Chapter 8

We have fed our sea for a thousand years And she calls us, still unfed, Though there's never a wave of all her waves But marks our English dead: We have strawed our best to the weed's unrest, To the shark and the sheering gull. If blood be the price of admiralty, Lord God, we ha' paid in full!

There's never a flood goes shoreward now But lifts a keel we manned; There's never an ebb goes seaward now But drops our dead on the sand -- But slinks our dead on the sands forlore, From the Ducies to the Swin. If blood be the price of admiralty, If blood be the price of admiralty, Lord God, we ha' paid it in!

We must feed our sea for a thousand years, For that is our doom and pride, As it was when they sailed with the _Golden Hind_, Or the wreck that struck last tide -- Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reef Where the ghastly blue-lights flare. If blood be the price of admiralty, If blood be the price of admiralty, If blood be the price of admiralty, Lord God, we ha' bought it fair!

The Deep-Sea Cables

The wrecks dissolve above us; their dust drops down from afar -- Down to the dark, to the utter dark, where the blind white sea-snakes are. There is no sound, no echo of sound, in the deserts of the deep, Or the great gray level plains of ooze where the shell-burred cables creep.

Here in the womb of the world -- here on the tie-ribs of earth Words, and the words of men, flicker and flutter and beat -- Warning, sorrow and gain, salutation and mirth -- For a Power troubles the Still that has neither voice nor feet.

They have wakened the timeless Things; they have killed their father Time; Joining hands in the gloom, a league from the last of the sun. Hush! Men talk to-day o'er the waste of the ultimate slime, And a new Word runs between: whispering, “Let us be one!”

The Song of the Sons

One from the ends of the earth -- gifts at an open door -- Treason has much, but we, Mother, thy sons have more! From the whine of a dying man, from the snarl of a wolf-pack freed, Turn, and the world is thine. Mother, be proud of thy seed! Count, are we feeble or few? Hear, is our speech so rude? Look, are we poor in the land? Judge, are we men of The Blood?

Those that have stayed at thy knees, Mother, go call them in -- We that were bred overseas wait and would speak with our kin. Not in the dark do we fight -- haggle and flout and gibe; Selling our love for a price, loaning our hearts for a bribe. Gifts have we only to-day -- Love without promise or fee -- Hear, for thy children speak, from the uttermost parts of the sea!

The Song of the Cities

BOMBAY

Royal and Dower-royal, I the Queen Fronting thy richest sea with richer hands -- A thousand mills roar through me where I glean All races from all lands.

CALCUTTA

Me the Sea-captain loved, the River built, Wealth sought and Kings adventured life to hold. Hail, England! I am Asia -- Power on silt, Death in my hands, but Gold!

MADRAS

Clive kissed me on the mouth and eyes and brow, Wonderful kisses, so that I became Crowned above Queens -- a withered beldame now, Brooding on ancient fame.

RANGOON

Hail, Mother! Do they call me rich in trade? Little care I, but hear the shorn priest drone, And watch my silk-clad lovers, man by maid, Laugh 'neath my Shwe Dagon.

SINGAPORE

Hail, Mother! East and West must seek my aid Ere the spent gear may dare the ports afar. The second doorway of the wide world's trade Is mine to loose or bar.

HONG-KONG

Hail, Mother! Hold me fast; my Praya sleeps Under innumerable keels to-day. Yet guard (and landward), or to-morrow sweeps Thy war-ships down the bay!

HALIFAX

Into the mist my guardian prows put forth, Behind the mist my virgin ramparts lie, The Warden of the Honour of the North, Sleepless and veiled am I!

QUEBEC AND MONTREAL

Peace is our portion. Yet a whisper rose, Foolish and causeless, half in jest, half hate. Now wake we and remember mighty blows, And, fearing no man, wait!

VICTORIA

From East to West the circling word has passed, Till West is East beside our land-locked blue; From East to West the tested chain holds fast, The well-forged link rings true!

CAPE TOWN

Hail! Snatched and bartered oft from hand to hand, I dream my dream, by rock and heath and pine, Of Empire to the northward. Ay, one land From Lion's Head to Line!

MELBOURNE

Greeting! Nor fear nor favour won us place, Got between greed of gold and dread of drouth, Loud-voiced and reckless as the wild tide-race That whips our harbour-mouth!

SYDNEY

Greeting! My birth-stain have I turned to good; Forcing strong wills perverse to steadfastness: The first flush of the tropics in my blood, And at my feet Success!

BRISBANE

The northern stirp beneath the southern skies -- I build a Nation for an Empire's need, Suffer a little, and my land shall rise, Queen over lands indeed!

HOBART

Man's love first found me; man's hate made me Hell; For my babes' sake I cleansed those infamies. Earnest for leave to live and labour well, God flung me peace and ease.

AUCKLAND

Last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite, apart -- On us, on us the unswerving season smiles, Who wonder 'mid our fern why men depart To seek the Happy Isles!

England's Answer

Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban; Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man. Flesh of the flesh that I bred, bone of the bone that I bare; Stark as your sons shall be -- stern as your fathers were. Deeper than speech our love, stronger than life our tether, But we do not fall on the neck nor kiss when we come together. My arm is nothing weak, my strength is not gone by; Sons, I have borne many sons, but my dugs are not dry. Look, I have made ye a place and opened wide the doors, That ye may talk together, your Barons and Councillors -- Wards of the Outer March, Lords of the Lower Seas, Ay, talk to your gray mother that bore you on her knees! -- That ye may talk together, brother to brother's face -- Thus for the good of your peoples -- thus for the Pride of the Race. Also, we will make promise. So long as The Blood endures, I shall know that your good is mine: ye shall feel that my strength is yours: In the day of Armageddon, at the last great fight of all, That Our House stand together and the pillars do not fall. Draw now the threefold knot firm on the ninefold bands, And the Law that ye make shall be law after the rule of your lands. This for the waxen Heath, and that for the Wattle-bloom, This for the Maple-leaf, and that for the southern Broom. The Law that ye make shall be law and I do not press my will, Because ye are Sons of The Blood and call me Mother still. Now must ye speak to your kinsmen and they must speak to you, After the use of the English, in straight-flung words and few. Go to your work and be strong, halting not in your ways, Balking the end half-won for an instant dole of praise. Stand to your work and be wise -- certain of sword and pen, Who are neither children nor Gods, but men in a world of men!

THE FIRST CHANTEY

Mine was the woman to me, darkling I found her; Haling her dumb from the camp, took her and bound her. Hot rose her tribe on our track ere I had proved her; Hearing her laugh in the gloom, greatly I loved her.

Swift through the forest we ran; none stood to guard us, Few were my people and far; then the flood barred us -- Him we call Son of the Sea, sullen and swollen. Panting we waited the death, stealer and stolen.

Yet ere they came to my lance laid for the slaughter, Lightly she leaped to a log lapped in the water; Holding on high and apart skins that arrayed her, Called she the God of the Wind that He should aid her.

Life had the tree at that word (Praise we the Giver!) Otter-like left he the bank for the full river. Far fell their axes behind, flashing and ringing, Wonder was on me and fear -- yet she was singing!

Low lay the land we had left. Now the blue bound us, Even the Floor of the Gods level around us. Whisper there was not, nor word, shadow nor showing, Till the light stirred on the deep, glowing and growing.

Then did He leap to His place flaring from under, He the Compeller, the Sun, bared to our wonder. Nay, not a league from our eyes blinded with gazing, Cleared He the gate of the world, huge and amazing!

This we beheld (and we live) -- the Pit of the Burning! Then the God spoke to the tree for our returning; Back to the beach of our flight, fearless and slowly, Back to our slayers went he: but we were holy.

Men that were hot in that hunt, women that followed, Babes that were promised our bones, trembled and wallowed: Over the necks of the Tribe crouching and fawning -- Prophet and priestess we came back from the dawning!

THE LAST CHANTEY

“_And there was no more sea._”

Thus said The Lord in the Vault above the Cherubim Calling to the Angels and the Souls in their degree: “Lo! Earth has passed away On the smoke of Judgment Day. That Our word may be established shall We gather up the sea?”

Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners: “Plague upon the hurricane that made us furl and flee! But the war is done between us, In the deep the Lord hath seen us -- Our bones we'll leave the barracout', and God may sink the sea!”

Then said the soul of Judas that betray]\ed Him: “Lord, hast Thou forgotten Thy covenant with me? How once a year I go To cool me on the floe? And Ye take my day of mercy if Ye take away the sea!”

Then said the soul of the Angel of the Off-shore Wind: (He that bits the thunder when the bull-mouthed breakers flee): “I have watch and ward to keep O'er Thy wonders on the deep, And Ye take mine honour from me if Ye take away the sea!”

Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners: “Nay, but we were angry, and a hasty folk are we! If we worked the ship together Till she foundered in foul weather, Are we babes that we should clamour for a vengeance on the sea?”

Then said the souls of the slaves that men threw overboard: “Kennelled in the picaroon a weary band were we; But Thy arm was strong to save, And it touched us on the wave, And we drowsed the long tides idle till Thy Trumpets tore the sea.”

Then cried the soul of the stout Apostle Paul to God: “Once we frapped a ship, and she laboured woundily. There were fourteen score of these, And they blessed Thee on their knees, When they learned Thy Grace and Glory under Malta by the sea!”

Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners, Plucking at their harps, and they plucked unhandily: “Our thumbs are rough and tarred, And the tune is something hard -- May we lift a Deep-sea Chantey such as seamen use at sea?”

Then said the souls of the gentlemen-adventurers -- Fettered wrist to bar all for red iniquity: “Ho, we revel in our chains O'er the sorrow that was Spain's; Heave or sink it, leave or drink it, we were masters of the sea!”

Up spake the soul of a gray Gothavn 'speckshioner -- (He that led the flinching in the fleets of fair Dundee): “Oh, the ice-blink white and near, And the bowhead breaching clear! Will Ye whelm them all for wantonness that wallow in the sea?”

Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners, Crying: “Under Heaven, here is neither lead nor lee! Must we sing for evermore On the windless, glassy floor? Take back your golden fiddles and we'll beat to open sea!”

Then stooped the Lord, and He called the good sea up to Him, And 'stablished his borders unto all eternity, That such as have no pleasure For to praise the Lord by measure, They may enter into galleons and serve Him on the sea.

Sun, wind, and cloud shall fail not from the face of it, Stinging, ringing spindrift, nor the fulmar flying free; And the ships shall go abroad To the Glory of the Lord Who heard the silly sailor-folk and gave them back their sea!

THE MERCHANTMEN

King Solomon drew merchantmen, Because of his desire For peacocks, apes, and ivory, From Tarshish unto Tyre: With cedars out of Lebanon Which Hiram rafted down, But we be only sailormen That use in London Town.

_Coastwise -- cross-seas -- round the world and back again -- Where the flaw shall head us or the full Trade suits -- Plain-sail -- storm-sail -- lay your board and tack again -- And that's the way we'll pay Paddy Doyle for his boots!_

We bring no store of ingots, Of spice or precious stones, But that we have we gathered With sweat and aching bones: In flame beneath the tropics, In frost upon the floe, And jeopardy of every wind That does between them go.

And some we got by purchase, And some we had by trade, And some we found by courtesy Of pike and carronade -- At midnight, 'mid-sea meetings, For charity to keep, And light the rolling homeward-bound That rode a foot too deep.

By sport of bitter weather We're walty, strained, and scarred From the kentledge on the kelson To the slings upon the yard. Six oceans had their will of us To carry all away -- Our galley's in the Baltic, And our boom's in Mossel Bay!

We've floundered off the Texel, Awash with sodden deals, We've slipped from Valparaiso With the Norther at our heels: We've ratched beyond the Crossets That tusk the Southern Pole, And dipped our gunnels under To the dread Agulhas roll.

Beyond all outer charting We sailed where none have sailed, And saw the land-lights burning On islands none have hailed; Our hair stood up for wonder, But, when the night was done, There danced the deep to windward Blue-empty 'neath the sun!

Strange consorts rode beside us And brought us evil luck; The witch-fire climbed our channels, And flared on vane and truck: Till, through the red tornado, That lashed us nigh to blind, We saw The Dutchman plunging, Full canvas, head to wind!

We've heard the Midnight Leadsman That calls the black deep down -- Ay, thrice we've heard The Swimmer, The Thing that may not drown. On frozen bunt and gasket The sleet-cloud drave her hosts, When, manned by more than signed with us, We passed the Isle o' Ghosts!

And north, amid the hummocks, A biscuit-toss below, We met the silent shallop That frighted whalers know; For, down a cruel ice-lane, That opened as he sped, We saw dead Henry Hudson Steer, North by West, his dead.

So dealt God's waters with us Beneath the roaring skies, So walked His signs and marvels All naked to our eyes: But we were heading homeward With trade to lose or make -- Good Lord, they slipped behind us In the tailing of our wake!

Let go, let go the anchors; Now shamed at heart are we To bring so poor a cargo home That had for gift the sea! Let go the great bow-anchors -- Ah, fools were we and blind -- The worst we stored with utter toil, The best we left behind!

_Coastwise -- cross-seas -- round the world and back again, Whither flaw shall fail us or the Trades drive down: Plain-sail -- storm-sail -- lay your board and tack again -- And all to bring a cargo up to London Town!_

M'ANDREW'S HYMN

Lord, Thou hast made this world below the shadow of a dream, An', taught by time, I tak' it so -- exceptin' always Steam. From coupler-flange to spindle-guide I see Thy Hand, O God -- Predestination in the stride o' yon connectin'-rod. John Calvin might ha' forged the same -- enorrmous, certain, slow -- Ay, wrought it in the furnace-flame -- _my_ “Institutio”. I cannot get my sleep to-night; old bones are hard to please; I'll stand the middle watch up here -- alone wi' God an' these My engines, after ninety days o' race an' rack an' strain Through all the seas of all Thy world, slam-bangin' home again. Slam-bang too much -- they knock a wee -- the crosshead-gibs are loose; But thirty thousand mile o' sea has gied them fair excuse. . . . Fine, clear an' dark -- a full-draught breeze, wi' Ushant out o' sight, An' Ferguson relievin' Hay. Old girl, ye'll walk to-night! His wife's at Plymouth. . . . Seventy -- One -- Two -- Three since he began -- Three turns for Mistress Ferguson. . .and who's to blame the man? There's none at any port for me, by drivin' fast or slow, Since Elsie Campbell went to Thee, Lord, thirty years ago. (The year the _Sarah Sands_ was burned. Oh roads we used to tread, Fra' Maryhill to Pollokshaws -- fra' Govan to Parkhead!) Not but they're ceevil on the Board. Ye'll hear Sir Kenneth say: “Good-morrn, M'Andrew! Back again? An' how's your bilge to-day?” Miscallin' technicalities but handin' me my chair To drink Madeira wi' three Earls -- the auld Fleet Engineer, That started as a boiler-whelp -- when steam and he were low. I mind the time we used to serve a broken pipe wi' tow. Ten pound was all the pressure then -- Eh! Eh! -- a man wad drive; An' here, our workin' gauges give one hunder fifty-five! We're creepin' on wi' each new rig -- less weight an' larger power: There'll be the loco-boiler next an' thirty knots an hour! Thirty an' more. What I ha' seen since ocean-steam began Leaves me no doot for the machine: but what about the man? The man that counts, wi' all his runs, one million mile o' sea: Four time the span from earth to moon. . . . How far, O Lord, from Thee? That wast beside him night an' day. Ye mind my first typhoon? It scoughed the skipper on his way to jock wi' the saloon. Three feet were on the stokehold-floor -- just slappin' to an' fro -- An' cast me on a furnace-door. I have the marks to show. Marks! I ha' marks o' more than burns -- deep in my soul an' black, An' times like this, when things go smooth, my wickudness comes back. The sins o' four and forty years, all up an' down the seas, Clack an' repeat like valves half-fed. . . . Forgie's our trespasses. Nights when I'd come on deck to mark, wi' envy in my gaze, The couples kittlin' in the dark between the funnel stays; Years when I raked the ports wi' pride to fill my cup o' wrong -- Judge not, O Lord, my steps aside at Gay Street in Hong-Kong! Blot out the wastrel hours of mine in sin when I abode -- Jane Harrigan's an' Number Nine, The Reddick an' Grant Road! An' waur than all -- my crownin' sin -- rank blasphemy an' wild. I was not four and twenty then -- Ye wadna judge a child? I'd seen the Tropics first that run -- new fruit, new smells, new air -- How could I tell -- blind-fou wi' sun -- the Deil was lurkin' there? By day like playhouse-scenes the shore slid past our sleepy eyes; By night those soft, lasceevious stars leered from those velvet skies, In port (we used no cargo-steam) I'd daunder down the streets -- An ijjit grinnin' in a dream -- for shells an' parrakeets, An' walkin'-sticks o' carved bamboo an' blowfish stuffed an' dried -- Fillin' my bunk wi' rubbishry the Chief put overside. Till, off Sambawa Head, Ye mind, I heard a land-breeze ca', Milk-warm wi' breath o' spice an' bloom: “M'Andrew, come awa'!” Firm, clear an' low -- no haste, no hate -- the ghostly whisper went, Just statin' eevidential facts beyon' all argument: “Your mither's God's a graspin' deil, the shadow o' yoursel', Got out o' books by meenisters clean daft on Heaven an' Hell. They mak' Him in the Broomielaw, o' Glasgie cold an' dirt, A jealous, pridefu' fetich, lad, that's only strong to hurt, Ye'll not go back to Him again an' kiss His red-hot rod, But come wi' Us” (Now, who were _They_?) “an' know the Leevin' God, That does not kipper souls for sport or break a life in jest, But swells the ripenin' cocoanuts an' ripes the woman's breast.” An' there it stopped: cut off: no more; that quiet, certain voice -- For me, six months o' twenty-four, to leave or take at choice. 'Twas on me like a thunderclap -- it racked me through an' through -- Temptation past the show o' speech, unnameable an' new -- The Sin against the Holy Ghost? . . . An' under all, our screw. That storm blew by but left behind her anchor-shiftin' swell, Thou knowest all my heart an' mind, Thou knowest, Lord, I fell. Third on the _Mary Gloster_ then, and first that night in Hell! Yet was Thy hand beneath my head, about my feet Thy care -- Fra' Deli clear to Torres Strait, the trial o' despair, But when we touched the Barrier Reef Thy answer to my prayer! We dared not run that sea by night but lay an' held our fire, An' I was drowsin' on the hatch -- sick -- sick wi' doubt an' tire: “_Better the sight of eyes that see than wanderin' o' desire!_” Ye mind that word? Clear as our gongs -- again, an' once again, When rippin' down through coral-trash ran out our moorin'-chain; An' by Thy Grace I had the Light to see my duty plain. Light on the engine-room -- no more -- bright as our carbons burn. I've lost it since a thousand times, but never past return.

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