And, running forward for some little space,
Stayed featly at the galley's mounting-place,
Where slowly these sad-faced landsmen went
Crabwise and evil-mouthed with discontent,
Holding to sodden rope and rusty chain
And bulwark that was wetted with the rain:
For 'neath their feet the black bows rose and fell,
Nor might a man walk steadfastly or well
Who had not hand upon a rail or rope;
And Estunt turned him landward, and wan hope