Part 40

Napoleon’s embargo Is laid on all cargo Which comfort or aid to King George may intend; And since roll, twist and leaf, Of all comforts is chief, They try for to steal it from poor honest men!

With no heart for fight, We take refuge in flight, But fire as we run, our retreat to defend, Until our stern-chasers Cut up her fore-braces, And she flies off the wind from us poor honest men!

Twix’ the Forties and Fifties, South-eastward the drift is, And so, when we think we are making Land’s End, Alas, it is Ushant With half the King’s Navy, Blockading French ports against poor honest men!

But they may not quit station (Which is our salvation), So swiftly we stand to the Nor’ard again; And finding the tail of A homeward-bound convoy, We slip past the Scillies like poor honest men.

‘Twix’ the Lizard and Dover, We hand our stuff over, Though I may not inform how we do it, nor when; But a light on each quarter Low down on the water Is well understanded by poor honest men. Even then we have dangers From meddlesome strangers, Who spy on our business and are not content To take a smooth answer, Except with a handspike... And they say they are murdered by poor honest men!

To be drowned or be shot Is our natural lot, Why should we, moreover, be hanged in the end-- After all our great pains For to dangle in chains, As though we were smugglers, not poor honest men?

THE CONVERSION OF ST WILFRID

Eddi’s Service

Eddi, priest of St Wilfrid In the chapel at Manhood End, Ordered a midnight service For such as cared to attend. But the Saxons were keeping Christmas, And the night was stormy as well. Nobody came to service Though Eddi rang the bell.

‘Wicked weather for walking,’ Said Eddi of Manhood End. ‘But I must go on with the service For such as care to attend.’ The altar candles were lighted,-- An old marsh donkey came, Bold as a guest invited, And stared at the guttering flame.

The storm beat on at the windows, The water splashed on the floor, And a wet yoke-weary bullock Pushed in through the open door. ‘How do I know what is greatest, How do I know what is least? That is My Father’s business,’ Said Eddi, Wilfrid’s priest.

‘But, three are gathered together-- Listen to me and attend. I bring good news, my brethren!’ Said Eddi, of Manhood End. And he told the Ox of a manger And a stall in Bethlehem, And he spoke to the Ass of a Rider That rode to jerusalem.

They steamed and dripped in the chancel, They listened and never stirred, While, just as though they were Bishops, Eddi preached them The Word.

Till the gale blew off on the marshes And the windows showed the day, And the Ox and the Ass together Wheeled and clattered away.

And when the Saxons mocked him, Said Eddi of Manhood End, ‘I dare not shut His chapel On such as care to attend.’

The Conversion of St Wilfrid

They had bought peppermints up at the village, and were coming home past little St Barnabas’ Church, when they saw Jimmy Kidbrooke, the carpenter’s baby, kicking at the churchyard gate, with a shaving in his mouth and the tears running down his cheeks.

Una pulled out the shaving and put in a peppermint. Jimmy said he was looking for his grand-daddy--he never seemed to take much notice of his father--so they went up between the old graves, under the leaf-dropping limes, to the porch, where Jim trotted in, looked about the empty Church, and screamed like a gate-hinge.

Young Sam Kidbrooke’s voice came from the bell-tower and made them jump.

‘Why, jimmy,’ he called, ‘what are you doin’ here? Fetch him, Father!’

Old Mr Kidbrooke stumped downstairs, jerked Jimmy on to his shoulder, stared at the children beneath his brass spectacles, and stumped back again. They laughed: it was so exactly like Mr Kidbrooke.

‘It’s all right,’ Una called up the stairs. ‘We found him, Sam. Does his mother know?’

‘He’s come off by himself. She’ll be justabout crazy,’ Sam answered.

‘Then I’ll run down street and tell her.’ Una darted off.

‘Thank you, Miss Una. Would you like to see how we’re mendin’ the bell-beams, Mus’ Dan?’

Dan hopped up, and saw young Sam lying on his stomach in a most delightful place among beams and ropes, close to the five great bells. Old Mr Kidbrooke on the floor beneath was planing a piece of wood, and Jimmy was eating the shavings as fast as they came away. He never looked at Jimmy; Jimmy never stopped eating; and the broad gilt-bobbed pendulum of the church clock never stopped swinging across the white-washed wall of the tower.

Dan winked through the sawdust that fell on his upturned face. ‘Ring a bell,’ he called.

‘I mustn’t do that, but I’ll buzz one of ‘em a bit for you,’ said Sam. He pounded on the sound-bow of the biggest bell, and waked a hollow groaning boom that ran up and down the tower like creepy feelings down your back. Just when it almost began to hurt, it died away in a hurry of beautiful sorrowful cries, like a wine-glass rubbed with a wet finger. The pendulum clanked--one loud clank to each silent swing.