Back in the vaunted days of sails,

When ratings served before the mast,

The bosun oft’ would tell the tales

Of voyaging the ocean vast.

 

The landsmen then would quake in fear

Of seas that dwarfed the mizzen mast;

When sails would shred and spars would shear

With winds that drove them wild and fast.

 

Or in the doldrums hot and drear,

To hold them while the long days pass;

No, nary breeze with which to steer,

Becalmed in silent seas of glass.

 

He told of monsters of the deep

That take ships down with all their crew,

As silently ‘neath tides they creep

To drown them in the briny brew.

 

But able seaman’s knowing glance

Belies the bosun’s scurvy yarns

With his demeanour, looks askance

To challenge fate that he forewarns.

 

Midshipmen stand with bated breath,

And wonder if the salty words

Tell truly of the daunting death

That waits ere they return homewards.

 

The officers show their disdain,

And pay no notice to such chat;

And if they fear, they still will feign

Indifference to such foul brickbat.

 

And captain stands alone, aloof,

Secure in strength of his command;

The power of life and death was proof

Of just how much his fiefdom spanned.

 

Then, British sailors ruled the seas,

Back in Napoleonic days;

When press gangs were allowed to seize

Unwary men from harbour ways.

 

They manned the ships and battles fought,

Despite injustice of their plight;

With bravery and honours brought

Confirming King and country’s might.