Speaker 1: Christmas at Sea by Robert Lewis Stephenson. The sheets were
frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand. The decks
were like a slide where a seaman scarce could stand.
The wind was in norwester blowing squally off the sea,
and cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a lee.
They heard the surfer roaring before the break of day,
But twas only with the peep of light we saw
how ill we lay. We tumbled every hand on deck
in stanter with a shout, and we gave her the
main tops and stood by to go about. All day
we tacked and tacked between the south head and the
north All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got
no further forth. All day, as cold as charity, in
bitter pain and dread for very life and nature, we
tacked from head to head. We gave the south the
wider berth, for there the tide race roared. By every
tack we made. We brought the north head close aboard
so's we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers
running high, and the coast guard in his garden with
his glass against his eye. The frost was on the
village roofs as white as ocean foam. The good red
fires were burning bright in every longshore home. The window
sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out, and I vowed
we'd sniffed the victuals. As the vessel went about, the
bells upon the church were wrung with a mighty jovial cheer.
For it's just that I should tell you how, of
all days in the year, this day of our adversity
was blessed Christmas morn. And the house above the coast
guards was the house where I was born. Oh well,
I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there, my
mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair. And well I
saw the fire light like a flight of homely elves
go dancing round the china plates that stand upon the shelves.
And well I knew the talk they had, the talk
that was of me, of the shadow on the household,
and the sun that went to sea. And oh, the
wicked fool, I seemed in every kind of way to
be here and hauling frozen ropes. On blessed Christmas day.
They lit the high sea light, and the dark began
to fall. All hands to loose stop gallant sails. I
heard the captain call by the Lord. She'll never stand it.
Our first mate, Jackson cried. It's the one way or
the other. Mister Jackson, he replied. She staggered to her bearings,
but the sails were new and good, and the ship
smelt up to windward, just as though she understood, as
the winter's day was ending. In the entry of the night,
we cleared the weary headland and passed below the light,
and they heaved them mighty breath, every soul on board,
but me, as they saw her nose again pointing handsome
out to sea. But all that I could think of,
in the darkness and the cold, was just that I
was leaving home, and my folks were growing old.