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The Snipe's Lament
Author unknown
Now each of us
from time to time, has gazed upon the sea
And watched the
warships pulling out, to keep this country free.
And most of us
have read a book, or heard a lusty tale,
About the men
who sail these ships, through lightning, wind and hail.
But there’s a
place within each ship, that legend fails to teach.
It’s down below
the waterline, it takes a living toll---
A hot metal
living hell, that sailors call the “hole.”
It houses
engines run by steam, that makes the shafts go round,
A place of fire
and noise and heat, that beats your spirit down,
Are of molded
gods without remorse, are nightmares in a dream.
Whose threat
that from the fires roar, is like living doubt,
That any minute
would with scorn, escape and crush you out.
Where turbines
scream like tortured souls, alone and lost in hell,
As ordered from
above somewhere, they answer every bell.
The men who keep
the fires lit, and make the engines run,
Are strangers to
the world of night, and rarely see the sun.
They have no
time for man or God, no tolerance for fear,
Their aspect
pays no living thing, the tribute of a tear.
For there’s not
much that men can do, that these men haven’t done,
Beneath the
decks deep in the hole, to make the engines run.
And every hour
of every day, they keep the watch in hell,
For if the fires
ever fail, their ship’s a useless shell.
When ships
converge to have a war, upon the sea,
The men below
just grimly smile, at what their fate might be.
They’re locked
in below like men for doomed, who hear no battle cry,
It’s well
assumed that if they’re hit, the men below will die.
For every day’s
a war down there, when the gauges all read red,
Twelve hundred
pounds of heated steam, can kill you mighty dead.
So if you ever
write their sons, or try to tell their tale,
The very words
would make you hear, a fired furnace’s wail.
And people as a
general rule, don’t hear of men of steel,
So little’s
heard about the place, that sailors call the “hole.”
But I can sing
about this place, and try to make you see,
The hardened
life of men down there, cause one of them is me.
I’ve seen these
sweat soaked heroes fight, in superheated air,
To keep their
ship alive and right through no one knows they’re there.
And thus they’ll
fight for ages on, till warships sail no more
Amid the
boiler’s mighty heat, and the turbines hellish roar.
So when you see
a ship pull out, to meet a warlike foe,
Remember faintly
if you can, “THE MEN WHO SAIL BELOW.”
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