Don't you know the sailing orders? It is time to put to sea, And the stranger in the harbor Sends a boat ashore for me. With the thunder of her canvas, Coming on the wind again, I can hear the Shadow Boatswain Piping to his shadow men. Is it firelight or morning That red flicker on the floor? Your good-bye was braver, Sweetheart, When I sailed away before. Think of this last lovely summer! Love, what ails the wind to-night? What's he saying in the chimney Turns your berry cheek so white? What a morning! How the sunlight Sparkles on the outer bay, Where the brig lies waiting for me To trip anchor and away. That's the Doomkeel. You may know her By her clean run aft; and, then, Don't you hear the Shadow Boatswain Piping to his shadow men? Off the freshening sea to windward, Is it a white tern I hear Shrilling in the gusty weather Where the far sea-line is clear? What a morning for departure! How your blue eyes melt and shine! Will you watch us from the headland Till we sink below the line? I can see the wind already Steer the scruf marks of the tide, As we slip the wake of being Down the sloping world, and wide. I can feel the vasty mountains Heave and settle under me, And the Doomkeel veer and tremor, Crumbling on the hollow sea. There's a call, as when a white gull Cries and beats across the blue; That must be the Shadow Boatswain Piping to his shadow crew. There's a boding sound, like winter, When the pines begin to quail; That must be the gray wind moaning In the belly of the sail. I can feel the icy fingers Creeping in upon my bones; There must be a berg to windward Somewhere in these border zones. Stir the fire.... I love the sunlight, Always loved my shipmate sun. How the sunflowers beckon to me From the dooryard one by one! How the royal lady-roses Strew this summer world of ours. There'll be none in Lonely Haven, It is too far north for flowers. There, Sweetheart! And I must leave you. What should touch my wife with tears? There's no danger with the Master, He has sailed the sea for years. With the sea-wolves on her quarter, And the white bones in her teeth, He will steer the shadow cruiser, Dark before and doom beneath, Down the last expanse till morning Flares above the broken sea, And the midnight storm is over, And the isles are close alee. So some twilight, when your roses Are all blown, and it is June, You will turn your blue eyes seaward, Through the white dusk of the moon. Wondering, as that far sea-cry Comes upon the wind again, And you hear the Shadow Boatswain Piping to his shadow men. THE SLAPPING SAL. BY CONAN DOYLE. PICTURES BY A. BRENNAN. [Illustration: HAIRY HUDSON.]