:lol: Before we get anymore confused over my last post, here's an old sea ballad to chew over.
The wind is up by nor'east boys;
She'll be a blow tonight.
For what was eight bell rippled ease
Will come a roarin' fright.
The merc' was down to fourteen bars
and droppin' like a stone.
If we can't make East Marble Cove,
We'll meet with Davey Jones.
The captain called all hands to task
And barked the dogwatch choir;
Unfurl that mizzen full me lads
and set the headsails fore.
The cook began to bellyache.
The shipboy's face turned white.
Secure the main sheet's bitter end,
then throw them yards a bight.
Gray headland cliffs, now needle thin,
Had just come into view,
And three hours hence safe harbor cove.
We only had but two.
As bound began to grow great swells,
Squalls marched across the sky.
The captain quipped, She's close I fear!,
Then let a long, low sigh.
The wind among the rigging howled,
Our ship heeled hard to lee.
Teak decking creaked as mastheads swayed
And gunnels filled with sea.
White-knuckled men in wide-eyed stare
began to cry and pray.
All I could think was; what a ride!
Thrill and two bits a day?