P.T. Chamberlain
"Whither bound?" said his wife to the captain one morn
As he stood, oars and fish lines in his hands,
"Outside Sandy Neck, to try fisherman's luck
For bluefish, or mackerel or clams."
"Good luck and good-bye," said his fond loving wife,
"The weather looks pleasant and fair,
You'll be back at the landing on the full of the tide,
And the children and I'll wait you there."
But when rounding Beach Point, with his good catch of fish,
The captain was caught in a squall,
Black clouds, wind and thunder, lightning and hail,
While the rain in torrents did fall.
Quick he lowered his sail, but the wind snapped his mast,
Away they went over the side.
One gunwale under water, the other in air,
Lifted high by the surging tide.
Then the captain braced himself as with sinews of steel,
A hand on each gunwale places he,
So he balanced and steadied his frail little craft,
Rolling there in the trough of the sea.
His wife from the window saw his peril in the storm.
And away to the landing she sped.
Tied her white linen apron to a handy boat book,
And waved it high o'er her head.
"Home, home for a lantern," to the laddie she cried.
Home, home for the lantern ran he,
Returning, he swung it, back and forth, to and fro,
That his brave sailor father might see.
Soaked to the skin with the rain and the spray,
His face as white as the foam,
"Must I drown in sight of my wife," he said,
"Must I die within reach of my home."
"For the sake of my helpless little ones,
For the sake of my faithful wife.
I pray Thee, O Lord, to forgive all my sins,
Give me this one chance for my life."
Still darker grew the storm, black and green looked the waves,
The shore line to the captain grew dim,
But he knew by the lantern and the waving white flag,
Where his loved ones were watching for him.
Three hours he struggled with the full flooding tide.
Now the Channel Rock danger is o'er.
One more stretch of water, some more dangerous rocks,
Then the gleaming surf, then the shore.
"A rope, bring a rope, "the kind neighbors shout,
"A rope now the captain will save."
They coiled a stout rope and with powerful hand,
Flung it out o'er the turbulent wave.
Joy! Joy! he is saved! He clutches the rope,
With cold, bruised and stiffening hand,
A long pull, a strong' pull, and more dead than alive,
Through the surf they draw him to land.
"Home, home for hot coffee," to the lassie she cried,
Home, home for hot coffee, went she,
Returning, brought coffee, dry clothing, warm food,
A fleet-footed lassie was she.
But the kid, boylike, would investigate the boat,
And so he climbed over its side.
"Half full of water," he said, "not a bluefish or clam,
Must have all floated out on the tide."
With boat hook and lantern, the kids travelled home,
"Little sister, now what do you think,
Hadn't we said, 'Now I lay me,' to the Lord every night?
Would He let Pa and our dory sink?"
"No, no," said the lassie, "No, no, that ain't so,
Naughty children very often are we,
'Tis 'cause Ma puts a Bible in Pa's chest of clothes
Every time that he goes 'way to sea."
Gratitude profound, thanksgiving and joy
Filled the heart of the loving wife,
But the captain, a man of few words, only said,
"Yes, a pretty narrow squeak for a life."
