High o'er the knight-heads flies the spray, As we meet the shock of the plunging sea; And my shoulder stiff to the wheel I lay, As I answer, "AYE, AYE, SIR! HA-A-R-D A-LEE!"
With the swerving leap of a startled steed The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind, The dangerous shoals on the lee recede, And the headland white we have left behind.
The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse And belly and tug at the groaning cleats, The spanker slats, and the mainsail flaps, And thunders the order, "TACKS AND SHEETS!"
'Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp of the crew, Hisses the rain of the rushing squall; The sails are aback from clew to clew, And now is the moment for "MAINSAIL, HAUL!"
And the heavy yards like a baby's toy By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung; She holds her way, and I look with joy For the first white spray o'er the bulwarks flung.
"LET GO AND HAUL!" 'Tis the last command, And the head-sails fill to the blast once more; Astern and to leeward lies the land, With its breakers white on the shingly shore.
What matters the reef, or the rain, or the squall? I steady the helm for the open sea; The first mate clamors, "BELAY THERE, ALL!" And the captain's breath once more comes free.
And so off shore let the good ship fly; Little care I how the gusts may blow, In my fo'castle-bunk in a jacket dry,-- Eight bells have struck, and my watch is below.
Under my window, in the street called Cossitollah, flows all the motliness of a Calcutta thoroughfare in two counter-setting currents;-- one Chowriagee-ward, in the direction of Nabob magnificence and grace; the other toward the Cooly squalor and deformity of the Radda Bazaar;-- and as, in the glare of the early forenoon sun, the shadows of the hither or thither passing throngs fall straight across the way, from the Parsee's _godown_, over against me, to the gate of the _pucca_ house wherein my look-out is, I watch with interest the frequent eddies occasioned by the clear-steerings of caste,--Brahmin, Warrior, and Merchant keeping severely to the Parsee side, so that the foul shadow of Soodra or Pariah may not pollute their sacred persons. It is as though my window were a tower of Allahabad, and below me, in Cossitollah, were the shy meeting of the waters. Thus, looking up or down, I mark how the limpid Jumna of high caste holds its way in a common bed, but never mingling with the turbid Ganges of an unclean rabble.