THE QUARTERMASTER.

I mustn't look up from the compass-card, nor look at the seas at all, I must watch the helm and compass-card,—If I heard the trumpet-call Of Gabriel sounding Judgment Day to dry the Seas again,— I must hold her bow to windward now till I'm relieved again— To the pipe and wail of a tearing gale, Carrying Starboard Ten. I must stare and frown at the compass-card, that chases round the bowl, North and South and back again with every lurching roll. By the feel of the ship beneath I know the way she's going to swing, But I mustn't look up to the booming wind however the halliards sing— In a breaking sea with the land a-lee, Carrying Starboard Ten. And I stoop to look at the compass-card as closes in the night, For it's hard to see by the shaded glow of half a candle-light; But the spokes are bright, and I note beside in the corner of my eye A shimmer of light on oilskin wet that shows the Owner nigh— Foggy and thick and a windy trick, Carrying Starboard Ten. Heave and sway or dive and roll can never disturb me now; Though seas may sweep in rivers of foam across the straining bow, I've got my eyes on the compass-card, and though she broke her keel And hit the bottom beneath us now, you'd find me at the wheel In Davy's realm, still at the helm, Carrying Starboard Ten.