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Page 4 text:
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TO LINCOLN JUST AS A STRUGGLING PINE WILL HOLD ITS OWN WHEN EVERY BOISTEROUS GUST OF WINTERS STORM WILL TRY TO HURL IT DOWN. ITS BRANCHES TORN BY BITTER WAR. ITS TRUNK WITH FURY BLOWN; JUST AS A PINE. WHEN WINDY NIGHT HAS FLOWN. EXTENDS ITS NEEDLES IN THE CRIMSON MORN. AND STRETCHES OUT TRIUMPHANT IN THE DAWN ONLY I O FEEL A WOODMAN HEW IT DOWN ; JUST SUCH WAS HE. THIS MAN OF SPACIOUS MIND. BESET BY CONFLICTS WILD AND NATION'S NEED AND HAUNTED BY BELLONA'S WICKED WIND UNTIL THE CRIMSON MORNING CAME INDEED. THEN SPREAD HE OUT HIS ARMS TO TAKE YE IN. YE WEARY SLAVES. A MARTYRED LINCOLN HE. D '13.
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Page 5 text:
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Bulkeley News VOL. IX. FEBRUARY, 1913. No. 2. A Haze on the Sea. A Salt Sea Yarn at Told by Captain Jack. I HAVE noticed an article under the head ing “Jibboom Observations” appearing in a local paper recently, deploring the fact that it is extremely difficult to procure American crews for sailing vessels. I was reminded of an incident in the old days of whaling when I was a youngster. In those days sailing was a profession and no man was considered a sailor who had not crossed the line and been shaved by Father Neptune. Those sailors who had enjoyed this exhilarating scene looked with contempt on the clam diggers such as we see sailing in small boats from New London harbor. I’ve often spun this yarn about my first voyage across the Equator, but perhaps it will bear repitition. The warm dark night of the tropical latitudes (we were between Cayenne and Pernambuco) had fallen upon a calm softly undulating sea. I knew we were nearing the equator for although as a rule the officers did not inform the men before the mast of the ships position, the steward had over-heard the captain and the mate conversing in the cabin and from him, through the cook the information got to the foe’s le, I, a boy of twelve, was on my first voyage to these parts. For several days there had seemed to float to my ears vague, foggy mention of Neptune. Neptune, the father of the sea. No one seemed to talk at length about him. It was just in the air, as we say. On this night for some reason or other I was continually kept busy. For want of anything else I was ordered to put a whipping on a bit of rope’s end about four inches from the end and then to unravel the end. A senseless thing, it seemed; but it was for me to obey, not to inquire into the necessity of performing the task assigned. Suddenly there was a great hubub in the bow, and, looking up, I saw a mass of flame like a vessel afire floating some two hundred yards to leward. My task of fagging the rope done I ran forward. All was excitement. Cries of “Hail Neptune ! We’re crossin’ the line | see his chariot!” almost awaked the sleeping sea. I was ignorant of the meaning of it all and yet it seemed that the cries were in a way addressed to me. Soon, two characters, Neptune and his clerk, dressed in hideous costumes, came up over the night-heads, slowly toward the excited group in the waist. I began to get interested. I sat down on the edge of a deck tub, for no particular reason, but merely because the deck tub (filled with water) was the the only thing available to set on. All, except myself, hailed Father Neptune. Then the august father with a deep voice called for greenhorns, that is the ones who were crossing the equator for the first time. Old Jim Defly boats’n took Neptune in tow and advanced toward me. As Defly had
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