Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-02-17
ward Bound Cheering Cry to Crew and Gaunt Old Ship

We YEARLY rig Spanish windlaSses
across the decks from Shrouds TO
shtouds, and bowse them taut to take
in the slack: we run the mooring cables
to the tops and set them up with
tackles to ease the strain; We work
always waist-deep in clammy brine
when we are not in it up to our necks.
Down South again-far south, with the
cold increasing; in the loneliest waste
of angry sea in all the world. with
mewing albatrosses intensifying the
stark loneliness Of it all.
X 4 4
DAY after day, week after week. until
~ the desperate skipper meditates
bouting ship and trying to run home
ward around Good Hope. We are
frost-bitten and covered with salt
water sores; and we forget what ease
and comfort are. Life is a series of
alarms. A topsail splits, We soullessly
replace it; another blows adrift, we
stow 1t with embarrassing har-
Dor strow. There are midnight hours
when we can do nothing save await
the seemingly inevitable finish, when
the laboring ship loses heart and cow
ers away from the perpetual onslaught,
anxious for the Lethe of the seas bed.
We see a ship go down, unable to
lend a helping hand. We sing-croak,
rather-"TimeS are bad and wages low;
it's time for us to leave her!" We grow
sullen and mutinous and grouse about
unnecessary work-up jobs; and We 60
aft in populations to protest.
and what do you think I can do?"
asks the skipper. do you think can
make a fair wind by whiStling for it?"
He serves out dash of grog, but all
our gayety is gone. We're doomed to
become Vanderdeckens, plunging from
the ice to the rocks and back again
forever.
Are we, though? What's this? A rift
in the leaden canopy of clouds and an
easing of the drive of the wind; sud-
den alteration in the swing of the seas.
Hearts up. lads Fair wind coming"
We fall into temporary fiat calm;
the ship seems to relax herself. to draw
in invigorating breaths. She had bat
tied bravely, refusing to take the count;
and now she feels in her old bones that
her strenuous gallantry is to be re-
warded.
Weather main bracesl" We cheer as
the yards heave slowly around. "Oh.
square that yard; oh, come fair wind"
up aloft and shake the reefs out Of
those topsailsr' Do we race; do we ny?
What does 1t matter that we have to
kick away the ice to md q 1ootnold-
there's a fair wind coming, boys! What
does it matter II the ropes are swollen
in the sheaves so that it needs the pull
of a steam winch to render them
through? What does anything matter?
We see ahead Of us the promise Of good
sailing, of the sunny skies Of the Trades,
of the lazy f1ying-fish days when we can
tend our sores and patch our hurts.
And away beyond the shimmering des-
erts of azure sea we see In fancy the
welcoming lights of home.
"Oh, rouse her along! The girls have
hold Of the towrope now--they's haul
ing us home, hand over hand"
Let her ripl Smother her with can
vas again. She was glorious in fine
weather, this old, gaunt ship Of ours
which we curse and love with an affec-
tionate detestation that no landlubber
can understand: she was even more
glorious in the days of stress; but how
may anything compare with her present
glory as she feels the swing Of the
homeward-b hound wind biting up from
the icy south to thrust her headlong
on her triumphant way toward tir
shores Of home?