‘Last we prayed she’d buck herself into judgment Day —
Hi! we cursed the Bolivar knocking round the Bay!
O her nose flung up to sky, groaning to be still —
Up and down and back we went, never time for breath;
Then the money paid at Lloyds’ caught her by the heel,
And the stars ran round and round dancin’ at our death!
Aching for an hour’s sleep, dozing off between;
‘Heard the rotten rivets draw when she took it green;
‘Watched the compass chase its tail like a cat at play —
That was on the Bolivar, south across the Bay!
Once we saw between the squalls, lyin’ head to swell —
Mad with work and weariness, wishin’ they was we —
Some damned Liner’s lights go by like a grand hotel;
Cheered her from the Bolivar swampin’ in the sea.
Then a greybeard cleared us out, then the skipper laughed;
“Boys, the wheel has gone to Hell — rig the winches aft!
Yoke the kicking rudder-head — get her under way!”
So we steered her, pully-haul, out across the Bay!
Just a pack o’ rotten plates puttied up with tar,
In we came, an’ time enough, ‘cross Bilbao Bar.
Overloaded, undermanned, meant to founder, we
Euchred God Almighty’s storm, bluffed the Eternal Sea!
Seven men from all the world back to town again,
Rollin’ down the Ratcliffe Road drunk and raising Cain:
Seven men from out of Hell. Ain’t the owners gay,
‘Cause we took the “Bolivar” safe across the Bay?
A Ballade of Burial
(“Saint Praxed’s ever was the Church for peace”)
If down here I chance to die,
Solemnly I beg you take
All that is left of “I”
To the Hills for old sake’s sake,
Pack me very thoroughly
In the ice that used to slake
Pegs I drank when I was dry —
This observe for old sake’s sake.
To the railway station hie,
There a single ticket take
For Umballa — goods-train — I
Shall not mind delay or shake.
I shall rest contentedly
Spite of clamour coolies make;
Thus in state and dignity
Send me up for old sake’s sake.
Next the sleepy Babu wake,
Book a Kalka van “for four.”
Few, I think, will care to make
Journeys with me any more
As they used to do of yore.
I shall need a “special” brake —
‘Thing I never took before —
Get me one for old sake’s sake.
After that — arrangements make.
No hotel will take me in,
And a bullock’s back would break
‘Neath the teak and leaden skin
Tonga-ropes are frail and thin,
Or, did I a back-seat take,
In a tonga I might spin, —
Do your best for old sake’s sake.
After that — your work is done.
Recollect a Padre must
Mourn the dear departed one —
Throw the ashes and the dust.
Don’t go down at once. I trust
You will find excuse to “snake
Three days’ casual on the bust.”
Get your fun for old sake’s sake.
I could never stand the Plains.
Think of blazing June and May
Think of those September rains
Yearly till the Judgment Day!
I should never rest in peace,
I should sweat and lie awake.
Rail me then, on my decease,
To the Hills for old sake’s sake.
The Ballad of the Cars
Wardour Street Border Ballad
— The Muse Among the Motors (1900-1930)
“Now this is the price of a stirrup-cup,”
The kneeling doctor said.
And syne he bade them take him up,
For he saw that the man was dead.
They took him up, and they laid him down
( And, oh, he did not stir ),
And they had him into the nearest town
To wait the Coroner.
They drew the dead-cloth over the face,
They closed the doors upon,
And the cars that were parked in the market-place
Made talk of it anon.
Then up and spake a Daimler wide,
That carries the slatted tank: —
“‘Tis we must purge the country-side
And no man will us thank.
“For while they pray at Holy Kirk
The souls should turn from sin,
We cock our bonnets to the work,
And gather the drunken in. —
“And if we spare them for the nonce, —
Or their comrades jack them free, —
They learn more under our dumb-irons
Than they learned at time mother’s knee.”
Then up and spake an Armstrong bold,
And Siddeley, was his name: —
“I saw a man lie stark and cold
By Grantham as I came.
“There was a blind turn by a brook,
A guard-rail and a fail:
But the drunken loon that overtook
He got no hurt at all!
“I ha’ trodden the wet road and the dry —
But and the shady lane; ‘
And why the guiltless soul should die,
Good reason find I nane.”
Then up and spake the Babe Austin —
Had barely room for two —
“‘Tis time and place that make the sin,
And not the deed they do.
“For when a man drives with his dear,
I ha’ seen it come to pass
That an arm too close or a lip too near
Has killed both lad and lass.
“There was a car at eventide
And a sidelings kiss to steal —
The God knows how the couple died,
But I mind the inquest weel.
“I have trodden the black tar and the heath —
But and the cobble-stone;
And why the young go to their death,
Good reason find I none.”
Then spake a Morris from Oxenford,
(‘Was keen to a Cowley Friar ): —
“How shall we judge the ways of the Lord
That are but steel and fire?
“Between the oil-pits under earth
And the levin-spark from the skies,
We but adventure and go forth
As our man shall devise:
“And if he have drunken a hoop too deep,
No kinship can us move
To draw him home in his market-sleep
Or spare his waiting love.
“There is never a lane in all England
Where a mellow man can go,
But he must look on either hand
And back and front also.
“But he must busk him every tide,
At prick of horn, to leap
Either to hide in ditch beside
Or in the bankes steep.
“And whether he walk in drink or muse,
Or for his love be bound,
We have no wit to mark and chuse,
But needs must slay or wound.”
. . . . . . .
They drew the dead-cloth from its face.
The Crowner looked thereon;
And the cars that were parked in the market-place
Went all their ways anon.
The Ballad of the “Clampherdown”
It was our war-ship Clampherdown
Would sweep the Channel clean,
&nb
sp; Wherefore she kept her hatches close
When the merry Channel chops arose,
To save the bleached marine.
She had one bow-gun of a hundred ton
And a great stern-gun beside.
They dipped their noses deep in the sea,
They racked their stays and stanchions free
In the wash of the wind-whipped tide.
It was our war-ship Clampherdown,
Fell in with a cruiser light
That carried the dainty Hotchkiss gun
And a pair of heels wherewith to run
From the grip of a close-fought fight.
She opened fire at seven miles —
As ye shoot at a bobbing cork —
And once she fired and twice she fired,
Till the bow-gun dropped like a lily tired
That lolls upon the stalk.
“Captain, the bow-gun melts apace,
The deck-beams break below,
‘Twere well to rest for an hour or twain,
And botch the shattered plates again.”
And he answered, “Make it so.”
She opened fire within the mile —
As ye shoot at the flying duck —
And the great stern-gun shot fair and true,
With the heave of the ship, to the stainless blue,
And the great stern-turret stuck.
“Captain, the turret fills with steam,
The feed-pipes burst below —
You can hear the hiss of the helpless ram,
You can hear the twisted runners jam.”
And he answered, “Turn and go!”
It was our war-ship Clampherdown,
And grimly did she roll;
Swung round to take the cruiser’s fire
As the White Whale faces the Thresher’s ire
When they war by the frozen Pole.
“Captain, the shells are falling fast,
And faster still fall we;
And it is not meet for English stock
To bide in the heart of an eight-day clock
The death they cannot see.”
“Lie down, lie down, my bold A.B.,
We drift upon her beam;
We dare not ram, for she can run;
And dare ye fire another gun,
And die in the peeling steam?”
It was our war-ship Clampherdown
That carried an armour-belt;
But fifty feet at stern and bow
Lay bare as the paunch of the purser’s sow,
To the hail of the Nordenfeldt.
“Captain, they hack us through and through;
The chilled steel bolts are swift!
We have emptied our bunkers in open sea,
Their shrapnel bursts where our coal should be.”
And he answered, “Let her drift.”
It was our war-ship Clampherdown,
Swung round upon the tide,
Her two dumb guns glared south and north,
And the blood and the bubbling steam ran forth,
And she ground the cruiser’s side.
“Captain, they cry, the fight is done,
They bid you send your sword.”
And he answered, “Grapple her stern and bow.
They have asked for the steel. They shall have it now;
Out cutlasses and board!”
It was our war-ship Clampherdown
Spewed up four hundred men;
And the scalded stokers yelped delight,
As they rolled in the waist and heard the fight,
Stamp o’er their steel-walled pen.
They cleared the cruiser end to end,
From conning-tower to hold.
They fought as they fought in Nelson’s fleet;
They were stripped to the waist, they were bare to the feet,
As it was in the days of old.
It was the sinking Clampherdown
Heaved up her battered side —
And carried a million pounds in steel,
To the cod and the corpse-fed conger-eel,
And the scour of the Channel tide.
It was the crew of the Clampherdown
Stood out to sweep the sea,
On a cruiser won from an ancient foe,
As it was in the days of long ago,
And as it still shall be!
The Ballad of East and West
Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!
Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border-side,
And he has lifted the Colonel’s mare that is the Colonel’s pride.
He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the dawn and the day,
And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far away.
Then up and spoke the Colonel’s son that led a troop of the Guides:
“Is there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal hides?”
Then up and spoke Mohammed Khan, the son of the Ressaldar:
“If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye know where his pickets are.
At dusk he harries the Abazai — at dawn he is into Bonair,
But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare,
So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly,
By the favour of God ye may cut him off ere he win to the Tongue of Jagai.
But if he be past the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn ye then,
For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain is sown with Kamal’s men.
There is rock to the left, and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between,
And ye may hear a breech-bolt snick where never a man is seen.”
The Colonel’s son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he,
With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell
and the head of the gallows-tree.
The Colonel’s son to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat —
Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat.
He’s up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly,
Till he was aware of his father’s mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai,
Till he was aware of his father’s mare with Kamal upon her back,
And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the pistol crack.
He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide.
“Ye shoot like a soldier,” Kamal said. “Show now if ye can ride!”
It’s up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dustdevils go,
The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe.
The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above,
But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as a maiden plays with a glove.
There was rock to the left and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between,
And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho’ never a man was seen.
They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the dawn,
The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn.
The dun he fell at a water-course — in a woeful heap fell he,
And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free.
He has knocked the pistol out of his hand — small room was there to strive,
“‘Twas only by favour of mine,” quoth he, “ye rode so long alive:
There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree,
But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee.
If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low,
The little jackals that flee so fast were f
easting all in a row:
If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high,
The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly.”
Lightly answered the Colonel’s son: “Do good to bird and beast,
But count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast.
If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away,
Belike the price of a jackal’s meal were more than a thief could pay.
They will feed their horse on the standing crop,
their men on the garnered grain,
The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the cattle are slain.
But if thou thinkest the price be fair, — thy brethren wait to sup,
The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn, — howl, dog, and call them up!
And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack,
Give me my father’s mare again, and I’ll fight my own way back!”
Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon his feet.
“No talk shall be of dogs,” said he, “when wolf and gray wolf meet.
May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath;
What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at the dawn with Death?”
Lightly answered the Colonel’s son: “I hold by the blood of my clan:
Take up the mare for my father’s gift — by God, she has carried a man!”
The red mare ran to the Colonel’s son, and nuzzled against his breast;
“We be two strong men,” said Kamal then, “but she loveth the younger best.
So she shall go with a lifter’s dower, my turquoise-studded rein,
My ‘broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups twain.”
The Colonel’s son a pistol drew, and held it muzzle-end,
“Ye have taken the one from a foe,” said he;
“will ye take the mate from a friend?”
“A gift for a gift,” said Kamal straight; “a limb for the risk of a limb.
Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) Page 752