Produced by Al Haines DAUBER A POEM BY JOHN MASEFIELD AUTHOR OF "THE EVERLASTING MERCY," ETC. LONDON WILLIAM HEINEMANN Copyright, 1913 New Impressions, 1913 and 1914 TO MY WIFE NOTE.--I thank the editor and proprietors of the _English Review_ for permitting me to reprint this poem, which first appeared in their issue for October, 1912. The persons and events described in this poem are entirely imaginary, and no reference is made or intended to any living person. DAUBER Four bells were struck, the watch was called on deck, All work aboard was over for the hour, And some men sang and others played at check, Or mended clothes or watched the sunset glower. The bursting west was like an opening flower, And one man watched it till the light was dim, But no one went across to talk to him. He was the painter in that swift ship's crew-- Lampman and painter--tall, a slight-built man, Young for his years, and not yet twenty-two; Sickly, and not yet brown with the sea's tan. Bullied and damned at since the voyage began, "Being neither man nor seaman by his tally," He bunked with the idlers just abaft the galley. His work began at five; he worked all day, Keeping no watch and having all night in. His work was what the mate might care to say; He mixed red lead in many a bouilli tin; His dungarees were smeared with paraffin. "Go drown himself" his round-house mates advised him, And all hands called him "Dauber" and despised him. Si, the apprentice, stood beside the spar, Stripped to the waist, a basin at his side, Slushing his hands to get away the tar, And then he washed himself and rinsed and dried; Towelling his face, hair-towzelled, eager-eyed, He crossed the spar to Dauber, and there stood Watching the gold of heaven turn to blood. They stood there by the rail while the swift ship Tore on out of the tropics, straining her sheets, Whitening her trackway to a milky strip, Dim with green bubbles and twisted water-meets, Her clacking tackle tugged at pins and cleats, Her great sails bellied stiff, her great masts leaned: They watched how the seas struck and burst and greened. Si talked with Dauber, standing by the side. "Why did you come to sea, painter?" he said. "I want to be a painter," he replied, "And know the sea and ships from A to Z, And paint great ships at sea before I'm dead; Ships under skysails running down the Trade-- Ships and the sea; there's nothing finer made. "But there's so much to learn, with sails and ropes, And how the sails look, full or being furled, And how the lights change in the troughs and slopes, And the sea's colours up and down the world, And how a storm looks when the sprays are hurled High as the yard (they say) I want to see; There's none ashore can teach such things to me.