THE QUARTERMASTER.
I mustn't look up from the compass-card, nor look at the seas at all,
I must watch the helm and compass-card,—If I heard the trumpet-call
Of Gabriel sounding Judgment Day to dry the Seas again,—
I must hold her bow to windward now till I'm relieved again—
To the pipe and wail of a tearing gale,
Carrying Starboard Ten.
I must stare and frown at the compass-card, that chases round the bowl,
North and South and back again with every lurching roll.
By the feel of the ship beneath I know the way she's going to swing,
But I mustn't look up to the booming wind however the halliards sing—
In a breaking sea with the land a-lee,
Carrying Starboard Ten.
And I stoop to look at the compass-card as closes in the night,
For it's hard to see by the shaded glow of half a candle-light;
But the spokes are bright, and I note beside in the corner of my eye
A shimmer of light on oilskin wet that shows the Owner nigh—
Foggy and thick and a windy trick,
Carrying Starboard Ten.
Heave and sway or dive and roll can never disturb me now;
Though seas may sweep in rivers of foam across the straining bow,
I've got my eyes on the compass-card, and though she broke her keel
And hit the bottom beneath us now, you'd find me at the wheel
In Davy's realm, still at the helm,
Carrying Starboard Ten.