DON JUAN 1819 THE SHIPWRECK FROM CANTO II. XXIV. THE ship, call'd the most holy "Trinidada," Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born; XXV. His suite consisted of three servants and Who several languages did understand, But now lay sick and speechless on his pillow, And, rocking in his hammock, long'd for land, His headache being increased by every billow; And the waves oozing through the porthole made His berth a little damp, and him afraid. XXVI. 'Twas not without some reason, for the wind 238 For sailors are, in fact, a different kind; At sunset they began to take in sail, For the sky show'd it would come on to blow, XXVII. At one o'clock the wind with sudden shift Threw the ship right into the trough of the sea, The rudder tore away: 'twas time to sound XXVIII. One gang of people instantly was put At last they did get at it really, but Still their salvation was an even bet; The water rush'd through in a way quite puzzling, XXIX. Into the opening; but all such ingredients Would have been vain, and they must have gone down, Despite of all their efforts and expedients, But for the pumps : I'm glad to make them known By them per hour, and they had all been undone, XXX. As day advanced the weather seem'd to abate, Kept two hand and one chain-pump still in use. A squall came on, and while some guns broke loose, A gust-which all descriptive power transcends— Laid with one blast the ship on her beam-ends. XXXI. There she lay, motionless, and seem'd upset; For they remember battles, fires, and wrecks, Or breaks their hopes, or hearts, or heads, or necks: Thus drownings are much talk'd of by the divers, And swimmers, who may chance to be survivors. XXXII. Immediately the masts were cut away, Both main and mizzen: first the mizzen went, The main-mast follow'd; but the ship still lay Like a mere log and baffled our intent. Foremast and bowsprit were cut down, and they Eased her at last (although we never meant To part with all till every hope was blighted), And then with violence the old ship righted. XXXIII. It may be easily supposed, while this Was going on, some people were unquiet, That passengers would find it much amiss To lose their lives as well as spoil their diet; That even the able seaman, deeming his Days nearly o'er, might be disposed to riot, As upon such occasions tars will ask For grog, and sometimes drink rum from the cask. XXXIV. There's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calms, As rum and true religion: thus it was, Some plunder'd, some drank spirits, some sung psalms; The high wind made the treble, and as bass The hoarse, harsh waves kept time; fright cured the qualms Of all the luckless landsmen's sea-sick maws: Strange sounds of wailing, blasphemy, devotion, XXXV. Perhaps more mischief had been done, but for It with a pair of pistols; and their fears, Of fire than water, spite of oaths and tears, Kept still aloof the crew, who, ere they sunk, Thought it would be becoming to die drunk. XXXVI. "Give us more grog!" they cried, "for it will be All one an hour hence." Juan answer'd, "No! 'Tis true that death awaits both you and me, But let us die like men, not sink below Like brutes";-and thus his dangerous post kept he, XXXVII. The good old gentleman was quite aghast, Nothing should tempt him more (this peril past) In cloisters of the classic Salamanca, To follow Juan's wake, like Sancho Panca. XXXVIII. But now there came a flash of hope once more; XXXIX. Under the vessel's keel the sail was past, Nor rag of canvas, what could they expect? But still 'tis best to struggle to the last, 'Tis never too late to be wholly wreck'd: And though 'tis true that man can only die once, 'Tis not so pleasant in the Gulf of Lyons. XL. There winds and waves had hurl'd them, and from thence, Without their will, they carried them away: For they were forced with steering to dispense, |