A Nonsense Anthology Part 22

On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre, De win' she blow, blow, blow, An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante"

Got scar't an' run below-- For de win' she blow lak hurricane; Bimeby she blow some more, An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre Wan arpent from de sh.o.r.e.

De captinne walk on de fronte deck, An' walk de him' deck too-- He call de crew from up de hole, He call de cook also.

De cook she's name was Rosie, She come from Montreal, Was chambre maid on lumber barge, On de Grande Lachine Ca.n.a.l.

De win' she blow from nor'-eas'-wes',-- De sout' win' she blow too, Wen Rosie cry, "Mon cher captinne, Mon cher, w'at I shall do?"

Den de captinne t'row de big ankerre, But still de scow she dreef, De crew he can't pa.s.s on de sh.o.r.e, Becos he los' hees skeef.

De night was dark lak wan black cat, De wave run high an' fas', Wen de captinne tak' de Rosie girl An' tie her to de mas'.

Den he also tak' de life preserve, An' jomp off on de lak', An' say, "Good-by, ma Rosie dear, I go down for your sak'."

Nex' morning very early 'Bout ha'f-pas' two--t'ree--four-- De captinne--scow--an' de poor Rosie Was corpses on de sh.o.r.e.

For de win' she blow lak' hurricane, Bimeby she blow some more, An' de scow, bus' up on Lac St. Pierre, Wan arpent from de sh.o.r.e.

MORAL

Now all good wood scow sailor man Tak' warning by dat storm An' go an' marry some nice French girl An' live on wan beeg farm.

De win' can blow lak' hurricane An' s'pose she blow some more, You can't get drown on Lac St. Pierre So long you stay on sh.o.r.e.

_William H. Drummond_.

THE s.h.i.+PWRECK

Upon the p.o.o.p the captain stands, As starboard as may be; And pipes on deck the topsail hands To reef the topsail-gallant strands Across the briny sea.

"Ho! splice the anchor under-weigh!"

The captain loudly cried; "Ho! lubbers brave, belay! belay!

For we must luff for Falmouth Bay Before to-morrow's tide."

The good s.h.i.+p was a racing yawl, A spare-rigged schooner sloop, Athwart the bows the taffrails all In grummets gay appeared to fall, To deck the mainsail p.o.o.p.

But ere they made the Foreland Light, And Deal was left behind, The wind it blew great gales that night, And blew the doughty captain tight, Full three sheets in the wind.

And right across the tiller head The horse it ran apace, Whereon a traveller hitched and sped Along the jib and vanished To heave the trysail brace.

What s.h.i.+p could live in such a sea?

What vessel bear the shock?

"Ho! starboard port your helm-a-lee!

Ho! reef the maintop-gallant-tree, With many a running block!"

And right upon the Scilly Isles The s.h.i.+p had run aground; When lo! the stalwart Captain Giles Mounts up upon the gaff and smiles, And slews the compa.s.s round.

"Saved! saved!" with joy the sailors cry, And scandalize the skiff; As taut and hoisted high and dry They see the s.h.i.+p unstoppered lie Upon the sea-girt cliff.

And since that day in Falmouth Bay, As herring-fishers trawl, The younkers hear the boatswains say How Captain Giles that awful day Preserved the sinking yawl.

_E.H. Palmer_.

_A SAILOR'S YARN_

_As narrated by the second mate to one of the marines_.

This is the tale that was told to me, By a battered and shattered son of the sea: To me and my messmate, Silas Green, When I was a guileless young marine.

"'T was the good s.h.i.+p 'Gyacutus,'

All in the China seas; With the wind a lee, and the capstan free, To catch the summer breeze."

"'T was Captain Porgie on the deck To the mate in the mizzen hatch, While the boatswain bold, in the for'ard hold, Was winding his larboard watch."

"'Oh, how does our good s.h.i.+p head to-night?

How heads our gallant craft?'

'Oh, she heads to the E. S. W. by N.

And the binnacle lies abaft.'"

"'Oh, what does the quadrant indicate?

And how does the s.e.xtant stand?'

'Oh, the s.e.xtant's down to the freezing point And the quadrant's lost a hand.'"

"'Oh, if the quadrant's lost a hand, And the s.e.xtant falls so low, It's our body and bones to Davy Jones This night are bound to go."

"'Oh, fly aloft to the garboard-strake, And reef the spanker boom, Bend a stubbing sail on the martingale To give her weather room."

"'Oh, boatswain, down in the for'ard hold What water do you find?'

'Four foot and a half by the royal gaff And rather more behind.'"

"'Oh, sailors, collar your marline spikes And each belaying pin; Come, stir your stumps to spike the pumps, Or more will be coming in.'"

"'They stirred their stumps, they spiked the pumps They spliced the mizzen brace; Aloft and alow they worked, but, oh!

The water gained apace."

"They bored a hole below her line To let the water out, But more and more with awful roar The water in did spout."

"Then up spoke the cook of our gallant s.h.i.+p-- And he was a lubber brave-- 'I've several wives in various ports, And my life I'd like to save.'"

"Then up spoke the captain of marines, Who dearly loved his prog: 'It's awful to die, and it's worse to be dry, And I move we pipes to grog.'"

"Oh, then 'twas the gallant second-mate As stopped them sailors' jaw, 'Twas the second-mate whose hand had weight In laying down the law."

"He took the anchor on his back, And leapt into the main; Through foam and spray he clove his way, And sunk, and rose again."

"Through foam and spray a league away The anchor stout he bore, Till, safe at last, I made it fast, And warped the s.h.i.+p ash.o.r.e."