A Sailor I (Part 2 Of 3) Poem by John Bliven Morin

A hundred barrels of pungent oil,
From many a whalefish wrought,
And many a cauldron full a-boil
With blubber which we'd caught.

'Whale ho! ' the lookout from the mast,
'Whale ho an' thar she blows! '
'The boats! The boats an' lower fast! '
The Cap'n, 'Afore they goes! '

The davits whined from the whaleboat's load
As they lowered us down the side;
We raised the sail and hearty, rowed;
'Faster! ' the First Mate cried.

Ahead of us a great dark shape
Arose with a fountain high;
'She blows! She'll not escape!
Row hard! ' was the Bos'n's cry.

'Strike, Ned, ' the Mate, 'strike true! '
I heard the whine of the harpoon line
'She's sounding! ' to the crew,
'She's diving down the deepest brine! '

The wood of the bow was smoking
From the rope that was speeding through;
Ned poured water while joking
As that whale ever downward flew.

'Cut the line! ' cried the Mate in terror,
'Or she'll take us down with her! '
But Ned made a serious error;
'No, she's breaching, Sir, I'm sure! '

In a moment our boat was pulled under,
And we fought our way up through the sea;
The whaleboat was rendered asunder,
I thought sure t'was the end of me.