| The Last Voyage of the Barque Pamir |
White sails billowing in the wind,
soft pillows in a deep blue sky,
the barque Pamir stood out to sea,
and the people waved good-bye.
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A grand old lady, was the Pamir,
majestic remnant of the past,
when ships were wood, and men were iron,
when both would last and last.
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Four masts rose up majestically,
one hundred fifty feet or so,
a tall ship was the barque Pamir,
'twas the wind took her to and fro.
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Homeward bound from the Argentines,
north by northeast her course did run.
She left behind the southern cross,
and the warm equator sun.
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Below her decks, the holds were filled,
wheat and grain from Argentines,
a working training ship was she,
where they learned to haul the lines.
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A northeast wind began to blow,
cross the deck of the barque Pamir,
cadets and crew, mustered on deck,
but none showed a sign of fear.
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The warm blue sea turned cold and gray,
a heavy rain began to fall.
They furled some sail in pounding seas,
as Pamir began to roll.
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Six hundred miles the Azores lay,
east to the Azores they did steer,
they turned her bow into the waves,
turned her to the storm so near.
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Wave after wave broke o'er her bow,
and the wind pushed her hard a lee,
her silken shrouds starting to tear,
now at mercy of the sea.
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The crew hurled curses to the wind,
and spat their anger to the sea,
they challenged all the elements,
"Come do your worst to me."
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And so the sailor's dance began,
by the wind and wave and the sea,
in the morn, somewhere, the sun'd shine,
but where would Pamir be?
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The mainmast was the first to go,
in the crash of thundering wave,
along with it took fifteen lads,
into a watery grave.
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The mizzen mast crashed on the deck,
and the rudder cable was sheared,
slowly turned broadside to the waves,
no more could she be steered.
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And still her crew of men and boys,
battled to bring her back upright,
against the overwhelming odds,
would not give up the fight.
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Wild howled the wind, wild crashed the waves,
against that valiant stricken ship,
and like her crew she too fought on,
and loosened that fearsome grip.
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With shattered masts and sails in shreds,
still the sea could not pull her down,
her beauty gone, but not her pride,
Pamir too fought on and on.
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The seas died down and stars appeared,
and hope broke through the lonely night,
from fifty tongues a shout rang out,
they had almost won the fight.
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Then came a cry from deep within,
and from the sea one final roar,
forty feet high of killer wave,
and the Pamir fought no more.
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Some say they should have furled her sail,
some say it was the hurricane,
what may have been now matters not
for Pamir 'll nee'r sail again.
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Rolf Ritschel
(c) 2001 All rights reserved
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| The Captain of Pamir |
The sky is getting darker,
Waves, they're higher than before
We're on our way to Africa
Wish that we were near the shore
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It's a southern course we're taking here
And the stormy season's here
And the greatest storm, the hurricane
Is the one that sailors fear
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Wind is whistling through the rigging
Waves are pushing us off course
You young apprentice seamen
Now! You'll feel the ocean's force
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I've sailed though these many times
On barks much less than this
And came out to sail again
Avoiding death's cold briny kiss
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Take heart my little seamen
Work hard. Ask God's help too
There is no draw, you've got to win
Or else she will beat you
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So batten down the hatches boys
Make everything secure
Do all things right that you've been taught
And we'll come out for sure
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So harken to me sailors
For I'm in charge out here
And I'll do my best
To bring you through
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...I'm the captain of Pamir
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Vincent Dubrosa
(c) 2002 All rights reserved
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Another poem,
The Balad of Ponty Jones
maybe found in the Days Gone By page
of the Maritime Union of Australia site.
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