The Women of Mumbles Head

Bring, novelist, your note-book! bring, dramatist, your pen!
And I'll tell you a simple story of what women do for men.
It's only a tale of a lifeboat, of the dying and the dead,
Of the terrible storm and shipwreck that happened off Mumbles Head!
Maybe you have traveled in Wales, sir, and know it north and south;
Maybe you are friends with the "natives" that dwell at Oystermouth;
It happens, no doubt, that from Bristol you've crossed in a casual way,
And have sailed your yacht in the summer in the blue of Swansea Bay.
Well! it isn't like that in the winter, when the lighthouse stands alone,
In the teeth of Atlantic breakers that foam on its face of stone;
It wasn't like that when the hurricane blew, and the storm-bell tolled,or when
There was news of a wreck, and the lifeboat launched, and a desperate cry for men.
When in the world did the coxswain shirk? a brave old salt was he!
Proud to the bone of as four strong lads as ever had tasted the sea,
Welshmen all to the lungs and loins, who, about that coast, 'twas said,
Had saved some hundred lives apiece—at a shilling or so a head!
So the father launched the lifeboat, in the teeth of the tempest's roar,
And he stood like a man at the rudder, with an eye on his boys at the oar,
Out to the wreck went the father! out to the wreck went the sons!
Leaving the weeping of women, and booming of signal guns;
Leaving the mother who loved them, and the girls that the sailors love;
Going to death for duty, and trusting to God above!
Do you murmur a prayer, my brothers, when cozy and safe in bed,
For men like these, who are ready to die for a wreck off Mumbles Head?
It didn't go well with the lifeboat! 'twas a terrible storm that blew!
And it snapped the' rope in a second that was flung to the drowning crew;
And then the anchor parted—'twas a tussle to keep afloat!
But the father stuck to the rudder, and the boys to the brave old boat.
Then at last on the poor doomed lifeboat a wave broke mountains high!
"God help us now!" said the father. "It's over, my lads! Good-bye"!
Half of the crew swam shoreward, half to the sheltered caves,
But father and sons were fighting death in the foam of the angry waves.
Up at a lighthouse window two women beheld the storm,
And saw in the boiling breakers a figure—a fighting form;
It might be a gray-haired father, then the women held their breath;
It might be a fair-haired brother, who was having a round with death;
It might be a lover, a husband, whose kisses were on the lips
Of the women whose love is the life of men going down to the sea in ships.
They had seen the launch of the lifeboat, they had seen the worst, and more,
Then, kissing each other, these women went down from the lighthouse, straight to shore.
There by the rocks on the breakers these sisters, hand in hand,
Beheld once more that desperate man who struggled to reach the land,
'Twas only aid he wanted to help him across the wave,
But what are a couple of women with only a man to save?
What are a couple of women? well, more than three craven men
Who stood by the shore with chattering teeth, refusing to stir—and then
Off went the women's shawls, sir; in a second they're torn and rent,
Then knotting them into a rope of love, straight into the sea they went!
"Come back!" cried the lighthouse-keeper. "For God's sake, girls, come back!"
As they caught the waves on their foreheads, resisting the fierce attack.
"Come back!" moaned the gray-haired mother, as she stood by the angry sea,
"If the waves take you, my darlings, there's nobody left to me!"
"Come back!" said the three strong soldiers, who still stood faint and pale,
"You will drown if you face the breakers! you will fall if you brave the gale!"
"Come back!" said the girls, "we will not! go tell it to all the town,
We'll lose our lives, God willing, before that man shall drown!"
"Give one more knot to the shawls, Bess! give one strong clutch of your hand!
Just follow me, brave, to the shingle, and we'll bring him safe to land!
Wait for the next wave, darling! only a minute more,
And I'll have him safe in my arms, dear, and we'll drag him to the shore."
Up to the arms in the water, fighting it breast to breast,
They caught and saved a brother alive. God bless them! you know the rest—
Well, many a heart beat stronger, and many a tear was shed,
And many a glass was tossed right off to "The Women of Mumbles Head!"
Clement Scott.

The Fireman's Story

"'A frightful face'? Wal, yes, yer correct;
That man on the enjine thar
Don't pack the han'somest countenance—
Every inch of it sportin' a scar;
But I tell you, pard, thar ain't money enough
Piled up in the National Banks
To buy that face, nor a single scar—
(No, I never indulges. Thanks.)
"Yes, Jim is an old-time engineer,
An' a better one never war knowed!
Bin a runnin' yar since the fust machine
War put on the Quincy Road;
An' thar ain't a galoot that pulls a plug
From Maine to the jumpin' off place
That knows more about the big iron hoss
Than him with the battered-up face.
"'Got hurt in a smash-up'? No,'twar done
In a sort o' legitimate way;
He got it a-trying to save a gal
Up yar on the road last May.
I heven't much time for to spin you the yarn,
For we pull out at two-twenty-five—
Just wait till I climb up an' toss in some coal,
So's to keep old '90' alive.
"Jim war pullin' the Burlin'ton passenger then,
Left Quincy a half an hour late,
An' war skimmin' along purty lively, so's not
To lay out No. 21 freight.
The '90' war more than whoopin' 'em up
An' a-quiverin' in every nerve!
When all to once Jim yelled 'Merciful God!'
As she shoved her sharp nose 'round a curve.
"I jumped to his side o' the cab, an' ahead
'Bout two hundred paces or so
Stood a gal on the track, her hands raised aloft,
An' her face jist as white as the snow;
It seems she war so paralyzed with the fright
That she couldn't move for'ard or back,
An' when Jim pulled the whistle she fainted an' fell
Right down in a heap on the track!
"I'll never forgit till the day o' my death
The look that cum over Jim's face;
He throw'd the old lever cl'r back like a shot
So's to slacken the '90's' wild pace,
Then let on the air brakes as quick as a flash,
An' out through the window he fled,
An' skinned 'long the runnin' board cla'r in front,
An' lay on the pilot ahead.
"Then just as we reached whar the poor creetur lay,
He grabbed a tight hold, of her arm,
An' raised her right up so's to throw her one side
Out o' reach of danger an' harm.
But somehow he slipped an' fell with his head
On the rail as he throw'd the young lass,
An' the pilot in strikin' him, ground up his face
In a frightful and horrible mass!
"As soon as we stopped I backed up the train
To that spot where the poor fellow lay,
An' there sot the gal with his head in her lap
An' wipin' the warm blood away.
The tears rolled in torrents right down from her eyes,
While she sobbed like her heart war all broke—
I tell you, my friend, such a sight as that 'ar
Would move the tough heart of an oak!
"We put Jim aboard an' ran back to town,
What for week arter week the boy lay
A-hoverin' right in the shadder o' death,
An' that gal by his bed every day.
But nursin' an' doctorin' brought him around—
Kinder snatched him right outer the grave—
His face ain't so han'some as 'twar, but his heart
Remains just as noble an' brave.
"Of course thar's a sequel—as story books say—
He fell dead in love, did this Jim;
But hadn't the heart to ax her to have
Sich a batter'd-up rooster as him.
She know'd how he felt, and last New Year's day
War the fust o' leap year as you know,
So she jist cornered Jim an' proposed on the spot,
An' you bet he didn't say no.
"He's building a house up thar on the hill,
An' has laid up a snug pile o' cash,
The weddin's to be on the first o' next May—
Jist a year from the day o' the smash—
The gal says he risked his dear life to save hers,
An' she'll just turn the tables about,
An' give him the life that he saved—thar's the bell.
Good day, sir, we're goin' to pull out."

Little Willie's Hearing

Sometimes w'en I am playin' with some fellers 'at I knows,
My ma she comes to call me, 'cause she wants me, I surpose:
An' then she calls in this way: "Willie! Willie, dear! Willee-e-ee!"
An' you'd be surprised to notice how dretful deef I be;
An' the fellers 'at are playin' they keeps mos' orful still,
W'ile they tell me, jus' in whispers: "Your ma is callin', Bill."
But my hearin' don't git better, so fur as I can see,
W'ile my ma stan's there a-callin': "Willie! Willie, dear! Willee-e-ee!"
An' soon my ma she gives it up, an' says: "Well, I'll allow
It's mighty cur'us w'ere that boy has got to, anyhow";
An' then I keep on playin' jus' the way I did before—
I know if she was wantin' much she'd call to me some more.
An' purty soon she comes agin an' says: "Willie! Willee-e-ee!"
But my hearin's jus' as hard as w'at it useter be.
If a feller has good judgment, an' uses it that way,
He can almos' allers manage to git consid'ble play.
But jus' w'ile I am playin', an' prob'ly I am "it,"
They's somethin' diff'rent happens, an' I have to up, an' git,
Fer my pa comes to the doorway, an' he interrup's our glee;
He jus' says, "William Henry!" but that's enough fer me.
You'd be surprised to notice how quickly I can hear
W'en my pa says, "William Henry!" but never "Willie, dear!"
Fer though my hearin's middlin' bad to hear the voice of ma,
It's apt to show improvement w'en the callin' comes from pa.

The Service Flag