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.
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.
A small old spaniel,-which had been Don Jose's,
His father's, whom he loved, as ye may think,
For on such things the memory reposes
With tenderness-stood howling on the brink,
Knowing, (dogs have such intellectual noses!)
No doubt the vessel was about to sink;
And Juan caught him up, and, ere he stepp'd
Off, threw him in, then after him he leap'd.
He also stuff'd his money where he could
About his person, and Pedrillo's too,
Who let him do, in fact, whate'er he would,
Not knowing what himself to say or do,
As every rising wave his dread renew'd;
But Juan, trusting they might still get through,
And deeming there were remedies for any ill,
Thus reembark'd his tutor and his spaniel.
"Twas a rough night, and blew so stiffly yet,
That the sail was becalm'd between the seas,
Though on the wave's high top too much to set,
They dared not take it in for all the breeze;
Each sea curl'd o'er the stern, and kept them wet,
And made them bale without a moment's ease,
So that themselves as well as hopes were damp'd,
And the poor little cutter quickly swamp'd.
Nine souls more went in her; the long-boat still
Kept above water, with an oar for mast,
Two blankets stitch'd together, answering ill
Instead of sail, were to the oar made fast;
Though every wave roll'd menacing to fill,
And present peril all before surpass'd,
And thus it was with this our hapless crew;
For on the third day there came on a calm,
And though at first their strength it might renew,
And, lying on their weariness like balm,
Lull'd them like turtles sleeping on the blue
Of ocean, when they woke they felt a qualm
They griev'd for those who perish'd with the cutter, And fell all ravenously on their provision,
And also for the biscuit-casks and butter.
The sun rose red and fiery, a sure sigu
Of the continuance of the gale: to run
Before the sea, until it should grow fine,
Was all that for the present could be done:
A few teaspoonfuls of their rum and wine
Was serv'd out to the people, who begun
To faint, and damaged bread wet through the bags,
And most of them had little clothes but rags.
Instead of hoarding it with due precision.
The consequence was easily forescen
They ate up all they had, and drank their wine' In spite of all remonstrances, and then
On what, in fact, next day were they to dine? They hoped the wind would rise, these foolish men And carry them to shore; these hopes were fine, But, as they had but one oar, and that brittle.
I would have been more wise to save their victual
The fourth day came, but not a breath of air,
And ocean slumber'd like an unwean'd child:
The fifth day, and their boat lay floating there,
The sea and sky were blue, and clear, and mild-
With their one oar (I wish they had had a pair)
What could they do? and hunger's rage grew wild,
So Juan's spaniel, spite of his entreating,
Was kill'd and portion'd out for present eating.
On the sixth day they fed upon his hide,
And Juan, who had still refused, because
The creature was his father's dog that died,
Now feeling all the vulture in his jaws,
With some remorse received, (though first denied,)
As a great favor, one of the fore-paws,
Which he divided with Pedrillo, who
Devour'd it, longing for the other too.
The seventh day, and no wind-the burning sun
Blister'd and scorch'd; and stagnant on the sea,
They lay like carcasses; and hope was none,
Save in the breeze that came not; savagely
They glared upon each other-all was done,
Water, and wine, and food,—and you might see
The longings of the cannibal arise
Although they spoke not) in their wolfish eyes.
At length one whisper'd his companion, who
Whisper'd another, and thus it went round,
And then into a hoarser murmur grew,
An ominous, and wild, and desperate sound;
And when his comrade's thoughts each sufferer knew
'Twas but his own, suppress'd till now, he found:
And out they spoke of lots for flesh and blood,
And who should die to be his fellows' food.
But ere they came to this, they that day shared
Some leathern caps, and what remain'd of shoes ;
And then they look'd around them, and despair'd,
And none to be the sacrifice would choose;
At length the lots were torn up and prepared,
But of materials that must shock the muse-
Having no paper, for the want of better,
They took by force from Juan Julia's letter.
The surgeon, as there was no other fee,
Had his first choice of morsels for his pain;
But being thirstiest at the moment, he
Preferr'd a draught from the fast-flowing veins:
Part was divided, part thrown in the sea,
And such things as the entrails and the brains
Regaled two sharks, who follow'd o'er the billow
The sailors ate the rest of poor Pedrillo.
The sailors ate him, all save three or four,
Who were not quite so fond of animal food;
To these was added Juan, who, before
Refusing his own spaniel, hardly could
Feel now his appetite increased much more;
'Twas not to be expected that he should,
Even in extremity of their disaster,
Dine with them on his pastor and his master.
'Twas better that he did not; for, in fact,
The consequence was awful in the extreme;
For they, who were most ravenous in the act,
Went raging mad-Lord! how they did blaspheme.
And foam and roll, with strange convulsions rack'd,
Drinking salt water like a mountain-stream,
Tearing and grinning, howling, screeching, swear.
And, with hyæna laughter, died despairing. [ing,
Their numbers were much thinn'd by this infliction,
And all the rest were thin enough, heaven knows;
And some of them had lost their recollection,
Happier than they who still perceived their woes;
But others ponder'd on a new dissection,
As if not warn'd sufficiently by those
Who had already perish'd, suffering madly,
For having used their appetites so sadly.
And next they thought upon the master's mate,
As fattest; but he saved himself, because,
Besides being much averse from such a fate,
There were some other reasons: the first was,
He had been rather indisposed of late,
And that which chiefly proved his saving clause,
Was a small present made to him at Cadiz,
By general subscription of the ladies.
LXXXII.
The lots were made, and mark'd, and mix'd, and Of poor Pedrillo something still remain'd,
And the same night there fell a shower of rain,
For which their mouths gaped, like the cracks of
earth
When dried to summer dust; till taught by pain,
Men really know not what good water's worth;
If you had been in Turkey or in Spain,
Or with a famish'd boat's-crew had your birth,
Or in the desert heard the camel's bell,
You'd wish yourself where Truth 'is-in a well.
It pour'd down torrents, but they were no richer,
Until they found a ragged piece of sheet,
Which served them as a sort of spongy pitcher,
And when they deem'd its moisture was complete,
They wrung it out, and, though a thirsty ditcher
Might not have thought the scanty draught so
As a full pot of porter, to their thinking [sweet
They ne'er, till now, had known the joys of drinking.
LXXXVI.
And their baked lips, with many a bloody crack,
Suck'd in the moisture, which like nectar stream'd;
Their throats were ovens, their swoln tongues were
black
As the rich man's in hell, who vainly scream'd
To beg the beggar, who could not, rain back
A drop of dew, when every drop had seem'd To taste of heaven-if this be true, indeed, Some Christians have a comfortable creed.
There were two fathers in this ghastly crew,
And with them their two sons, of whom the one And plumage, (probably it might have err'd
Was more robust and hardy to the view,
But he died early; and when he was gone, His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw
One glance on him, and said, "Heaven's will be I can do nothing!" and he saw him thrown [done; Into the deep, without a tear or groan.
The other father had a weaklier child,
Of a soft cheek, and aspect delicate;
But the boy bore up long, and with a mild
And patient spirit, held aloof his fate;
Little he said, and now and then he smiled,
As if to win a part from off the weight
He saw increasing on his father's heart,
With the deep deadly thought, that they must part.
LXXXIX.
And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised
His eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam
From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed; [come,
And when the wish'd-for shower at length was
And the boy's eyes, which the dull film half glazed,
Brighten'd, and for a moment seem'd to roam, He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain into his dying child's mouth-but in vain.
The boy expired-the father held the clay,
And look'd upon it long, and when at last
Death left no doubt, and the dead burden lay
Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past,
He watched it wistfully, until away
Upon its course,) pass'd oft before their eyes,
And tried to perch, although it saw and heard
The men within the boat, and in this guise
It came and went, and flutter'd round them till
Night fell:-this seem'd a better omen still.
But in this case I also must remark,
'Twas well this bird of promise did not perch Because the tackle of our shatter'd bark
Was not so safe for roosting as a church;
And had it been the dove from Noah's ark,
Returning there from her successful search,
Which in their way that moment chanced to fall,
They would have eat her, olive-branch and all.
With twilight it again came on to blow,
But not with violence; the stars shone out, The boat made way; yet now they were so low,
They knew not where nor what they were about; Some fancied they saw land, and some said "No!" The frequent fog-banks gave them cause to doubtSome swore that they heard breakers, others guns, And all mistook about the latter once.
As morning broke, the light wind died away,
When he who had the watch sung out, and swore
If 'twas not land that rose with the sun's ray
He wish'd that land he never might see more:
And the rest rubb'd their eyes, and saw a bay,
Or thought they saw, and shaped their course fo
For shore it was, and gradually grew [shore
'Twas borne by the rude wave wherein 'twas cast;
Then he himself sunk down, all dumb and shivering,
And gave no signs of life, save his limbs quivering. Distinct and high, and palpable to view.
And then of these some part burst into tears,
And others, looking with a stupid stare,
Could not yet separate their hopes from fears,
And seem'd as if they had no further care;
While a few pray'd-(the first time for some years)-
And at the bottom of the boat three were
Asleep; they shook them by the hand and head,
And tried to awaken them, but found them dead.
XCIX.
The day before, fast sleeping on the water,
They found a turtle of the hawks-bill kind,
And by good fortune, gliding softly, caught her,
Which yielded a day's life, and to their mind
Proved even still a more nutritious matter,
Because it left encouragement behind:
But in his native stream, the Guadalquivir,
Juan to lave his youthful limbs was wont;
And, having learn'd to swim in that sweet river,
Had often turn'd the art to some account.
A better swimmer you could scarce see ever,
He could, perhaps, have pass'd the Hellespont, As once, (a feat on which ourselves we prided,) Leander, Mr. Ekenhead, and I did.
So, here, though faint, emaciated, and stark,
He buoy'd his boyish limbs, and strove to ply
With the quick wave, and gain, ere it was dark
The beach which lay before him, high and dry:
The greatest danger here was from a shark,
That carried off his neighbor by the thigh;
They thought that in such perils, more than chance As for the other two, they could not swim,
Had sent them this for their deliverance.
The land appear'd, a high and rocky coast,
And higher grew the mountains as they drew, Set by a current, toward it: they were lost In various conjectures, for none knew To what part of the earth they had been toss'd, So changeable had been the winds that blew; Some thought it was Mount Etna, some the highOf Candia, Cyprus, Rhodes, or other islands. [lands CI.
Meantime the current, with a rising gale,
Still set them onwards to the welcome shore, Like Charon's bark of spectres, dull and pale:
Their living freight was now reduced to four; And three dead, whom their strength could not avail To heave into the deep with those before, Though the two sharks still follow'd them, and dash'd The spray into their faces as they splash'd.
Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat had done Their work on them by turns, and thinn'd them to Such things, a mother had not known her son
Amidst the skeletons of that gaunt crew; By night chill'd, by day scorch'd, thus one by one They perish'd, until wither'd to these few, But chiefly by a species of self-slaughter, In washing down Pedrillo with salt water.
As they drew nigh the land, which now was seen,
Unequal in its aspect here and there,
They felt the freshness of its growing green,
That waved in forest tops, and smooth'd the air, And fell upon their glazed eyes as a screen
From glistening waves, and skies so hot and bare Lovely seem'd any object that should sweep Away the vast, salt, dread, eternal deep.
The shore look'd wild, without the trace of man,
And girt by formidable waves; but they
Were mad for land, and thus their course they ran,
Though right ahead the roaring breakers lay:
A reef between them also now began
To show its boiling surf and bounding spray;
But, finding no place for their landing better,
They ran the boat for shore, and overset her.
So nobody arrived on shore but him.
CVII.
Nor yet had he arrived but for the oar,
Which, providentially for him, was wash'd Just as his feeble arms could strike no more, And the hard wave o'erwhelm'd him as 'twas dash'ď Within his grasp; he clung to it, and sore
The waters beat while he thereto was lash'd; At last, with swimming, wading, scrambling, he Roll'd on the beach, half senseless, from the sea:
There, breathless, with his digging nails he clung
Fast to the sand, lest the returning wave,
From whose reluctant roar his life he wrung
Should suck him back to her insatiate grave:
And there he lay, full-length, where he was flung,
Before the entrance of a cliff-worn cave,
With just enough of life to feel its pain,
And deem that it was saved, perhaps in vain.
With slow and staggering effort he arose,
But sunk again upon his bleeding knee, And quivering hand; and then he look'd for those Who long had been his mates upon the sea, But none of them appear'd to share his woes, Save one, a corpse from out the famish'd three, Who died two days before, and now had found An unknown barren beach for burial ground. CX.
And, as he gazed, his dizzy brain spun fast,
And down he sunk, and, as he sunk, the sand Swam round and round, and all his senses pass'd: He fell upon his side, and his stretch'd hand Droop'd dripping on the oar, (their jury-mast,) And, like a wither'd lily, on the land His slender frame and pallid aspect lay, As fair a thing as e'er was form'd of clay.
How long in his damp trance young Juan lay
He knew not, for the earth was gone for him,
And time had nothing more of night nor day
For his congealing blood, and senses dim,
And how this heavy faintness pass'd away
He knew not, till each painful pulse and limb And tingling vein, seem'd throbbing back to life, For Death, though vanquish'd, still retir'd with strife.
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