The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand;
The decks were like a slide, where a seamen scarce could stand;
The wind was a nor’wester, blowing squally off the sea;
And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee.
They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day;
But ’twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay.
We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout,
And we gave her the maintops’l, and stood by to go about.
All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North;
All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth;
All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread,
For very life and nature we tacked from head to head.
We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide-race roared;
But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard:
So’s we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers running high,
And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against his eye.
The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam;
The good red fires were burning bright in every ‘long-shore home;
The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out;
And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about.
The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer;
For it’s just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year)
This day of our adversity was blessed Christmas morn,
And the house above the coastguard’s was the house where I was born.
O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there,
My mother’s silver spectacles, my father’s silver hair;
And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves,
Go dancing round the china-plates that stand upon the shelves.
And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me,
Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea;
And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way,
To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessed Christmas Day.
They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall.
“All hands to loose topgallant sails,” I heard the captain call.
“By the Lord, she’ll never stand it,” our first mate Jackson, cried.
…”It’s the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson,” he replied.
She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good,
And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood.
As the winter’s day was ending, in the entry of the night,
We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light.
And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but me,
As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea;
But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold,
Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were growing old.
By Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-94).
Who knows why we go to sea, but we do. I often miss the sea, and moments later, give thanks for being safe ashore. Still, there are times I miss the sea.
Stevenson was writing about sailing ships, of course, but seamen today still see the same waters as those from long ago, though kerosene or the atom likely power their vessels today. They also have to deal with the same harsh conditions, and the “cut… naked hand.”
They are out there, in particular the maritime aviators… doing their jobs, patrolling the skies, waiting for their Charlie* time. The jet jocks are scorching around the skies while the helo crews wait, just in case they are needed.
The black shoe sailors, on the smaller ships, are also patrolling, with a different view of the seas. Still, doing their jobs and keeping a watchful eye.
I hope the women and men who are shouldering the heavy responsibilities of protecting our shores and seas have the chance today to stand down for a while to enjoy a moment of peace at sea.
To all the sailors, marines, soldiers, coastguardsmen, and airmen; and to those along our borders and keeping vigilant watch as law enforcement officers, thank you for keeping the faith and protecting those of us you keep safe at home.
Stay safe, stay warm, come home to your loved ones.
-30-
©2011 J. Clark
* “Charlie” – the appointed time to land your jet back about “the boat.”
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