The Ballad of Thirty-Three K

We're thirty two-five-and eighty now,
And all full and away
And the Mother has a bone in her teeth,
As she rollicks, bows, and sways.
She's trim and lean, and her bottom clean,
And the moon shining on the lee
As the black seas sweep underneath her stern,
Sing a song of the Thirty-Three.

The night wind rattles in the stays
And the foresail fills to lee
And all the hands are grinning broad
As she kicks her heels out free.
We know she's running down the wind
Where the wind wants her to be;
And the dolphin striker points the way
To the port of Thirty Three.

Old Ed stood high on the tops'l yahd
A-staring into the sun.
To see the way he stared, we feared
Some damage might be done.
And sure enough, when his watch was done,
An' he shinnied down the stay,
He started spouting Marxist thoughts
In a tatterdemalion way.

Now Little Hawk, on the foc's'le head,
Was watching in the gloom
As the phosphorescent breakers passed,
An' he dreamed he was in his room.
He fancied seeing shabby types
Of simian and Canuck.
He dreamed them up and gave them names,
And his fancies kinda stuck.
For when old Hawk came off that watch
He swore his chums were there!
So we tied him up and stowed him below,
Just to give him a change of air.

And sure, it was a patchwork gang
We'd sailed with from the docks,
With prim Rapaire, and wild-eyed Bruce,
And Still and Jane in frocks.
But we didn't care if we all seemed odd,
We were glad to be under weigh.
For we heard the call of the Mother's voice
Singing "Thirty-three of Kay!"

At thirty-two and seven bells
We left the land to lee,
And all we saw was a raging hell
Of foam and storm-torn sea.
And the seas climbed high, and the seas broke hard
As our top mast reeled and swayed,
But she stood the force, and we held our course
For the thirty-three of Kay.

Below the deck, in a galley warm
Worked Janie, Reb, and Still
And they tried to make up something good
Our hungry mouths to fill.
But the twisting seas and the rollicking gale
Made the whole place much too rough.
So they tied themselves into their bunks,
And swore they'd had enough.

The night was pitch, and the howling bitch
Of a storm howled louder still
And we ducked our bow and rose again
In seas as big as hills.
No man could face that awful gale
Without thinking he oughter pray.
And no-one knew if we'd make it through
TO the thirty three of Kay.

The storm raged on in the blackened night
The seas and the wind were wild.
Rapaire he swore 'twas the worst damn storm
He'd seen since he was child.
And half the crew were pale with fright
And half were green with motion,
As we pitched and rolled in that bitter cold
Through the mad and heaving ocean.

The timbers groaned and the planks they creaked
And the glass, it kept sinking down.
And we wondered if we were still alive
When seven-ninety came around.
And Ed curled up in the rope's end for'd
And wished he was in some bar,
For all he could hear was the screaming gale
Midst the smell of hemp and tar.

She plunged uphill and galloped down
And she corkscrewed left and right.
And we prayed for an end to that endless sound,
And a glimpse of the dawning light.
But there was no end, and there was no dawn
And the storm never died away;
And through the night we just hammered on,
Dreaming of thirty-three kay.

We was thirty-two-eight by the taffrail log
The last that log did say.
For just as we read her the ship was pooped
And that log was carried away.
And we desperately ran up sixteen more
While we reckoned an Ell-Oh-Pee
For we was as lost as has ever been
In that wild and murky sea.

Now Hawk he stood a manly watch
Until he lost his steel
But the minute Still relieved his helm
He lost contact with what's real.
He swore he was safe on a Scottish trawler
Tied up in Aberdeen.
And we sighed, 'cuz this was the worst damn case
Of nerves we'd ever seen.

So we sent old Hawk to his bunk below
Wrapped up in a burlap wrap.
And he babbled on about Mither Ships
And similar unreal crap.
But the rest of us faced into that blow
Blowing sixty knots toward day;
And we clamped on the lifelines, and braced and prayed
For the thirty three of Kay.

Ah, the chain plates creaked and began to crack,
And the transom started to split,
And the bob-stays screamed like a hellion's dream
And the storm grew as dark as the Pit.
But we never flinched and we never turned
With a hundred and fifty to go,
We stood our watches one at a time
And let the damn storm blow.

Oh, our sides were sore and our ribs were bruised
And our fingers sore and bleeding
And our eyes were tight from the endless night
When the binnacle needed readin'.
But we limped below for an hour or so
And came back to the helm and the stay,
We wuz damned if we'd let this goddamned storm
Keep us short of our thirty-three kay.

The clock on the cabin wall said ten,
But the air was thick as night
And the heading seas lambasted our bow
To the left and to the right.
There was nary a glimmer of morning sun
Dark the sky, the sea, the air.
And every soul of our gallant crew
Wondered whut he was doin' there.

But the knots ticked by--why they seemed to fly,
As we ran before that gale
Though the best we could do was a guess or two
On our fix, as the harsh wind wailed.
But we knew if we kept the quartering head
And the wind kept on blowing that way,
That it wouldn't be long, if we weren't all lost,
We'd come home to the next of Kay.

Alas, Rapaire, the helmsman bold
He could not stand the gaff;
The endless gale got to his nerves
And he started in to laugh.
He swore he was fighting German subs
In 1943;
So we put him below with Little Hawk
To restore his sanity.

Our clothes were wet and our hides were raw
And the scudding clouds blew by,
When someone a glimpse of sunlight saw
A crack in a slate-dark sky.
He hollered loud for the rest to see
The proof of a living day,
And we whooped it up till the clouds shut down
On course for the next of Kay.

But Rapaire was broken wuss than we thought,
An' his mind was bent on talk,
An' by the time the watch stood down
He'd infected Little Hawk.
So we tied them up in their burlap wraps
Down below, out of all harm's way
And we let them gabble 'bout Nazi subs,
And we steered for the next of Kay.

We had only eighty leagues to go
And the sky was turning lighter
And the good ole boat still flew afloat,
She 'uz born and built a fighter.
And I reckon the height of the seas came down
To something more like twenty.
So we figgered we might see an end to our woes,
Which was good, as we'd all had plenty.

But the wind kept ripping through the stays
Screaming like hell's own daughter,
And down below, the cry came out
"By DAMN!!! She's takin' water!!"
And sure there was water in the bilge
Where the keelson had set to leakin'
And one of the seams had come unpaid
And cracked, instead of creakin'.

Well I don't need to say how pale we grew
As we checked that water level,
An' we untied Hawk and t'othah one too,
(By Christ, they looked dishevel'd!
They was green at the gills and their eyes was wild,
And their nerves was strained and jumpin'
But we slapped them both till they came around,
ANd we set those boys to pumpin'.

They was pumpin' hard the rest of the day
But the water, it came back.
And Little Hawk declared he had
A problem with his back.
And old Rapaire he sat down, too
Invoked PTSD,
Said he didn't care if we all went down
To the cold embrace of the sea.

Now Ed, he knew a thing or two
And he'd been feeling bored
So he'd dug about, when his watch stood down,
In the bosn's stores up forward.
And he made his way aft, and came below
Hanging on to the frozen lines
With a couple of bags of oakum hemp,
Some pitch and a caulkin' iron.

So we hung Ed into that foul aft bilge
By his heels, with a double-hitch,
And he cussed and hammered and caulked that leak
And then he asked for pitch.
Well the pitch was cold, it was hard as ice
Like a crystal lump of coal
And there weren't no fire for'd or aft
TO melt that pitch's soul.
But Kendall said he knew a trick
To help us in our muddle,
And he whispered some cuss words over that lump
That reduced it to a puddle.

So he paid the seam, and like a sailor's dream,
The water stayed outside
And everyone said Ed was a champ
And welcome to the ride.
The wind backed round about that time
Blowing clean on the starbahd quahter
And a little break in the scudding clouds
Lent some sunlight to the water.

So we felt a little hope about
The ending of the day
It had started out like sour death
But hadn't turned out that way.
So the Skipper handed out a tot
From some rum he'd stored away
And said, "Here's a toast to a feisty crew,
And the thirty-three of K!"

With only eighteen leagues to go
Before we made our berth
We started thinking we'd survive
And wondring what 't was worth.
We'd carried her many a wet. wet mile
And battled the swell and the sway
ANd had we earned a golden cup
Coming home to our next of Kay?

For thirty three is a number sole,
It stands in a long long line.
From where we stand upon her brink,
We can see clear to thirty-nine!
"No matter!! Put aside your doubts!!"
I can hear brave MOAB say.
For Mom is bound to make the round
At the thirty-three of Kay.

Then over the clouds the moon rose up,
And silvered the rolling sea,
And the wind and the seas died down to a breeze,
And harmonious company.
ANd the good ship still cut seven knots
On the broad reach through the bay,
And we marked our plot, and talked of what
Lay ahead at the next of Kay.

And the swells died down to a foot or two,
And the sunrise brought the balm
Of a warming day as the next of Kay
Loomed out through the fading storm.
Off the bow she lay, thirty three of Kay!
In a golden, beckoning mist!
And the skipper swore 'twas as fair a sight
As ever he'd fondled or kissed.

The pumpers got over their various ills,
And the company welcomed them back.
Their sins full shriven, and themselves forgiven
For risking us all with their yack.
And the bilge held firm with the parcel and worm
And caulking to Big Ed's lay,
And the ship leapt east with a bone in her teeth
At the break of the rising day.

With the wind running fair, why we stretched her there,
Laid on every thread she'd hold
And we ran to the point with a thrill of joy
As the port shined out like gold!
And just as the sun swung over the yard,
Why we followed her homeward urge
'Til the main brace hummed and the bowsprit thrummed,
To the tune of a sailor's dirge .

"Now round them sheets and bring 'er down!"
The skipper loud did roar.
And we leapt to the lines, for in every mind
Was a vision of thirty-three's shore!
And the gals in their frocks flooded over the docks
As our heaving lines did lay
'Cross the harbor foam, and we brought her home
To the Thirty-Three of Kay!!