THE PEOPLE’S FLEET

Out of her darkened fishing-ports they go,
A fleet of little ships, whose every name-
Daffodil, Sea-lark, Rose and Surf and Snow,
Burns in this blackness like an altar-flame;

Out of her past they sail, three thousand strong,
The people’s fleet that never knew its worth,
And every name is a broken phrase of song
To some remembered loveliness on earth.

There’s Barbara Cowie, Comely Bank and May,
Christened, at home, in worlds of dawn and dew:
There’s Ruth and Kindly Light and Robin Gray
With Mizpah. (May that simple prayer come true!)

Out of old England’s inmost heart they sail,
A fleet of memories that can never fail.

KILMENY

Dark, dark lay the drifters against the red West,
As they shot their long meshes of steel overside;
And the oily green waters were rocking to rest
When Kilmeny went out, at the turn of the tide;
And nobody knew where that lassie would roam,
For the magic that called her was tapping unseen.
It was well-nigh a week ere Kilmeny came home,
And nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.

She’d a gun at her bow that was Newcastle’s best,
And a gun at her stern that was fresh from the Clyde,
And a secret her skipper had never confessed,
Not even at dawn, to his newly-wed bride;
And a wireless that whispered above, like a gnome,
The laughter of London, the boasts of Berlin....
O, it may have been mermaids that lured her from home;
But nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.

It was dark when Kilmeny came home from her quest
With her bridge dabbled red where her skipper had died;
But she moved like a bride with a rose at her breast,
And Well done Kilmeny! the Admiral cried.

Now, at sixty-four fathom a conger may come
And nose at the bones of a drowned submarine;
But-late in the evening Kilmeny came home,
And nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.

There’s a wandering shadow that stares at the foam,
Though they sing all the night to old England, their queen.
Late, late in the evening, Kilmeny came home;
And nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.

CAP’N STORM-ALONG

They are buffeting out in the bitter grey weather,
Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!
Sea-lark singing to Golden Feather,
And burly blue waters all swelling aroun’.
There’s Thunderstone butting ahead as they wallow,
With death in the mesh of their deep-sea trawl;
There’s Night-Hawk swooping by wild Sea-swallow;
And old Cap’n Storm-along leading ’em all.

Bashing the seas to a welter of white, Look at the fleet that he leads to the fight. O, they’re dancing like witches to open the ball; And old Cap’n Storm-along’s lord of ’em all.

Now, where have you seen such a bully old sailor?
His eyes are as blue as the scarf at his throat;
And he rolls on the bridge of his broad-beamed whaler,
In yellow sou’wester and oil-skin coat.
In trawler and drifter, in dinghy and dory,
Wherever he signals, they leap to his call;
They batter the seas to a lather of glory,
With old Cap’n Storm-along leading ’em all.

You’ll find he’s from Devon, the sailor I mean, Look at his whaler now, shipping it green. O, Fritz and his “U” boat must crab it and crawl When old Cap’n Storm-along sails to the ball.

Ay, there is the skipper that knows how to scare ’em.
Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!
Look at the sea-wives he keeps in his harem,
Wicked young merry-maids, buxom and brown:
There’s Rosalind, the sea-witch, and Gipsy so lissom,
All dancing like ducks in the teeth of the squall,
With a bright eye for Huns, and a Hotchkiss to kiss ’em;
For old Cap’n Storm-along’s lord of ’em all.

Look at him, battering darkness to light! Look at the fleet that he leads to the fight! O, hearts that are mighty, in ships that are small, Your old Cap’n Storm-along’s lord of us all.

THE BIG BLACK TRAWLER

The very best ship that ever I knew,
-Ah-way O, to me O-
Was a big black trawler with a deep-sea crew-
Sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.

There was one old devil with a broken nose
-Ah-way O, to me O-
He was four score years, as I suppose-
But, sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.

We was wrecked last March, in a Polar storm
-Ah-way O, to me O-
And we asked the old cripple if his feet was warm-
Sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.

And the old, old devil (he was ninety at the most)
-Ah-way O, to me O-
Roars, “Ay, warm as a lickle piece of toast”-
So sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.

“For I soaked my sea-boots and my dungarees
-Ah-way O, to me O-
In the good salt water that the Lord don’t freeze”-
Oh, sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.

NAMESAKES

But where’s the brown drifter that went out alone?
-Roll and go, and fare you well-
Was her name Peggy Nutten? That name is my own.
Fare you well, my sailor.
They sang in the dark, “Let her go! Let her go!”
And she sailed to the West, where the broad waters flow;
And the others come back, but ... the bitter winds blow.
Ah, fare you well, my sailor.

The women, at evening, they wave and they cheer.
-Roll and go, and fare you well-
They’re waiting to welcome their lads at the pier.
Fare you well, my sailor.
They’re all coming home in the twilight below;
But there’s one little boat.... Let her go! Let her go!
She carried my heart, and a heart for the foe.
Ah, fare you well, my sailor.

The Nell and the Maggie, the Ruth and the Joan,
-Roll and go, and fare you well-
They come to their namesakes, and leave me alone.
Fare you well, my sailor.
And names are kep’ dark, for the spies mustn’t know;
But they’ll look in my face, an’ I think it will show;
Peggy Nutten’s my name. Let her go! let her go!
Ah, fare you well, my sailor.

WIRELESS

Now to those who search the deep,
Gleam of Hope and Kindly Light,
Once, before you turn to sleep,
Breathe a message through the night.
Never doubt that they’ll receive it.
Send it, once, and you’ll believe it.

Wrecks that burn against the stars,
Decks where death is wallowing green,
Snare the breath among their spars,
Hear the flickering threads between,
Quick, through all the storms that blind them,
Quick with words that rush to find them.

Think you these aerial wires
Whisper more than spirits may?
Think you that our strong desires
Touch no distance when we pray?
Think you that no wings are flying
’Twixt the living and the dying?

Inland, here, upon your knees,
You shall breathe from urgent lips,
Round the ships that guard your seas,
Fleet on fleet of angel ships;
Yea, the guarded may so bless them
That no terrors can distress them.

You shall guide the darkling prow,
Kneeling thus-and far inland-
You shall touch the storm-beat brow
Gently as a spirit-hand.
Even a blindfold prayer may speed them,
And a little child may lead them.

FISHERS OF MEN

Long, long ago He said,
He who could wake the dead,
And walk upon the sea-
“Come, follow Me.

“Leave your brown nets and bring
Only your hearts to sing,
Only your souls to pray,
Rise, come away.

“Shake out your spirit-sails,
And brave those wilder gales,
And I will make you then
Fishers of men.”

Was this, then, what He meant?
Was this His high intent,
After two thousand years
Of blood and tears?

God help us, if we fight
For right, and not for might.
God help us if we seek
To shield the weak.

Then, though His heaven be far
From this blind welter of war,
He’ll bless us, on the sea
From Calvary.

AN OPEN BOAT

O what is that whimpering there in the darkness?
"Let him lie in my arms. He is breathing, I know.
Look. I’ll wrap all my hair round his neck.”-“The sea’s rising,
The boat must be lightened. He’s dead. He must go."

See-quick-by that flash, where the bitter foam tosses,
The cloud of white faces, in the black open boat,
And the wild pleading woman that clasps her dead lover
And wraps her loose hair round his breast and his throat.

"Come, lady, he’s dead.” “No, I feel his heart beating.
He’s living, I know. But he’s numbed with the cold.
See, I’m wrapping my hair all around him to warm him” -
-“No. We can’t keep the dead, dear. Come, loosen your hold.

"Come. Loosen your fingers.”-“O God, let me keep him!"
O, hide it, black night! Let the winds have their way!
For there are no voices or ghosts from that darkness,
To fret the bare seas at the breaking of day.

PEACE IN A PALACE

“You were weeping in the night,” said the Emperor,
“Weeping in your sleep, I am told.”
“It was nothing but a dream,” said the Empress;
But her face grew gray and old.
“You thought you saw our German God defeated?”
“Oh, no!” she said. “I saw no lightnings fall.
I dreamed of a whirlpool of green water,
Where something had gone down. That was all.

"All but the whimper of the sea gulls flying,
Endlessly round and round,
Waiting for the faces, the faces from the darkness,
The dreadful rising faces of the drowned.

“It was nothing but a dream,” said the Empress.
“I thought I was walking on the sea;
And the foam rushed up in a wild smother,
And a crowd of little faces looked at me.

They were drowning! They were drowning,” said the Empress,
“And they stretched their feeble arms to the sky;
But the worst was-they mistook me for their mother,
And cried as my children used to cry.

"Nothing but a whimper of the sea-gulls flying,
Endlessly round and round,
With the cruel yellow beaks that were waiting for the faces,
The little floating faces of the drowned."

“It was nothing but a dream,” said the Emperor,
“So why should you weep, dear, eh?”-
“Oh, I saw the red letters on a life belt
That the green sea washed my way!”-
“What were they?” said the Emperor. “What were they?”-
“Some of them were hidden,” said the Empress,
“But I plainly saw the L and the U!”
“In God’s name, stop!” said the Emperor.
“You told me that it was not true!

"Told me that you dreamed of the sea gulls flying,
Endlessly round and round,
Waiting for the faces, and the eyes in the faces,
The eyes of the children that we drowned.

“Kiss me and forget it,” said the Emperor,
“Dry your tears on the tassel of my sword.
I am going to offer peace to my people,
And abdicate, perhaps, as overlord.
I shall now take up My Cross as Count of Prussia-
Which is not a heavy burden, you’ll agree.
Why, before the twenty million dead are rotten
There’ll be yachting days again for you and me.
Cheer up!
It would mean a rope for anyone but Me.”

"Oh, take care!” said the Empress. “They are flying,
Endlessly round and round.
They have finished with the faces, the dreadful little faces,
The little eyeless faces of the drowned."

THE VINDICTIVE

How should we praise those lads of the old Vindictive
Who looked Death straight in the eyes,
Till his gaze fell,
In those red gates of hell?

England, in her proud history, proudly enrolls them,
And the deep night in her remembering skies
With purer glory
Shall blazon their grim story.

There were no throngs to applaud that hushed adventure.
They were one to a thousand on that fierce emprise.
The shores they sought
Were armoured, past all thought.

O, they knew fear, be assured, as the brave must know it,
With youth and its happiness bidding their last good-byes;
Till thoughts, more dear
Than life, cast out all fear.

For if, as we think, they remembered the brown-roofed homesteads,
And the scent of the hawthorn hedges when daylight dies,
Old happy places,
Young eyes and fading faces;

One dream was dearer that night than the best of their boyhood,
One hope more radiant than any their hearts could prize.
The touch of your hand,
The light of your face, England!

So, age to age shall tell how they sailed through the darkness
Where, under those high, austere, implacable stars,
Not one in ten
Might look for a dawn again.

They saw the ferry-boats, Iris and Daffodil, creeping
Darkly as clouds to the shimmering mine-strewn bars,
Flash into light!
Then thunder reddened the night.

The wild white swords of the search-lights blinded and stabbed them,
The sharp black shadows fought in fantastic wars.
Black waves leapt whitening,
Red decks were washed with lightning.

But, under the twelve-inch guns of the black land-batteries
The hacked bright hulk, in a glory of crackling spars,
Moved to her goal
Like an immortal soul;

That, while the raw rent flesh in a furnace is tortured,
Reigns by a law no agony ever can shake,
And shines in power
Above all shocks of the hour.

O, there, while the decks ran blood, and the star-shells lightened
The old broken ship that the enemy never could break,
Swept through the fire
And grappled her heart’s desire.

There, on a wreck that blazed with the soul of England,
The lads that died in the dark for England’s sake
Knew, as they died,
Nelson was at their side;

Nelson, and all the ghostly fleets of his island,
Fighting beside them there, and the soul of Drake!-
Dreams, as we knew,
Till these lads made them true.

How should we praise you, lads of the old Vindictive,
Who looked death straight in the eyes,
Till his gaze fell
In those red gates of hell?