Rio Grande's Last Race & Other Verses Part 8

And they lingered at their moorings till the shades of evening fell.

Then the cloud wrack neared them fast, And there came a sudden blast, And the hurricane came leaping down a thousand miles of main!

Like a lion on its prey, Leapt the storm fiend on the bay, And the vessels shook and s.h.i.+vered as their cables felt the strain.

As the surging seas came by, That were running mountains high, The vessels started dragging, drifting slowly to the lee; And the darkness of the night Hid the coral reefs from sight, And the Captains dared not risk the chance to grope their way to sea.

In the dark they dared not s.h.i.+ft!

They were forced to wait and drift; All hands stood by uncertain would the anchors hold or no.

But the men on deck could see If a chance of hope might be -- There was little chance of safety for the men who were below.

Through that long, long night of dread, While the storm raged overhead, They were waiting by their engines, with the furnace fires aroar.

So they waited, staunch and true, Though they knew, and well they knew, They must drown like rats imprisoned if the vessel touched the sh.o.r.e.

When the grey dawn broke at last, And the long, long night was past, While the hurricane redoubled, lest its prey should steal away, On the rocks, all smashed and strewn, Were the German vessels thrown, While the Yankees, swamped and helpless, drifted sh.o.r.ewards down the bay.

Then at last spoke Captain Kane, 'All our anchors are in vain, And the Germans and the Yankees they have drifted to the lee!

Cut the cables at the bow!

We must trust the engines now!

Give her steam, and let her have it, lads, we'll fight her out to sea!'

And the answer came with cheers From the stalwart engineers, From the grim and grimy firemen at the furnaces below; And above the sullen roar Of the breakers on the sh.o.r.e Came the throbbing of the engines as they laboured to and fro.

If the strain should find a flaw, Should a bolt or rivet draw, Then -- G.o.d help them! for the vessel were a plaything in the tide!

With a face of honest cheer, Quoth an English engineer, 'I will answer for the engines that were built on old Thames side!

'For the stays and stanchions taut, For the rivets truly wrought, For the valves that fit their faces as a glove should fit the hand.

Give her every ounce of power, If we make a knot an hour Then it's way enough to steer her and we'll drive her from the land.'

Like a foam flake tossed and thrown, She could barely hold her own, While the other s.h.i.+ps all helplessly were drifting to the lee.

Through the smother and the rout The 'Calliope' steamed out -- And they cheered her from the Trenton that was foundering in the sea.

Aye! drifting sh.o.r.eward there, All helpless as they were, Their vessel hurled upon the reefs as weed ash.o.r.e is hurled.

Without a thought of fear The Yankees raised a cheer -- A cheer that English-speaking folk should echo round the world.

Do They Know

Do they know? At the turn to the straight Where the favourites fail, And every atom of weight Is telling its tale; As some grim old stayer hard-pressed Runs true to his breed, And with head just in front of the rest Fights on in the lead; When the jockeys are out with the whips, With a furlong to go; And the backers grow white to the lips -- Do you think THEY don't know?

Do they know? As they come back to weigh In a whirlwind of cheers, Though the spurs have left marks of the fray, Though the sweat on the ears Gathers cold, and they sob with distress As they roll up the track, They know just as well their success As the man on their back.

As they walk through a dense human lane, That sways to and fro, And cheers them again and again, Do you think THEY don't know?

The Pa.s.sing of Gundagai

'I'll introdooce a friend!' he said, And if you've got a vacant pen You'd better take him in the shed And start him shearing straight ahead, He's one of these here quiet men.

'He never strikes -- that ain't his game; No matter what the others try HE goes on shearing just the same.

I never rightly knew his name -- We always call him "Gundagai"!'

Our flashest shearer then had gone To train a racehorse for a race, And while his sporting fit was on He couldn't be relied upon, So 'Gundagai' sh.o.r.e in his place.

Alas for man's veracity!

For reputations false and true!

This 'Gundagai' turned out to be, For strife and all-round villainy, The very worst I ever knew!

He started racing Jack Devine, And grumbled when I made him stop.

The pace he showed was extra fine, But all those pure-bred ewes of mine Were bleeding like a butcher's shop.

He cursed the sheep, he cursed the shed, From roof to rafter, floor to shelf; As for my mongrel ewes, he said, I ought to get a razor blade And shave the blooming things myself.

On Sundays he controlled a 'school', And played 'two-up' the livelong day; And many a young confiding fool He sh.o.r.e of his financial wool; And when he lost he would not pay.

He organised a shearers' race, And 'touched' me to provide the prize.

His packhorse showed surprising pace And won hands down -- he was The Ace, A well-known racehorse in disguise.

Next day the bruiser of the shed Displayed an opal-tinted eye, With large contusions on his head.

He smiled a sickly smile, and said He'd 'had a cut at "Gundagai"!'

But just as we were getting full Of 'Gundagai' and all his ways, A telegram for 'Henry Bull'

Arrived. Said he, 'That's me -- all wool!

Let's see what this here message says.'

He opened it, his face grew white, He dropped the shears and turned away.

It ran, 'Your wife took bad last night; Come home at once -- no time to write, We fear she may not last the day.'

He got his cheque -- I didn't care To dock him for my mangled ewes; His store account -- we 'called it square'.

Poor wretch! he had enough to bear, Confronted by such dreadful news.

The shearers raised a little purse To help a mate, as shearers will, 'To pay the doctor and the nurse, And if there should be something worse -- To pay the undertaker's bill.'

They wrung his hand in sympathy, He rode away without a word, His head hung down in misery.

A wandering hawker pa.s.sing by Was told of what had just occurred.

'Well! that's a curious thing,' he said, 'I've known that feller all his life -- He's had the loan of this here shed!

I know his wife ain't nearly dead, Because he HASN'T GOT A WIFE!'

You should have heard the whipcord crack As angry shearers galloped by, In vain they tried to fetch him back.

A little dust along the track Was all they saw of 'Gundagai'.