The Houston daily post. [volume] (Houston, Tex.) 1886-1903, 1903-01-18

the scar The lsndsman who has never
looked upon its imi,ess espanse reads Of its
romanees and its mysteries. and by some mys-
terious telepathy he seems TO tread the CULVER
Ing deck OF some oeean-goiug craft; he hears
the scream of the wind through the rigging;
sees the white caps of the pillows racing past
on their way around the world, and for the
nonee he feels the wild freedom Of the limit
less ocean.
"The sea the sea the changeless sea.
The wild, the wide the ever free"
The story teller who can handle his pen so
deity as to achieve this efee, on his readers
Is Of wide audience and a ready income,
Such a writer is james B. Connolly, author of
the half dozen tales which comprise the volume,
"Out of Gloucester
The stories deal almost altogether with the
fishermen OF the Grand Banks, the friendly
rivalry of the shippers the endeavor of each to
make his boat the most talked OF boat Of the
feet, the thrilling home in which is well
portrayed the daredevil reekessness OF these sons
Of the deep who spread their sails with laugh
in the very jaws OF death, cajole the tempest
TO DO their wills and ay 10 victory the vary
wings OF the hurricane, which Nature seems TO
have conjured up tor their uudoing. To have
portrayed these wonderful characters he does
with the wild sweep and song OF the sea in every
line Of his work, Mr.. Connolly must have served
an interesting apprenticeship.
The volume consists OF the following tales {:
"a Chase Overnight" "On the Echo OF the
Morn" From Reysjavik to Gloucester" "A
Fisherman OF Costa" Tommy Ohlseu's West
ern Passage and Clancy
Perhaps the best idea OF the breeziness and
blizzardly freshness of the stories be gained
by a perusal Of J. NJ. Lewis poem a Skipper
Out of Gloucester" which appeared in The Post
a number OF weeks ago, and which received con-
siderable favorable comment at the time OF its
publication, II was Inspired BY rerusal Of
Tommy Ohlsens Western Passage" published
in Sorbner's monthly some time since
SKIPPER our or GLOUCESTER
There's music in the singing OF the cordage in
the wind;
There's a rhythm in the growing of the that
break behind;
There's salt tang to the spindrift when the bill
lows break and comb,
And a skipper out of Gloucester tipping anchor
heads for home.
The hsh had led us north'ard east by north ard
an lay
In snug Norwegian harbor some old 'suud-
brother bay.
I With some forty thousand halibut an cod down
An the seas outside a-frothin' up an wind a
cuttin' cold,
We were nor'-nor'-east from Gloucester some
four thousand miles more;
Nor by east Of the Lofodens ON black Nor
wegian shore,
Riding gently to our anchor to each smooth and
roiiy swell,
/ Waitin' till the tempest slaoiSened for the wind
playin' hell,
Then the cook brought up provisions and let
L.. -
! Just the skipper knew, an somehow he never
said
/ But l know we upped the anchor, an we broke
for open sea.
With gale from ont the Arctics an Iofodeu
our lee.
So we banged her out and southland; banged her
down sou'west by west
Ev'ry man slept in his oilskins, little handfuls
just of rest
An by day the gale shricked by US, an by night
il screamed and moaned,
An our sticks we're bent like willows and our
tmbers creaked an groaned.
An we hader dressed for fyin jumbo, jib, fore
main, an all
An both topsls with the halliards fairly
snarlin' at the squall
An the water smashin' past us-we could touch
Il on our lee
An our catheads barely shown now an then
above the sea
An we trimmed er, an we drove er She was
sailin on er side
Two OF US dashed TO cr tiller, an 'cr canvas
spreadin' wide
An we crossed an English liner meath 'er bows
an, fore she spoke,
She was in our wake an faded like ragged
wisp O. smoke
And we picked up Sable Island and, above the
singing spar
We could hear the breakers booming as we
crossed the notheast bar;
An we swung her for Cape Sable, an we drove
her down the coast
Like a ghost born out OF darkness and again In
darkness lost
Then great glory how we drove her till VIZ
heard her timbers beg
West half west by moth we drove herl we wa;
on homeward leg
And we never Stacked up on her when w
rounded Eastern Point;
An we banged her into Gloucester Ike wee
open evry joint
Some four thousand miles of ocean an a shor
sxteen-day run
In a gale that snapped the reefties Ike th'
crackin' OF a gum
Then the skipper got message an his eyes IL
up with JOY;
oYour old woman's round the house agin an
Cap, this ones boy !"
There's music in the singing Of the cordase h
the wind
There's rhythm in the growing Of the sea
S that break behind
There's salt tang in the sPindntt when IN
pillows break and comb,
n / A l., ~ Cloticester weighing auClO