John Marr and Other Poems | Page 4

all these chaps, I wonder??Trumpets in the tempest, terrors in the fray,?Boomed their commands along the deck like
thunder;?But silent is the sod, and thunder dies away.?But Captain Turret, "Old Hemlock" tall,?(A leaning tower when his tank brimmed all,)?Manoeuvre out alive from the war did he??Or, too old for that, drift under the lee??Kentuckian colossal, who, touching at Madeira,?The huge puncheon shipped o' prime
Santa-Clara;?Then rocked along the deck so solemnly!?No whit the less though judicious was enough?In dealing with the Finn who made the great
huff;?Our three-decker's giant, a grand boatswain's
mate,?Manliest of men in his own natural senses;?But driven stark mad by the devil's drugged
stuff,?Storming all aboard from his run-ashore late,?Challenging to battle, vouchsafing no pretenses,?A reeling King Ogg, delirious in power,?The quarter-deck carronades he seemed to
make cower.?"Put him in brig there!" said Lieutenant
Marrot.?"Put him in brig!" back he mocked like a
parrot;?"Try it, then!" swaying a fist like Thor's
sledge,?And making the pigmy constables hedge--?Ship's corporals and the master-at-arms.?"In brig there, I say!"--They dally no more;?Like hounds let slip on a desperate boar,?Together they pounce on the formidable Finn,?Pinion and cripple and hustle him in.?Anon, under sentry, between twin guns,?He slides off in drowse, and the long night runs.
Morning brings a summons. Whistling it calls,?Shrilled through the pipes of the boatswain's
four aids;?Trilled down the hatchways along the dusk
halls:?Muster to the Scourge!--Dawn of doom and
its blast!?As from cemeteries raised, sailors swarm before
the mast,?Tumbling up the ladders from the ship's nether
shades.
Keeping in the background and taking small
part,?Lounging at their ease, indifferent in face,?Behold the trim marines uncompromised in
heart;?Their Major, buttoned up, near the staff finds
room--?The staff o' lieutenants standing grouped in
their place.?All the Laced Caps o' the ward-room come,?The Chaplain among them, disciplined and
dumb.?The blue-nosed boatswain, complexioned like
slag,?Like a blue Monday lours--his implements in
bag.?Executioners, his aids, a couple by him stand,?At a nod there the thongs to receive from his hand.?Never venturing a caveat whatever may betide,?Though functionally here on humanity's side,?The grave Surgeon shows, like the formal
physician?Attending the rack o' the Spanish Inquisition.
The angel o' the "brig" brings his prisoner up;?Then, steadied by his old Santa-Clara, a sup,?Heading all erect, the ranged assizes there,?Lo, Captain Turret, and under starred
bunting,?(A florid full face and fine silvered hair,)?Gigantic the yet greater giant confronting.
Now the culprit he liked, as a tall captain can?A Titan subordinate and true sailor-man;?And frequent he'd shown it--no worded
advance,?But flattering the Finn with a well-timed glance.?But what of that now? In the martinet-mien?Read the Articles of War, heed the naval
routine;?While, cut to the heart a dishonor there to win,?Restored to his senses, stood the Anak Finn;?In racked self-control the squeezed tears
peeping,?Scalding the eye with repressed inkeeping.?Discipline must be; the scourge is deemed due.?But ah for the sickening and strange heartbenumbing,
Compassionate abasement in shipmates that view;?Such a grand champion shamed there succumbing!?"Brown, tie him up."--The cord he brooked:?How else?--his arms spread apart--never
threaping;?No, never he flinched, never sideways he looked,?Peeled to the waistband, the marble flesh
creeping,?Lashed by the sleet the officious winds urge.
In function his fellows their fellowship merge--?The twain standing nigh--the two boatswain's
mates,?Sailors of his grade, ay, and brothers of his
mess.?With sharp thongs adroop the junior one
awaits?The word to uplift.
"Untie him--so!?Submission is enough, Man, you may go."?Then, promenading aft, brushing fat Purser
Smart,?"Flog? Never meant it--hadn't any heart.?Degrade that tall fellow? "--Such, wife, was he,?Old Captain Turret, who the brave wine could
stow.?Magnanimous, you think?--But what does
Dick see??Apron to your eye! Why, never fell a blow;?Cheer up, old wifie, 't was a long time ago.
But where's that sore one, crabbed and-severe,?Lieutenant Lon Lumbago, an arch scrutineer??Call the roll to-day, would he answer--Here!?When the Blixum's fellows to quarters
mustered?How he'd lurch along the lane of gun-crews
clustered,?Testy as touchwood, to pry and to peer.?Jerking his sword underneath larboard arm,?He ground his worn grinders to keep himself
calm.?Composed in his nerves, from the fidgets set
free,?Tell, Sweet Wrinkles, alive now is he,?In Paradise a parlor where the even
tempers be?
Where's Commander All-a-Tanto??Where's Orlop Bob singing up from below??Where's Rhyming Ned? has he spun his last
canto??Where's Jewsharp Jim? Where's Ringadoon
Joe??Ah, for the music over and done,?The band all dismissed save the droned
trombone!?Where's Glenn o' the gun-room, who loved
Hot-Scotch--?Glen, prompt and cool in a perilous watch??Where's flaxen-haired Phil? a gray lieutenant??Or rubicund, flying a dignified pennant?
But where sleeps his brother?--the cruise it was
o'er,?But ah, for death's grip that welcomed him
ashore!?Where's Sid, the cadet, so frank in his brag,?Whose toast was audacious--"_Here's Sid, and
Sid's flag!_"?Like holiday-craft that have sunk unknown,?May a lark of a lad go lonely down??Who takes the census under the sea??Can others like old ensigns be,?Bunting I hoisted to flutter at the gaff--?Rags in end that once were flags?Gallant streaming from the staff?
Such scurvy doom could the chances deal?To Top-Gallant Harry and Jack Genteel??Lo, Genteel Jack in hurricane weather,?Shagged like a bear, like a red lion roaring;?But O, so fine in his chapeau and feather,?In port to the ladies never once jawing;?All bland