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.
They called us up from England at the breaking of the day, And the wireless whisper caught us from a hundred leagues away-- "Sentries at the Outer Line, All that hold the countersign, Listen in the North Sea--news for you to-day."
All across the waters, at the paling of the morn, The wireless whispered softly ere the summer day was born-- "Be you near or ranging far, By the Varne or Weser bar, The Fleet is out and steaming to the Eastward and the dawn."
Far and away to the North and West, in the dancing glare of the sunlit ocean, Just a haze, a shimmer of smoke-cloud, grew and broadened many a mile; Low and long and faint and spreading, banner and van of a world in motion, Creeping out to the North and West, it hung in the skies alone awhile.
Then from over the brooding haze the roar of murmuring engines swelled, And the men of the air looked down to us, a mile below their feet; Down the wind they passed above, their course to the silver sun-track held, And we looked back to the West again, and saw the English Fleet.