Messmates

And then he'd sing, so blithe and jolly,
Ah, many's the time and oft!

But mirth is turned to melancholy,
For Tom is gone aloft.

Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
When He, who all commands,

Shall give, to call Life's crew together,
The word to "pipe all hands."

Thus Death, who Kings and Tars despatches,
In vain Tom's life has doffed;

For, though his body's under hatches,

His soul is gone aloft.

1583

Charles Dibdin [1745-1814]

MESSMATES

He gave us all a good-by cheerily

At the first dawn of day;

We dropped him down the side full drearily

When the light died away.

It's a dead dark watch that he's a-keeping there,
And a long, long night that lags a-creeping there,
Where the Trades and the tides roll over him
And the great ships go by.

He's there alone with green seas rocking him
For a thousand miles around;

He's there alone with dumb things mocking him,
And we're homeward bound.

It's a long, lone watch that he's a-keeping there,
And a dead cold night that lags a-creeping there,
While the months and the years roll over him
And the great ships go by.

I wonder if the tramps come near enough,
As they thrash to and fro,

And the battleships' bells ring clear enough
To be heard down below;

If through all the lone watch that he's a-keeping there, And the long, cold night that lags a-creeping there, The voices of the sailor-men shall comfort him

When the great ships go by.

Henry Newbolt (1862

THE LAST BUCCANEER

OH, England is a pleasant place for them that's rich and high,
But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I;
And such a port for mariners I ne'er shall see again
As the pleasant Isle of Avès, beside the Spanish main.

There were forty craft in Avès that were both swift and stout,
All furnished well with small arms and cannons round about;
And a thousand men in Avès made laws so fair and free
To choose their valiant captains and obey them loyally.

Thence we sailed against the Spaniard with his hoards of plate and gold,

Which he wrung with cruel tortures from Indian folk of old; Likewise the merchant captains, with hearts as hard as stone, Who flog men and keelhaul them, and starve them to the bone.

Oh, the palms grew high in Avès, and fruits that shone like gold,

And the colibris and parrots they were gorgeous to behold;
And the negro maids to Avès from bondage fast did flee,
To welcome gallant sailors, a-sweeping in from sea.

Oh, sweet it was in Avès to hear the landward breeze,
A-swing with good tobacco in a net between the trees,
With a negro lass to fan you, while you listened to the roar
Of the breakers on the reef outside, that never touched the
shore.

But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be; So the King's ships sailed on Avès, and quite put down were

we.

The Last Buccaneer

1585

All day we fought like bulldogs, but they burst the booms at

night;

And I fled in a piragua, sore wounded, from the fight.

Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside,
Till for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young thing she died;
But as I lay a-gasping, a Bristol sail came by,

And brought me home to England here, to beg until I die.

And now I'm old and going-I'm sure I can't tell where; One comfort is, this world's so hard, I can't be worse off there:

If I might but be a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main,
To the pleasant Isle of Avès, to look at it once again.
Charles Kingsley [1819-1875]

THE LAST BUCCANEER

THE winds were yelling, the waves were swelling,

The sky was black and drear,

When the crew with eyes of flame brought the ship without a

name

Alongside the last Buccaneer.

"Whence flies your slcop full sail before so fierce a gale,
When all others drive bare on the seas?

Say, come ye from the shore of the holy Salvador,
Or the gulf of the rich Caribbees?"

"From a shore no search hath found, from a gulf no line can sound,

Without rudder or needle we steer;

Above, below our bark dies the sea-fowl and the shark,
As we fly by the last Buccaneer.

"To-night there shall be heard on the rocks of Cape de Verde A loud crash and a louder roar;

And to-morrow shall the deep with a heavy moaning sweep The corpses and wreck to the shore."

The stately ship of Clyde securely now may ride

In the breath of the citron shades;

And Severn's towering mast securely now hies fast,
Through the seas of the balmy Trades.

From St. Jago's wealthy port, from Havannah's royal fort, The seaman goes forth without fear;

For since that stormy night not a mortal hath had sight Of the flag of the last Buccaneer.

Thomas Babington Macaulay [1800-1859]

THE LEADSMAN'S SONG

FOR England, when with favoring gale,
Our gallant ship up Channel steered,
And scudding, under easy sail,

The high blue western lands appeared,
To heave the lead the seaman sprang,
And to the pilot cheerly sang,
"By the deep-Nine."

And bearing up to gain the port,

Some well-known object kept in view,
An abbey tower, a ruined fort,

A beacon to the vessel true;

While oft the lead the seaman flung,
And to the pilot cheerly sung,
"By the mark-Seven."

And as the much-loved shore we near,
With transport we behold the roof
Where dwelt a friend or partner dear,
Of faith and love and matchless proof.
The lead once more the seaman flung,
And to the watchful pilot sung,
"Quarter less-Five."

Now to her berth the ship draws nigh,
With slackened sail she feels the tide,

The Leadsman's Song

Stand clear the cable is the cry,

The anchor's gone, we safely ride.

The watch is set, and through the night,
We hear the seaman with delight

Proclaim-"All's well."

1587

Unknown