On which they might repose, or even commence

A jurymast or rudder, or could say

The ship would swim an hour, which, by good luck, Still swam-though not exactly like a duck.

XLI.

The wind, in fact, perhaps was rather less,
But the ship labour'd so, they scarce could hope
To weather out much longer; the distress
Was also great with which they had to cope
For want of water, and their solid mess
Was scant enough; in vain the telescope
Was used-nor sail nor shore appear'd in sight,
Nought but the heavy sea and coming night.

XLII.

Again the weather threaten'd,—again blew
A gale, and in the fore and after hold
Water appear'd; yet, though the people knew
All this, the most were patient, and some bold,
Until the chains and leathers were worn through
Of all our pumps;-a wreck complete she roll'd
At mercy of the waves, whose mercies are
Like human beings during civil war.

XLIII.

Then came the carpenter, at last, with tears
In his rough eyes, and told the captain he
Could do no more: he was a man in years,

And long had voyaged through many a stormy sea;
And if he wept at length, they were not fears
That made his eyelids as a woman's be,
But he, poor fellow, had a wife and children,
Two things for dying people quite bewild'ring.

XLIV.

The ship was evidently settling now

Fast by the head; and, all distinction gone, Some went to prayers again, and made a vow

Of candles to their saints-but there were none To pay them with; and some look'd o'er the bow; Some hoisted out the boats: and there was one That begg'd Pedrillo for an absolution,

Who told him to be damn'd-in his confusion.

XLV.

Some lash'd them in their hammocks; some put on
Their best clothes, as if going to a fair;

Some cursed the day on which they saw the sun,

And gnash'd their teeth, and, howling, tore their hair; And others went on as they had begun,

Getting the boats out, being well aware That a tight boat will live in a rough sea, Unless with breakers close beneath her lee.

XLVI.

The worst of all was, that in their condition, Having been several days in great distress, 'Twas difficult to get out such provision

As now might render their long suffering less: Men, even when dying, dislike inanition;

Their stock was damaged by the weather's stress;

Two casks of biscuit, and a keg of butter,

Were all that could be thrown into the cutter.

XLVII.

But in the long-boat they contrived to stow

Some pounds of bread, though injured by the wet;

Water, a twenty-gallon cask or so,

Six flasks of wine; and they contrived to get

A portion of their beef up from below,

And with a piece of pork, moreover, met,

But scarce enough to serve them for a luncheonThen there was rum, eight gallons in a puncheon.

XLVIII.

The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, had
Been stove, in the beginning of the gale;
And the long-boat's condition was but bad,
As there were but two blankets for a sail,
And one oar for a mast, which a young lad

Threw in by good luck over the ship's rail; And two boats could not hold, far less be stored, To save one half the people then on board.

XLIX.

'Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down
Over the waste of waters; like a veil

Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown
Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail;
Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown,
And grimly darkled o'er the faces pale,

And the dim desolate deep: twelve days had Fear
Been their familiar, and now Death was here.

L.

Some trial had been making at a raft,

With little hope in such a rolling sea,

A sort of thing at which one would have laugh'd,
If any laughter at such times could be,

Unless with people who too much have quaff'd,
And have a kind of wild and horrid glee,
Half epileptical and half hysterical :-

Their preservation would have been a miracle.

LI.

At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars,
And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose,
That still could keep afloat the struggling tars,

For yet they strove, although of no great use:
There was no light in heaven but a few stars,
The boats put off, o'ercrowded with their crews;
She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port,
And, going down head foremost—sunk, in short.

LII.

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell

Then shriek'd the timid and stood still the brave—
Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell,
As eager to anticipate their grave;

And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell,

And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave,

Like one who grapples with his enemy,

And strives to strangle him before he die.

LIII.

And first one universal shriek there rush'd
Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash
Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd,
Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash
Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd,
Accompanied with a convulsive splash,

A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony.

LIV.

The boats, as stated, had got off before,,
And in them crowded several of the crew;
And yet
their present hope was hardly more
Than what it had been; for so strong it blew,

There was slight chance of reaching any shore;

And then they were too many, though so few— Nine in the cutter, thirty in the boat,

Were counted in them when they got afloat.

LV.

All the rest perish'd: near two hundred souls Had left their bodies; and what's worse, alas! When over Catholics the ocean rolls,

They must wait several weeks before a mass Takes off one peck of purgatorial coals,

Because, till people know what's come to pass, They won't lay out their money on the deadIt costs three francs for every mass that's said.

LVI.

Juan got into the long-boat, and there
Contrived to help Pedrillo to a place :
It seem'd as if they had exchanged their care,
For Juan wore the magisterial face

Which courage gives, while poor Pedrillo's pair
Of eyes were crying for their owner's case;
Battista, though (a name call'd shortly Tita),
Was lost by getting at some aqua-vita.

LVII.

Pedro, his valet, too, he tried to save,

But the same cause, conducive to his loss, Left him so drunk, he jump'd into the wave, As o'er the cutter's edge he tried to cross, And so he found a wine-and-watery grave;

They could not rescue him, although so close, Because the sea ran higher every minute, And for the boat-the crew kept crowding in it.