"I much regret this move—and yet Orders must be obeyed: These Creusot toys make quite a noise— But pray don't be afraid!" T h e y scrambled down the vessel's side — B i g w i n d looked sad and w a n : A roar, a flash, a hiss, a crash— And then the Gale was gone! F r o m out the brine they f'shed up nine, N e x t morning twenty-four, And the ship that bravely sailed away Returns, ah, never more! By An The Yarn of the Howling Gale (An Alberta Barque With a Bad Bight) r the sad sea waves where the ocean laves T h e shores of o l d Cathay, ancient tar attention craves F r o m all w h o pass that way. He holds them w i t h a glittering eye And motions out to sea. T h e y naught but emptiness descry— "There was a s h i p — " quoth he. This is the tale of the Howling Gale: She sailed the uncharted main; If she left her bones with Davy Jones The reason appears quite plain. The End. Copyright, 1938, by W . B. Cameron. N o unauthorized publication. THE HOWLING GALE C a m e r o n Shipyards ATHABASCA, ALBERTA The Yarn of the Howling (An A l b e r t a Barque w i t h a Bad Bight) F r o m the fading shore, Sir J o h n Quackmore Wigwagged a heartening jest, As the gallant ship, her anchor atrip, Fared forth on her fearsome quest. Her C A M E R O N SHIPYARDS And Oh, this is the tale of the Howling Gale That voyaged the tropic seas; From her smug home port of old Seafort She sailed on a nor'east breeze; She sailed away on an autumn day— T w a s in 1935— And out of her crew of sixty-two But few came back alive: But few came back alive, my lads, And these be steeped in gloom; They'll talk of heat, the price of wheat, But not of the Gale's black doom,; They'll sit and stare, with a vacant air, Aind mutter "Fee fo fi fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman— Yo ho, and a bottle of rum!" And I THE GALE DEPARTS F r o m her mizzen peak, a ruddy streak, Flew the badge of the twin P P (The last the cue to Plenty, T h e first to Poverty), As course she set for dark Tibet And the fabled sands of I n d ; on her poop hummed "Boop-a-doop" Rear A d m i r a l B i g w i n d . guiding the craft from the wheel abaft, W h i l e she raced for the glittering Strand, he sang solo " H e i g h - h o , heigh-ho," Was the second in command. In charge of the guard and the big Mainyard Was Able Seaman Luce, W h i l e w i t h punitive welts to T a n the pelts Of the sinners, Helmsman Spruce. T h e cabin squib—he manned the jib, T h e sheet that points the w a y — His meed to earn. He's cash to B u r n — O you twenty bucks a day! II THE PILOT BUMPS A SNAG On a humorous jag, the pilot wag T o his shipmates brought whoopee, TiJl the law stepped i n , pronounced it sin And laid h i m across its knee; But a generous dole from T H E P E O P L E ' S roll T o plaster a painful spot— A hefty h u n k — f o u r thousand p l u n k — It sure should help some—what? T h a t genial jinn, good Uncle W y n n e , T o leadership aspired; H e spiced the spree with T N T , But he, too, was retired. W i t h lowered pates, his saddened mates T o l d h i m their long farewells; A n d at midnight he vanished quite As the bo'sun piped "Eight Bells!" Ill T H E C L O U D S DISPERSE T i m e passed. Each week seemed drear and bleak, Of m i r t h there was a lack; Aboard the stout ship H o w l i n g Gale, None dared a joke to crack. " 'Should auld acquaintance'—I'll say not! W e hain't that way inclined; O h boy, oh boy, pray let our joy, L i k e Joe, be unconfmed!" CAVIAR IV FOR T H E GODS The cook See L o , i n his niche below, H e blended a nifty brew O f Prosperity Bonds and Covenant fronds A n d Credit House cocktails, too, Of Dividends and odds and ends— O h , he was a crafty knave!— A n d a couple of sacks of Production Tacks For a thumping measure he gave— A b r i m m i n g vat of this and that Most wonderful to see. As he stirred the mix with deft chopsticks H e warbled in fiendish glee: Came an A p r i l day—-or was it M a y ? — A n d a hail from the topmast head A n d over the side i n manly pride, L i k e one back f r o m the dead " A t the beat of my gong to the board they throng T o sample my quail on toast, For they're mostly rubes w i t h a spatter of boobs A n d they don't know rind from roast! Stepped the absentee—now a hero, he— T o the lusty cheers of the men, A n d A d m i r a l B i l l , from the deckhouse sill, Roared, "Welcome home again! " B u t I fear me much I must make m y t o u c h Get mine while the touching's good, O r my banking bunk may leave me sunk As it's prophesied it w o u l d ; " W e ' l l celebrate our valiant mate— Come, comrades, let us prance, A n d also toast our Sovereign State— W h a t ho! O n w i t h the dance! " F o r that wise old bird, P. T . , averred, ' Y o u can fool 'em half the time,' But the day w i l l come when you're out to r u n , A n d not only run but climb, " W h e n y o u ' l l pound the trail for the sheltered vale A n d the timber's topmost branch, While hot on your track like a hungry pack Pours a human avalanche. " I n dreams at night I see this flight A n d it sure gives me the creeps; So oh, See L o , you'd better go— Y o u sorely need some sleeps!" But A d m i r a l B i l l , whose doughty w i l l Oft bent but never broke, Whose rhino hide all barbs defied, H i t c h e d up his breeks and spoke: "My hearties all, whate'er befall Let nothing you dismay, But like Columbus, headed west, Sail on, sail on for aye! " W e ' l l make the haven, never fear, So give your doubts the boot; W e ' l l revel i n the tax on beer A n d hand the foe the hoot; T R O U B L E I N T H E FO'C'S'LE Three years the Gale, i n crowded sail, She tramped the tumbling tide (The charge that she was out for kale H e r skipper stout denied); She padded west, then northward pressed, H e r course she held amain, A n d after she had trundled south She ambled north again. For making hash of hard-earned cash Some sought—their purpose r a n k — Of By-and-Large to r i d the barge— T o make Bill walk the plank. But B i l l said: " N i x ; m y bag of tricks W i t h fast ones is supplied, I'll pull one out, then watch the rout— I'll take 'em for a r i d e ! " He would—he did their bet outbid, T h e i r ducats intercept; T H E P E O P L E saw and whooped " H u r r a h ! — At Mst one promise kept!" " W e ' l l crash the line ' t w i x t thine and m i n e — W e ' l l serve our pockets well: As for our wicked enemies, T h e y ' l l surely land in Prince A l b e r t . Says B i l l : " O u r bait, once voted great, Today just rates a laugh; N e w magic we must fabricate If we'd evade the gaff. "So luff the halyards, spank the boom, W e ' l l wear from dusk to d a w n — Bend every stitch of canvas w i d e — Sail o n ! Sail o n ! Sail o n ! " " T h e ribald hive, for T w e n t y - F i v e , L i k e slavering jackals h o w l , A n d when to w i n a grin I strive A l l I can get's a scowl. R i g h t on the dot (as like as not) She rose. " T h e prospect thrills," Says B i l l ; "to luck let's lift a tot— There's gold i n them thar hills! "Since we've abolished Poverty (Or have we—I don't k n o w ; I may be out—there seems some doubt, But I ' l l enquire of Joe); " T h e pampered foe is soon to k n o w O u r arms they cannot match; T h e i r martial will we'll quickly s t i l l — W e ' l l Ethiop Saskatch! " M y hardworked henchmen all agree (They've held the wolf at bay) That Plenty everywhere they see Since we stepped up our pay. " T h e i r wretched State we'll renovate— It's cursed w i t h many i l l s — N o w here's our chance to demonstrate The w o r t h of S. C. pills. " B u t there's the rabble: we must h a r k — We've got all tastes to suit— T o each unseemly, rude remark W e ' l l feed 'em tutti fruit. " F a l l i n ! F o r m rank! and on their flank W e ' l l strike before they're wise; The battle's won ere it's begun— W e ' l l stun 'em at sunrise! " A favored land by zephyrs fanned Lies east as flies the crow; It's named Saskatch—an easy snatch For such as we—let's go! " A n empire great we'll next create, Raise a triumphal arch: T o valorous deeds your A d m i r a l leads— Mes enfants—forward—March!" " W i t h honeyed words we'll charm those birds; T h e i r leaders all they'll flout; T h e i r H i g h M o g u l our umpire, M u l l , W i l l b a w l : 'T'ree strikes—you're out!' " VI THE CREW LANDS O N A FOREIGN A starlit night, a murmuring bight, H a r d b y C a m p Saskatoon; They swift debarked and safely parked T o wait the tardy moon. SHORE VII BUT A R E BLUDGEONED BY T H E SAVAGES Surprise there was—an ominous buzz, A sound to cause alarm T o filibusters seeking gold A n d headed straight for h a r m ; T h e savages of w i l d Saskatch, W i t h war cries shrilling high, Swarmed to the fray to lift their thatch A n d smite them hip and thigh. F r o m early light they pressed the fight— This is a gruesome tale— A n d many a scalp was lost ere night O n Bigwind's windy trail: But this aside. Alberta's Pride F r o m port had drifted far; N o w i n distress, shunned by success, She lay for Zanzibar. In full retreat, on frenzied feet T h e y fled, his hectored crew— Such as were left. ' T m sore bereft— A pretty how-de-do!" B u t — h o r r i d spite!— as fell the night D o w n where the trade winds blow, A baleful barrier hove i n sight— T h e privateer Ben Bow. Says B i l l : " I wot F m on the spot; Instead of garnering cheers— Alas—alack!—when we sail back A l l I can see is jeers. "Our plans first-rate to celebrate Are punctured all t o — w e l l , F m not a man to profanate— I'll just say—Heatherbell!" "SHE VIII SUNK A T SUNDOWN" W i t h deep concern you wait to learn, N o doubt, how ends this cruise; So know, when she stood out to sea T h e Gale was i n the news. She'd sprung aleak off Mozambique— Was, so to say, on bail; T h o u g h i n the dumps they'd manned the pumps, Refreshed w i t h ginger ale; It's feeble stuff—not stout enough T o make your G string h u m , O r fill a gap or give you snap: It can't compare w i t h r u m . A sullen boom, and i n the gloom A shell passed whining by, A warning stern the Gale to t u r n — Hers not to reason why. W i t h w i l l perverse, from bad toward worse H e r course the ship pursued; T o caution heed B i l l saw no need— H e wasn't in the mood. T h e privateer drew quickly near; Three times her Creusots spoke T o halt the Gale, and then a hail Across the water broke: " H a u l down your flag, that fatuous rag,— T h e step's long overdue— It's ever been a senseless tag— T h e Jack's the proper hue. "And man your boats while yet she floats— Unless you've got a w h i m T o stop aboard and watch her gored— Y o u ' d perhaps prefer to swim?