The Story Of A Round-House And Other Poems Part 4

"Then on a day she sailed; but when she went My mind was clear on what I had to try: To see the sea and s.h.i.+ps, and what they meant, That was the thing I longed to do; so I Drew and worked hard, and studied and put by, And thought of nothing else but that one end, But let all else go hang--love, money, friend.

"And now I've s.h.i.+pped as Dauber I've begun.

It was hard work to find a dauber's berth; I hadn't any friends to find me one, Only my skill, for what it may be worth; But I'm at sea now, going about the earth, And when the s.h.i.+p's paid off, when we return, I'll join some Paris studio and learn."

He stopped, the air came moist, Si did not speak; The Dauber turned his eyes to where he sat, Pressing the sail-room hinges with his cheek, His face half covered with a drooping hat.

Huge dewdrops from the stay-sails dropped and spat.

Si did not stir, the Dauber touched his sleeve; A little birdlike noise came from a sheave.

Si was asleep, sleeping a calm deep sleep, Still as a warden of the Egyptian dead In some old haunted temple buried deep Under the desert sand, sterile and red.

The Dauber shook his arm; Si jumped and said, "Good yarn, I swear! I say, you have a brain-- Was that eight bells that went?" He slept again.

Then waking up, "I've had a nap," he cried.

"Was that one bell? What, Dauber, you still here?"

"Si there?" the Mate's voice called. "Sir," he replied.

The order made the lad's thick vision clear; A something in the Mate's voice made him fear.

"Si," said the Mate, "I hear you've made a friend-- Dauber, in short. That friends.h.i.+p's got to end.

"You're a young gentleman. Your place aboard Is with the gentlemen abaft the mast.

You're learning to command; you can't afford To yarn with any man. But there ... it's past.

You've done it once; let this time be the last.

The Dauber's place is forward. Do it again, I'll put you bunking forward with the men.

"Dismiss." Si went, but Sam, beside the Mate, Timekeeper there, walked with him to the rail And whispered him the menace of "You wait"-- Words which have turned full many a reefer pale.

The watch was changed; the watch on deck trimmed sail.

Sam, going below, called all the reefers down, Sat in his bunk and eyed them with a frown.

"Si here," he said, "has soiled the half-deck's name Talking to Dauber--Dauber, the s.h.i.+p's clout.

A reefer takes the Dauber for a flame, The half-deck take the round-house walking out.

He's soiled the half-deck's honour; now, no doubt, The Bosun and his mates will come here sneaking, Asking for smokes, or blocking gangways speaking.

"I'm not a vain man, given to blow or boast; I'm not a proud man, but I truly feel That while I've bossed this mess and ruled this roast I've kept this hooker's half-deck d.a.m.ned genteel.

Si must ask pardon, or be made to squeal.

Down on your knees, dog; them we love we chasten.

Jao, pasea, my son--in English, Hasten."

Si begged for pardon, meekly kneeling down Before the reefer's mess a.s.sembled grim.

The lamp above them smoked the gla.s.s all brown; Beyond the door the dripping sails were dim.

The Dauber pa.s.sed the door; none spoke to him.

He sought his berth and slept, or, waking, heard Rain on the deck-house--rain, no other word.

IV

Our of the air a time of quiet came, Calm fell upon the heaven like a drouth; The bra.s.s sky watched the bra.s.sy water flame.

Drowsed as a snail the clipper loitered south Slowly, with no white bone across her mouth; No rus.h.i.+ng glory, like a queen made bold, The Dauber strove to draw her as she rolled.

There the four leaning spires of canvas rose, Royals and skysails lifting, gently lifting, White like the brightness that a great fish blows When billows are at peace and s.h.i.+ps are drifting; With mighty jerks that set the shadows s.h.i.+fting, The courses tugged their tethers: a blue haze Drifted like ghosts of flocks come down to graze.

There the great skyline made her perfect round, Notched now and then by the sea's deeper blue; A smoke-s.m.u.tch marked a steamer homeward bound, The haze wrought all things to intenser hue.

In tingling impotence the Dauber drew As all men draw, keen to the shaken soul To give a hint that might suggest the whole.

A naked seaman was.h.i.+ng a red s.h.i.+rt Sat at a tub whistling between his teeth; Complaining blocks quavered like something hurt.

A sailor cut an old boot for a sheath, The s.h.i.+p bowed to her shadow-s.h.i.+p beneath, And little slaps of spray came at the roll On to the deck-planks from the scupper-hole.

He watched it, painting patiently, as paints, With eyes that pierce behind the blue sky's veil, The Benedictine in a Book of Saints Watching the pa.s.sing of the Holy Grail; The green dish dripping blood, the trump, the hail, The spears that pa.s.s, the memory and the pa.s.sion, The beauty moving under this world's fas.h.i.+on.

But as he painted, slowly, man by man, The seamen gathered near; the Bosun stood Behind him, jeering; then the Sails began Sn.i.g.g.e.ring with comment that it was not good.

Chips flicked his sketch with little sc.r.a.ps of wood, Saying, "That hit the top-knot," every time.

Cook mocked, "My lovely drawings; it's a crime."

Slowly the men came nearer, till a crowd Stood at his elbow, muttering as he drew; The Bosun, turning to them, spoke aloud, "This is the s.h.i.+p that never got there. You Look at her here, what Dauber's trying to do.

Look at her! lummy, like a Christmas-tree.

That thing's a s.h.i.+p; he calls this painting. See?"

Seeing the crowd, the Mate came forward; then "Sir," said the Bosun, "come and see the sight!

Here's Dauber makes a circus for the men.

He calls this thing a s.h.i.+p--this h.e.l.l's delight!"

"Man," said the Mate, "you'll never get her right Daubing like that. Look here!" He took a brush.

"Now, Dauber, watch; I'll put you to the blush.

"Look here. Look there. Now watch this s.h.i.+p of mine."

He drew her swiftly from a memory stored.

"G.o.d, sir," the Bosun said, "you do her fine!"

"Ay," said the Mate, "I do so, by the Lord!

I'll paint a s.h.i.+p with any man aboard."

They hung about his sketch like beasts at bait.

"There now, I taught him painting," said the Mate.

When he had gone, the gathered men dispersed; Yet two or three still lingered to dispute What errors made the Dauber's work the worst.

They probed his want of knowledge to the root.

"Bei Gott!" they swore, "der Dauber cannot do 't; He haf no knolich how to put der pense.

Der Mate's is goot. Der Dauber haf no sense."

"You hear?" the Bosun cried, "you cannot do it!"

"A gospel truth," the Cook said, "true as h.e.l.l!

And wisdom, Dauber, if you only knew it; A five year boy would do a s.h.i.+p as well."

"If that's the kind of thing you hope to sell, G.o.d help you," echoed Chips. "I tell you true, The job's beyond you, Dauber; drop it, do.

"Drop it, in G.o.d's name drop it, and have done!

You see you cannot do it. Here's the Mate Paints you to frazzles before everyone; Paints you a dandy clipper while you wait.

While you, Lord love us, daub. I tell you straight, We've had enough of daubing; drop it; quit.

You cannot paint, so make an end of it."

"That's sense," said all; "you cannot, why pretend?"

The Dauber rose and put his easel by.

"You've said enough," he said, "now let it end.

Who cares how bad my painting may be? I Mean to go on, and, if I fail, to try.

However much I miss of my intent, If I have done my best I'll be content.