Jan leaped from the side, heaved the trunk from the boat,
Now light as it seemed when they saw it afloat,
And high on his shoulder the burden he bears,
And follows the stranger straight down the steep stairs,
Who walks to the cabin, and gives a loud rap
On the top of the table,
That's not very stable,
And startles Mynheer Vaudergoose from his nap.
Mynheer Vandergoose showed as much of surprise,
As he ever did show, in his mouth and his eyes,
Both opened as wide as wide could be,
But he spoke not a word,
Nor trembled, nor stirred,
While the stranger exclaimed, "Well, old fellow, you see!
You thought you had only a cargo to run,
But you're sure of a passenger, sure as a gun!"
What more passed of fear and awe,
Ear never heard, eye never saw ;
For Jan was bid "make himself scarce" at once,
Which any would do, who was not a dunce,
When twirled round twice as swift as the wind,
And dismissed up the stairs with a slight kick behind.
Three weeks had passed, and the wind was fair,
And they drew towards port, no matter where,
To tell of that is not my care:-
But stay-methinks a voice I hear,
So sweet, the saddest it might cheer,
Or pierce a deaf man's drowsy ear,
Or to the flintiest bosom strike,
Ask, "Pray what was the stranger like?"
I stay the tale, as by a spell,
All that that sweet voice asks to tell.
His limbs were lithe, his face was dark,
His eyes were each a fiery spark,
The lines upon his cheek and brow
Told of the soul that worked below,
Yet not the plough of lofty thought
Had broadly on that forehead wrought;
The cunning wrinkles seemed to fret
His face, as with a curious net;
The pushed-up mouth was ever screwed
To some satiric attitude;
The wiry limbs sprang quick and light,
But not as where the mind of might
In free proud movement is betrayed-
Here trick and antic were displayed:
That dark small stranger well might be
The demon of activity.
Yet, be what he might, or do what he would,
The crew and the captain in awe of him stood.
And the feats they performed, ere they looked on the shore,
Sure never were seen in the "Goed Vrouw" before.
For instance-Van Hammer, the carpenter heavy,
Was sent to the tops with a well-chosen bevy,
Van Muller, Van Ranslaer, and Wouter Van Twissler,
And Peter Van Schriegel the boatswain's pet whistler,
(For the boatswain himself could not whistle a note,
Having something, he said, "like a lump" in his throat,
And, therefore, had prudently carried from home,
A fat orphan nephew, "determined to roam,")
And there, for three hours, the five heroes were clinging,
Their tobacco-pipes gone, and their garments all wringing;
And all this, as it seemed that there was not a question,
At the dark little stranger's infernal suggestion.
Then Didrich Van Ranslaer was docked of his grog,
For calling Van Schriegel a "lazy young dog;'
And Laurent Van Blewitt was kept from tobacco,
For swearing that "Poland was somewhere in Cracow."
And so it fell out, that there was not a man
But was frightened to death of him—all but that Jan;
They scarcely dared mutter, or whisper, or talk,
Nor under breath swear,
For the stranger was there
With the ears of a mole, and the eyes of a hawk:
But Jan, the tall villain, would sometimes explode,
And once in his wrath even bid him "be blowed."
But three weeks had gone over, and then came the wind,
Which perhaps, you'll remember, we left far behind:
For all the long preface that here I've been spinning,
Has only just carried us to the beginning,
So snuff we the candles, and hear of the man,
The wonderful stranger, and wonderful Jan.
There are folks in this world, who, when fortune is busily
Doing her worst, will take every thing easily;
Nothing disturbs them, and nothing alarms them,
And seldom it happens that any thing harms them;
Yet strange-though it seems, as one genius presided
Above the whole clan, they are really divided
By public opinion in two distinct classes,
One, "philosophers" called, and the other, styled, “asses.”
Let a man see his nearest relation a dying,
Without any sighing, or sobbing, or crying;
Let him hear of banks breaking wherein he has money,
And take the news smoothly as if it were honey,
And crying, "all's right,"-benignantly quarter
Himself for his life on son, brother, or daughter;
And let this same man have a presence commanding,
A choice of good words, and a shrewd understanding,
And a good deal of what the enlightened call "gammon ;"
A dump to a guinea, a sprat to a salmon,
That the world takes his part, and said world would be cross, if her
Protegé were not called an uncommon philosopher.
But just change the person, and fancy the sinner,
With no care for to-night, if to-day has a dinner ;
And eyes like a fish's, set round in their sockets;
With a little squat figure, his hands in his pockets,
A pipe in his mouth from whence seldom he takes it,
But asks for another as soon as he breaks it;
Fancy this man beset with a hundred disasters,
At sea in a gale,
Close-reefed every sail,
A sadly sprung mast,
And a leak gaining fast,
And the sailors with broken heads, plentier than plasters,
And a little strange imp, here and there, every where,
Setting all by the ears,
And fomenting their fears,
And driving the crew to a state of despair.
Yet fancy our worthy still smoking as coolly,
As in his own "lúst-hous" in Holland in July.
Surely if the wise world could but then overhaul him,
"Fool," "dotard," and "booby," 'twould certainly call him; Although the same principle's brought into use
By the sage it approves, and Mynheer Vander Goose.
When the gale first arose he just broached these opinions :"It would not be much,
"It was only a touch,"
And retreated again to his lower dominions,
Where having procured
A fresh pipe from the steward,
His case-bottle of rum,
'Twixt his finger and thumb,
He grasped by the neck; though the action was dumb,
"Twas highly expressive of what he intended-
To "stick by the stuff" till the tempest was ended,
No matter what messages came from above,
Of changing his quarters, he did not approve.
Perplexed and fatigued, and half frantic, the men
Sent Jan to the cabin, again and again;
Once to ask "where they were," off what coast, and what part:
Quoth he, "Jan, I believe you can read,—there's the chart."
Then to tell him "the mainmast was sprung;"-he groaned "humph;
Then, "the water had gained in the hold;"-he whiffed "pump ;"-
And when Jan appeared in his presence once more,
With that by the same token,
"The rudder was broken."
The only reply that he got, was a snore.
What's to be done?
The billows run—
Now hiding the disc of the setting sun;
Now dropping them down in some awful chasm,
Thrilling each heart with fear's wild spasm:
And the timbers creak, and groan, and shriek,
And, the ship runs wild in her frenzied freak,
As hard to guide as if her name
Had put the spirit in her frame,
Of some "Goed Vrouw" of Amsterdam!
Now she leaps up, and madly rears
Her form on high-now disappears;
Now plunges on-and then again,
Lies helpless, sidelong on the main.—
Yet never the little fat captain awoke,
And his little fat crew
Know not what they must do,
For they see that the thing is no longer a joke;
And Jan the tall, looks grim and serious,
And the dark stranger more mysterious.
An eldritch shriek and a fearful bound,
A lumbering plunge and a cracking sound,
And broken spars around are poured,
The mainmast's going overboard!
Back fall the crew from the fatal spot,
All but Peter Van Schriegel, who drops "like shot,"
And when the yards on deck are dashed,
Is like a monstrous spider, smashed,
But this was no moment to pause and lament him,
When the stranger upsprung from the midst of the scrimmage, And, looking of cheerful contentment the image,
Politely requested an axe might be lent him!
'Twas handed by Jan,
For no other man
Would dare at that moment with aught to present him,
And whate'er he was doing they could not prevent him,
Fast, fast, fast, on the tottering mast
Falls blow after blow, with a power too vast,
(As was after remembered) without some strange charm,
To belong to a man with so slender an arm;
And when his behaviour was after dissected,
By those who survived, it was well recollected
That the hatchet he used seemed the mast to environ
With sparks showered thickly, and glowed like hot iron;
But be this as it may, the first danger was past,
Clean over the side went spars, rigging, and mast,
And the vessel relieved staggered onwards unknowing,
Either what she was doing, or where she was going.
But cool as a cucumber, calm as a monk,
The stranger once more bids Jan "bring him his trunk,"
'Tis drawn from the place where it first was deposited
That eve that the captain and stranger were closeted,
And being heaved up to the deck, which was bared
So completely, not even a hen-coop was spared,
The little dark stranger sate quietly down,
Like a monarch enthroned and expecting his crown,
And remarking-"The deck seemed well cleared for an action,',
Regarded the whole with a calm satisfaction,
Others were tumbling, and slipping, and sliding,
He sitting as firmly as if they were gliding
On a steam-boat excursion, with patent machinery,
And quite at their leisure enjoying the scenery.
They could bear it no longer! that terrible man,
And his sworn coadjutor, that lean long-legged Jan!
So whilst a deep reverie he seemed to be wrapt in,
They stole to the cabin to waken the captain.
Surely he sleeps a charmed sleep!
Or why such even pulses keep,
When even the dead might well awake,
When life, fame, fortune are at stake!
Wake, shipwrecked wretch! awake and weep!
Let dreams no more thy senses steep !—
Surely he sleeps a charmed sleep!
Aroused by their fears to a strange animation,
And only regarding their chance of salvation,
Sans ceremonie by the collar they take him,
And lustily shake him determined to wake him;
And their shrieks in his ear become perfectly thrilling,
As they see that already the cabin is filling:
A snort and a groan, and he opens his eyes,
And tries to look angry, then tries to look wise,
And they hear him exclaim-" From the hour that he came,⚫ I gave up the command to Mynheer What's-his-name,
And if he can't keep you and save you from evil,
I fear to his worship you have not been civil,
And all I say is, you may go to the devil!
But stay, the night's cold, there's the key of the locker,
(I never believed the Goed Vrouw' such a rocker !)
And don't spare the spirits, for even if you do,
I fear there are spirits will scarcely spare you!"
Swift from his presence forth they past-
It was a speech
Impressed on each,
For 'twas his longest and his last!
What followed! a scene of such noise and confusion,
Its memory must seem like a fiendish delusion;
I have separately asked them about that wild pother,
But hardly two stories agree with each other:
Some vow that the stranger and JAN both together
Sang a duo in praise of the airy fine weather;
Others say that they danced on the corpse of Van Schriegel
In a manner indecent, profane, and illegal,
To music so strangely discordant and frantic
It seemed to be fitted to every wild antic—
But all have agreed the last thing they remember
Is a very rough shock,
At half after twelve, on a night of December.
Morning hath come with her welcome light,
Shining on hills with the snow flake white,
And on the darkly heaving sea,
Where still the waves rage angrily;
And on a shore where, 'twixt the land
And sea, there spreads a ridge of sand,
And on eleven silent forms,
That her sweet light revives and warms,
For strange to say, of all the crew
Of the "Goed Vrouw," they miss but two,
Van Schriegel, and that white, and wan,
And tall, and thin, and wicked Jan,
The stranger and captain, of course, I except,
But neither of these could be bitterly wept.
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