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1894
I’VE paid for your sickest fancies; I’ve humoured your crackedest whim— | |
| Dick, it’s your daddy, dying; you’ve got to listen to him! | |
| Good for a fortnight, am I? The doctor told you? He lied. | |
| I shall go under by morning, and—— Put that nurse outside. | |
| ’Never seen death yet, Dickie? Well, now is your time to learn, | 5 |
| And you’ll wish you held my record before it comes to your turn. | |
| Not counting the Line and the Foundry, the Yards and the village, too, | |
| I’ve made myself and a million; but I’m damned if I made you. | |
| Master at two-and-twenty, and married at twenty-three— | |
| Ten thousand men on the pay-roll, and forty freighters at sea! | 10 |
| Fifty years between ’em, and every year of it fight, | |
| And now I’m Sir Anthony Gloster, dying, a baronite: | |
| For I lunched with his Royal ’Ighness—what was it the papers had? | |
| “Not least of our merchant-princes.” Dickie, that’s me, your dad! | |
| I didn’t begin with askings. I took my job and I stuck; | 15 |
| I took the chances they wouldn’t, an’ now they’re calling it luck. | |
| Lord, what boats I’ve handled—rotten and leaky and old! | |
| Ran ’em, or—opened the bilge-cock, precisely as I was told. | |
| Grub that ’ud bind you crazy, and crews that ’ud turn you grey, | |
| And a big fat lump of insurance to cover the risk on the way. | 20 |
| The others they dursn’t do it; they said they valued their life | |
| (They’ve served me since as skippers). I went, and I took my wife. | |
| Over the world I drove ’em, married at twenty-three, | |
| And your mother saving the money and making a man of me. | |
| I was content to be master, but she said there was better behind; | 25 |
| She took the chances I wouldn’t, and I followed your mother blind. | |
| She egged me to borrow the money, an’ she helped me to clear the loan, | |
| When we bought half-shares in a cheap ’un and hoisted a flag of our own. | |
| Patching and coaling on credit, and living the Lord knew how, | |
| We started the Red Ox freighters—we’ve eight-and-thirty now. | 30 |
| And those were the days of clippers, and the freights were clipper-freights, | |
| And we knew we were making our fortune, but she died in Macassar Straits— | |
| By the Little Paternosters, as you come to the Union Bank— | |
| And we dropped her in fourteen fathom; I pricked it off where she sank. | |
| Owners we were, full owners, and the boat was christened for her, | 35 |
| And she died in the Mary Gloster. My heart, how young we were! | |
| So I went on a spree round Java and well-nigh ran her ashore, | |
| But your mother came and warned me and I wouldn’t liquor no more: | |
| Strict I stuck to my business, afraid to stop or I’d think, | |
| Saving the money (she warned me), and letting the other men drink. | 40 |
| And I met M’Cullough in London (I’d saved five ’undred then), | |
| And ’tween us we started the Foundry—three forges and twenty men: | |
| Cheap repairs for the cheap ’uns. It paid, and the business grew, | |
| For I bought me a steam-lathe patent, and that was a gold mine too. | |
| “Cheaper to build ’em than buy ’em,” I said, but M’Cullough he shied, | 45 |
| And we wasted a year in talking before we moved to the Clyde. | |
| And the Lines were all beginning, and we all of us started fair, | |
| Building our engines like houses and staying the boilers square. | |
| But M’Cullough ’e wanted cabins with marble and maple and all, | |
| And Brussels an’ Utrecht velvet, and baths and a Social Hall, | 50 |
| And pipes for closets all over, and cutting the frames too light, | |
| But M’Cullough he died in the Sixties, and—— Well, I’m dying to-night…. | |
| I knew—I knew what was coming, when we bid on the Byfleet’s keel— | |
| They piddled and piffled with iron. I’d given my orders for steel! | |
| Steel and the first expansions. It paid, I tell you, it paid, | 55 |
| When we came with our nine-knot freighters and collared the long-run trade! | |
| And they asked me how I did it, and I gave ’em the Scripture text, | |
| “You keep your light so shining a little in front o’ the next!” | |
| They copied all they could follow, but they couldn’t copy my mind, | |
| And I left ’em sweating and stealing a year and a half behind. | 60 |
| Then came the armour-contracts, but that was M’Cullough’s side; | |
| He was always best in the Foundry, but better, perhaps, he died. | |
| I went through his private papers; the notes was plainer than print; | |
| And I’m no fool to finish if a man’ll give me a hint. | |
| (I remember his widow was angry.) So I saw what his drawings meant, | 65 |
| And I started the six-inch rollers, and it paid me sixty per cent. | |
| Sixty per cent with failures, and more than twice we could do, | |
| And a quarter-million to credit, and I saved it all for you! | |
| I thought—it doesn’t matter—you seemed to favour your ma, | |
| But you’re nearer forty than thirty, and I know the kind you are. | 70 |
| Harrer an’ Trinity College! I ought to ha’ sent you to sea— | |
| But I stood you an education, an’ what have you done for me? | |
| The things I knew was proper you wouldn’t thank me to give, | |
| And the things I knew was rotten you said was the way to live. | |
| For you muddled with books and pictures, an’ china an’ etchin’s an’ fans, | 75 |
| And your rooms at college was beastly—more like a whore’s than a man’s; | |
| Till you married that thin-flanked woman, as white and as stale as a bone, | |
| An’ she gave you your social nonsense; but where’s that kid o’ your own? | |
| I’ve seen your carriages blocking the half o’ the Cromwell Road, | |
| But never the doctor’s brougham to help the missus unload. | 80 |
| (So there isn’t even a grandchild, an’ the Gloster family’s done.) | |
| Not like your mother, she isn’t. She carried her freight each run. | |
| But they died, the pore little beggars! At sea she had ’em—they died. | |
| Only you, an’ you stood it. You haven’t stood much beside. | |
| Weak, a liar, and idle, and mean as a collier’s whelp | 85 |
| Nosing for scraps in the galley. No help—my son was no help! | |
| So he gets three ’undred thousand, in trust and the interest paid. | |
| I wouldn’t give it you, Dickie—you see, I made it in trade. | |
| You’re saved from soiling your fingers, and if you have no child, | |
| It all comes back to the business. ’Gad, won’t your wife be wild! | 90 |
| ’Calls and calls in her carriage, her ’andkerchief up to ’er eye: | |
| “Daddy! dear daddy’s dyin’!” and doing her best to cry. | |
| Grateful? Oh, yes, I’m grateful, but keep her away from here. | |
| Your mother ’ud never ha’ stood ’er, and, anyhow, women are queer…. | |
| There’s women will say I’ve married a second time. Not quite! | 95 |
| But give pore Aggie a hundred, and tell her your lawyers’ll fight. | |
| She was the best o’ the boiling—you’ll meet her before it ends. | |
| I’m in for a row with the mother—I’ll leave you settle my friends. | |
| For a man he must go with a woman, which women don’t understand— | |
| Or the sort that say they can see it they aren’t the marrying brand. | 100 |
| But I wanted to speak o’ your mother that’s Lady Gloster still; | |
| I’m going to up and see her, without its hurting the will. | |
| Here! Take your hand off the bell-pull. Five thousand’s waiting for you, | |
| If you’ll only listen a minute, and do as I bid you do. | |
| They’ll try to prove me crazy, and, if you bungle, they can; | 105 |
| And I’ve only you to trust to! (O God, why ain’t it a man?) | |
| There’s some waste money on marbles, the same as M’Cullough tried— | |
| Marbles and mausoleums—but I call that sinful pride. | |
| There’s some ship bodies for burial—we’ve carried ’em, soldered and packed; | |
| Down in their wills they wrote it, and nobody called them cracked. | 110 |
| But me—I’ve too much money, and people might … All my fault: | |
| It come o’ hoping for grandsons and buying that Wokin’ vault…. | |
| I’m sick o’ the ’ole dam’ business. I’m going back where I came. | |
| Dick, you’re the son o’ my body, and you’ll take charge o’ the same! | |
| I want to lie by your mother, ten thousand mile away, | 115 |
| And they’ll want to send me to Woking; and that’s where you’ll earn your pay. | |
| I’ve thought it out on the quiet, the same as it ought to be done— | |
| Quiet, and decent, and proper—an’ here’s your orders, my son. | |
| You know the Line? You don’t, though. You write to the Board, and tell | |
| Your father’s death has upset you an’ you’re goin’ to cruise for a spell, | 120 |
| An’ you’d like the Mary Gloster—I’ve held her ready for this— | |
| They’ll put her in working order and you’ll take her out as she is. | |
| Yes, it was money idle when I patched her and laid her aside | |
| (Thank God, I can pay for my fancies!)—the boat where your mother died, | |
| By the Little Paternosters, as you come to the Union Bank, | 125 |
| We dropped her—I think I told you—and I pricked it off where she sank. | |
| [Tiny she looked on the grating—that oily, treacly sea—] | |
| ’Hundred and Eighteen East, remember, and South just Three. | |
| Easy bearings to carry—Three South—Three to the dot; | |
| But I gave McAndrew a copy in case of dying—or not. | 130 |
| And so you’ll write to McAndrew, he’s Chief of the Maori Line; | |
| They’ll give him leave, if you ask ’em and say it’s business o’ mine. | |
| I built three boats for the Maoris, an’ very well pleased they were, | |
| An’ I’ve known Mac since the Fifties, and Mac knew me—and her. | |
| After the first stroke warned me I sent him the money to keep | 135 |
| Against the time you’d claim it, committin’ your dad to the deep; | |
| For you are the son o’ my body, and Mac was my oldest friend, | |
| I’ve never asked ’im to dinner, but he’ll see it out to the end. Stiff-necked Glasgow beggar! I’ve heard he’s prayed for my soul, | |
| But he couldn’t lie if you paid him, and he’d starve before he stole. | |
| He’ll take the Mary in ballast—you’ll find her a lively ship; | 140 |
| And you’ll take Sir Anthony Gloster, that goes on ’is wedding-trip, | |
| Lashed in our old deck-cabin with all three port-holes wide, | |
| The kick o’ the screw beneath him and the round blue seas outside! | |
| Sir Anthony Gloster’s carriage—our ’ouse-flag flyin’ free— | |
| Ten thousand men on the pay-roll and forty freighters at sea! | 145 |
| He made himself and a million, but this world is a fleetin’ show, | |
| And he’ll go to the wife of ’is bosom the same as he ought to go— | |
| By the heel of the Paternosters—there isn’t a chance to mistake— | |
| And Mac’ll pay you the money as soon as the bubbles break! | |
| Five thousand for six weeks’ cruising, the staunchest freighter afloat, | 150 |
| And Mac he’ll give you your bonus the minute I’m out o’ the boat! | |
| He’ll take you round to Macassar, and you’ll come back alone; | |
| He knows what I want o’ the Mary…. I’ll do what I please with my own. | |
| Your mother ’ud call it wasteful, but I’ve seven-and-thirty more; | |
| I’ll come in my private carriage and bid it wait at the door…. | 155 |
| For my son ’e was never a credit: ’e muddled with books and art, | |
| And ’e lived on Sir Anthony’s money and ’e broke Sir Anthony’s heart. | |
| There isn’t even a grandchild, and the Gloster family’s done— | |
| The only one you left me, O mother, the only one! | |
| Harrer and Trinity College—me slavin’ early an’ late— | 160 |
| An’ he thinks I’m dying crazy, and you’re in Macassar Strait! | |
| Flesh o’ my flesh, my dearie, for ever an’ ever amen, | |
| That first stroke come for a warning. I ought to ha’ gone to you then. | |
| But—cheap repairs for a cheap ’un—the doctors said I’d do. | |
| Mary, why didn’t you warn me? I’ve allus heeded to you, | 165 |
| Excep’—I know—about women; but you are a spirit now; | |
| An’, wife, they was only women, and I was a man. That’s how. | |
| An’ a man ’e must go with a woman, as you could not understand; | |
| But I never talked ’em secrets. I paid ’em out o’ hand. | |
| Thank Gawd, I can pay for my fancies! Now what’s five thousand to me, | 170 |
| For a berth off the Paternosters in the haven where I would be? | |
| I believe in the Resurrection, if I read my Bible plain, | |
| But I wouldn’t trust ’em at Wokin’; we’re safer at sea again. | |
| For the heart it shall go with the treasure—go down to the sea in ships. | |
| I’m sick of the hired women. I’ll kiss my girl on her lips! | 175 |
| I’ll be content with my fountain. I’ll drink from my own well, | |
| And the wife of my youth shall charm me—an’ the rest can go to Hell! | |
| (Dickie, he will, that’s certain.) I’ll lie in our standin’-bed, | |
| An’ Mac’ll take her in ballast—an’ she trims best by the head…. | |
| Down by the head an’ sinkin’, her fires are drawn and cold, | 180 |
| And the water’s splashin’ hollow on the skin of the empty hold— | |
| Churning an’ choking and chuckling, quiet and scummy and dark— | |
| Full to her lower hatches and risin’ steady. Hark! | |
| That was the after-bulkhead…. She’s flooded from stem to stern…. | |
| ’Never seen death yet, Dickie?… Well, now is your time to learn! | 185 |
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