The Messboy.
It was after tea on the first dog watch
When we’d finished reefing sail,
With the poop deck awash, a following sea,
And gusts of force nine on the scale,
That we heard the messboy was missing
After emptying gash from his pail,
For a big green roller had broken
And swept him over the rail.
To mount a search — the chief mate said —
In such seas was sure to fail;
To bring her round, we might broach to
And risk lives to no avail,
So, mouthing a prayer, we left him there
As we ran before the gale.
Brett Hayes (R 863743)
