Defenders of Democracy Part 46

Ye who are bred to the sea, sons of the sons of seamen, In what faith do ye sail? By what creed do ye hold?

Little we know of faiths, and we leave the creeds to the parsons.

But we 'bide by the law of the sea which our father made of old.

Where is that sea law writ for mariners and for captains, That they may know the law by which they sail the sea?

We never saw it writ for sailormen or for masters; But 'tis laid with the keel of the s.h.i.+p. What would you have?

Let be.

Ye who went down tot he sea in s.h.i.+ps and perished aforetime, In what faith did ye sail? In what creed did ye die?

What is that law to which your lives were forfeit?

What do ye teach your sons that they may not deny?

We kept the faith of our breed. We died in the creed of seamen, As our sons, too, shall die: the sea will have its way.

The law which bade us sail with death in smack and whaler, In tall s.h.i.+p and in open boat, is the seaman's law to-day.

The master shall rule his crew. The crew shall obey the master.

Ye shall work your s.h.i.+p while she fleets and ye can stand.

Though ye starve, and freeze, and drown, s.h.i.+pmate shall stand by s.h.i.+pmate.

Ye shall 'bide by this law of seafaring folk, though ye never come to land.

Ye shall hold your lives in trust for those who need your succor: A flash of fire by night, a loom of smoke by day, A rag to an oar shall be to you the symbol Of your faith, of your creed, of the law which sailormen obey.

Ye shall not count the odds, ye shall not weigh the danger, When life is to be saved from storm, from fire, from thirst.

Ye shall not leave your foe adrift and helpless; And when the boats go overside, 't is, "Women and children first."

We kept this faith of our breed. We died in this creed of seamen.

We sealed our creed with our lives. It shall endure alway.

The law which bade us sail with death in smack and whaler, In tall s.h.i.+p and in open boat, is the seaman's law to-day.

[signed] James W. Pryor.

Our Defenders

Across the fields of waving wheat And leagues of golden corn The fragrance of the wild-rose bloom And elder-flower is borne; But earth's appealing loveliness We do but half surmise, For oh, the blur of battle-fields Is ever in our eyes.

The robin-red-breast and the wren, We cannot harken these For dreadful thunder of the guns That echoes overseas; And evermore our vision turns To those who follow far The bright white light of Liberty Through the red fires of war.

Our thoughts are with the hero souls And hero hearts of gold Who keep Old Glory's hallowed stars Untarnished as of old; Who join their hands with hero hands In hero lands to save The fearless forehead of the free The shameful brand of slave.

And through these days of strife and death, We know they shall not fail, That Freedom shall not pa.s.s from earth Nor tyranny prevail; Yea, those that now in anguish bow, We know that soon or late They shall be lifted from beneath The iron heel of hate.

O brave defenders of the free, For you our tears of pride!

Lo, every drop of blood you shed Our hearts have sanctified!

And through these days of strife and death, These weary night-times through, Our spirits watch with yours, our love It hovers over you.

[signed] Evaleen Stein

The Bomb

I

"You are late. Billy's been howling the house down."

"All babies cry, big or little, now and then. The nurse is with Billy. I--" Nellie Cameron paused to smooth a quiver out of her voice--"I am not late."

"You are not?" Joseph Cameron, bewildered, laid his paper upon his knees and squinted up at his wife.

"No, Joe, I am not." As if it absorbed her, and no one could have said that it did not, for she kept house beautifully, Nellie straightened an etching; the quietly she walked out of the room.

She went into their bedroom and closed the door. After a while Cameron, watching warily, saw her come into the hall again in a peach-colored dress that he particularly liked her in; saw her go down the hall, away from him--and she had a very good back--to the nursery door, the warm, cheerful firelight falling full upon her face, her hands, her softly glowing dress. Billy, their only son, just learning to walk, toddled to meet her. Cameron saw the chubby hands rumple her skirts, saw Nellie stoop and swing him high with her firm arms, the drop him to his place upon her breast. The door close, the hall was shadowy again, the apartment as still as a place marked "To Let."

The dinner was on time and excellent; Nellie, decorative and chatty, was promptly in her place. Dinner over, they went to the sitting-room for their coffee. The apartment was very high up, the windows looking over the tree-tops of the Drive, across the Hudson tot he Jersey sh.o.r.e. It was March, and the sh.o.r.e lights wavered in gusts of rain that threatened to turn to snow. The room was warm; Cameron was suffocating; Nellie was serenely unaware. She had eaten well, from her soup through her cheese. There are times when, to a man, a woman's appet.i.te is the last straw. She was tired, she said, but at her ease, and never prettier.

"Going out to-night, Joey?"

"Yes. Bridge hand around at Gordon's. Want a talk with Gordon about a matter of business."

"I like to have things to do in the afternoon, but when night comes"--Nellie smothered a contented yawn--"I love getting into something comfy, and just buzzing round our own lamp."

"I must own that I have never found afternoon diversions to be diverting." To save him he could not keep his voice good-natured.

He had had a grind of a day, and was dog-tired; it seemed to him she ought to know it and talk about it.

"Yes?" Nellie mused. "It was amusing at the club to-day--the Non-descripts." She laughed softly. "It wasn't 'nondescript'

to-day, though!"

"Some old maid telling you to bring your children up on the country, and throw your husbands out of their jobs?"

"What, Joey?" Nellie seemed to bring her thoughts back from a long way off. "Old maid? I should say not! We had a man. We nearly always do. Then everybody comes, and there's more glow. He was an English socialist--I guess he was a socialist. Burne-Jones hair, and a homespun jacket,--loose, and all that,--and a heavy ribbon on his gla.s.ses. He talked about the new man."

"The--what?"

"The new man." Nellie opened her eyes wide, as if her husband puzzled her.

"Well--I'm d.a.m.ned!"