FOG WRAITHS: MILDRED HOWELLS

In from the ocean the white fog creeps, Blotting out ship, and rock, and tree, While wrapped in its shroud, from the soundless deeps, Back to the land come the lost at sea.

Over the weeping gra.s.s they drift By well-known paths to their homes again, To finger the latch they may not lift And peer through the glistering window-pane.

Then in the churchyard each seeks the stone To its memory raised among the rest, And they watch by their empty graves alone Till the fog rolls back to the ocean's breast.

CHEERFUL SPIRITS

CAPE HORN GOSPEL: JOHN MASEFIELD

"I was in a hooker once," said Karlssen, "And Bill, as was a seaman, died, So we lashed him in an old tarpaulin And tumbled him across the side; And the fun of it was that all his gear was Divided up among the crew Before that blushing human error Our crawling little captain, knew.

"On the pa.s.sage home one morning (As certain as I prays for grace) There was old Bill's shadder a-hauling At the mizzen weather topsail brace.

He was all grown green with seaweed He was all lashed up and sh.o.r.ed; So I says to him, I says, 'Why, Billy!

What's a-bringin' of you back aboard?'

"'I'm a-weary of them there mermaids,'

Says old Bill's ghost to me; 'It ain't no place for a Christian Below there--under sea.

For it's all blown sand and shipwrecks And old bones eaten bare, And them cold fishy females With long green weeds for hair.

"'And there ain't no dances shuffled, And no old yarns is spun, And there ain't no stars but starfish, And never any moon or sun.

I heard your keel a-pa.s.sing And the running rattle of the brace, And I says, "Stand by,"' says William, '"For a shift towards a better place."'

"Well, he sogered about decks till sunrise, When a rooster in the hen-coop crowed, And as so much smoke he faded, And as so much smoke he goed; And I've often wondered since, Jan, How his old ghost stands to fare Long o' them cold fishy females With long green weeds for hair."

LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE: RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM

The Captain is walking his quarter-deck, With a troubled brow and a bended neck; One eye is down through the hatchway cast, The other turns up to the truck on the mast; Yet none of the crew may venture to hint "Our skipper hath gotten a sinister squint!"

The Captain again the letter hath read Which the b.u.m-boat woman brought out to Spithead-- Still, since the good ship sail'd away, He reads that letter three times a-day; Yet the writing is broad and fair to see As a Skipper may read in his degree, And the seal is as black, and as broad, and as flat, As his own c.o.c.kade in his own c.o.c.k'd hat: He reads, and he says, as he walks to and fro, "Curse the old woman--she bothers me so!"

He pauses now, for the topmen hail-- "On the larboard quarter a sail! a sail!"

That grim old Captain he turns him quick, And bawls through his trumpet for Hairy-faced d.i.c.k.

"The breeze is blowing--huzza! huzza!

The breeze is blowing--away! away!

The breeze is blowing--a race! a race!

The breeze is blowing--we near the chase!

Blood will flow, and bullets will fly,-- Oh, where will be then young Hamilton Tighe?"

--"On the foeman's deck, where a man should be, With his sword in his hand, and his foe at his knee.

c.o.c.kswain, or boatswain, or reefer may try, But the first man on board will be Hamilton Tighe!"

Hairy-faced d.i.c.k hath a swarthy hue, Between a gingerbread-nut and a Jew, And his pigtail is long, and bushy, and thick, Like a pump-handle stuck on the end of a stick.

Hairy-faced d.i.c.k understands his trade; He stand by the breech of a long carronade, The linstock glows in his bony hand, Waiting that grim old Skipper's command.

"The bullets are flying--huzza! huzza!

The bullets are flying--away! away!"-- The brawny boarders mount by the chains, And are over their buckles in blood and in brains.

On the foeman's deck, where a man should be, Young Hamilton Tighe waves his cutla.s.s high, And Capitaine c.r.a.paud bends low at his knee.

Hairy-faced d.i.c.k, linstock in hand, Is waiting that grim-looking Skipper's command:-- A wink comes sly from that sinister eye-- Hairy-faced d.i.c.k at once lets fly, And knocks off the head of young Hamilton Tighe!

There's a lady sits lonely in bower and hall, Her pages and handmaidens come at her call: "Now look ye, my handmaidens, haste now and see How he sits there and glow'rs with his head on his knee!

The maidens smile, and, her thought to destroy, They bring her a little, pale, mealy-faced boy; And the mealy-faced boy says, "Mother, dear, Now Hamilton's dead, I've ten thousand a-year!"

The lady has donned her mantle and hood, She is bound for shrift at St. Mary's Rood:-- "Oh! the taper shall burn, and the bell shall toll, And the ma.s.s shall be said for my step-son's soul, And the tablet fair shall be hung on high, Orate pro anima Hamilton Tighe!"

Her coach and four Draws up to the door With her groom, and her footman, and a half score more The lady steps into her coach alone, And they hear her sigh, and they hear her groan; They close the door, and they turn the pin, But there's One rides with her that never stept in!

All the way there, and all the way back, The harness strains, and the coach-springs crack, The horses snort, and plunge, and kick, Till the coachman thinks he is driving Old Nick; And the grooms and the footmen wonder, and say, "What makes the old coach so heavy to-day?"

But the mealy-faced boy peeps in, and sees A man sitting there with his head on his knees!

'Tis ever the same--in hall or in bower, Wherever the place, whatever the hour, That Lady mutters, and talks to the air, And her eye is fix'd on an empty chair; But the mealy-faced boy still whispers with dread, "She talks to a man with never a head!"

There's an old Yellow Admiral living at Bath, As grey as a badger, as thin as a lath; And his very queer eyes have such very queer leers, They seem to be trying to peep at his ears; That old Yellow Admiral goes to the Rooms, And he plays long whist, but he frets and he fumes, For all his knaves stand upside down, And the Jack of Clubs does nothing but frown; And the Kings and the Aces, and all the best trumps Get into the hands of the other old frumps; While, close to his partner, a man he sees Counting the tricks with his head on his knees.

In Ratcliffe Highway there's an old marine store, And a great black doll hangs out of the door; There are rusty locks, and dusty bags, And musty phials, and fusty rags, And a l.u.s.ty old woman, call'd Thirsty Nan, And her crusty old husband's a Hairy-faced man!

That Hairy-faced man is sallow and wan, And his great thick pigtail is wither'd and gone; And he cries, "Take away that lubberly chap That sits there and grins with his head in his lap!"

And the neighbors say, as they see him look sick, "What a rum old covey is Hairy-faced d.i.c.k!"

That Admiral, Lady, and Hairy-faced man May say what they please, and may do what they can; But one things seems remarkably clear,-- They may die to-morrow, or live till next year,-- But wherever they live, or whenever they die, They'll never get quit of young Hamilton Tighe!

THE SUPPER SUPERSt.i.tION: THOMAS HOOD

_A Pathetic Ballad_

"Oh flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!"--_Mercutio._

'Twas twelve o'clock by the Chelsea chimes, When all in a hungry trim, Good Mr. Jupp sat down to sup With wife, and Kate and Jim.

Said he, "Upon this dainty cod How bravely I shall sup"-- When, whiter than the tablecloth, A ghost came rising up!

"O father dear, O mother dear, Dear Kate, and brother Jim-- You know when some one went to sea-- Don't cry--but I am him!

"You hope some day with fond embrace To greet your lonesome Jack, But oh, I am come here to say I'm never coming back!

"From Alexandria we set sail, With corn, and oil, and figs, But steering 'too much Sow,' we struck Upon the Sow and Pigs!