring restlessly The brown leaf on the beechen tree. I knew the far grey line of hills Behind the barn the daffodils Beneath the bare bough putting forth Their spears' brave challenge to the north. What more? Only the joy, the pain, Shadows and dreams that waked again (As in these barren boles the Spring Wakes at the west wind's summoning) : -120 < A GARDEN IN THE NORTH Only the drift of thorn leaves dry That stirred and sighed as I went by, As if some page I turned, and read There an old tale of years long fled. And the wise wind that keeps alway The lost sweet soul of yesterday Brought to me on its whispering breath Love, hope, remembrance Life and Death ! 121 GHOSTS IN THE GARDEN IT needs not in the owl-light grey Hither to creep with mystic rune, Nor yet in shuddering stealth to pay Lip-service to the freakish moon. Here is no spell to sing or say ; Ghosts in the garden walk by day. Where spreads its wide and plumy wings The stormy sunset's weeping gold, To these lone walks their presence clings, Their footsteps stir the last year's mould Whose vapour, faint like incense, brings The fragrance of forgotten Springs. It may be, nought is seen or heard Save sights and sounds that well may be But passing of a vagrant bird, But shadow of a shaken tree: By presence seen, or spoken word, The haunted stillness is not stirred. -122 GHOSTS IN THE GARDEN Yet o'er the leaf-drift wet and brown, E'en now, some lingering footfall past, And where yon late-blown rose's crown On Summer's forehead clung the last, The waft of some dead lady's gown Brought the sweet ruin shattering down. 123 ALL HALLOWS on the autumn woods the mist lay white and chill; And I heard the rising wind come piping down the hill, And the stream sigh o'er the shallows On the Eve of All Hallows When the house was still. I did not set the door wide, no meal did I spread, Neither a cup of water nor a platter of bread, They came without my calling When the night was falling, From the days that are dead. No dog barked at their passing from the silent fold ; There was no step on the doorsill nor print on the damp mould To tell the world to-morrow I supped with love and sorrow Ere the hearth grew cold. ALL HALLOWS Dear dreams of years departed, kind ghosts of vanished days, Slipped in then to the firelight, stretched their hands to the blaze, Lost voices whispered nigh me, Loved footsteps lingered by me Ere they went their ways. I heard a bird crying along the lonely hill, I heard the stream sighing and the wind piping shrill Across the frosty fallows . . t .. On the eve of All Hallows When the house was still. 125 IV: SONGS OF THE WILD FRASER RIVER FRASER river's flooding high, Cold and deep and cruel flowing, All lonely stand the hills thereby, And a man may drown and no one knowing. Oh, if you heard a shot by night, Heed not, for it nothing strange is : What but a hunter should it be Scaring the wolves along the ranges And if beside a mountain trail One man less a camp is sharing, No way new is it for men To come and go and no one caring. Oh, let you ask now near and far: Oh, let you ask both here and yonder : What was he but a roving man, And who can say where such may wander? 129- SMALL CRAFT If a thing be gone it comes no more ! If a thing's lost there's none shall fipd it Where Fraser river's roaring down With the weight of all the snows behind it. And Fraser river's full in flood, Deep and cold and cruel flowing, All lonely is the land thereby, And a man may drown and no one knowing. ISO THE PLAINS OF MEXICO THERE'S a country wide and weary, and a scorching sun looks down On the thirsty cattle ranges and a queer old Spanish town, And it's there my heart goes roving by the trails I used to know, Dusty trails by camps deserted where the tinkling 1 mule-trains go, On the sleepy sunlit ranges, and the plains of Mexico. Is it only looking backward that the past seems now so fair? Was the sun then somehow brighter, was there some- thing in the air Made no day seem ever weary, never hour that went too slow When we rode the dusty ranges on the plains of Mexico ? 131 SMALL CRAFT Then the long hot-scented evenings, and the fiddle's squeaky tune, When we danced with Spanish lasses underneath the golden moon, Girls with names all slow and splendid, hot as fire and cold as snow, In the spicy summer night-time on the plains of Mexico. V I am growing tired and lonely, and the town is dull and strange: I am restless for the open sky, and wandering winds that range: I will get me forth a-roving, I will get me out and go, But no more, no more my road is to the plains of Mexico. For the sun is on the plateau, and the dusty trails go down By the same old cactus hedges to the sleepy Spanish town, But I'll never find my comrade that I lost there long ago, Never, never more (Oh, lad I loved and left a-lying low!) Where the coward bullet took him on the plains of Mexico ! ALONG THE PRAIRIE TRAIL I KNOW it's only dreaming, and it never may be more, But I'm thinking, as I have done many and many a time before, That some day I'll be standing here and leaning on the rail, And look, and see you coming along the prairie trail. Oh, first I'd think perhaps I took some other one for you, And then I'd be afraid to wake and find it wasn't true, And there'd be sweet flowers everywhere, and singing on the gale, When I went out to greet you along the prairie trail. I'd have my hands in yours then, and you'd have hold of mine: I'd look, and look again, and drink the sight of you like wine, 133 SMALL CRAFT And ah ! we'd have so much to say that all our words would fail When you came up to meet me along the prairie trail. I daresay dreams are folly (but sometimes they come true), And after all is said, it's just a pleasant thing to do, To stand, as I do now, and watch the sunset sky grow pale, And think you're coming yonder along the prairie trail. 134 PRAIRIE WIND I LOOKED out as the dusk fell on the prairie vast and wide, There was no dog that barked there, nor any tree that sighed: Silence, and nought but silence, was there on every hand, But for the lone wind blowing over the lone land. But for the voice of the lonely places, wandering by Between the vast and empty earth and the star-sown sky, From the wrinkled flanks of the mountains where the eagle rears her brood, And screams from her wild eyrie to the barren soli- tude. But for the voice from the ramparts where hasten down alone Cold and unforded rivers flowing to seas unknown, And the lost ranges where never a white man's foot has trod, And lakes in deep hill-hollows look lonely up to God. 135 SMALL CRAFT But for the ancient burthen of the long uncounted years In far untravelled gorges where the waiting echo hears Only the cougar hunting by night, and the eagle's cry, And the lone wind blowing under the lone sky. -136 PRAIRIE SUNSET WHERE the Great Chief's sullen crest Looks over the land, The splendour floods from the west, Ruddied and grand. Like a vast Armada's wrecked And ravaged pride, Reeling over a flecked And crimsoned tide. Or a cachalot lashing the spray In his wounded throe, On a South sea far away Where the whalers go. Till the light is gone, and the skies Are cold and dree As a blue gulf in the ice Of a Polar sea. -137 THE OLD-TIMER TIMES, they say, must change, and folks must change with 'em too: That's how it is in the West, now the old lights seem to fail: The prairie that was is passing, and giving place to the new, Give me again the old times, and the buffalo trail ! Give me again the great days between earth and sky, The red roaring nights, the blood that leapt like a flame, Men that were men, friends that were friends in the years gone by, Life that held more than dollars to make it worthy the name. Give me again the hot hours by the old corral, Bill on the pinto, and Pat on the buckskin, and me on the bay, 138 THE OLD-TIMER The flurry of unshod hoofs, the voices, where are they all, Horses and men, and the good glad hours that were yesterday? Do you remember? but only the prairie wind replies : "Yesterday's gone like a gleam, and here is To-day with its change: Here with its new towns growing from nothing under your eyes, And the scar of the settler's plough on the last of the cattle range. Yesterday's gone, with all that was in it of good and of bad, Gone like a hunt that's over, a song that's sung : Give me again laughter and life and the heart of a lad, Give me again the old times . . . when the world was young!" . THE CIRCUS IN THE WEST ALL, through the little prairie town 'Mid dusty levels broad and brown I saw the Circus pacing on ; I felt its vague barbaric spell, I smelt the queer old circus smell As old as Rome or Babylon. The tinsel gleamed, the big drum rolled, The ponies pranced and caracoled In gaudy gilt caparison; And still beneath it was the strange Sad undertone of Time and Change, As erst in vanished Babylon. I saw where, wrinkled, grey and wise, With swaying gait and brooding eyes, The elephants went pacing on, Unmoved amid the gaping throng, As if they only thought: "How long- How far from here to Babylon?'* -140 THE CIRCUS IN THE WEST No longer than this restless hour, Its lust and folly, pride and power, To-day as in the ages gone: No further than this feverish, queer, New town which was not yesteryear Need mankind seek for Babylon. New towns in strange new lands arise ; But old as earth and stars and skies The Circus of the world goes on ; Still travelling on its ancient round Where'er man's dust of dreams is found- Here now to-day in Babylon. -141 V: ROMANCE ROMANCE MORN, and a world of wonder ! Oh, the time Of winds like trumpet calls, and seas that gleam, And sounding sunlit roads that wind and climb Far over hills of dream, Travelled by knight and pedlar, prince and priest, Past many an echoing port and ringing bridge, To some black fortress like a couchant beast Crouched on a mountain ridge, Fords perilous, and haunted reach and pool, Far-shining spires under the blaze of noon, And twilight shrines of visions wonderful, Dusk, and an angry moon. Glimmer of ambush dungeons, strange escapes, Ships swinging on the swell of darkling tides, And faerie forests full of eerie shapes, Long, flickering, grass-grown rides. 145 SMALL CRAFT Dark crooked streets with lights like peering eyes, Plotters in half-lit halls of palaces, Orchards and gardens full of lurking spies, And whispering passages. Travail and bondage, battle-flags unfurled, Earth at the prime, and God earth's wrongs above, Honour and hope, youth and the beckoning world, Peril and war and love ! 146 MORGAN LE FAY I WILL put by my violent days, and the ill deeds that I wrought, All wayward sins of a wild heart, all empty joys I sought, I will forswear the fruitless year and the deedless day, And the long gold tresses and false caresses of Morgan le Fay. The songs are hollow and empty: the wine is idown to the lees: I am full sick of the witching dance and unclean mysteries : And the palace of magic and wonder just an ill shadow seems, Wild feasts and vile faces out of evil dreams. There shall no sleep come nigh me all through the long night, Where I watch mine arms alone for a space ere I ride forth to fight, 147 SMALL CRAFT Alone with the cold altar and the cross of my slain Lord, With the stark helm and the grey mail and the cross- hilted sword. I have bound the spur to my heel again : I have rent the past like a scroll: In the bitter waters of sorrow will I wash clean my soul. I have put by the worthless world and the deedless day, And the long gold tresses and false caresses of Mor- gan le Fay. -148 RONCEVAL O WOE'S me, ye people, And woe, brave warriors all, For the flower of all princes Dead on Ronceval. There lie many stark fighters That with brave Roland rode Rinaldo of the White Thorn, Ogier and Galdebode. And Roland, ah, Roland, That Was first of them all, Lieth among- his captains On red Ronceval. Queens weep for Roland, Kings go heavily: There was none in Christendom Better loved than he. Prince of all courtesy, Very true and kind: 149 SMALL CRAFT Tears are in the dwellings Of Kaiser and of hind. For herdsmen have hearkened, Keeping sheep on the hill, To a sound like the wind's crying- Yet all winds are still. It is the horn of Roland Nevermore shall call That mourneth for slain armies On red Ronceval. 150 I HAD ridden far from the battle, from the red wrack, and the last Lost hope that had clung to hope till the shadow of hope was past, From the stream that ran blood, not water, and the grief that burned like fire For the cause lying trodden down and down in the battle-mire. I had not washen my sweat off, nor the red stain o' the field ; I could scarce bear up my battered harness and dinted shield. Spent was I, clean forspent, and my heart like lead in my breast, And the very bones o* my body yearned and hungered for rest. Then, through the dusty byways, while yet the West was aflame Like a plundered city with sunset, at the end of even I came, SMALL CRAFT Heart-weary and body-weary, with, my wounds both many and deep, To the well that is called Oblivion, to the quiet waters of sleep. Rosy it brimmed in the twilight, redder and fairer than wine, Cold in a grey stone hollow I saw it dimple and shine : And of all that a man might dream and desire, then seemed it the best To drink, and be no more thirsty, lie down and for ever to rest. I looked my last on the sunset ere my dry lips drank their fill, I bade good-bye to the earth and sky and the windy hill: And all I had fought and lost for, all I had loved and known, Came back and lingered beside me where I knelt by the pool alone. A bird cried o'er the pastures, a weak wind wakened and stirred, Rustling the dusty wayside weed like a stealthy step half-heard : 152 THE WATERS OF OBLIVION And the well that slept in a silence deep as the dreamless years On a sudden sobbed in the stillness with a sound like human tears. Old trumpets pealed in the twilight; lost war-cries rang as of old: And I looked where the night mist gathered ghostly and grey, and behold ! Squadron on squadron, rank upon rank in the dark- ening sky, Saw as it were my comrades muster, and heard them cry: "You will sleep sound, our comrade: never, never again Will you ride out for a cause forlorn, in the wind and rain. And the din and thunder of battle shall be in your ears no more Than the sigh of a lost wave breaking on a far-off shore. All that was bitter and weary, all that was grievous and hard, You shall put off as a garment, and cast away as a shard. 153 SMALL CRAFT All that was gallant and goodly the splendour, the glory, the gleam, Shall pass away as a tale forgotten, or a long past dream. Laid aside as a burthen, as a child's sorrow forgot, Though morn and even clamour the trumpets : 'Why comes he not He who was once our comrade he whose slumber is deep By the well which is called Oblivion, by the quiet waters of Sleep?" Win or lose, what matter at all, when the unheeding hand Never gropes through the mist of sleep for the rusted brand? What matter when never the dreaming heart nor the drowsy eye Quicken because he remembers the great old days gone by?" Ah, God, I was weary . . . wtary, and wounded, and sore athirst: But I turned from the clear cold waters, my heart knew them accurst : THE WATERS OF OBLIVION And I rode in my dinted armour, with my wounds both many and deep, From the well that is called Oblivion, from the quiet waters of Sleep. 155* LOVE'S MARKETING ALONG the lanes from market Folk went by: White along the river-side Mist did lie: Hob rode the grey mare, Rob rode the roan: Then met I a stranger lad Trudging alone. "How, pray you, tell me, Did the market go? Sold you your wares there High or low?" All in the dusty lane Tears did fall: "Love the Fool, Love the Fool, Men me call ! "Gold for the bay colt, Gold for the brown, For the goodwife's dairying -156 LOVE'S MARKETING A fine new gown: Silver for the sweet herbs That in the gardens grow: What for love, what for love? Nought but woe. "Some sell for money, Some for kind: What though your wares be All left behind ! Ah, me, the bare board! Ah, the chill morrow! . . . Love the Fool, Love the Fool, Sells for sorrow !" 157 1999 ... UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A 000689051 1