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In nineteen hundred and fourteen, with winter soon to melt,
On icy floes the hunt was on for oil and snow-white pelts;
From outports on the northern shore, to firms on Water Street,
They bought their gear and claimed their berths to join the sealing fleet.
The oldest was a wooden wall they called the Newfoundland,
Her captain green and all too young, the son of a great man;
She cleared the Narrows in good time, but stalled up in the ice,
They worked like dogs to break the pans that held her like a vice.
All patience gone, the captain cried to Master Watch George Tuff,
"We've been three weeks without a seal, and b'y, I've had enough!
My father's ship is in the fat, 'tis just three miles or four,
So take the men and join her there, and pass the night on board."
Five miles they trekked across the ice, beneath a brooding sky,
And Captain Kean he gave them tea, then put them overside;
"I'll set you on a patch of seals, then back where you belong."
And with no more of thought or care, the iron ship was gone.
Just as our Saviour lay in hell for three days and two nights,
For so long were the sealing men forsaken on the ice;
In blinding snow and driving rain that raged from the southwest,
To freeze the blood of any man who dared to sleep or rest.
Abide With Me the sealers sang, and then Lead, Kindly Light
They burned the handles and the rope to hold away the night;
And Jesse Collins of Hare Bay, he stepped up to take charge,
And roused the weary to their feet to dance or box or march.
A brother urged his brother on, and forced the weak to rise,
And neighbour bit the blinding ice from off his neighbour's eyes;
While friend would chew the hardtack up to ease the mouth of friend,
And father took son in his arms to hide him from the wind.
When Nickolas Morey bowed his head to make his earthly peace,
He found the strength to bless himself and died upon his knees;
While others prayed for mercy from the North Atlantic cold,
That knows no more of mercy than the enemy of our souls.
Some fell back or slipped away to meet their fate alone,
Some went on till heart gave out and fell without a moan;
Some went foolish, cursed and ran, or stepped into the brine,
Until the sea gives up her dead, no mortal eye shall find.
And when at last the third day rose, the midday sun revealed,
The Bellaventure's dumbstruck crew, who took the men for seals;
They brought the living back on board, to feed and tend and warm,
And gathered up the mute and still who perished in the storm.
They headed half-mast to St. John's and there aboard the Belle
Were four and fifty broken men with awful tale to tell;
And laid in rows along her decks were threescore souls and ten,
While eight remained beneath the waves to not return again.
