Most excellent. He never had to spell out that this was the very definition
of clawing off a lee shore, but every sailor gets the picture.
I have seen ice in the rigging. It gives you an extra chill down your neck
because you quickly recognize that a big part of what happens next is left
to providence.
--Dave Shugarts
On 12/23/06 11:21 AM, "Mark Tamblyn" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
> Christmas at Sea
> by Robert Louis Stevenson
> (1850-1894)
>
>
>
> The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand;
> The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could stand;
> The wind was a nor'-wester, blowing squally off the sea;
> And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee.
> They heard the suff a-roaring before the break of day;
> But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay.
> We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout,
> And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about.
> All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North;
> All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth;
> All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread,
> For very life and nature we tacked from head to head.
> We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide-race roared;
> But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard.
> So's we saw the cliff and houses and the breakers running high,
> And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against his eye.
> The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam;
> The good red fires were burning bright in every longshore home;
> The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out;
> And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about.
> The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer;
> For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year)
> This day of our adversity was blessèd Christmas morn,
> And the house above the coastguard's was the house where I was born.
> O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there,
> My mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair;
> And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves,
> Go dancing round the china plates that stand upon the shelves.
> And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me,
> Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea;
> And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way,
> To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessèd Christmas Day.
> They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall.
> "All hands to loose topgallant sails," I heard the captain call.
> "By the Lord, she'll never stand it," our first mate, Jackson, cried.
> . . . ."It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson," he replied.
> She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good,
> And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood;
> As the winter's day was ending, in the entry of the night,
> We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light.
> And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but me,
> As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea;
> But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold,
> Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were growing old.
>
> Merry Christmas to all.
> Let¹s remember all those who cannot be at home for the season and are on the
> high seas or serving their country.
>
> Mark Tamblyn
>
>
