e the white-ash breeze,
Let fall for Stavanger!
A long pull for Stavanger!
Oh, hear the benches creak and strain!
(A long pull for Stavanger!)
She thinks she smells the Northland rain!
(A long pull for Stavanger!)
She thinks she smells the Northland snow,
And she's as glad as we to go.
She thinks she smells the Northland rime,
And the dear dark nights of winter-time.
Her very bolts are sick for shore,
And we--we want it ten times more!
So all you Gods that love brave men,
Send us a three-reef gale again!
Send us a gale, and watch us come,
With close-cropped canvas slashing home!
But--there's no wind in all these seas.
A long pull for Stavanger!
So we must wake the white-ash breeze,
A long pull for Stavanger!
OLD MEN AT PEVENSEY
'It has naught to do with apes or Devils,'Sir Richard went on, in an
undertone. 'It concerns De Aquila, than whom there was never bolder nor
craftier, nor more hardy knight born. And remember he was an old, old
man at that time.'
'When?' said Dan.
'When we came back from sailing with Witta.'
'What did you do with your gold?' said Dan.
'Have patience. Link by link is chain-mail made. I will tell all in its
place. We bore the gold to Pevensey on horseback--three loads of it--and
then up to the north chamber, above the Great Hall of Pevensey Castle,
where De Aquila lay in winter. He sat on his bed like a little white
falcon, turning his head swiftly from one to the other as we told our
tale. Jehan the Crab, an old sour man-at-arms, guarded the stairway, but
De Aquila bade him wait at the stair-foot, and let down both leather
curtains over the door. It was Jehan whom De Aquila had sent to us with
the horses, and only Jehan had loaded the gold. When our story was told,
De Aquila gave us the news of England, for we were as men waked from a
year-long sleep. The Red King was dead--slain (ye remember?) the day we
set sail--and Henry, his younger brother, had made himself King of
England over the head of Robert of Normandy. This was the very thing
that the Red King had done to Robert when our Great William died. Then
Robert of Normandy, mad, as De Aquila said, at twice missing of this
kingdom, had sent an army against England, which army had been well
beaten back to their ships at Portsmouth. A little earlier, and Witta's
ship would have rowed through them.
'"And now," said De Aquila, "half the great Barons of the North and West
are out against t
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