And I’ll meet my love in the morning,”
Sang the lookout, as he paced the forecastle of the galleon Rose of May, and peered about for signs of land against the dawn. Not that he expected to meet his love in the morning, nor for many mornings, but he had been up in his off-watch and was getting drowsy, so that he sang to keep himself awake. His was one of the first among the English ships to follow in Magellan’s track. The Philippines, or the Manillas, as they were called, had been almost reached, and it was expected that Mindanao would be sighted at break of day off the starboard bow.
“Hello, forward!” bawled the man at the helm.
“Ay, ay!” sang the lookout.
“What d’ye make o’ yonder light?”
“Light? What d’ye mean, man?” And the lookout rubbed his eyes, scanned the water close and far, and wondered if his sight was going out.
“In the sky, o’ course, ye bumble-brain.”
“Now, by the mass, you costard, you gave me a twist of the inwards with your lame joke.”
“’Tis no joke. Will you answer?”
“Why, then, ’tis the daylight, in course, and you aiming for it that steady as to drive the nose of us straight agin the sun, give he comes up where he threats to. And he’ll be here straightway, for in these waters he comes up as he were popped outen a cohorn.”