Down came the storm, and smote amain
The vessel in its strength;
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
Then leaped her cable’s length.
“Come hither! Come hither! my dear cadet,
And do not look so pale;
For we can weather the roughest sea,
And this is not a gale!”
He wrapped him up in his warmest coat
Against the stinging blast;
He raised the collar round his throat,
And leaned against the mast.
“Oh, steward, I hear a small bell ring!
Oh, say, what may it be?”
He answered in a cheery tone:
“The bell, sir? That’s for tea!”
“Oh, steward, I hear the sound of plates!
Oh, say, what may it be?”
“What, don’t you want your supper, sir?”
“No, thank you: none for me!”
“Oh, steward, I feel a rumbling pain!
Oh, say, what may it be?”
’Twas the tribute claimed from all the “new”
To Neptune’s realm—the sea!
Over the vessel’s leeward side
Steadfastly then looked he.
We didn’t ask what he wanted there,
For we could plainly see.
Then that sailor clasped his hands, and wished
That safe on land was he;
And he thought of cadets at peace on shore,
Or under Dartmouth’s lee.
How few of those who saw us sail,
And out of Dartmouth steam,
Could know our joy to see the Start
Broad on the starboard beam!
“Oh, joy! I see a light ahead.
Oh, say, what may it be?”
’Twas the welcome gleam of the breakwater light,
And west-nor’-west steered we.