Stokin' and other verses

Lawson, Will, Gordon & Gotch, Wellington, N.Z., 1908

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The original publication details are as follows:

Title: Stokin' and other verses

Author: Lawson, Will

Published: Gordon & Gotch, Wellington, N.Z., 1908

STOKIN'

AND

OTHER VERSES

BY WILL LAWSON

(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED)

WELLINGTON, N.Z.

1908

GORDON & GOTCH

Auckland, Christchurch, Dunedin, Melbourne

Sydney, Brisbane, Perth,

London.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

My thanks for permission to reprint are due to the Editor and proprietors of the Bulletin, in which journal many of these verses originally appeared ; and I have to acknowledge a like courtesy on the part of the Editors and proprietors of the Lone Hand, Bodkfellov. ?, Steele Rudd’s Magazine, and the New Zealand Mail. Some of the verses now published have already appeared in book form under the titles The Red West Road and Between the Lights, both of which volumes are now out of print, and are superseded by this present volume.

WILL LAWSON.

Wellington, N.Z.

1908.

CONTENTS

PAGE

DEDICATION 7

STOKIN’ 9

THE HUNTERS 12

THE BELLS OF THE SHIPS AT ANCHOR 16

COASTING 18

DAWN 22

THE END OF DAY 24

FORCED DRAUGHT 26

THE HEARTS AT SEA 30

A WOMAN’S SONG 33

THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN 35

THE LAST POST 37

THREE KINGS OF DEATH 38

TRIMMIN' COAL 40

SEARCH-LIGHTS 43

HALF-SPEED 45

TROOPERS 48

LADIES IN THE ENGINE-ROOM 50

THE FORTY-FOURS 52

ON THE HILL 54

THE WHITE PATROL 57

THE SHUNTER 59

THE CRUISER 60

HEARTS ASTERN 62

SENTRY-GO 64

THE MAILS 67

A-ROLLIN’ TO THE HORN 70

OCEAN’S OWN 7 2

CAVALRY 74

CONTENTS —continued

PAGE

WHEN THE GUNS GO INTO BATTLE 77

THE SISTERS 80

WINE AND ROSES 82

THE NIGHT WE BEAT THE “WARRIMOO” 83

THE WOMEN 86

AVON RIVER 87

FIRING ON THE MAIL 89

THE CATTLE-BOATS 92

BRINGING THE GUNS AWAY 94

THE OLD BULL 96

NIGHT-WAVES 98

THE BIG BULL-YANK 101

THE OFFICER’S WIFE 103

THE CABLE SHIP 105

PENCARROW LIGHT 107

THE NIGHT RELIEF 109

THE FLEET 111

GREASIN’ 113

SHELLING PEAS 116

THE DESTROYER 118

A SONG OF WIND 120

YANKEE BILL 1 2 2

BEFORE WE GO 123

STOKIN’

AND OTHER STORIES

TO MY WIFE

Allifor a woman’s sake.

The strong men are so strong—

Yet there are hearts that break

When the night is dark and long

In every dream you dream,

May the laughter all come true,

After the sunset’s gleam,

I’ll light white stars for you.

WILL LAWSON

STOKIN’

AND OTHER VERSES

STOKIN

STOWED deep below her load-line—ten feet to twentyfive—

We face the glarin’ dazzle and make good steam to drive.

Keepin’ the gauges steady at near two hundred pound,

With scorchin’ heat before us, and scorchin’ steel all round.

And when an air-shaft’s loafin’ instead of suckin’ air,

We sneak on deck to fix it, then sling in coal and swear,

To the scrape, scrape, scrape of the shovels,

And the snarlin', rollin' rattle of the coal.

God has made some men to starve ashore in hovels

And us to sweat our lives out in this hole.

You praise your gallant skipper, and skilful engineers;

The A.B. is a hero who squints one eye and steers;

The ladies like the moonlight and officers to chaff;

They haven’t any tickets on us, the stoke-’ole staff,

Who keep the boilers hummin’ and funnel-flues a-roar,

With blisterin’ steel above us, and on a blisterin’ floor

They’re laughin’ on the main-deck, but I would like to know

If they are ever thinkin’ of men who toil below,

9

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

14

God makes some men’s lives easy, and others are but slaves;

The first gets rich by thinkin’, the last on what they saves.

And berthed above her Plimsoll —ten feet, and mostly more—

The men who live by thinkin’ are dreamin’ of the shore

Or laughin’ in their deck-chairs —they seem to be too proud

To look on us as brothers —the dirty stoke-’ole crowd

Who feed the hungry boilers, that drive the piston-heads.

Settin’ the screws a-tearin’ the ocean into shreds,

To the scrape, scrape, scrape, and the bangin'

Of the swelterin', heavy, rattlin' frirnace-doors;

Which IS best? to loaf and starve or die by hangin

Or sweat and swear a-toilin’ on these floors?

STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

15

To the clank, clank, clank, and the bangin’

And the rattle of the heavy furnace-doors.

Which is best: to loaf and starve or die by hangin',

Or waste your life a-toilin' on these floors?

The steamers from La Plata take staggerin’ cattle ’Ome;

The liner leaves ’em standin’ with splutterin’ screws afoam;

The wool-ships from Port Jackson, Melbourne, and More ton Bay,

The meat-boats from New Zealand are smashin’ clouds of spray;

And down below their load-lines—ten feet to twenty-five

We curse their graspin’ owners, and give ’em steam to drive.

It’s double whacks of win’s’ls when cattle feels it hot

But who cares two dead Chinkies if we are grilled or not?

And it’s thirst, thirst, thirst, so dry and burnin

We want no grub, we only long for drink;

And till we see the pub-lights fade, returnin

We never think to pause or pause to think

There’s men of every natur’, and every sort of breed,

Sent down to make the vapour —the steam that makes the speed;

A canny Tyne-side Dogger is workin’ right o’ me

And, may my eyes be jiggered 1 my left’s a Portugee !

With blunderin’ swing she’s rollin’, there’s ugly swell abeam ;

The draught is singin’ noisy and makin’ tons of steam;

Our forehead-veins are bulgin’, our neck and arm-veins swell.

I wonder what they’re burnin’ if it’s hotter down in hell

They must graft, graft, graft, as we are graftin’ —

Ten times as hard and twice as hard again

But they’ll miss the kick and rumble of the shaftin’,

Which tells us that we labour not in vain .

13

STOKIX' AND OTHER VERSES

Then sudden the great green Hunter

Was racing with gleaming fangs

Under the vessel’s counter

Where the smooth stern overhangs—

Racing with reckless violence,

Panting with grim intent

But she fled with the speed of terror

And the Hunter fell back, spent

While all the other pursuers.

Thinking to see her fall

Lifted their heads in the darkness

In one long hunting call

One leaped with a howl on her transom

And snapped her rail away

Another sprang at her life-boat,

And tossed it over in play

Then the angry, green-lipped Hunter,

Shouting to stand aside,

Tore in her solid bulwarks

A great hole, gaping wide,

Sending her forward faster

Yet following faster too

Where the blaze of high Pencarrow

Brighter and brighter grew

The stars looked down through the storm-wrack

And cried to the rushing wind,

‘ Blow hard, blow hard ! The harbor

To the little ships is kind

Drive her so that the Hunters

Are left in her wake out-paced.”

And the swift wind howled in its hurry

And the little schooner raced,

But the mighty Hunter summoned

His eager pack to his aid

And they raced along with the schooner,

Just raced —and she was afraid.

12

STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

THE HUNTERS.

THEY had stowed the clattering tops’ls And sent the topgear down,

For the sea rolled green and sickly

With foam at each roller’s crown

When faintly down to the south’ard,

Where the clouds hung red and low

The cry of the night-waves echoed,

And a wind began to blow

It bore down on the schooner,

And buried her white lee-rail,

But she spun to her heavy rudder,

And flew from the angry gale;

While, nearer, a fearful wolf-cry,

The van of the Hunters came

Thundering waves of the darkness

Their tossing crests aflame

Leaping high in their clamor,

Bellowing as they raced.

And one green galloping Hunter

The best of the pack outpaced.

The little ship was their quarry

As the speedy leverets do,

She prayed that her heels would save her

From the jaws of the ravenous crew

So over the tumbling water

She staggered and leaped and swung,

Tossing her prow to the heavens

When they would have seized and clung—

Swerving over to starboard,

Shuddering over to port

To distance the cruel Hunters

Who harried her for their sport

STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

IS

4x they stow the clattering topsTs

And send the topgear down,

When the seas roll green and glassy,

The shouted orders drown

, In a long-drawn, terrible wolf-cry

• And the boldest there is dumb,

When, the galloping waves of the darkness,

The harrying Hunters come

19

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

Until, when the blazing beacon

Threw light on the seas and spars,

The great green Hunter lifted

His head to the trembling stars.

And howled; and the smallest Hunter

Howled too in the lust for blood.

They raged till the decks of the schoone

Were all afoam and aflood.

Round and about they tossed her,

Snapping her tangled gear

They tugged at her heavy rudder

Till scarcely her crew could steer

The stars laughed now, for the harbor

Was close ahead o’er the bar;

Then wept, for the big green Hunter

Dragged over her side a spar.

But the waves that stand at the entrance

Guards of the inner seas-

Charged down on the fierce pursuers

That sprang at the schooner’s trees

The pack called loud defiance

“ The quarry is ours,” they cried,

And led by the galloping Hunter

They thrashed at the schooner’s side

Then the Watchmen fell upon them

While the vessel flew beyond

In where the quiet waters

Lay like a glassy pond

The chase fell back from the Watchmen

Fighting in foam and spray-

All save the great green Hunter,

Who thrust them out of his way;

Blown and scarred with battle,

He leaped through their serried ranks

But the Watchmen bore him under

As he charged at the schooner’s flanks.

17

B

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

They call so clear in the darkness,

When the clock-bells wake and cry :

“We saw an Hour creep westward;

In terror we made it fly.”

Ah ! the bells of the ships at anchor

Are braver than all the rest,

For the ocean gave them courage

When she fondled them on her breast

Dong! Ding-dong!

Where the moonbeams

Break and scatter and fly ;

Ding! Dong-ding!

4t midnight

4 great black Hour went by

In silver harness with sable cloak

It sang in its marching, and you awoke

O, bells of the ships at anchor,

A mile from the busy town,

That chime when the dawn comes rosy

And toll when the sun goes down !

There’s the beat of the sea in your music,

And your lonely ringing tells

That the Hours you sturdily challenge

Bring nothing for you, oh, bells !

Dong! Ding-dong!

They answer

When the great clocks crash on high—

Ding! Dong-ding

4 1 daybreak

4 maiden Hour tripped by

In cloth of gold, with eyes of blue,

Did a ripple of laughter waken you?

i 6

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

THE BELLS OF THE SHIPS AT ANCHOR

THE hours march steadily onward, And the town clocks, half-awake

Thunder a clamorous warning

Till the solid clock-towers shake

“ We saw an Hour slink westward,

We shouted, and it slipped by,”

And the bells of the ships at anchor

Quaver a sweet reply :

Dong! Ding-dong!

Where the moonbeams

Scatter before the wind-

Ding! Dong-ding!

At their moorings

With shells and seaweed twined.

We saw the Hour march bravely through

Did the clash of its harness waken you?

When the steamers swing from their moorings

Thrilling with life within.

And swagger out to the ocean

To battle and storm and din,

Their bells may ring in the passing

And, full of a longing keen,

The bells of the ships at anchor

Chime for Hours that have been

Dong! Ding-dong!

There is yearning

And wistfulness in their tones.

Ding! Dong-ding!

How the anchors

Quiver among the stones !

Here’s good luck! May you all win through!

The Hours are racing astern of you

19

STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

But as we thump and lift the spray,

I’ll tell you true and clearly,

1 hat I have been on deck all day—

(Three spells for tucker merely)

So, if you feel secure, sleep on;

And if you don’t, I’m sorry;

Perhaps by morn we’ll all be gone

1 o work a deep-sea quarry

But 1 am here to pull you through

ind find the shoals by bumping;

So, if I shake, you blame the screw —

The darn thing's always jumping

The granite cliffs are hard, I trow,

hid slimy swirls the kelp below,

Oh, few will miss us if we go,

With broken bows a-slumping!

The tally-clerk will soon be quite

The veriest of fables;

He’ll come and haunt us in the night,

A-rapping on the tables.

The bales swing high; the winches scream;

From dawn to dark they’re toiling;

I’d rather sweat and make the steam,

Or risk my neck-bone oiling

Than tally on the wharf all day-

(She only pays one purser).

It’s “ Cram her full to make her pay ! ’

And starve the bridge-hands—curse her !

But gilded cap and buttons mar

The deepness of my sorrow —

(God only knows just where we are —

I’ll work it out to-morrow).

The deep-sea skipper is a king

(A half-a-point more easting!)

Who sleeps the sleep good dinners bring —

(Oh! slumber after feasting!).

i 8

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

COASTING.

THE first-salooners pause to hear The rolling cranks a-thudding,

And ask the watching engineer

How fast their hooker’s scudding

They argue on the latest makes

Of piston-valves and boilers,

What length of watch a stoker takes

And how we pay our oilers.

But up aloft there stands a chap

(Above their notice plainly)

With braid and flags upon his cap

Who steers his ship profanely.

A steamer likes to roll and swing,

A-slewing round and veering,

But she is not a living thing.

And takes a bit of steering

ind I am here to see it done —

(Port —Port a bit and meet her!)

Oh! mate-a-coasting isn’t fun;

The deep-sea work is sweeter.

We travel up, we travel down,

With dirty decks and funnel brown;

Six ports from here to Auckland Town —

(Oh, Starbo'd, hard, and beat her!)

The look-out on the fo’c’s’le-head,

Whose form the sea-lights soften,

Has had a decent spell in bed,

And gets it pretty often.

His chanting cry, “ Eight bells, all’s well,

Lights burning clear and brightly ! ”

Cheers travelers more than tongue can tell,

And does so wrong or rightly

2 I

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

But they had rest in port to-day,

And I was here—on duty

So, if you feel secure, sleep well;

If not, I’m full of sorrow;

(The channel’s dredged from here to hell

We might be there to-morrow).

But while she’s coaled by sweaty gnomes,

I’ll do my best to beckon

The hand of Death from landsmen’s homes,

And from my own, I reckon.

For I am here to get you there;

(Port —Port a bit and meet her!)

And if my singing makes you swear

The angels sing much sweeter

We travel on with funnel brown,

And sleepy lashes drooping down,

Six ports from here to Auckland town —

(Port, HARD, my lad, and beat her!)

20

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

The deep-sea mate has lots of room

In which to swing and roll and boom;

1 he coast it is the sailor’s tomb,

With white wave-plumes a-yeasting.

The coaster’s mate becomes a wreck;

For, if you ever lose him,

You’ll always find him up on deck

With something to amuse him

It’s winches and the freight by day

And in the dark the starlight

Seems sweeter to him than the play

Of tongues around the bar-light

But some dark night his brain will go,

And you’ll go too, careering

1 hrough fog and shoal, and never know

You’ve got a madman steering !

You’re snoring snugly all a-bed ;

He'll get a snooze on Sunday;

So—“ What’s her speed? ” and “ How’s her head? ”

And let’s see —this is Monday

The man-of-war she takes no freight

I guess I’ll join the Navy,

And have a red marine to wait

Upon me like a slavey.

4 draught of wine I’d like to take

And go to sleep and never wake

Until the hand of Jones I shake

His Christian name is Davy.

The song the engines roar is clear

And seems to tell of battle,

With horse to horse, and spear to Spear,

And harness-greaves a-rattle.

And all night long they’ll slam away,

A-drip with oil, and sooty—

2 3

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

Oh ! slowly across the water,

Afraid of the Night, y«t proud

With courage the Day has taught her

Dawn comes; and the corsair crowd

Slink back where the Night still lingers,

And, mocking them as they flee,

The music of fairy fingers

Floats up from the Eastern sea;

While, laughing their guileless laughter

With hurrying, joyful feet,

The Waves of the Dawn come after,

To jeer at their slow retreat

And lo ! as the pale, grey maiden

Steps fearfully through the dark

A cloud, with the Sun’s light laden

Burns gold, and the Waves cry “ Hark !

He cometh ! ” The Dawn-Maid blushes

To know that her love is near

Then out of the sea there rushes

The Sun, and the Day is here,

To redden with hot caresses

The lips of the maid, so white,

Who, whispering soft, confesses

Her terrors of frowning Night

4s laughing Day bends to hold her,

To ride at his saddle-how ,

In long ranks, shoulder to shoulder

Retreating the Night-Waves go.

They march to the dull West’s distance

Well knowing that all in vain

4re mutterings and resistance

To-night , they will charge again.

27

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

DAWN.

/] LL night in the ports and offing The hosts of the Night-Waves tramp

To thunderous music, scoffing

At every harbor-lamp;

So fierce that no star dares brighten

The coast and the stormy gloom,

And only the Night-Waves whiten

The cliffs, as they charge and boom

All night have the stars been hiding

But now to the East afar

The squadrons of seas are riding

A-tilt at the Morning Star,

That lights with a mellow lustre

The road that the Dawn will take;

And see how they march and muster !

And see how they swing and break,

And strive with their shields and sabres

To darken the Star’s clear light

A-sweat with their frantic labors,

The foam on their steel flecks white !

And as, in their blind wrath leaping

They threaten the fearless Star,

The stars of the night are peeping

Pale-faced, as they always are-

To see on the East’s horizon,

As though by the mist-folk drawn,

The glow of the morning skies on

Her tresses —the grey-eyed Dawn !

And swiftly the warlike clangor

Is stilled, and the waves, afraid,

Forget in their fear their anger,

And shrink from the pearl-robed maid

2 5

STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

Faint grew the Day and his weary hosts,

Fighting to reach the Dawn;

And Night held sway on the silent coasts

On river, and hill, and lawn.

One by one Day’s staunch braves died,

Till he marched West alone,

Dying, swaying from side to side,

Mid foes who had hearts of stone

Then burned a Star in the murky sky

White as the Day it shone

And the spent king lifted his crown on high

And his sword with its brightness gone

He spoke to the Star : “ The hosts of Nigh

Are stronger than I; take these,

You will meet the Sun at the fringe of light

In the mists of the morning seas.

“ Say to him that another Day

Has sent him a sword and crown

For the hosts of the darkness held the way

And my wounds have borne me down.’

The brave Day died; and fast and far

The Star through the darkness whirled

For it was the brilliant Morning Star

That carries the light of the world.

A new Day called to his eager hosts

In glittering ranks up-drawn,

And marched away to the eastern coasts,

In the steps of his queen, the Dawn.

He carried the sword of the Day that died

The soft clouds saw him pass ;

Going to death they watched him ride

In armor of brittle glass.

29

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

THE END OF DAY.

THE bright Day gathered his lazy hosts When he saw the hordes of Night

Mustering fast on the eastern coasts,

To threaten each beacon light

Black and fierce was the Night’s array

While the Day’s gay army seemed

Naught but laughter and bright display

In harness of glass that gleamed,

The white Day spoke to his careless men

And they gathered on either side;

And there was a testing of sword blades then,

Till the keen steel sang and cried.

And dark and scowling the sullen Night

Came forward to meet his foe,

Never looking to left or right

Sinister, evil and. slow

The brave Day laughed in the face of Night

And smote with his sword swung high

And every stroke was a beam of light

That dazzled the Night’s reply

And slowly, driving the swarthy ranks

Ever to right and left,

The Day host marched in a firm phalanx

Down a path by their good swords cleft

The strong Day sang as he led them on,

Though his blood the red path dyed.

Quoth he : “ March on till we reach the Sun,’

And they fought and bled at his side;

For the swords of the Night found many vent

In their armor of brittle glass,

Yet the blades of the Day made recompense,

And they had to let him pass

27

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

She has no time to stagger,

Nor yet to lift or swing;

She gaily mocks the lagger

And hears her engines ring

And far and thick behind her

Her inky smoke-train lies

Though smashin’ rollers blind her

She laughs and scorns to rise

Proud in a speed that steadies,

Through sea and night she sails.

And where the tide-rip eddies

The spray will kiss her rails.

Her mast-head vane’s a-quiver,

Her funnels blisterin’ grey

The big fish hear her cornin’ —

With mad propellers strummin

4 sea-song —up the bay

And by the town-lit river.

Well steamed, indeed! ” they’ll say

There goes a bearin’ gratin

A journal’s just a-squeal—

But every greaser’s waitin

And oil is good for steel

When seas are vainly tryin’

To teach her how to climb—

Or down with engines flyin’—

She nearly raced that time !

Again she lifts, and chokin’

Her screws are drivin’ dull —

And now she races, smokin’,

To test her strainin’ hull

Oh ! hear the “ Second ” curse her

(She seems to understand)

But he has got to nurse her —

Her throttle’s in his hand.

26

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

FORCED DRAUGHT.

THE tailrods leap to lift her A-singin’ as they rise,

And turnin’ swift and swifter

The smooth, white shaftin’ flies.

The great cranks sink to shove her

And as they sink they vow

1 hat though they drive they love her

From heel to chatterin’ bow

So set the fire-doors bangin’ !

And, trimmers, give us coal

To keep our shovels clangin

And shaftin’ all a-roll !

By roar of flue and furnace

And throttle-valves a-gape

We’ll shew the Craft who’d turn us

What speed she’ll have to shape

With air-shafts full and suckin’,

And ventilators slammed.

With every crank-pin throwin’

4 spray of oil, and glowin' ,

And doors shut tight and jambed

WeTl set the good screws buckin

And stoke like sinners damned.

“ More steam ! ” the “ Chief ” is callin

For though she’s movin’ fine,

From “ eighteen full ” she’s fallen

To “ seventeen point nine.”

More steam ! I bet she’s divin’

Clean through the sloppy swells,

She’s that dead set on drivin

She thinks of nothin’ else.

STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

32

It’s good to hear the thunder

And moanin’ of the steel;

But oh ! to toil down under

It teaches men to feel.

There ain’t no night-winds coolin

Our burnin’ lips and brows;

We hear no water foolin

And playin’ round her bows.

It’s steamy heat and labor,

And sweaty, oily reek,

And cursin’ with your neighbor,

And faintin’ if you’re weak.

Yet though we fiercely cursed her

Her god-like song was wild;

And as we toiled we loved her,

And every rod that shoved her

To fight the seas up-piled;

And, oh! the “ Second ” nursed he,

4s though she were his child!

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STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

He’ll nurse her when she scatters

The water in her track;

He’ll check her when she’s divin’

And liftin’ —set her drivin’

With thrust-blocks all a-rack

He damns her when she chatters,

And hears her answer hack.

The cranks roll fast and flashin’,

And mighty-thewed as gods,

A-thunder all and crashin’,

Oh ! hear the laborin’ rods !

And through the tunnel moanin

The gleamin’ shaftin’ spins.

And every column’s groanin

And reck’nin’ up our sins.

The gauges jump and twinkle —

It’s eighteen full she’s done

But hear the bridge-bell tinkle—

‘ Half-speed? ” We ain’t begun

‘ Half-speed 1 ” and feel her ridin’

Across the river-bar

With tail-rods loose and slidin’

And cross-head-guides a-jar

Ind up the steepin’ river

We’ll go at easy steam

With big screws gently spoonin’,

ind engines softly croonin

4 sea-tune to the stream

That dreams with breast a-quiver

4 lover’s peaceful dream

Oh ! when the mottled water

Is boilin’ angry aft,

Where two wild screws have caught her

A-swirl with extra draught,

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

3 1

Down the river with swinging oars

Came boats by singers rowed-

Voices echoed along the shores;

Melody ebbed and flowed

As the great sea ebbs and flows with the tid

Scornful of Time and his hours-

Knowing only the world is wide

And those who seek, find flowers,

As the sea-stained ship came tramping in

The boats moved, skimming, near,

And like a virtue mourning sin,

A girl’s voice sounded clear.-

Thump ! Thump ! Thump 1 The engines swung

As though to beat the time

Ah ! sweet was the tune by the singer sung

To the words of a quaint old rhyme

And then McMlnn of the “ Binnacle Lamp ”

Spoke thus, “ Shut off your steam.”

It isn’t often a cargo tramp

Goes drifting on Lethe’s stream.”

Hissing softly, the engines ceased

Their dirge for the dead ships gone

And like a toiling soul released,

The old ship drifted on.

The boats drew near; the steamer’s crew

Six weeks from the port of Perth

Came to the rail for a closer view

Of the beauty that is of earth,

From the weary war of the ocean wide

Where Time is the passing of hours,

They heard, out there on the jewelled tide

Music that sang of flowers.

Said Jock McMinn to his second, “ Joe

Dead slow ahead ! Maybe

They’ll sing a song we used to know

Before we went to sea.”

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THE HEARTS AT SEA.

FOR every liner safe in port There are twenty tramps at sea

Of every size and every sort

Of chiefly low degree

The “ Binnacle Lamp ”

Was a deep-sea tramp

And a crazy ship was she

Her engines broke down twice a day,

And when they chose to go

Each gland had a snowy, steamy spray

That blew as the bull-whales blow

And every rod was pitted deep

With marks of her toilsome years.

At every stroke she’d sob and weep—

Her bilge held mostly tears

She’d strip the rings of a piston-head

With an awful shriek of pain

And wallow for hours, a monster dead,

Till they fixed her up again

With a set of old rings, all thin and worn

That clattered as they swung.

The “ Binnacle Lamp ” was a thing of scorn

On the cruel waters flung

She made the river-mouth at night

When the moon through silver clouds

Flashed reconnoitring beams of light

On funnel and guys and shrouds.

Over the bar she lunged and rolled,

Her deep decks all a-swim

The bell on her fo’c’s’le harshly tolled

And her side-lights flickered dim.

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A WOMAN'S SONG.

A POET sang one song, And with its pulsing fire

Awoke my woman’s passions strong,

And quickened my desire,

Till, like a moaning wire

That echoes music from a gonj

My soul replied to his, aflame

With love that will not die

He kissed me —ah ! —and spoke my name

And then —he passed me by

(His eyes were on the sky),

A horseman rode out West

And left me all alone;

He sang the song my heart loved best,

But oh ! my heart was cold as stone,

Fearing the dangers guessed and known

So that I could not rest.

I dreamed, I dreamed he would return,

And, at the eventide,

When glowing embers smoke and burn,

Would tell me of his ride

(I listening close beside).

A sailor sailed away

Into the rising sun

To fight through storm and starry spray

A battle never lost nor won,

I prayed to God for one life —one ;

I thought God’s angels heard me pray

That he would come to me again

And lift his eyes a-shine.

The ships are full of gallant men

Yet there were none like mine

(Ah, me ! His eyes a-shine !)

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The lighthouse flashed its welcome far;

The trees loomed darkly near

And the rods, with scarce a jerk or jar,

Obeyed their engineer

A mandolin in a girl’s frail hands

Strummed tunefully awhile

It seemed to tell of tropic lands

Where the blooms of summer smile

And then in the hearts of the listening men

An old, old measure throbbed

‘‘Ah, will ye no come back again?

“ We trusted you,” it sobbed.

‘We trusted you 1 We trusted you 1 ”

Soft sang the dreaming throws.

Commingling with the music true,

Their beats were stabbing blows.

And tho’ these men who work the ships

Oft love and sail away,

Perchance they dreamed of quivering lips

And hearts that wait and pray

Twas only a voice and a mandolin

In the shimmer of the moon,

And Jock McMinn was a man of sin

Without much ear for tune

Yet his eyes were wet when he went below,

And he scarcely seemed to care

That the old glands blew as the bull-whales blov

And a valve was shrieking there

For every heart at peace ashore

There are twenty sad at sea—

When the years that mattered have gone before

And there’s naught in the years to be

Save thrashing a tramp

Like the “ Binnacle Lamp ”

Through God’s implacable sea.

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THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN.

I A WOKE to a sound that seemed To have died away in the rain.

I told myself I had dreamed,

And had turned to slumber again

When an engine-whistle blew,

Faint as an infant’s cry,

And I waited, as sleepers do,

To hear the train rush by

A moan as of wind in trees

Sullenly swathed the gloom

Merging by slow degrees

Into a hollow Boom!

As down the line she swept,

She sent a call through the dark

And the drowsing echoes leapt

To life and shouted “ Hark! ’

Nearer she came a-roar,

Her headlight’s wicked glare

Lighting the road before

With hard, insistent stare

Our little cottage rocked

In the cataclysmic roll

Of harsh sounds interlocked

In one discordant whole

Clatter! and Clash! and Clang!

Rolling and thudding blows,

Steel on iron rang

Like meeting of galloping foes.

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STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

My husband counts his gold

Amid the noise of streets.

His back is bent, his face is old;

Forgetting Life holds many sweets

He counts in cash Life’s passion beats,

His hand in mine lies cold,

He speaks no soft love-words to me

Words my heart pines for, whispered low

And yet it matters not, you see,

Because my heart broke long ago-

(The song the poet sang, you know).

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THE LAST POST.

THE tall guards paced with arms reversed, Slow, to the strains of the March in “ Saul

It seemed that Death had done his worst

That a heavier blow could never fall

There was sorrow keen in the captain’s tone

As he gave an order that bade them stand

With rifle muzzles dropped to the stones,

And wild grief wailed from the sobbing band.

The six gun-horses moved fretfully,

Their drivers’ faces were set and grim.

The gun-wheels turned so quietly,

And a Union Jack lay over him

With a muffled jingle of chains and pins

The gun drew up at the waiting grave

And the chaplain prayed for a soldier’s sin:

As the earth took back the dust it gave.

Surely a woman was waiting then,

Somewhere —waiting for his true eyes

To come and laugh into hers again—

Death lakes ever the richest prize.

Each man counted him good to know,

From captain down to the last recruit;

But Death came swift when the lights were low,

Before he’d ever a chance to shoot

The tall guards lifted their rifles high,

And fired three volleys, while thin and shrill

The “ Last Post ” quavered its sweet reply

To the echoes that rolled from the wakened hill

Higher and sweeter, each throbbing note

Full of yearning and sad farewell;

It took a message from each dumb throat

Into the land where the dead men dwell.

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All the world seemed filled

By sound that silenced the rain

Thunderous sounds that thrilled,

And, circling, crashed again

A child awoke and sobbed

In terror of the sound,

As the long train leaped and throbbed,

Shaking the solid ground

Again the whistle blew,

Warning the world a-dream

The midnight train was due

Goliath of steel and steam.

The tail-lights passed, and we heard

Tap-tap! on the distant rail;

Afar a lonely bird

Sent through the night a wail.

The weather outside was wild,

Heavy with wind and rain,

And the mother soothed her child,

“ It was only the midnight train.’

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The harsh bells thrill

Their warning shrill.

And the great rods grip the throws-

Grip them and send them blundering bad-

Blundering back, thundering back,

With terrible Titan blows.

“ Hard astern I ”

I'he white suds churn

And the rocks are under her nose.

She’s moving back

To the deep, blue track

From the Horror there in the gloom,

Where the grisly Kings of Death await

With eager bated breath await

For a ship to come to her doom —

Oh ! pray to God

That every rod

Is sound in her engine-room.

When you miss the white

Of Maria Light,

And the red on Columbia Shoal,

And the long, lean seas go tramping in

Tramping in,

Stamping in,

To meet the White Patrol;

Put her about,

And take her out,

Lest the Three Kings take their toll.

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THREE KINGS OF DEATH.

Beyond the white Of Maria Light

And the red on Columbia Shoal,

Where the long, clean seas come stamping in

Stamping in,

Tramping in,

I *■*> With slow resistless roll—

Leagues from land,

The Three Kings stand

And levy deep-sea toll.

There’s naught to mark

Their three peaks stark

There’s never a sign to tell

That a strong tide’s setting on to them

And many a good ship’s gone to them

For want of light or bell.

When the fog comes down

Their coastlines drown

Till there’s only the lurching swell

In the quivering gloom

Of the engine-room

Eyes stare at the telegraph

“ Dead slow ahead ! ” and she’s sweeping in

Sweeping in, creeping in,

Mist-dews on funnel and gaff

From the first saloon

Comes a comic tune

And a woman’s nervous laugh.

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STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

When He’d moulded it and shaped it,

Till it seemed a perfect thing,

He gave every man a label,

From the pauper to the king

And I guess the lights were dimmer

When He sorted out a soul,

And put it in a trimmer

And said, “ You trim the coal.’

For the stoker gets the down-draught,

And the greasers have the fan,

But the bunkers

(Steamer’s bunkers)

Ain’t no place to put a man.

There’s the darkness that j'ou see there

And the darkness that you feel,

And the everlastin’ grindin’

Of the coal beneath your heel.

Up on deck the men and women

Laugh to feel her easy roll—

They don’t know the way we’re trimmin

At the cruel, slidin’ coal.

When the peons coal at Rio.

They form lines and pass the coals

For the bunkers

(Steamer’s bunkers)

Up in little wooden bowls.

1 hey are dirty, lazy beggars,

And are worth a bob a day

But we wheel our coal in barrows

When the bunker’s far away

And such bunkers, when we’re trimmin’

With our sweatin’ shoulders bare,

Ain’t no place to sing a hymn in,

Or to offer up a prayer.

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TRIMMIN' COAL.

WE are chaps whose lights are hidden By the coal-dust and the gloom

Of the bunkers

(Steamer’s bunkers)

Near the hummin’ engine-room.

You can hear the stokers toilin

And the greasers as they go

To the testin’ and the oilin’

Of the rods that swing and throw

But few men e’er see the glimmer

In the blackness of the coal

Of the slush-light of the trimmer

As it gutters to her roll,

There’s a thousand tons o’ Westport

To be shifted to the fires

From the bunkers

(Steamer’s bunkers).

And that’s when a man perspires.

When the bulkhead plates are sweatin

And the air is foul and thick,

And the engineers are callin’

Out for coal, “ And bring it quick !

Makes you wish you were a-swimmin

In the ice around the Pole

’Stead of trimmin’, trimmin’, trimmin

At the steamer’s bunker coal.

When God made the world, I reckon,

He just mixed it in a pot,

Dark as bunkers

(Steamer’s bunkers)

Also just about as hot

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

43

SEARCH-LIGHTS.

WE guide the search-lights over the water, Where the horses white

Spring into the light,

And spur away, with their long manes flying,

Into the night;

Wheeling and sweeping

The arc-lights blaze,

Crossing and creeping,

In devious ways ;

Out past the Head and away to the south’ard

And never a cruiser there—

Yet they’re moving in with their lights all smothered

And our watchword is “ Beware 1 ”

They are creeping in though we cannot see them—-

They are coming in

With their screws a-spin,

And the search-lights strain every nerve to find them

Blazing broadly and pointing thin,

Gleaming and crossing,

They pry and feel,

Where the seas are tossing

They swing and wheel.

They pick up a coaster and stare and follow

Silvering funnel and spar;

They flicker and pause, where the black-lish wallow,

And dazzle each blinded star.

Torpedo boats with their lights all darkened

Are lurking round.

Where the solid ground

Is scarce a fathom beneath the water.

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STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

I have pondered in a silence

That has lasted forty years,

Why the bunkers

(Steamer’s bunkers)

Have such stuffy atmospheres.

There’s the wind and sun from heaven

Wastin’ by the blessed yard,

And we are in the bunkers

Of a steamer, breathin’ hard.

Guess the molly-hawks a-skimmin

Would be tickled if they knew

We were in the coal-dust trimmin’

When the skies are clear and blue

When God made the world, I reckon

That He made it really well

’Cept the bunkers

(Steamer’s bunkers),

And they were made in hell.

To the East and West He sent us

To a job He thought would fit

Said He, “ You will fail or prosper

Just according to your grit.”

Yet the fate of none was grimmer

When He took a poet’s soul

And put it in a trimmer,

And said, “ You trim the coal ! ”

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HALF-SPEED.

WE raced her past the Brothers, And thrashed her through the Straits, a i ...u.— 'i,j

And where the wild rip smothers,

The high speed thrilled her plates;

But now the moon lifts blazing,

And East and far away

Some unseen hands are raising

Night’s curtain, sombre grey

The full moon’s beams have made us

A dream-ship in a dream,

And in a sheen arrayed u

So make the speed “ Half steam !

And with the tail-rods purring

A slow, soft, soothing tune,

We’ll creep, for fear of blurring

These dream-seas of the moon.

ld er prow will scarcely chatter,

So quietly we’ll go-

For Time and Tide don’t matter

When Memory’s breezes blow

And what is all the glory

Of two good screws hard-pressed,

When dream-tongues tell a story

That two hearts only guessed?

So rhythmical and measured

The booming cranks will swing,

Their strokes will all be treasured

Because of thoughts they bring.

Oh! can this life be bitter,

And must a strong man die,

When God can light that glitter

That shivers sea and sky?

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

49

Like well-trained hounds

Destroyers are waiting

We know not where

The lights, gyrating,

Glimmer and stare;

And nothing is seen but rolling water

And a fishing boat off-shore.

The lights leap far, and the lights blaze shortf

And flicker and point and soar

We send our search-light over the water

Where the horses white

Prance into the light

And spin away with the bit-foam flying

Into the night

Wheeling and sweeping

The arc-lights blaze,

Crossing and sweeping

In silver ways.

Out past the light-house, away to the south’ard

And never a cruiser there;

But they’re lurking round with their lights all smothered,

And our watchword is “ Beware ! ”

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1 hey throb ! they labor quickly !

Now feel her leap to fight

South, where the storm-stars sickly

Gleam white through cloud-clad night !

And with the roll and rattle,

And lift and roar of steel,

There comes that love of battle

That all strong men should feel

Vet, through the storm seas swinging

Those dream-seas gold and grev

. . . , & Are singing, always singing,

Old songs of far away,

Whose tunes are almost holy;

And ah I those rods that swing

So steadily and slowly,

W hat thoughts and dreams they bring !

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STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

From truck to ports a-flashing

Its radiance limns in light

Old spars stained dark with thrashin

Through driving storms of night

The mast-head light burns dimmer

In very shame, it seems,

To show so faint a glimmer

Beneath the great moon’s beams

Along her sides the water

Is kissing battle-scars,

And where her wake breaks shorter

It flashes myriad stars;

A fragrant sea-wind marches

To keep a trysting sweet,

Down where the heavens’ arches

And God’s fair ocean meet

And soft the smoke floats drifting

While, aft, the lazy screws

Are turning slow and lifting

Bright ripples as they muse —■

Full, perfect, laughing ripples,

Their eyes with silver lined.

And yet, some men are cripples,

And, God, some men are blind!

The cloud-haze spreads and thickens

To cloak the golden moon,

And now the south-wind quickens

Its pace, and roars a tunc

Of night, and black seas pouring

On fo’c’s’le-heads a-scream;

So set the good screws snoring,

Oh ! ring them on “ Full steam.’’

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STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

Closed stubbornly

They seemed to me

Like bloodhounds when the hand that grip

Their straining leashes slacks and slips;

When one mad hound his mates outstrips,

And they are racing, free.

I saw the King’s tried troopers wheel

Without a sound —

They made no sound

Save that of horse-hoofs, shod with steel

On soaking ground.

And in the rainy evening dim

I watched them go

Relentless, slow

So sinister they seemed, these grim

Hard, lynx-eyed men of stalwart limb;

And all my pity was for him—

The man they hunted so

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STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

TROOPERS.

ISAW the mounted troopers pass Without a sound—

They made no sound

Save that of horse-hoofs on the grass

And sodden ground ;

Or jingling bit-bars tossed to ring

In quick surprise

Oh, God, their eyes !

As they rode tracking out this thing

This man, whose capture wealth would bring

(I heard the river sob and sing

A dirge to sullen skies.)

And as I watched, I saw one drop

Without a sound-

He made no sound-

And, signing, bid his comrades stop

As he bent, circling round,

To find the track —grass bent to some

Unmated stem.

I hated them

Because they rode like mutes, all dumb,

No jangling scabbards —tapping drum—

They rode that none might hear them come

Like harnessed men of Khem.

Each man there sat his horse right well

Without a sound-

They made no sound ;

And each man’s eyes blazed fires of hell

As they roved round ;

Such eager eyes and hard-set lip;

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Wish the “ chief ” would tell ’em other

Yarns about the flamin’ things—

Tell ’em what we got to hang to

When we’re oilin’ and she swings—

How it’s lovely in the tunnel

When the shaftin’ bends and springs.

Never mind ! They’re only women !

Very likely good ’uns too —

And they’ll never rightly savvy

What us hot-house blossoms do-

Real good women —proper women—

Much too good for me and you

“ Yes, sir ! Yes’m ! them’s the boilers—

Double-ended boilers, mum.

When we’re goin’? Yes, it’s sultry

Yes, at times we do sweat some

Have to stoop here —them’s the bunkers;

Through here’s where the trimmers come

“ No, miss ! No ! it never hurts us—

Easy sort of work for men.

(Seems to want to ask me questions)

Men get scalded? now and then.

Wouldn’t do for you to try it

Might fee! faint-like, now’n’ again.”

Tired of lookin’ at the boilers,

They stepped dainty through the door,

And I hear the shoes a-clickin’

On the soundin’ iron floor,

And their patent packin’ swishin’—

Only hope there ain’t no more !

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LADIES IN THE ENGINE-ROOM.

LET’S stand back here by the boilersWatch ’em through the open door

Trippin’ round with shoe-heels tappin’

On the noisy, iron floor

(Mine’s the small ’un with the giggle,

Pointin’ like a semyphore.)

See the “ Chief,” all teeth and whiskers,

Showin’ ’em the way she goes.

(What about that one that’s solemn,

With the cunnin’-lookin’ nose?)

Hear their packin’ swishin’! swishin’!

What a blessed lot of clothes !

Shut up, Kid, yer breezy swearin’ —

Where ye bin? Be like a tomb.

Stand in here between the boilers—

They can’t see us in the gloom.

’Tisn’t every day there’s ladies

Strollin’ round our engine-room

Now, they’re goin’ down the tunnel.

(Mine’s the little ’un as yet

Makes good steamin’, pretty motion ;

Keeps her coal bill down, I bet.)

Ain’t the chaperong a monster?

She’d drive through it—drippin’ wet

Now they’ve stopped, and Mac is tellin

How the Yank was killed last year

When his pants caught in the shaftin’,

Kind o’ cloth that wouldn’t tear

Yankee Bill, he went to glorv—

— , c J That was Yankee Bill’s affair.

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53

And down where the Chathams drowse

In a sea of dazzling blue,

There’s a ship with shattered bows

And stout ribs broken through

Nobody saw her fly

Like a stag from the din of wars;

Nobody heard her sailors cry

As they strove to veer in the billows high

Nobody saw them choke and die,

Save God—and the Forty-Fours.

And the racing clipper ships,

With canvas towering high

Watch for the lick of the lips

That marks where the hard fangs lie

A cry from the fo’c’s’le-head !

And a staggering sea that pours !

And what does it matter if hearts new-wed

Cry out for the women’s tears unshed,

When the lights are sinking—the green and red —-

Out on the Forty-Fours?

A wife in a Cornish town

Looks out on the deep-sea track,

Where the ships pass up and down,

For a ship that never comes back ;

And down where the Chathams drowse,

In a sea of dazzling blue,

There’s a ship with shattered bows

And stout ribs broken through

Nobody saw her fly

Like a stag from the din of wars;

Nobody heard her sailors cry

As they strove to veer in the billows high

Nobody saw them choke and die,

Save God —and the Forty-Fours

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

S2

THE FORTY-FOURS.

(There are forty-four submerged rocks off Chatham Islands, where the “Loch Long” went down.)

Y 'HEY lurk, awash in the swell, With cruel lips afoam,

And never a swinging bell

To steady the good ships home

No light-house ivinks in the gloom

When the mad sou- caster roar

You may drive her blind through the flying spume

With thunder of rods in the engine-room;

And never an eye will mark your doom

Out on the Forty-Fours!

There where The Sisters stand

Seeming to say “ Beware ! ’

This black-browed w'recker band

Crouches within its lair;

And the racing clipper ships,

With canvas totvering high.

Watch for the lick of the lip?

That marks where the hard fangs lie.

A cry from the fo’c’s'le-head !

And a staggering sea that pours !

And what does it ijiatter if hearts new-wed

Cry out for the women’s tears unshed,

When the lights are sinking—the green and red—

Out on the Forty-Fours?

A wife in a Cornish town

Looks out on the deep-sea track,

Where the ships pass up and down,

For a ship that never comes back;

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

55

A-swealing up the Paikok

Or on the Crojlon Hill,

A-fretting up the Paikok

Come on and have your fdl.

A-squinting at the gauges

And sanding when she rages,

With all her drivers humming

And us all standing still.

The driver’s eyes are searching

The track ahead for flies —

He likes to see them perching—

You’ll see it in his e)'es.

A most unholy riot

Is coming from her stack—

Big Thirteen’s off her diet,

And spitting cinders back.

She says she don’t like Brunner,

She wants some Coalbrookdale—

I onty hope they run her

To-morrow, on the mail,

And chase her up the Paikok

On a thirty-waggon train,

And race her up the Paikok

And thrash her down again,

And school her in her steaming

Until she’s fairly screaming,

Then blow her up for tuppence

And chuck her in a drain.

If I was up in Heaven,

And feeling pretty well,

I’d say, “ Give me Eleven

To fire on for a spell.”

If I’d a touch of liver

And needed exercise

I’d cross the flowing river

That flows by Paradise,

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ON THE HILL.

THE steamer stoker curses Because an air-shaft’s wrong.

They fit him into verses,

And turn him into song.

The greaser reads a sermon

In every swinging throw

The trimmers growl, a-squirmin

In bunkers hot and low.

They’re all for ever fretting,

Because they’re treated ill.

I’d like to see ’em sweating—

A-firing on the hill

Stoking on the Paikok,

With thirty waggons on.

Choking in the Paikok,

When air and daylight’s gone

And hear the roaring funnel

A-thrashing in the tunnel,

A-firing on the Paikok,

With just your trousers on.

The Tank can close her winders

And keep some smoke outside,

But she’s as hot as cinders,

And so we are half-fried

Five tunnels close together,

And with the wind behind,

Leave you in doubt’s to whether

You're dead or only blind.

So all you steamer fellows

VVho’d like to change your jobs,

Come where the Bull-Vank bellows

And where the Big Tank sobs,

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THE WHITE PATROL.

THEIR white line marks the bar From the headland to the spit,

And they bear the shock and jar,

Of waves that come from far

To batter and beat on it

They keep the clamoring seas

Out of the quiet port,

Shouldering them with a careless ease,

Pleased with the giant sport

And the restless, clattering channel-bell

Cries to the ships

With iron lips,

“ Well, all’s well.”

Rung by the pulse of the watchmen white

Who pace so warily all the night

The harbor lies as still

And clear as a land-locked lake—

Scarcely a ripple athrill

Or a capful of wind to spill

And makes the ripples break

Yet over the bar where the great seas march

There is battle, riot and rout,

There billows charge and topple and arch,

And the watchmen drive them out,

Stemming the rush of the ocean swell,

While the anchored ships

Hear raucous lips

Crying, “ All’s well.”

In silver harness they tramp and roll—-

The stalwart, swaggering White Patrol

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And I’d raise sweat instanter

She’s a narrow-gutted fire

But I’d belt her to a canter

Up the hill, and then retire

I’d say, “ We’re on the Paikok

You'd better get along

Hurray! We’re on the Paikok,

And I’m feeling fairly strong;

You’re a pretty brass-hound daisy,

But you’re too damn jat and lazy.”

So I’d hunt her up the Paikok,

And then I’d say “ So-long! ”

And yet if I went oiling,

Or trimming coal at sea,

I’d wish myself back toiling

On Twelve or Number Three;

I’d long to hear them blowing

Their mellow “ double-chime ”

To see their funnels throwing

Volcanoes as they climb;

The general engine verses

Are generally wrong

An engine never curses,

She only sings a song.

A-stamping up the Paikok

With thirty waggons on;

A-tramping up the Paikok

When air and daylight’s gone,

And just the roaring funnel

A-thrashing in the tunnel,

A-singing up the Paikok

With just your trousers on

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THE SHUNTER.

rHE engine-bars are splashed and starr'd— They’ve killed a shunter in the yard.

He never seen how he was struck,

And he died sudden,” someone said.

The driver swore —“ That flamin’ truck

Come on the slant and struck him dead.”

The fireman coughed and growled “ Hard luck 1 ’

As he was carried to the shed

The engine whistles short and low

(His blood is on her “ catcher-bars ”)

We had to let his young wife know

His soul had passed beyond the star;

Where he will hear no engines blow,

Nor listen for the coming cars.

She stared and stared—until he came,

On four men’s shoulders, up the hill.

She sobbed and laughed and called his name,

And shivered when he lay so still —

She had no cruel w'ords of blame

She bore no one of us ill-will.

They’ve washed the rails and sprinkled sand

(Oh 1 hear the mail go roaring on 1)

And he was just a railway hand —

A hidden star that never shone —

And no one seems to understand

Her heart is broken ! He is gone !

The engine-hars are cold and hard —

They’ve killed a shunter in the yard.

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They are the sea police—

These waves of the harbor mouth.

Their vigils never cease—

Striving for order and peace

With the lawless seas from the south

Marching from beach to the headland’s gloom

Giant policemen they,

Sending the seas to hammer and boom

On cliffs that drip with spray

With always their cheerful message to tell

From salt-white lips

To the anxious ships,

“ Well, all’s well.”

A stormy night and a nasty sea

Patrolling the bar so constantly

When there is peace on the deep

And stars in the heaven’s arch,

The White Patrol snatch sleep,

Leaving look-outs to keep

A watch on their ceaseless march —

Scouts who will call at the smallest sign

“ Ho there, sleepers, awake ! ”

And the White Patrol is a steadfast line

When the first long rollers break

Charging the clattering channel-bell,

As it leaps and dips,

To shout to the ships,

“ Well, all’s well.’

And the captains, safe in the inner mole,

Hear the crashing march of the White Patrol

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She had fought where the fight was worst

With decks all splashed and strewn,

W hen the shrill shells struck and burst

In the light of a chill half-moon

The smoke rolled over the sea,

And oh ! she moved so slow,

And oh ! the moaning of agony

From the wounded men below.

Into the port she went

We turned and watched her g&,

With armor shattered and bent

And engines toiling slow.

Yet proud she looked, and grim,

As though she had fought her fight

Out there on the morning’s rim,

Back there in the awful night

Never shall I forget

That sight in the early dawn,

As we lounged in the sea-mist wet,

Before the nets were drawn;

When the broken cruiser came

So slow that she raised no foam,

Tottering, weary, crushed, but game,

Groping her blind way home.

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THE CRUISER.

SHE came at break of day, Her hull against the dawn,

Blundering up the sleeping bay

Before the nets were drawn.

But little we cared for that

The cruiser claimed our eyes—

Her funnels and spars lay flat

And the air was full of cries.

On her bridge the captain stood,

His eyes were staring wide,

Lost in a madman’s mood,

Searching the rosy tide

The smoke from the splintered stacks

Rolled over her decks in clouds.

In her armor were rents and cracks,

In the water dragged her shroud;

We hailed, “ Ahoy ! ahoy 1 ’

But her steersman never turned

She scraped the channel buoy,

And his eyes with madness burned.

Her plates were shattered and bent,

One screw was shot away

Broken and wounded she went —■

Halt and lame, up the bay

A wild face came to the rail,

Just aft of the broken guys;

He did not answer our hail,

Rut we saw the look in his eves —

Terror and weariness,

And the look of a deafened man—

Ah, well 1 we could only guess

This ship has been in the van.

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W e’rc leanin’ our arms on the weather-rail

As the nor’-cast drives her through,

Watchin’ the in-bound Sydney mail

And wishin’ we’re in-bound too.

A hey sang a hymn as we got the breeze,

And the parson said, “ I know

A'ou’ll act like men on the angry seas,”

But— he didn’t have to go.

Oh ! the skipper he clung to his half-caste queen

(My Oath ! what a queen she were),

And 1 thought of what is and what might have been

Last night on the mountain spur,

Where the cable cars came past a-whirl.

With their lamps a-blazin’ bright

But it came to be “ last down car ” —poor girl!

And it came to be “ Just —good night.”

She was neat and trim in her pretty gear

And her eyes were wistful. Oh !

We know what glitterin’ course to steer,

But—none of us wants to go.

For the mate is gone on a lovely Dream,

But we reckon he’ll wake up soon;

And the second mate and the cook, they seem

To be off in a ten-year swoon;

And each of us, caged for a four-months’ spell,

Will think, at least for a while,

Of a rattlin’ coup in a Chinkie hell,

Or else of a woman’s smile

“ For those in Peril at Sea ” they sang,

As we swung her away so slow

But it isn’t the peril that brings the pang

It’s—because we don’t want to go.

But the course is east by south and east

And we’ve passed old Pencar- row;

The water boils at her bows like yeast,

And the skipper he’s broodin’ so;

But what we would like don’t matter the least

Because —we have got to go.

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HEARTS ASTERN.

T/fy r E , VE laid our course south-east by east, ' r Around old Pencar- row,

Where the surf boils up like the frothing yeast

And the ocean breezes blow

East away and south by east,

But—none oj us wants to go.

The skipper’s in love with a half-caste girl.

(Oh ! her lips are full and red ! )

11 It’s lonely out where the currents swirl;

I’d rather stay here,” he said.

We’re singin’, “ We’re off to the Rio Grande,’’

And the capstan’s movin’ gay;

But we’d sooner be hearin’ the German band

In Oriental Bay,

Where the women walk in their dainty gear,

And the moon comes risin’ slow—

Ah ! yes, we know what course to steer,

But—none of us wants to go.

The mate is gone on a black-eyed Dream

(She gave him her waist to squeeze),

And he would rather lie out in the gleam

Of the stars than face the seas.

We’re givin’ the home-bound songs a fling

To the roll of the lazy swell

’Twill be many a night ere we hear the ring

Of the Kelburne tram-car bell,

As it takes its load to the moonlit hills

Where there ain’t no lamps to show—-

The fores’l shakes and the stays’l fills,

But —none of us wants to go.

The second mate and the cook are down

Below, for they’ve got d.t.’s,

And the height of ambition with them’s to drown

Themselves in the cool, green seas,

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The nearest cruiser’s bugles cried

Her engine-bells rang out !

A shell flew, ricochetting wide,

With hoarse and angry shout

Then her machine-guns clattered shrill,

As she swung round to chase,

And there was wrath and curses till

She struck her racing pace.

And while she flew to strike her blow,

Her comrade tramped on sentry-go.

The fast destroyer slipped aw'ay

The fog was lifting now

Her seething wake was flogged with spray

Churned by her flying prow;

And on her quarter, armed and swift,

The cruiser foamed along

Cursing the fog that would not lift

To let her sing her song—

Her song of Death, that men might know

That she was doing sentry-go.

The mists rose, fragrant, as the sun

Burned angrily and red.

Loud roared the cruiser’s barbette gun

A fountain splashed ahead

Of the destroyer. She held on

Replying not a word

Her spinning shafting gleamed and shone-

Her engines, as they whirred,

Cursed their bad luck, deep-voiced and low

In crossing that grim sentry-go.

As the sweet sunlight flashed the spray

On the destroyer’s rail,

The cruiser shot her stacks away,

And poured an iron hail

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SENTRY-GO.

cruisers tramped on sentry-go All night; and at the dawn

The mists came creeping down so slow—

Grey curtains softly drawn,

No star was seen; the waking east

Was brighter than the west.

The sullen seas broke foam like yeast

From every heaving crest,

And back and forward, to and fro,

The cruisers tramped on sentry-go,

I'hc lean destroyer raced all nighl

To get dispatches through

She left a wake all grey and white;

She had a well-tried crew

Her funnels showed no licking flame.

Her turbines sang and whirred;

And in the foggy dawn she came

A steed to madness spurred,

Where stealthily, so grim and slow,

The cruisers marched on sentry-go.

She saw them first, and veered to port,

To slip them in the gloom

There was an order, crisp and short

Down in the engine-room.

And every bolt and racing shaft

Sang in sheer ecstasy

They gave her every scrap of draught,

For it meant life if she

Could pass those cruisers, drowsing so

Upon their sleepy sentry-go.

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THE MAILS.

rHE tail-rods leap in their bearing: They rise with a rush and ring;

They sink to the sound of laughter,

.4 nd hurried and short they sing

We carry the Mails —

His Majesty's Mails —

Make way for the Mails of the King

We’ve swung her head for the open bay,

And, spun by the prisoned steam,

The screws are drumming the miles away

Where the bright star-shadows dream

She lifts and sways to the ocean swell

The light-house glares on high,

And the fisher-lads in their boats will tell

How they saw the Mail go by;

A-thrill from keel to her quiv’ring spars —

With the screw-foam boiling white,

And black smoke dimming the watching star

As she soared through the soundless night.

“ Full speed a-head ! ” shout the racing rods —

Full speed ! ” and spray on the rail !

We’ll heed no order to stop save God’s,

For we are the Ocean Mail.

The big fish shudder to hear the thud

And stamp of our engine-room,

As we thunder on, with our decks a-flood,

Through the blind, bewildering gloom.

A faint, hoarse hail, and a waving light—

The whirr of our steering-gear-

And we are staggering in our flight

With a fishing-boat just clear-^

STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

Into the plucky little craft,

Whose skilful engine-crew

Worked fiercely with the patent draught

And drove her madly through

The heavy seas that thundered slow,

Upon their ceaseless sentry-go.

The bright blue water ripples clear

Where the destroyer died

And deep below lie engineer

And gunner, side by side,

For this they raced that long black night-

To get dispatches through

They would not yield while they could fight—

They were a gallant crew. . . .

Now back and forward, to and fro,

The cruisers march on sentry-go.

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<>9

Yet never a sign or a sound we give

No blast of horn or a hail

For we must race that the world may live,

And we are the Ocean Mail.

The good screws, laboring under,

Laugh loud as they lift and fling

The eddying foam behind them,

ind muttering low they sing—

Make way for the Mail —

His Majesty’s Mails —-

We carry the Mails for the Kint

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We carry the wealth of the world I trow,

And the power and fame of men

The angry word, and the lover’s vow,

All held in the turn of a pen.

And stars swing out in the skies a-thri!l.

And the weary stars grow pale;

But night and day we are driving still

For we are the Ocean Mail.

The sailing-craft and the clumsy tramps

Loom up and are lost astern,

And the stars of their bridge and mast-head lamp;

Are the only stars that burn.

To the clash and ring of the whirling steel,

And the crash and swing of the seas.

We carry the grief that the mothers feel

As they sob and pray on their knee

The cares and joys of the throbbing world

Are measured in piston-strokes,

When the bright prow-smother is split and hurled

And the hot wake steams and smokes.

To the swinging blows of the heavy throw

And the slide-valves’ moaning wail,

We’ll swing and soar with our flues a-roar

For we are the Ocean Mail,

They watch for us at the harbor-mouth

And wait for us on the quay

Looking ever to east and south

For our head-light on the sea.

And onward, surging, we’re racing fast

Where the shy mermaiden dwells,

And the crested kings of the deep ride past;

(Oh ! the pomp of the rolling swells)

Lone lighthouse-men when they see our sta

Lift clear of the starry maze,

Will watch us swagger across the bar

And swing to the channelled ways,

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And so we’ll go a-crawlin’,

By sickly light of morn,

With engine-bells a-callin’,

And noisy winches haulin’;

A-liftin’ and a-fallin’ —

4 -rollin’ to the Horn.

We brought her out a-roarin’

And now we’ll take her back

With creamin’ froth a-pourin’ And suckin’ in her track.

We’ll lift her east and south’ard,

And laugh to hear her plug

With seethin’ hawse-pipes smother’d

And sobbin’ screws a-chug.

But ’fore her whistle bellows

A giant’s fierce good-bye,

We’ll drink to all our fellows —

Twelve thousand miles is dry

And so we’ll go a glidin'

A phantom in the dawn

And when the sea-roads widen.

We’ll hear the pistons eludin’

The screws that send us ridin

And rollin’ to the Horn.

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A-ROLLIN’ TO THE HORN.

(A STOKIN' SONG.)

WE brought her out a-hummin’, And we will take her Home

With screws a-throb and drummin

And blazin’ bows afoam

But ’fore the stern and bow-lines

And strainin’ springs are loosed,

We’ll grab at Pleasure’s tow-lines

And keep the girls amused

The sea-roads ain’t too narrow

And we, to-morrow morn,

Will slide around Pencarrow

And shoulder to the Horn,

With wake all grey and gleamin',

U'e'll go at chilly mart,

When landsmen lie a-dreamin'

We'll cross the bar a-creamin

4)i d swing tier bluff bows streamin’,

4u d point ’em at the Horn.

Oh ! darlin’ you are clingin

With arms and lips so soft

And, oh ! the stars are singin

A lover’s tune aloft

You’ll think of me to-morrow,

My bloomin’ ’cart’s desire,

In sweatin’ sin and sorrow —

Twelve thousand miles of fire;

In sorrow and in laughter,

(Perhaps I ain’t so cheap)

God made me for a grafter

To fight His deathless deep.

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For the Ocean’s Own were roamers—

By power of sail and steam

1 hey swung in the long Cape combers

Or droned up the Hoogli’s stream,

The song that the surf is shouting

Is meant for their ears alone

W ho went to their work undoubting,

And slaved at it blood and bone.°’

Oh ! softly the Ocean swings them

f o sleep on her heaving breast,

And the wind from the sweet north sings them

The songs that their hearts loved best.

Soft eyes are sad in their waking—

Eyes bright with the tears unshed—

And there’s many a brave heart breaking;

But the Ocean’s Own are dead.

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OCEAN'S OWN.

THE song that the surf is brawling Is meant for their ears alone,

\\ ho followed the deep-sea calling

And slaved at it, blood and bone

Oh 1 softly the north wind sings them

A measure that bids them rest

Where Ocean, their mother, swings them

To sleep on her throbbing breast

1 he moon lifts gold in the gloaming

The sun in the west sinks red,

And birds of the sea pass roaming,

But the Ocean’s Own lie dead.

Perchance as they lie they’re dreaming

Of home and a childhood’s tune

That rang through the storm-seas’ screamini

And sobbed in the warm monsoon

Or maybe again they’re thrashing

With spray on the high bridge-rail.

And laboring engines clashing

A dirge to the men who fail.

The world passes on, forgetting

But, off in ports, I know

'1 here’s many a brave heart fretting

For the good, brave hearts laid low

I heir ships swept out on the noon-tides,

And, lonely, their mast-head lights

Were quivering far, when the moon-tides

Swam glittering through the nights;

And strong where the storm-stars flicker

They drove through the wash and roll,

And ever their screws spun quicker

When baulked of their distant goal

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The foot-soldiers, wearied by sortie and tramp,

Envy the cavalry,

Who clatter their scabbards and ride into camp —

Swaggering cavalry,

The King’s own cavalry

The clash of accoutrements deafens the ear,

The high walls echo and ring,

There’s a jingle of harness and creaking of gear

As they pass with a clash and a swing.

Spurred chargers dancing,

Plunging and prancing

Way for the cavalry !

The line and artillery

Are only auxiliary

This is the cavalry—

Cheers for the cavalry 1

There is no pomp on God’s earth like the pride

And the pomp of the cavalry—

There is no death like the deaths men have died

Swept by the cavalry—•

The throat-cutting cavalry

They are barbaric in bearing and glance,

Relics of Tartar and Moor,

Who met the fierce foe at the point of the lance—

Fighting that they might endure

So, stand aside there,

The cavalry ride there —

Way for the cavalry !

The guns and the Tommies are

Useless as dummies are

God made the cavalry—

So say the cavalry

Once ’twas a glorious way to meet Death—

To ride with the cavalry

Where great gods of battle blew smoke at each breath,

And yawned for the cavalry

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79

CAVALRY.

A CLATTER of hoofs and a jingle of steel— Hear the King’s cavalry !

Round the street corner they swagger and wheel—

See the King’s cavalry—

The King’s proud cavalry !

As waves of the sea are their quivering ranks —

Waves that have galloped and won

Such glitter of breastplates, and shoulders, and flanks,

In the glow of the afternoon sun

Great chargers plunging,

Reefing and lunging

Way for the cavalry 1

Grim troopers riding,

Like centaurs bestriding—

The horse of the cavalry—

The King’s own cavalry

Hot heads are tossing the flakes of white froth

Over the cavalry

Troop sergeants ride like the great gods of wrath

Watching the cavalry-

The King’s proud cavalry !

Like breakers in leash that are fretting to fly

See how the great horses prance 1

Ah ! to be there when the guns gallop by,

And trumpeters sound the advance.

Ho! stand aside there;

The cavalry ride there—

Way for the cavalry 1

Pacing disdainfully,

Reefing so painfully,

The bottled-up cavalry-

The King’s proud cavalry

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WHEN THE GUNS GO INTO BATTLE.

WITH Death on the off-side lead, And Duty stern on the limber,

The men of the British breed

Strain sinews, steel and limber

With jangling bar and trace

And trail-eyes all a-rattlc

The guns rush thundering in the race,

Where “ last gun in ” is a sore disgrace

For the drivers drive at a reckless pace

When the guns go into battle

See them breasting the rise,

With trace a-sweat and straining

Till the white, hot lather flies,

And the axles roar complaining !

Clatter! Bump! Bang! They come

Galloping hard on the level

Never a note of fife and drum

Only the whirr of wheels that hum

(The fearless winds from the hills crouch dumb

When the guns crash on to the revel.)

The hard-drawn trace-chains twang

And the trace-hooks grip and rattle.

The hammering trail-eyes bang

When the guns go into battle.

The drivers urge their teams

With whip and spur and curses.

A gun on the foot-hills glints and gleams—■

A flashing roar ! And a shot horse screams—

I have dreamed what I see, in horrid dreams

Which the morning light disperses

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Mad with sheer courage they’d gather and charge,

Horses would whinny and dance—

Kars would lie flat and the white eyes enlarge

When trumpeters blew the advance.

Then would be throb of hoofs-

Thunder and sob of hoofs

As the wild cavalry

Raced forward heel to heel,

Foes setting steel to steel-

Raced in like cavalry,

Tall, stalwart cavalry

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79

The limber goes; it’s “Waggon Supply”;

The brass-capped shell is handed

From waggon to trail; and the strong hands pi;

To many a jest and quick reply,

While the shells rush past with a shriek or sigh

And the earth lifts where they’ve landed,

Arms signal “ Shot 1 ” And the range?

Eighteen hundred, with Fuse Seven ! ”

Ah ! the men at the trails will change

As their bellowing guns shake Heaven;

For, steadily spitting hate,

The rifle bullets find them

One moves too soon, and one too late,

When the tough spades lift the spent gun’s weight.

Vet steady the fight, and grim the fate,

Though the grime and the sweat-streams blind them.

With Death on the off-side lead,

And Duty stern on the near one,

The men of the fighting breed

Ride in where the hot shells sear one

With jangling bar and trace,

And fast big-hearted cattle,

The guns go thundering in the race

Where “ last gun in ” is a sore disgrace;

Oh ! the drivers drive at a madman’s pace

When the guns go into battle.

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They have loosed the shot horse out

And left a gunner groaning

They are off with never a doubt

Where the long death-song is moaning

The limbers leap and sway

To the pole-bar’s noisy banging

One horse’s breath is a crimson spray,

But he shakes his head and pegs away,

For he does not want his mates to say

They saw his short-trace hanging

Oh ! hear the riotous beat

Of racing hoofs on the gravel—

You can judge from their flashing feet

’Tis their utmost pace they travel.

The linch-pins clatter and ring

The harness strains and shivers.

Each driver there is a battle-king

Each leaping gun a living thing

And the W'ar-god’s song their stout hearts sing,

Tho’ maybe a boy’s lip quivers.

They’re reining the right-flank team —

The centre driver is falling,

By his life-blood’s pulsing stream

His last reveille’s calling

But a comrade takes his place

And so, with scarce a falter,

The gun is off again in the race,

Where “ last gun in ” is a sore disgrace

Oh ! the British driver’s rollicking pace

Is a pace that nothing can alter

To the firing-line they sweep !

Then —“ Action Front ! ” —and swiftly

The active gunners leap,

And the gun’s unlimbered deftly

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And all the stars throb to the sagas they sing

As they leap at the lights

Of a barque.

The grey Sisters crouch as the leaders ride past

With rude pennant borne on a broken ship’s mast

Riding so fiercely and grimly and fast

The stars guide the knight

From the Sisters in white,

For the maids fear the knights

And the darl

South, when the Summer sets ocean agleam,

Come the warm seas

Of Noon,

Moving the Sisters who slumber and dream,

Lulled by the breeze

And its tune.

Grey Sisters, waken ! ” they cry o’er the foam,

And the grey Sisters welcome their warriors home—

Brave golden knights who a-wooing have come

And so on their knees-

They woo on their knees-

Bend the gay, sunny seas

Of the Noon.

There, when the blue about Chatham is deep,

Scattered and strewn

By the breeze,

The grey Sisters lie with their lovers, asleep,

Lulled by the croon

Of the seas.

Wooers come galloping in from the west,

Searching for princesses, jewelled and drest

As the glorious stars; but the Sisters know best.

And they dream to the tune

To the slow, drowsy tune

That is sighed to the moon

By the seas.

F

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STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

THE SISTERS.

SOUTFI, where the waves on the lone Chatham gleam,

Scattered and strewn

By the breeze,

The grey Sisters drowse in the ocean and dream,

Lulled bv the croon

Of the sea

Wooers come galloping out of the west

Riding brave chargers with steel-studded crest

From the south and the east : but The Sisters know best,

And they dream to the tune

To the rhythmical tune

That is sung to the moon

By the seas.

Fame of The Sisters had travelled afar

Over the seas

To the west,

Stories that told of each one as a star

Lover might seize

To his breast

And the knights mounted horses and spurred them away,

All bit-less, with manes that were white as the spray

To search for bright damsels. The Sisters were grey

And bent on their knees—

So low on their knees

They laughed at the seas

From the west

Out of the south when the winter is king

Come the white knights

Of the dark

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THE NIGHT WE BEAT THE “WARRIMOO.”

T

HER bugle called as she cleared the mole — Ta-ra-a-a! Ta-ra-a-a!

And she swung away through the north-east roll

Beyond the light-house star

We heard her driving with straining gear,

Trying to gain on her lead,

\s we swung the “ Rotomahana ” clear,

A-thrill with the lust of speed.

Our schooner bows tossed quick and short,

Where the seas sweep broad and blue,

And we saw in glittering lamp and port

The lights of the “ Warrimoo.”

Our compound engines shook and sang,

Go on! Go on! Go on!

Her transom rattled and throbbed and rang,

The busy tail-rods shone

And the “ Rotomahana ” laid her nose

Low down as the greyhounds do,

With never a care for the hard seas’ blows

And followed the “ Warrimoo.”

A bearing squealed, a greaser swore;

A steam-pump sobbed and growled.

Somebody laughed near the purser’s door;

A dog in the lamp-room howled.

Then the fog came down. But the heavy miles

Still spun from the whirling screw

Nobody wanted to speak or smile—

We watched for the “ Warrimoo.”

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WINE AND ROSES.

THE wine is red As my hot blood. A star

Glows in its heart as burns a star in mine;

And it is said

The God of Things That Are

Spins in their orbits all the stars that shine

So let us rest!

While, sounding sweet and low,

Your crooning song my troubled thoughts composes;

And from the West

Soft breezes sweep, and blow

The heavy scent of red, red lover’s roses

Ah ! melody

Of rose-scent and guitar !

Ah ! voice and fingers that make song of all!

How sweet ’twould be

If God Who dwells afar

Would bear us, singing, to His Festival;

And in the West,

So rich in red and gold,

Bid us go free to gather dew-wet posies,

Where Love is blest

And none grow soured and old

But dream and dream among the red, red roses.

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Then we pointed in where the dark Heads loomed —

My word, how' she throbbed and thrilled !

But she raced like a thorough-bred trained and groomed

In the hands of a rider skilled,

And just astern, her forefoot white

With the foam from our kicking screw

Raced as she’d raced the live-long night

The crack ship, “ Warrimoo.”

They tell this tale when the whistles call

Fog, F-o-o-o-g!

And the groping coasters roll and crawl,

With scarce a ring of the log,

And they listen, down there off the Campbell Light

Commending their souls to their gods,

For the wail of a horn through the murky night,

And the tumble of compound rods.

Perhaps they will see her with bows a-froth,

And maybe they’ll only hear

The Company’s greyhound racing north,

To the stamp of her straining gear.

And the tale goes round till it’s hard to say

How much of it’s false or true,

How the “ Rotomahana ” split the spray

Ahead of the Warnmoo.”

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To the tune of the rolling rods below,

And the snarl of her seething wake,

We felt the Company’s greyhound go

With the Company’s honor at stake

We heard the “ Warrimoo ” up the coast—

Her whistle-calls in the fog-

Moaning along like a deep-sea ghost,

Yet ringing the miles on her log

When midnight struck on the clanging bell,

A light air cleared the sky,

And we sank our clean bows into the swell

To toss them, showering, high.

And never a turn did she slow that nigh

For the course lay straight and true,

From Godley Head to Pencarrow Light

And beat the “ Warrimoo.’

The engines quickened their jerky stride

We’ll win! We’ll win! IVe’tl win!

As the grey skies opened their portals wide,

And the dawn crept shyly in

The rich light flooded the Kaikoura’s snows

With the glow of a splendid day—

Gold and carmine, silver and rose,

Pursuing the fleeting grey

Out seaward, the “ Warrimoo ” hummed along

With black smoke soaring high ;

But she moved like a good horse under the thong,

With the fear of the spur in his eye

The north wind gave us a gusty hail,

“ Hulloo, old Win-or-die,”

And the spray of the Straits leaped over the rail

To pass in a white cloud by

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AVON RIVER.

Avon river, Sing a song to us !

Bid your shoals and your sand-bars brim

Love s brave laughter and lays along to u;

Peace like this is a passing thing—

Night sends soon to us

Winds a-shiver—

Sing a tune to us,

Avon River !

Avon River,

Laugh and fling to us

All the wealth of your golden hours

Bid the birds in the tall trees sing to us ;

Let us gather your snowy flowers

Night will come to us

And deliver

Sorrow’s sum to us,

Avon River

Avon River

Tell a tale to us

As you pause in your pools of glass;

Bid the nymphs in your lilies hail to us;

Tell the meadows two lovers pass.

Night holds tears for us—

Lips a-quiver—

Lonely years for us,

Avon River

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THE WOMEN.

IN every coastal town They watch the sails come in

And see the hulls fade down,

Because of a crust to win

They know the build of the ships—

The rake of each steamer’s stack

And there is a prayer on their lips,

“ God send me my sailor back.”

The ships pass over the rim,

And the women turn to their work,

Counting it all for him

Never a task they shirk

And day by day it seems

There is nothing but sea and foam,

And waiting and labor and dreams,

Till his ship comes surging home.

So they watch and they wait

For men on the other side

Of a world of passion and hate

Yet the men are prisoners, tied

By chains that are bright as stars

And soft as a woman’s lips;

And the eyes that watch for the spar

Are stars to the homeward ship:

They arc in every port —

Some of them tired and thin

For their pleasures are few and short,

And they watch the ships come in

And pray, “ God send me back

Mv man.”—Poor auiverinp- lins !

And the dead men strew the track

Of the lonely deep-sea ships.

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FIRING ON THE MAIL.

THERE and back, I’ve got to shift Seven tons of coal—

Feel the throbbing pistons lift !

Let the beggar roll

Down the grades past Manakau

Up by Kereru.

Moisture gathers on my brow

Like a morning dew

As I clang the opened door

On the heat inside

Spilling cinders on the floor

When she staggers w'ide.

Fate has spoken ; from the pack

Fell the fatal cards-

Fifty-seven miles and back

Up to Longburn yards.

So I lean my htimin’ brow

Up against the gale,

Way up north of Manakau

Firin’ on the Mail.

Hear the drivers down belov

Singin’ on the rail-

Fifty-seven miles vac go,

Firin’ on the Mail.

Once I used to milk a cow

Anchored to a bail,

Once I used to drive a plough

While I watched the Mail,

With her drivers all aglow,

Blowing clouds of steam.

Like all else on earth below,

Things ain’t what they seem

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Avon River,

Give your strength to us

Love is sweet as your sunny stream.

Death and sorrow will come at length to us

Let us lie on your breast and dream

Life brings gifts to us —

lardy giver—

Laughter drifts to us

Avon River

Avon River,

Throw your wealth to us-

W'ealth of beauty and sunlight brave

Sad thoughts come in the night by stealth to us

Like a shark in a jewelled wave.

Night will bring to us

Winds a-shiver,

Sing, oh ! sing to us,

Avon River

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Lily hands a-waving white

Kissing me good-bve

Down the metals straight and bright—-

I believe I’d cry

Clang the shovel on the coal,

Fling the fire-door wide 1

Every man must pay the toll—-

Work, or yield his pride.

Once I made the gauges buck

Firin’ on the hill,

And it’s just a bit of luch

I’m not stewing still.

just a shuffle of the cards

And the deal was plain-

1 ake the Mail to Longburn yards;

Bring her back again

Do it very well and true

P’raps you’ll win a prize.”

There's a girl at Kereru

That has big brown eyes.

So I lean my burnin’ brow

Up against the gale,

’Way up north of Manakau

Firin' on the Mail.

Hear the drivers down below

Singin’ on the rail —

Fifty-seven miles we go,

Firin’ on the Mail.

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Yet we never stop to care

How the world is made,

W’hen we split the screaming air

Down the ringing grade

Up the rise, her roaring stack

Smears the summer’s blue

And you’ll hear her talking back

Passing Kereru

Feel her hit the giddy curve !

Hear her flanges cry 1

See the swaying coaches swerve

Showing speed is high !

Fill her tank and give her coal.

Clear her fires, and then

Let the big-wheeled Yankee roll

Down the grades again

Hear her spinning drivers romp

Where the dipping grade

Lifts, past Makerua swamp,

And the thin rails fade

In the distance, o’er the rise

Very straight and true

There’s a girl with big, brown eyes

Down in Kereru

If we reaped as we have sown.

I’d have qualified

For an engine all my own,

And I’d take a ride,

In the sunshine of my v'ears.

O’er the rocking rail

That I’ve wet with bitter tears,

Firin’ on the Mail.

Oh 1 my word, I’d go in style,

Smoking fat cigars,

And a girl at every mile

Playing soft guitars.

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So it they go and drop and die,

that isn’t our affair

The stokers sometimes feel that God

Is workin’ wonders near,

A-strengthenin’ a fractured rod

That’s fightin’ Death and Fear

But hoistin’ up the dead and maimed

And dodgin’ every roll,

A man might doubt, nor be ashamed,

If he has got a soul.

The sharks they fight a bit, and then

They swim a-grinnin’ by

Instead of beasts it might be men!

And oh! them sharks are sly

We ain’t in Heaven’s shippin’-notes,

And God don’t surely know

That such dam’ things as cattle-boats

Are tradin’ to and fro—-

A-p!ungin’ till their stock is piled

In heaps, all blood and hair,

And men are killed, to put it mild,

For facin’ Death too fair

The coal-ships most arc bound for where

Good coal is rulin’ high

The liner’s dinner-bugles blare

She swaggers stately by,

With passengers a-suckin’ hard

At pipes and strong cigars :

They seem to know a cattle-yard—

It must be by our spars.

Pass round that chain! Now, easy! Oh

What cheerful tasks are these —

i-liftin ’ dead-'uns from below

And prayin’ for a breeze.

God didn't mean that Hell should go

A-howlin’ on His seas

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THE CATTLE-BOATS.

ZOOUR weeks from Monte Video, ■4. And sights that few men sees —

A-prayin’ that the clouds will blow

A healthy, spankin’ breeze;

With glass a-showin’, down beloie,

A hundred odd degrees

When God made out His shippin’-notes

And sent this world to sea

He must have missed the cattle-boats

And cattle-men like me

He meant all farms to be ashore,

Not sailin’ full and by,

With chokin’ bullocks sweatin’ gore

And layin’ down to die

He didn’t authorise that hells

Should wander on His seas,

A liftin’ to the swingin’ swells—

Such reekin’ hells as these,

That squatter out and tumble in

To be the shippers’ gain,

With cattle-keepers spoutin’ sin,

And cattle mad with pain

The sharks they slink around our flanks —

The sharks arc very wise;

And oh! they love the cattle-tanks

And every beast that dies.

We ships ’em at the River Plate,

And from the States they come,

With Weedin' horns and starin’ hate—

Thank God, the brutes are dumb !

We rig up win’s'ls so’s to try

And purify the air

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Whizz! Wh-a-ang! Smoke-and-thunder!

We’ll call some other day

The earth flies up as the shell rips under,

But steadily, through the smoke and thunder

We’re bringing the guns away

“ Sit-up-cool-on-the-liwher! ”

Oh ! hear those bullets say !

Smacking aloud on the steel and timber

As scornfully— Bump! Bump! Bump! on the limber

We’re bringing the guns away

Trot! with tightened traces.

We wish we could delay,

And give those beggars some dirt in their faces.

But sullenly— Trot! Trot !—WATCH THOSE TRACES!

We’re bringing the guns away

Trot! Trot! Jingle! Jingle!

The hoofs and the harness say

Rhythmically they blend and mingle

And steady and slow with our blood a-tingle—

Steadily — Trot! Trot! Clank! Clank! Jingle

We’re bringing the guns away.

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BRINGING THE GUNS AWAY.

Trot! Jingle! Jingle! The things the bullets say

Make every heart here leap and tingle,

As steadily— Trot! Trot! Jingle! Jingle!

We’re bringing the guns away.

Trot! Trot! Trot !~]og-jogging!

They’re shelling us bright and gay

We came up here with drivers flogging

But steadily— Trot! Trot! Trot! Jog-jogging!

We’re bringing the guns away

Clank! Clank! Clatter! Rattle!

The limbers roll and sway

A “ feint ” and retreat are a part of battle,

So steadily— Clank! Clank! Rattle! Rattle!

We’re bringing the guns away

Trot! Trot! Jingle! Jingle!

They think we’re scared to stay,

And it’s easy to die when a fellow’s single

So sulkily— Trot! Trot! Jingle / Jingle!

We’re bringing the guns away

Click! Clock! Grumble! Grumble!

Who cares what the bullets say?

In column of route we roll and rumble,

And steadily— Click! Clock! Grumble! Grumble!

We’re bringing the guns away

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The wide sea is his home,

And he knows its darkest place

Down where no eddies foam

Nor laughing rollers race

The long years come and go,

And the weaker creatures die

Yet still does the big whale blow

His plume of vapor high

He is a king in truth,

Rolling along at ease

Ponderous, huge, uncouth

Travelled in long degrees.

Northward he goes, by need

And his primal instincts drawn

And he and his cows will feed

Near the lone Three Kings at dawn

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THE OLD BULL.

HE takes his way through the deep— A grim iconoclast;

His great flukes thrash and sweep-

His breath is a whistling blast

Swerving never —due north

He leads his trusting cows,

And his snout churns snowy froth

Like foam at a liner’s bows.

He is a king indeed,

Rolling through azure seas,

Tried in valor and speed,

Travelled in long degrees.

By the headlands high he goes,

In the narrow strait he sounds,

And the plume of spray he blows

Is a “ tally-ho ! ” to the hound

The long-drawn whaling call

Rings out as it rang of yore

The long oars toss and fall

But the whales have moved off shore—

Grown weary through direst need,

From the harbor they’ve withdrawn—

The bull and his cows will feed

By the lone Three Kings at dawn.

He knows the beat of the screws

And shuns the hurrying prows

Such strange fish might amuse

Young and innocent cows

But he is a whale who knows—

A guide and their Overlord,

So, wherever he goes,

They follow with one accord.

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They march to the North and Westward

And, shuddering to their blast,

The fisherman’s wife clasps breastward

Her child, till their song has passed

The crash of their music deadens

Ihe cry of a mangled foe,

And ever a blood-trail reddens

The path where the Night-Waves go

To pillage and loot and ravage,

And scream at a harbor-light

For cruel are they, and savage,

Yet beautiful in their might

I saw' a light to the Nor’ward —

Full white like the Star of Day,

But Waves of the Night leaped forward

And threatened the star away

I heard a song to the South’ard-

But, lifting their grey manes old,

The Wolves of the Darkness smother’d

Its tune as their ranks patrolled

The seas in their search for plunder—

A murderous, ruthless crew

They march with their shields a-thunder

And howl as the night-wolves do.

The moon swings high in her season,

To shine on a sea of pearls

That croons, with a summer breeze on

Its bosom, the songs of girls—-

Songs sweet to the hearts that cherish

A passion that thralls and numbs —-

Night goes, and the moon-songs perish,

Yet never a Night-Wave comes.

But when in the deep Pelorus,

The tides through the darkness surge,

They come with their moaning chorus—

A song that is half a dirge

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NIGHT WAVES.

' / , 'HE waves of the Dawn sweep creaming 1 Thrilled thro’ with a golden song;

The waves of the Noon lie dreaming

The shimmering coasts along;

And swift in the black Pelorus

The tides thro’ the rock-race flow

But wild is the wailing chorus

That sounds where the Night-Waves go.

The waves of the Dawn are lovers

A-kiss as they swing and roll;

But waves of the night are rovers

That come to our ports for toll —

Off-shore where the channel blacken, 1

They tramp, and I watch them go,

And never their quickstep slackens,

And never a wave swings slow

To Nor’ward their army reaches,

And under the Western stars

It foams on the silver beaches,

And staggers across the bars.

The bays that were darkly sleeping

Churn white when the Night-Waves pass

A-roar, with their vanguard leaping

And Death in their close-packed mass.

The tread of the burdened bearers

The grief of the march in Saul—

Black robes and the pale-faced wearers —

A coffin —a dead-black pall—

I see, and hear, and I fear them—

These songs that the Ocean’s Soul

Wails out, that the men who hear them

May know that the Night-Waves roll

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THE BIG BULL-YANK.

WHEN they take the Gov’ment engines off At the end of the Gov’ment road,

You’ll hear a Baldwin’s wheezy cough

As they back her down to the load.

For this is the stretch where the mail-trains race

For fifty miles and more,

Making up time, which the tardy pace

On the hills has lost before

They couple her on, with a time-worn jest,

Where the Longburn block-bells call,

And the big Bull-Yank will do her best

When they let the signal fall.

Now, hear the sound of her hard exhaust,

As her weight leans on the train,

There’s a heavy roar when the bridge is crossed,

And she is free on the plain.

The long train thrills to her throbbing beat,

And sways to her gathering speed

Ah, there is something in speed that’s sweet

As a flagon of flowing mead.

The world seems kinder; no wind blows cold

Neath the heaven’s azure dome,

When the big Bull-Yank has taken hold.

And we are galloping home

Where the flax-leaves gleam in the autumn sun

You can hear the great wheels romp

She’s breaking her heart for a record run

By Tokomaru swamp-

Straining and rolling, and throwing stars

To the cal! of her double chime

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Red-lipped are the waves foretelling

The march of the ranks of Day;

And warm are the Noon-Waves swelling

To burst on the reefs in spray;

But fierce where the storm-wrack blackens,

The hosts of the Night-Waves go,

And never their quickstep slackens,

4 rid never a wave swings slow

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THE OFFICER'S WIFE.

HE was a man beloved of men. She was a woman’s queen

And he rode away down the leafy glen

Where the sunlight threw a sheen

On scarlet tunic and gilded braid—

On polished steel and brass.

A gallant sight his company made

As she watched them march and pass.

He waved farewell as he rode away

And she smiled, love in her eyes.

Every footbeat seemed to say

Cry out! If he heard your cries

He would stay with you instead. Mayhap

You will never see him again.”

Stern, to the kettledrum’s rhythmic tap

Went he and his sturdy men.

Up the hill, past the little brook,

The soldiers swayed and swung

He turned his eyes for a last long look,

And her eyes were a song unsung

Her sister circled an arm in hers,

For her face grew ghastly white—

Over the hill went the flash of spurs

And bit-bars gleaming bright

Like one lithe body the company went

Lifting at every stride;

And it took her heart with it caged and pent

In the man who rode at the side.

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Ah ! there is life in the rushing cars,

And the clamor of wheels is rhyme.

You’ll never feel the check of a brake,

And many a tale is told

How stout curves shudder and bridges shake

When the big Bull-Yank takes hold.

Mile upon mile she will race and haul,

And the townships flitting by

Will hear the boast in her tuneful call

That tells that her speed is high.

You’ll feel her galloping round the curves,

Rolling down on her springs.

And the cars will follow in giddy swerves

Like hurrying, hunted things.

Her black smoke tells of a fire hard-coaled —

They’re driving her all they know,

For I heard it whispered when she took hold

They had settled to let her go.

When they run the Gov’ment engines back

To their work on the Gov’ment road,

A Baldwin splutters along the track

To be coupled on to the load,

To the sound of a laugh and a careless jest

Where the Longburn block-bell calls,

And the big Bull-Yank will swell her chest

When the rigid signal falls.

And over the metals, hard and cold,

By Tokomaru swamp,

She’ll sing a song that is never old

While her thundering drivers romp

And you’ll never feel a brake-shoe bite,

Or the gaping buffers jar,

When the big Bull-Yank has got you tight

At the end of her coupling-bar.

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THE CABLE-SHIP.

SHE cleared the Customs at Singapore, Her destination “ Blank,”

With a dip of her flag to the man-o’-war

And a mile of line in her tank.

Her goal was a spot in the Tasman Sea

That only the sextants show,

And she shook her head like a horse set free

From tedious tasks, and slow

Down where the fangs of the Barrier gleam

Snow-white ’neath the Queensland sun,

She hurried under a head of steam

On her long and urgent run

The coastal steamers swinging past,

Scarcely a day from port,

Dipped the company’s flag at the mast

To her brief request, “ Report.”

The Union liner from Sydney Town,

Heading for Cape Farewell,

Saw her lights as the fog came down

And heard her clanging bell,

And the moan of her whistle for long enough,

As she groped in the bed of the sea,

Saying, in accents hoarse and gruff,

‘ Ahov ! Stand clear of me.”

Three hundred fathoms below her keel

Was a break in the copper bands

And she lay to wallow, and pry and feel

For the drawn and fractured strands,

With the slow, resistless, lunging swell

Baulking her good intent,

Down where the great sea monsters dwell

Her groping fingers went

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At every step her heart went too,

Over the hill and down-

Down to the water that lay so blue,

Where the troopship lay by the town,

Some of her friends said, “ Oh, ’tis strange

How little she cares.” Oh, fools !

How little the shadows shift and change

On the deep, dark, hidden pools !

Her whole soul went with his squad of men,

Following him away,

And they knew the strength of her goodness when

They looked in his eyes of grey

He was a man beloved of men,

She is a woman’s queen,

And there is a winding leafy glen.

And the lonely years between.

On that sunny day her heart went too

Over the hill and down—

Down where the water lies so blue

And the steamers lie by the town,

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PENCARROW LIGHT.

(The Oldest Light on the New Zealand Coast.)

PALLISER flashes her double stars, Campbell Light spins and spins :

The Brothers, with glittering scimitars,

Stab till the grim night grins.

Wairau Light glows in the dark, a gem

Of warmer and softer rays-

And Pencarrow Light is the King of them

Set on a cliff to blaze

Calling the ships from the angry south,

“ Hither,-come hither, and rest

Here, where I stand at the harbor’s mouth ”

Calling them in from the west

Steady and white I have seen it burn,

Many a mile at sea—

Never a flicker or flash or turn,

Steady as steady could be

Rosy, at sunset, the tall tower stands

With lamps set, pallid, on high-

How man)' women, with trembling hand:

Have wept as that light slipped by?

And many a man, with aching throat,

Has seen Pencarrow blaze,

As he sailed away in the Sydney boat

To follow the wide world-ways.

Pencarrow Light ! And we’ll see our homes.

And the circling town-lights soon—

Follow the leading light on Somes’,

Grown small in the light of the moon,

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First she lifted the end from La Perouse,

Then the line from Cable Bay,

And gladdened Her heart with belated news

’Ere she went on her lonely way

East or west, or south or north,

Where the slender cables lie,

To a spot that is only a fleck of froth,

With nothing to know it by

In the midst of hurrying seas that leap,

She toils with her decks a-flood.

Prying down in the waters deep

Where the cable lies in the mud

And steamers veer from a rigid course

When, loud and angrily,

Her whistle hails them in accents hoarse :

“ Ahoy ! Stand dear of me ! ”

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THE NIGHT-RELIEF.

HAVE you never heard the Night-Relief Marching along the lonely coasts —

Waves that mourn for mermaids’ grief,

Their pathway crossed by pallid ghosts ?

At every port, with a challenge deep,

I hey take and they leave a squadron white

To guard the bars while the steamers sleep,

f o keep them safe from the waves of night

At all the ports are the White Patrols,

And the Night-Relief must make the rounds,

W here the channel-bell on a sandbank tolls

Where the hills drop sheer to the silent sounds,

Have you never heard the Night-Relief—

Its tramping march—its challenge brief?

Neath the quiet moon the White Patrols

Have swaggered and swung along the bar

That lies between the wide-set moles,

Where the drowsy, crimson port lights are

There is never a breeze since the sun went down.

Seaward away the sea is glass,

With only a ripple towards the town

Where the tugs that toil in the darkness pass

No wavelets beat on the silver sand.

Ashore there is scarce a fluttering leaf,

Till a slow wind blows on the heated land,

Bringing the sound of the Night-Relief,

Marching in harness black and green,

To ask of the guards what they have seen.

The White Patrols that challenge them

Hear the countersign, and reply

“ Never was such a diadem

On the brows of night as burns in the sky

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Pencarrow Light! Set proud and lone,

Where the sea and the grim rocks meet —

Where the fierce sou’-easters thrash and moan

And the steam propellers beat

Beckoning ships from the north and east,

“ Come and be safe near me ! ’

Showering light on the greatest and least,

Steady as steady can be

Dazzling white to the craft inshore,

A star to the distant ships

And the hungry rollers and rocks that roar

Curse it with angry lips.

Palliser flashes her starry twins.

The Brothers reel recklessly round

Campbell Light sits in the dark and spin:

Wairau burns close to the ground.

Cook Strait Light !—Each one is a gem

To lighten the nights’ black ways

And Pencarrow Light is the King of therr

Set on a cliff to blaze.

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THE FLEET.

THEY swaggered over the heaving seaGrim battleships, lords of the ocean

With halyards quivering listlessly

To the swing of their lazy motion

Destroyers awaited their will, abeam—

Fast cruisers made reconnoitre,

But the battleships came under easy steam

As stately elephants loiter

A signal flew from the flagship’s yard—

A cruiser hurried off nor’ard,

And another came homeward, racing hard,

With white foam boiling for’ard

A signal gleamed from the flagship’s mast

She fumed and fretted and ordered

And destroyers and cruisers, lean and fast,

Sped over the sea, white-bordered.

A destroyer came racing in from the cast—

Funnels blistered and smoking—-

Her seething wake was all a-yeast

And her stokers almost choking.

The enemy fourteen miles away ! ”

That was her urgent message,

And, heaving in the swell, she lay

Hot from her hasty passage

Soon the enemy’s thin smoke showed—

Then the spars and the funnels.

Maybe the engineers’ hearts glowed

Down in the dark shaft-tunnels;

Maybe the stokers thought of home,

Or longed to stand forth midst the crashing

1 10

STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

Scarcely a sound have we heard since dusk,

Nor has aught stirred since long ago

When a black-fish blew with a scent of musk,

And a whistle, such as the steamers blow

The sentries change, and the new-set guard

Are warned to remember the thing they saw

As they marched along—a ship held hard

Struggling still, in the Night-Waves’ maw

Then the Night-Relief, with a last “ good-night

Leaves the port to the watchmen white

A gale has blown since the hour of noon,

And now that the cloak of night has come

In the streets of the quiet town, leaf-strewn,

Are only men who hurry home;

But out on the bar a dreadful fight

Is raging between Night-Waves that leap

And the cheery, sturdy watchmen white

Who drive them back with swinging sweep-

Parrying lunge and reckless charge

With valor born of their firm belief

That somewhere out on the ocean’s marge

Is coming the welcome Night-Relief—

All black and green their strong ranks roll

To double the ranks of the White Patrol

Have you never heard the Night-Relief

Marching along the silent coasts,

When there’s scarce a breeze to stir a leaf

Of the creepers on the verandah-posts?

There’s never a silver shoulder-strap,

Or a band of gold in their grim array

No drums to clatter, and throb, and tap—

No bugles blown as they march away,

On their rounds to relieve the White Patrols

Hear the challenge ! The gruff reply !

The channel-bell at its moorings tolls,

Rocked in their wash as they swagger by,

Marching in harness black and green,

To ask of the guards what they have seen.

116

H

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

GREASIN'.

I CAN hear the stokers singin’ As they give the boilers coal,

And the big swell sets her swingin’

With a lazy, pitchin’ roll.

There’s a crazy steam-pump groanin'

’Cos the valves are cut and worn,

And a shaftin’-bearin’ moanin’

In the tunnel all forlorn,

I can feel the shaftin’ bucklin’

When she settles aft and roars,

And the sweatin’ cranks are chucklin’

And a-racin’ when she soars.

Every slow eccentric’s winkin’,

Makin’ pleasure of its toil;

And, a-liftin’ and a-sinkin’,

Every darned thing’s shoutin’ “ Oil ! ”

And I’m oilin’, oilin’, oilin’,

In a temp’rature like hell,

With the heated oil a-smokin’

Till you feel’s if you are chokin’

And the knockin’ guide-bars tell,

That I’ve got to keep on toilin’

Till God rings His knock-off bell

There’s a cool wind on the water

(Or there was an hour ago)

And the moonlight made me sorter

Want to take life pretty slow;

And her funnel, it was swayin’

’Thwart the twinklin’ stars aloft,

And I heard the water playin’

Round her transom, sweet and soft

11

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

Then the restless rollers topped with foam

Glowed red in the sunlight flashing

1 here had been more work for surgeon and priest

Had the range been something shorter

3ut the enemy edged away to the east

As night came down on the water

Signals gleamed at the flagship’s mast —

She fumed and fretted and ordered

And destroyers and cruisers, lean and fast

Sped over the sea, star-bordered.

As they raced away in foam and spray

The battleships swaggered after

Chaffing each other for deeds in the fray,

Laughing guttural laughter.

Waves flogged them ahead, astern and abeam —

Great billows lifting and arching

But they came through under easy steam

Like lordly, lounging elephants marching

STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

11 5

I can hear the firemen slangin’

Glarin’ fires and singin’ steam,

And the furnace-doors are bangin’,

And I have no time to dream

Like arms the rods are grippin

And a-heavin’ in their pride,

And I hear the screw-blades rippin’

And a-thunderin’ outside

Oh ! the toll the owners levy

Is a heavy one indeed

And the hand of God is heavy

When you’ve drifted from your creed

Yet through all the engines’ moanin’,

Seems to me there comes a cry

“ Life would know less grief and groanin'

If the oil-cups wasn’t dry.”

And I ponder as I’m greasin’

On the friction that there is —

Glad to-days and sad to-morrows

Oh! the grief of one man’s sorrows,

And the joy of one man’s hliss —

Life’s machinery wants some oilin’ —

Such as laughter and a kiss

* xt t

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

It has made me think, and wonder

Why we’ve got to toil below

With this ceaseless, rollin’ thunder,

Thumpin’, thumpin’, blow on blow

If ’twas only for a season.

On and off, I wouldn’t mind,

’Stead of everlastin’ greasin’

To this everlastin’ grind.

But I’m oilin’, oilin’, oilin’,

And I’ll keep them good and fast

For a man can’t change' his labor-

P’raps his job wont fit his neighbor —

And he cannot change his past.

And the world is meant to toil in

And the Future’s very vast

Oh ! the skipper looks a daisy

In his tropic uniform.

And the officers get lazy

When the atmosphere gets warm

And the trimmer’s work is tryin’

And the firemen curse the glare;

But they ain’t exactly fryin’,

They do get a bit o’ air.

The salooners they seem happy

With their music and their girls

That has eyes so bright and snapp;

And a smile all deep-sea pearls,

But I guess they ain’t no bloomin

Better off than us below

Where the heavy cranks swing boomin

Thunderous and dull and slow

Oh! we’re greasin’, greasin’, greasin’,

But there’s hearts above I know

That’s as hitter and as burnin’,

And as full of hopeless yearnin'

the hearts that beat below

And they know no rest or easin

Like them tail-rods swingin' so.

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STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

What do you think? ” you asked again,

Straightening up some curls.

I said, “ I think that the pods are men,

And the peas are pretty girls.

The pods are only to shield the peas,

Lest the weather their beauty mar,”

And I brushed the ash that fell on your knees

From the end of your dad’s cigar

You were shelling the peas with a nimble thumb,

And I wanted to see your eyes,

But you turned them down and the smiles would come,

As you said (you were pretty and wise)

‘‘Yet each pea-pod shields several peas —

May a man love several maids? ’

The rooster winked as he lounged at ease

With his harem ail colours and shades.

And then it seemed that we rode on a star,

Right into the eyes of the breeze

A duck was chewing your dad's cigar,

And the harem was eating the peas.

Do you think this is right? ” you whispered, and I

Made answer, your hair in my eyes,

“ Whether it’s right or wrong, till I die

I reckon I’ll stick to my prize.”

I wonder now did you care at all—

I didn’t take long to forget —

Love blows for each man one clarion call,

And I’ve never heard mine yet;

But sometimes at night when the evening star

Gleams bright and full thro’ the trees,

I sit on the steps with the door ajar,

Watching you shell the peas

116

STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

SHELLING PEAS.

WE sat on the steps with the door ajar— A blue dish on your knees.

I was smoking your dad’s cigar,

And you were shelling peas—

Shelling them out with a nimble thumb-

And glancing from downcast eyes.

And 1 felt clumsy, and big and dumb,

And you were little and wise

You said, “ When a man is married, I think,

They should give him a weekly fling.”

And a rooster tipped me a knowing wink,

With a flap of his lordly wing.

You threw him some shells, and you raised you eyes;

I fumbled to strike a light,

Because you were pretty and little and wise

And your throat was dazzling white

What do you think? ” you, laughing, said

I answered, “ Dashed if I know.”

And the family rooster raised his head

And crowed a sceptical crow

A patch of cigar-ash soiled your dress

I brushed it, soft, from your knees

For I W'as smoking in idleness,

And you were shelling pea

And I w’atched your delicate fingers go

At their swift and measured stride

The peas fell into the dish below,

And the pods were dropped outside

The peas were little and round and good—

The pods were tarnished and bad

And I started off in a thinking mood—

A stupid habit I had.

122

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

Through the sweeping seas she clove a track

Into the blinding gloom—-

Stumpy-funnelled, sinister, black—

She was the Spirit of Doom

And the keen spray hailed on her turtle-back,

To the throb of her engine-room,

Back to our forts the destroyer crept,

As the dawn rushed in aflame

Her stacks were blistered, her decks sea-swept,

But she licked her lips as she came ;

And she took her place, where her comrades slept

Like a hound that had killed its game.

123

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

4

THE DESTROYER.

SHE raced away down the sunset track, Beyond the mines and the boom :

The spray flashed red on her turtle-back

To the whirr of her engine-room.

Her funnels spouted their smoke-plumes black—

She looked the spirit of doom.

Along her sides the wavelets hissed

As she opened out her speed,

They fell astern to snarl and twist,

And writhe in her wake and bleed

Hers was a force no seas resist

And she gave them little heed.

Away in the west the red sun sanl-

To drown in the heaving flood

And fast—with never a noisy crank

Or piston-rod a-thud,

Her stern set low in the high wave-bank

She swam on a sea of blood.

Into the night, when the sun had gone,

The fast destroyer flew,

And never a side-light gleamed or shone,

As the pale stars grew and grew

What errand grim did she speed upon?

Only her captain knew

STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

124

When the leaves of the autumn are falling and yellowing

We hear the wild song of the bullying, bellowin Wind.

It leaps from its lair at a pace that is passionate,

And rends the soft clouds that have aided to fashion it—

Thrashing them fiercely, as slaves who have sinned,

With its many-lashed thong,

And yelling a song

A song that is nothing but wind

This is the song of the galloping, hurrying,

Gusty, and dusty, and whirling, and worrying Wind.

Over the hills it comes laughing and rollicking,

Yelling, and swooping, and flying, and frolicking,

Shaking the fences so solidly pinned,

And shrieking a song

As it gallops along-

A terrible song that is wind,

125

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

A SONG OF WIND.

HARK to the song of the scattering, scurrying, Blustering, bullying, bellowing, hurrying Wind !'

Over the hills it comes, laughing and rollicking,

Curling and whirling, flying and frolicking,

Spinning the clouds that are scattered and thinned,

And shouting a song

As it gallops along

A song that is nothing but wind

Waking the willows that hang their leaves listlessly

Bending the poplars it roars on resistlessly Wind !

In the long grass on the slopes, as it passes, it

Billows and waves and scatters and masses it

Shaking the fences so solidly pinned

And howling a song

That is noisy and strong—

A song that is nothing but wind.

Down the long roadway it sends the leaves fluttering,

Turns the old folk about, angry and stuttering,

“ W-w-wind !

Clasping the laughing girls lightly and easily

It plays with the lifted skirt gaily and breezily

Scorning all laws in man’s ears ever dinned,

And whispers a song

That is risque and wrong—

A song that is nothing but wind.

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STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

BEFORE WE GO.

OUT on her siding Our engine stands,

With brake-pump sliding

And hissing glands,

We’ve forty waggons

To haul to-night

So fill the flagons

All foaming white

Ere tunnels smother

And hot fires glow

We’ll have another

Before we go.

Drink

To the clink

Of the glasses, oh!

(The Big Tank’s grumbling out in the yard.)

Here’s

To the dears

That we used to know.

Love is easy tho’ Life he hard,

And the road to Wellington’s cinder-starr’d.

We are the toilers

Who drive the loads —

Belting the boilers

On mountain roads.

Number Eleven’s

A hog to fire—

A harp and heaven’s

What we require—

And Four’s the mother

Of all that’s slow;

So have another

Before we go.

122

STOKIN’ AND OTHER VERSES

YANKEE BILL.

SHE was a-layin’ a record down; Her shafts was singin’ a reckless air

From Honolu’ to Auckland town

She was leggin’ it out like a frightened hare.

And Yankee Bill was loafin’ round,

Oilin’ here and greasin’ there,

When we heard the starboard engine pound,

And stopped her quick with her valves a-blare

Yankee Bill was lyin’ down,

The thrust-grease stainin’ his ginger hair,

And you could have bought him for half-a-crown—

He was dead as a man could be, I’ll swear.

His trousers caught as the shaft flew round

And they wasn’t the sort of stuff to tear

His head bumped twice with a funny sound-

It gave the “ third ” a bit of a scare

For she was a-layin’ a record down,

And there wasn’t time for a big repair—

From Honolu’ to Auckland town

She legged it out like a hunted hare

There’s other greasers loafin’ round,

Oilin’ here and greasin’ there

And when Bill’s wanted he’ll be found

Fathoms deep; and Bill don’t care!

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

“The Red West Road.”

In Paper, Illustrated

Price = - 1/6

PRESS OPINIONS

BULLETIN

We catch a glimpse of the bitter fascination of sea-labour, the glory and terror of the sea. “Coasting” and “Stokin’,”

for example, are vividly set down.

MELBOURNE PUNCH

Singularly vivid and actual

ADELAIDE REGISTER

One more specimen of his virile style may be cited. . . .

WESTERN MAIL

There is fine expressive writing and the genuine poet speaks. There is sincerity of sympathy with the toilers in stokeholds and other little considered dark places of the workers’ world which makes this book literature—something much nearer a genuine human document than nine-tenths of the work produced south of the line.

CHRISTCHURCH PRESS

The material is mainly ships and all their accessories and surroundings—the grimy stoke-hole, the roaring furnaces, the throbbing piston, the thrumming, thrashing screw, the hiss and swish of waves, the lonely lighthouse, the harbour-bar, mysterious cries in the darkness; these and such like, with certain weird or pathetic humanities thrown in. And he is fascinated by the thought of great liners out on the dark, heaving waters, or touched by the first faint kiss of dawn.

129

STOKIN' AND OTHER VERSES

Drink,

With a winh

To the seaside girls!

(We’ll flare the furnace as we go by.)

Here’s

To the dears

And their saucy curls

Lip of scarlet and sea-blue eye

(And the road to Wellington’s hot and dry).

We’ve forty waggons

To haul to-night

So fill the flagons

Wet and white.

The Bull-Yank’s blowing

To say the load

Is ours for the towing

On the long hill road

The Tank’s her brother

And not too slow—-

We’ll have another,

And then we’ll go. ,

Now

“ Here's how! ”

“May you never know,”

4 greasy rail or a silly guard

Drink

To the clink

Of the glasses, oh!

Then tramp to the engine out in the yard ,

And the road to Wellington's cinder-starr’d

WALTER WATTS AND CO., LTD., PRINTERS AND BOOKBINDERS, LEICESTE

PRESS OPINIONS OF

“BETWEEN THE LIGHTS.”

DUNEDIN STAR

In his class —and it is a class which claims Kipling, and Henley, and Newbolt, and Begbie—Mr. Lawson does well.

ADELAIDE ADVERTISER

Will Lawson sings Nature in the breezy, rattling form dear to the Australian reader, yet with a depth of feeling which makes it impossible to question his right to rank as a poet.

NEW ZEALAND TIMES—

Lawson is a poet of whom New Zealand has every reason to be proud.

WESTERN MAIL (Perth)

His style is direct and forceful, with here and there fine streaks of imagination.

ADELAIDE REGISTER—

Mr. Lawson is a true poet, but above all he is a Man Especially he loves engines fighting with Nature.

AUSTRALASIAN

Equally strong and terse is the short piece describing how a railway shunter was killed in the yard.

OTAGO DAILY TIMES

All the passion of honest work and honest love are in these simple lines. Mr. Lawson loves the sea—loves it in storm and shine, in rough and in smooth, in the mystery and charm of the midnight, no less than in the rush and hurry of the day. The “call of the sea” sounds for ever through these verses, as it did in those of his former volume, “The Red West Road.”

NEW ZEALAND HERALD

Will Lawson—the New Zealand Lawson—in the little collection that commences with “Between the Lights” has gathered together, in an admirably compact form, the verses that he evidently considers his best,and of which all are good and some worth remembering. It is to be remarked —and this is surely a sign of their vigorous health —that they are practically all verses of action.

Between the Lights,’’

PAPER COVERS

Price = = 1/6.

SOME PRESS OPINIONS.

EVENING POST (Wellington)

Mr. Lawson, we hope, will do higher and finer work yet. He has the poetic faculty, a healthy outlook, youth, and worthy aspirations in his favour, and has already gained an honourable place in the literature of the colony.

WANGANUI CHRONICLE

“ Between the Lights ” should find many friends, not only in this colony, but throughout the Empire.

“ ELZEYIR ” (in Melbourne Argus)

1 like “ Shelling Peas,” because it is idyllic without being affected; I like “Troopers,” because it is vivid and moving; and, best of all, I like “The Shunter,” because of its reticence and its actuality. This last poem is just too long to quote in full, and just too good to spoil by quoting in part.

BULLETIN (Sydney)

In his second book of “ Between the Lights, and Other Verses,” Will Lawson (who writes over the signature of “ Quilp N.”) appears in the guise of a Maoriland Ogilvie, with Ogilvie’s air of a sunlit rhymer able to present vivid pictures in quick phrases.

MELBOURNE AGE

There is a freshness and vitality about Mr. Will Lawson’s book of verses which is very welcome. He is vivid, graphic and satisfying.

HOBART CLIPPER

Thundering along on a locomotive, or battling through a sea-storm in the engine room of a man-o’-war, the verses go with a sweep and a swing and a not unmusical clang and clamour.

Uniform with this Volume.

“NOT UNDERSTOOD” AND OTHER POEMS.

BY THOMAS BRACKEN.

Fourth Edition.

The great popularity of “Not Understood” and the prominence given to it by the late Mel. B. Spurr in his very successful recitals has created a demand for a pocket edition of Tom Bracken’s Poems, which this edition is intended to fill.

Price; Is. 6d. Paper; 2s. 6d. Cloth

ALL BOOKSELLERS

Published by

GORDON 6 GOTCH Pty., Ltd.,

WELLINGTON. N.Z.