At Sea -

Wind ripped through the rigging blowing cold Sheets with extended billows were stiff, Unyielding, almost beyond their fold Men struggled to reef them and knew if Gale and mounting surge continued bad There wouldn’t be quarter and peace as gift For end of this wind they’d be most glad Sleet, ice in halyards encrusted blocks To survive, their skill was all they had Again to see Halifax’s far docks Tea for Scotia was stored in ship’s hold Hands scambled down to deck from the tops Wind ripped through the rigging blowing cold Unyielding, almost beyond their fold