  A Yarn. 'T TIS Saturday night, and our watch below. What heed we, boys, how the breezes blow, While our cans are brimmed with the sparkling flow? Come, Jack, uncoil, as we pass the grog, And spin us a yarn from memory’s log.”Jack’s brawny chest like the broad sea heaved, While his loving lip to the beaker cleaved; And he drew his tarred and well-saved sleeve Across his mouth, as he drained the can, And thus to his listening mates began:— “When I sailed, a boy, in the schooner Mike, No bigger, I trow, than a marlinespike— But I’ve told ye the tale ere now, belike?” “Go on!” each voice re-echoed, And the tar thrice hemmed, and thus he said:— “A stanch-built craft as the waves e’er bore— We had loosed our sail for home once more, Freighted full deep from Labrador, When a cloud one night rose on our lee, That the heart of the stoutest quailed to see. “And voices wild with the winds were blent, As our bark her prow to the waters bent; And the seamen muttered their discontent— Muttered and nodded ominously— But the mate, right carelessly whistled he. “‘Our bark may never outride the gale. ’Tis a pitiless night! The pattering hail Hath coated each spar as ’twere in mail; And our sails are riven before the breeze, While our cordage and shrouds into icicles freeze!’ “Thus spake the skipper beside the mast, While the arrowy sleet fell thick and fast; And our bark drove onward before the blast That goaded the waves, till the angry main Rose up and strove with the hurricane. “Up spake the mate, and his tone was gay,— ‘Shall we at this hour to fear give way? We must labor, in sooth, as well as pray. Out, shipmates, and grapple home yonder sail, That flutters in ribbons before the gale!’ “Loud swelled the tempest, and rose the shriek, ‘Save, save! we are sinking! A leak! a leak!’ And the hale old skipper’s tawny cheek Was cold, as ’twere sculptured in marble there, And white as the foam or his own white hair. _ “The wind piped shrilly, the wind piped loud, It shrieked ’mong the cordage, it howled in the shroud, And the sleet fell thick from the cold, dun cloud; But high over all, in tones of glee, The voice of the mate rang cheerily,— “Now, men, for your wives’ and your sweethearts’ sakes! Cheer, messmates, cheer! Quick! man the brakes! We’ll gain on the leak ere the skipper wakes; And though our peril your hearts appall, Ere dawns the morrow we’ll laugh at the squall.” “He railed at the tempest, he laughed at its threats, He played with his fingers like castanets; Yet think not that he, in his mirth, forgets That the plank he is riding this hour at sea May launch him the next to eternity! “The white-haired skipper turned away, And lifted his hands, as it were to pray; But his look spoke plainly as look could say, The boastful thought of the Pharisee,— ‘Thank God, I’m not hardened as others be!’ “But the morning dawned, and the waves sank low, And the winds, o’erwearied, forebore to blow: And our bark lay there in the golden glow.— Flashing she lay in the bright sunshine, An ice-sheathed hulk on the cold, still brine. “Well, shipmates, my yarn is almost spun— The cold and the tempest their work had done, And I was the last, lone, living one, Clinging, benumbed, to that wave-girt wreck, While the dead around me bestrewed the deck. “Yea, the dead were round me everywhere! The skipper gray, in the sunlight there, Still lifted his paralyzed hands in prayer; And the mate, whose tones through the darkness leapt, In the silent hush of the morning slept. “Oh, bravely he perished who sought to save Our storm-tossed bark from the pitiless wave, And her crew from a yawning and fathomless grave, Crying, Messmates, cheer!’ with a bright, glad smile, And praying, ‘Be merciful, God!’ the while. “True to his trust, to his last chill gasp, The helm lay clutched in his stiff, cold grasp: You might scarcely in death undo the clasp; And his crisp, brown locks were dank and thin, And the icicles hung from his bearded chin. “My timbers have weathered, since, many a gale; And when life’s tempests this hulk assail, And the binnacle-lamp in my breast burns pale, ‘Cheer, messmates, cheer!’ to my heart I say, ‘We must labor, in sooth, as well as pray.’” Transcriber Notes: Uncertain or antiquated spellings or ancient words were not corrected. The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up stanzas. Errors in punctuation and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered. In TOC, corrected "Excelsior" reference from 137 to 136. |
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