| |
| THEN came the cry of “Call all hands on deck!” | |
| The Dauber knew its meaning; it was come: | |
| Cape Horn, that tramples beauty into wreck, | |
| And crumples steel and smites the strong man dumb. | |
| Down clattered flying kites and staysails: some | 5 |
| Sang out in quick, high calls: the fair-leads skirled, | |
| And from the south-west came the end of the world … | |
| |
| “Lay out!” the Bosun yelled. The Dauber laid | |
| Out on the yard, gripping the yard, and feeling | |
| Sick at the mighty space of air displayed | 10 |
| Below his feet, where mewing birds were wheeling | |
| A giddy fear was on him; he was reeling. | |
| He bit his lip half through, clutching the jack. | |
| A cold sweat glued the shirt upon his back. | |
| |
| The yard was shaking, for a brace was loose. | 15 |
| He felt that he would fall; he clutched, he bent, | |
| Clammy with natural terror to the shoes | |
| While idiotic promptings came and went. | |
| Snow fluttered on a wind-flaw and was spent; | |
| He saw the water darken. Someone yelled, | 20 |
| “Frap it; don’t stay to furl! Hold on!” He held. | |
| |
| Darkness came down—half darkness—in a whirl; | |
| The sky went out, the waters disappeared. | |
| He felt a shocking pressure of blowing hurl | |
| The ship upon her side. The darkness speared | 25 |
| At her with wind; she staggered, she careered, | |
| Then down she lay. The Dauber felt her go; | |
| He saw her yard tilt downwards. Then the snow | |
| |
| Whirled all about—dense, multitudinous, cold— | |
| Mixed with the wind’s one devilish thrust and shriek, | 30 |
| Which whiffled out men’s tears, defeated, took hold, | |
| Flattening the flying drift against the cheek. | |
| The yards buckled and bent, man could not speak. | |
| The ship lay on her broadside; the wind’s sound | |
| Had devilish malice at having got her downed.… | 35 |
| |
| How long the gale had blown he could not tell, | |
| Only the world had changed, his life had died. | |
| A moment now was everlasting hell. | |
| Nature an onslaught from the weather side, | |
| A withering rush of death, a frost that cried, | 40 |
| Shrieked, till he withered at the heart; a hail | |
| Plastered his oilskins with an icy mail.… | |
| |
| “Up!” yelled the Bosun; “up and clear the wreck!” | |
| The Dauber followed where he led; below | |
| He caught one giddy glimpsing of the deck | 45 |
| Filled with white water, as though heaped with snow. | |
| He saw the streamers of the rigging blow | |
| Straight out like pennons from the splintered mast, | |
| Then, all sense dimmed, all was an icy blast | |
| |
| Roaring from nether hell and filled with ice, | 50 |
| Roaring and crashing on the jerking stage, | |
| An utter bridle given to utter vice, | |
| Limitless power mad with endless rage | |
| Withering the soul; a minute seemed an age. | |
| He clutched and hacked at ropes, at rags of sail, | 55 |
| Thinking that comfort was a fairy-tale | |
| |
| Told long ago—long, long ago—long since | |
| Heard of in other lives—imagined, dreamed— | |
| There where the basest beggar was a prince. | |
| To him in torment where the tempest screamed, | 60 |
| Comfort and warmth and ease no longer seemed | |
| Things that a man could know; soul, body, brain, | |
| Knew nothing but the wind, the cold, the pain. | |
| |
