The honest stuff, unplaned and rough, that really makes the man.
For we bared our arms and we stormed the press--of safety took no care;
We dragged those wretches from the boats-- then placed the women there.
No time had we for the courtly “Please!” If a poltroon answered “No,”
We gave him the thing that a man reserves for the coward’s case--a blow.
It isn’t a boast, I say again; but we stayed till all had passed,
Then the ragged coats of those Glo’ster men went over her lee rail last.
And three of the few of our scattered crew, who had twice dared Fate that night,
Went down in the rush of the whirlpool’s tow when the liner swooped from sight.
We ask no praise, we seek no heights above our chosen place,
But the men of the Banks know how to die when Davy trumps their ace.
And if need arise for a sacrifice we’ve shown, and we’ll show again,
That on sea or sod we can meet our God in the way that beseemeth men.
The mandate that summons them nobody knows,
That bids the vast breast of the ocean unclose, When the depths are so eerily stirred.
There are omens of ocean and portents of sky That the eyes of the banksman may read; The wind tells its menace by moan or a sigh To any one giving it heed.
Yet, fathom the whorl of a cloud though he may--
No weatherwise fisherman truly may say When the Drift of the Drowned shall be.
Up from the swaying ocean deeps appears the grisly show.
And woe to the fated crew Who behold it passing through--
Who gaze on the ghosts of the Gloucester fleets on the Night of the White Review._
Whence issue these fleets for their grim ren- dewous
And their hideous cruise, who may know? Yet they traverse the Banks ere the winter storms brew,
We know that from Quero far west to the Shoals.-
With bones and with timbers--“Went down with all souls,”
And up with those souls come those vessels again
Then out of the night to the terror of men They sail with the fog for a pall.
These craft loom out of the great, black night, and past the living sweep.
Who gaze on the ghosts of the Gloucester fleets on the Night of the White Review_.
Now here and now yonder some helmsman sings hail
And the horrified crew tumbles up to the rail To gaze on the marvel, aghast.
And then through that night, when the fishers ride near,