The Story Of A Round-House And Other Poems Part 7

Two hours pa.s.sed, then a dim lightening came.

Those frozen ones upon the yard could see The mainsail and the foresail still the same, Still battling with the hands and blowing free, Rags tattered where the staysails used to be.

The lower topsails stood; the ship's lee deck Seethed with four feet of water filled with wreck.

An hour more went by; the Dauber 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 s.n.a.t.c.hes 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.

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, 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.

This isn't wind, man, this is only a whiff.

Hold on, all hands, hold on!" a sea, half seen, Paused, mounted, burst, and filled the main-deck green.

The Dauber felt a mountain of water fall.

It covered him deep, deep, he felt it fill, Over his head, the deck, the fife-rails, all, Quieting the ship, she trembled and lay still.

Then with a rush and shatter and clanging shrill Over she went; he saw the water cream Over the bitts; he saw the half-deck stream.

Then in the rush he swirled, over she went; Her lee-rail dipped, he struck, and something gave; His legs went through a port as the roll spent; She paused, then rolled, and back the water drave.

He drifted with it as a part of the wave, Drowning, half-stunned, exhausted, partly frozen, He struck the b.o.o.by 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, Spat: "One's a joke," he cursed, "but two's unkind."

"Now, d.a.m.n it, Dauber!" said the Mate. "Look out, Or you'll be over the side!" The water freed; Each clanging freeing-port became a spout.

The men cleared up the decks as there was need.

The Dauber's head was cut, he felt it bleed Into his oilskins as he clutched and coiled.

Water and sky were devils' brews which boiled,

Boiled, shrieked, and glowered; but the ship was saved.

Snugged safely down, though fourteen sails were split.

Out of the dark a fiercer fury raved.

The grey-backs died and mounted, each crest 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.

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 l.u.s.t 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 To break that promise. "Dauber," said the Mate, "Drink, and turn in, man; why the h.e.l.l d'ye wait?"

"Please, sir, I'm temperance." "Temperance are you, hey?

That's all the more for me! So you're for slops?

I thought you'd had enough slops for today.

Go to your bunk and ease her when she drops.

And--damme, steward! you brew with too much hops!

Stir up the sugar, man!--and tell your girl How kind the Mate was teaching you to furl."

Then the Mate drank the remnants, six men's share, And ramped into his cabin, where he stripped And danced unclad, and was uproarious there.

In waltzes with the cabin cat he tripped, Singing in tenor clear that he was pipped-- That "he who strove the tempest to disarm, Must never first embrail the lee yardarm,"

And that his name was Ginger. Dauber crept Back to the round-house, gripping by the rail.

The wind howled by; the pa.s.sionate water leapt; The night was all one roaring with the gale.

Then at the door he stopped, uttering a wail; His hands were perished numb and blue as veins, He could not turn the k.n.o.b 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 splashboard, down; "You' silly, salt miscarriage!" sputtered he.

"Dauber, pull out the plug before we drown!

That's spoiled my laces and my velvet gown.

Where is the plug?" Groping in pitch dark water, He sang between his teeth "The Farmer's Daughter."

It was pitch dark within there; at each roll The chests slid to the slant; the water rushed, Making full many a clanging tin pan bowl Into the black below-bunks as it gushed.

The dog-tired men slept through it; they were hushed.

The water drained, and then with matches damp The man struck heads off till he lit the lamp.

"Thank you," the Dauber said; the seaman grinned.

"This is your first foul weather?" "Yes." "I 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; 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 b.u.t.tons, so he shook and sat, Watching his dirty fingers, dirty blue, Hearing without the hammering tackle slat, Within, the drops from dripping clothes went pat, Running in little patters, gentle, sweet, And "Ai, ai!" went the wind, and the seas beat.

His bunk was sopping wet; he clambered in.

None of his clothes were dry; his fear recurred.

Cramps bunched the muscles underneath his skin.

The great ship rolled until the lamp was blurred.

He took his Bible and tried to read a word; Trembled at going aloft again, and then Resolved to fight it out and show it to men.