The Transatlantic Crossing of the Golden Hinde 1991
Fifteen men and a galleon fair
Left the wide. wide Delaware,
To sail to England, if wind be kind
On a replica of the Golden Hinde.
“All hands on deck!” the first mate cries
The wind in rising in the shrouds,
Shrill is her note, its time they say
To furl the topsails, put away.
The storm is lashing at her sides,
The yard-arms sway from side to side,
The seas rise up beyond the mast,
Hurling her into each abyss.
The Captain stood his feet astride,
This rolling, roller coaster ride
Shouts were heard, the wheel was held,
the ship steered east despite the gale.
With those grey eyes he did perceive
Beyond those cold Atlantic seas
Another realm where he belongs
Where waters of the moon are strong.
But duty stood before him then,
the safety of his ship and men,
His eyes were still his face was grey,
His thoughts upon the compass lay.
The storm was causing furrowed brows
The wind tore harder on the shrouds,
The mast bell was never still
Its toll announced the teeth of hell.
Those long nights the watch stood fast,
Wave socked and cold they did there best,
To steer the ship to east from west.
Twice were her crew to stations called,
When fire and water threatened her
To sink or swim abandon all,
They waited for the final call.
But she sailed on and out of sight,
The pumps were pumping through the night
The galleon rolled across the sea
The Captain watching anxiously.
The days drew on the dolphins played
Before her prow in light and shade,
And drawing close to Spanish shores,
As vitals failed they asked for more.
“To ration each man”, the cookie said,
“The only way we’ll stay ahead.”
Belts were tightened and smiles were drawn,
And porridge thinly served at dawn.
With tired limbs and aching minds,
The ship awash but vitals fine,
To Penzance then the wind it blew,
To Newlyn port the Galleon flew.
And Penzance welcomed them with cheer,
This motley crew all grime and beard,
Long had they sailed full forty days,
Across the wild Atlantic waves.