The Check of the Desperate

As the Seamen's Union will not man the s.s. Largs Bay, of the Commonwealth line, the management decided to cancel the sailing of the vessel from Sydney.

It was the schooner Desperate
    That lay beside the quay,
And the skipper had taken his little
    daughter to voyage upon the sea.

Blue were her eyes—you know the
    kind
That are coy, and cute, and
    bright;
And the child looked forward to
    her trip
With a flapper's keen delight.

"Father, I hear no merry tars
    Raise chanteys here," said she,
But her father he chewed his wilted
    fag,
And a nervous laugh laughed he.

"Father, I see no sailor lads
    With their faces tanned and
    bright,"
But the skipper said, "Tut, tut, my
    child!
We sail tomorrow night!"

"Father, I hear no—" "Hold your
    tongue!"
The angry skipper cried.
"I say we sail tomorrow night;
    And I will not be denied!

"I say we sail on the morrow's eve
    If we have to row her out!"
But his voice was the voice of a
    nervous man;
And the look in his eye held
    doubt.

Then up and spake an old sailor,
    Who had been ten weeks on
    strike:
"I pray you take your daughter
    home;
For her chances I don't like.

"She'll never sail on the Desperate,
    Where the white-capped wavelets
    roll;
For we'll never man your ship un-
    less
You give us job control."

Her father patted her golden head:
    "My daughter, trust to luck!
For I can weather the roughest
    strike
That ever a seaman struck!"

They waited then by the vessel's
    side;
All night, till the dawn grew red.
Then the skipper sighed: "There's a
    tram at six.
Child, let's go home to bed."

And, as for the schooner Desperate,
    She is still beside the quay;
And the greasy docks they chafe
    her sides
While she groans in misery.

The barnacles grow on her plates;
    And no, upon the whole,
It's the barnacles that win the
    game,
For they have no job control!