The Main-Sheet Song

Rushing along on a narrow reach, Our rival under the lee, The wind falls foul of the weather leach, And the jib flaps fretfully. The skipper casts a glance along, And handles his wheel to meet— Then sings in the voice of a stormy song, "All hands get on that sheet!"

Yo ha! Yo ho! Then give her a spill, With a rattle of blocks abaft. Yo ha! Yo ho! Come down with a will And bring the main-sheet aft.

Rolling the foam up over the rail She smokes along and flings A spurt of spray in the curving sail, And plunges and rolls and springs; For a wild, wet spot is the scuppers' sweep, As we stand to our knees along— It's a foot to make and a foot to keep As we surge to the bullie's song.

Yo ha! Yo ho! Then give her a spill With a rattle of blocks abaft. Yo ha! Yo ho! Come down with a will And bring the main-sheet aft.

Muscle and mind are a winning pair With a lively plank below, That whether the wind be foul or fair Will pick up her heels and go; For old hemp and hands are shipmates long— There's work whenever they meet— So here's to a pull that's steady and strong, When all hands get on the sheet.

Yo ha! Yo ho! Then give her a spill With a rattle of blocks abaft. Yo ha! Yo ho! Come down with a will And bring the main-sheet aft.