Page:Poems of the Great War - Cunliffe.djvu/93

 For a while, he does not pick up a little white streak

on the water, not very far away, drawing

rapidly nearer ; A streak like the wake of a shark's fin, cutting along

on the weather bow. He sees it ! Quick, to the signal ! Stop ! Full

speed astern ! Over, there, with the helm !

Too late, too late, captain of ship and lives ;

Away from the little wake springs a broader wake ;

A murderous fish drives straight towards you, churn- ing the water as he goes.

Close compartment doors ! — the last command ;

Then to the end of the bridge, and stand there waiting ;

Press tight the lips, fold the arms on the breast, throw back the head :

Below, along the weather rail, a line of men stands silently, watching death come ;

{Our country calls ! Our country, and our King !)

A whitish object skims on the surface of the blue

sea; The torpedo strikes below the magazine ; The ship is instantly blown in two — she sinks like

lead ; A faint cheer finds no listener but God.

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