THE SHIPWRECK

Upon the poop the captain stands,

As starboard as may be;

And pipes on deck the topsail hands

To reef the topsail-gallant strands

Across the briny sea.

"Ho! splice the anchor under-weigh!"

The captain loudly cried;

"Ho! lubbers brave, belay! belay!

For we must luff for Falmouth Bay

Before to-morrow's tide."

The good ship was a racing yawl,

A spare-rigged schooner sloop,

Athwart the bows the taffrails all

In grummets gay appeared to fall,

To deck the mainsail poop.

But ere they made the Foreland Light,

And Deal was left behind,

The wind it blew great gales that night,

And blew the doughty captain tight,

Full three sheets in the wind.

And right across the tiller head

The horse it ran apace,

Whereon a traveller hitched and sped

Along the jib and vanished

To heave the trysail brace.

What ship could live in such a sea?

What vessel bear the shock?

"Ho! starboard port your helm-a-lee!

Ho! reef the maintop-gallant-tree,

With many a running block!"

And right upon the Scilly Isles

The ship had run aground;

When lo! the stalwart Captain Giles

Mounts up upon the gaff and smiles,

And slews the compass round.

"Saved! saved!" with joy the sailors cry,

And scandalize the skiff;

As taut and hoisted high and dry

They see the ship unstoppered lie

Upon the sea-girt cliff.

And since that day in Falmouth Bay,

As herring-fishers trawl,

The younkers hear the boatswains say

How Captain Giles that awful day

Preserved the sinking yawl.

_E.H. Palmer_.

_A SAILOR'S YARN_

_As narrated by the second mate to one of the marines_.

This is the tale that was told to me,

By a battered and shattered son of the sea:

To me and my messmate, Silas Green,

When I was a guileless young marine.

"'T was the good ship 'Gyacutus,'

All in the China seas;

With the wind a lee, and the capstan free,

To catch the summer breeze."

"'T was Captain Porgie on the deck

To the mate in the mizzen hatch,

While the boatswain bold, in the for'ard hold,

Was winding his larboard watch."

"'Oh, how does our good ship head to-night?

How heads our gallant craft?'

'Oh, she heads to the E. S. W. by N.

And the binnacle lies abaft.'"

"'Oh, what does the quadrant indicate?

And how does the sextant stand?'

'Oh, the sextant's down to the freezing point

And the quadrant's lost a hand.'"

"'Oh, if the quadrant's lost a hand,

And the sextant falls so low,

It's our body and bones to Davy Jones

This night are bound to go."

"'Oh, fly aloft to the garboard-strake,

And reef the spanker boom,

Bend a stubbing sail on the martingale

To give her weather room."

"'Oh, boatswain, down in the for'ard hold

What water do you find?'

'Four foot and a half by the royal gaff

And rather more behind.'"

"'Oh, sailors, collar your marline spikes

And each belaying pin;

Come, stir your stumps to spike the pumps,

Or more will be coming in.'"

"'They stirred their stumps, they spiked the pumps

They spliced the mizzen brace;

Aloft and alow they worked, but, oh!

The water gained apace."

"They bored a hole below her line

To let the water out,

But more and more with awful roar

The water in did spout."

"Then up spoke the cook of our gallant ship--

And he was a lubber brave--

'I've several wives in various ports,

And my life I'd like to save.'"

"Then up spoke the captain of marines,

Who dearly loved his prog:

'It's awful to die, and it's worse to be dry,

And I move we pipes to grog.'"

"Oh, then 'twas the gallant second-mate

As stopped them sailors' jaw,

'Twas the second-mate whose hand had weight

In laying down the law."

"He took the anchor on his back,

And leapt into the main;

Through foam and spray he clove his way,

And sunk, and rose again."

"Through foam and spray a league away

The anchor stout he bore,

Till, safe at last, I made it fast,

And warped the ship ashore."

This is the tale that was told to me,

By that modest and truthful son of the sea.

And I envy the life of a second mate,

Though captains curse him and sailors hate;

For he ain't like some of the swabs I've seen,

As would go and lie to a poor marine.

_J.J. Rache_.

A Nonsense Anthology · 第 113 / 228 题