The Works of Lord Byron Volume VI Part 19

XXVII.

At one o'clock the wind with sudden shift Threw the ship right into the trough of the sea, Which struck her aft, and made an awkward rift, Started the stern-post, also shattered the Whole of her stern-frame, and, ere she could lift Herself from out her present jeopardy, The rudder tore away: 't was time to sound The pumps, and there were four feet water found.

XXVIII.

One gang of people instantly was put Upon the pumps, and the remainder set To get up part of the cargo, and what not; But they could not come at the leak as yet; At last they did get at it really, but Still their salvation was an even bet: The water rushed through in a way quite puzzling, While they thrust sheets, shirts, jackets, bales of muslin,

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 To all the brother tars who may have need hence, For fifty tons of water were upthrown By them per hour, and they had all been undone, But for the maker, Mr. Mann, of London.[102]

x.x.x.

As day advanced the weather seemed to abate, And then the leak they reckoned to reduce, And keep the ship afloat, though three feet yet Kept two hand--and one chain-pump still in use.

The wind blew fresh again: as it grew late 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.

x.x.xI.

There she lay, motionless, and seemed upset; The water left the hold, and washed the decks, And made a scene men do not soon forget; For they remember battles, fires, and wrecks, Or any other thing that brings regret Or breaks their hopes, or hearts, or heads, or necks: Thus drownings are much talked of by the divers, And swimmers, who may chance to be survivors.

x.x.xII.

Immediately the masts were cut away, Both main and mizen; first the mizen went, The main-mast followed: 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.[103]

x.x.xIII.

It may be easily supposed, while this Was going on, some people were unquiet, That pa.s.sengers 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.

x.x.xIV.

There's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calms As rum and true religion: thus it was, Some plundered, some drank spirits, some sung psalms, The high wind made the treble, and as ba.s.s The hoa.r.s.e harsh waves kept time; fright cured the qualms Of all the luckless landsmen's sea-sick maws: Strange sounds of wailing, blasphemy, devotion, Clamoured in chorus to the roaring Ocean.

x.x.xV.

Perhaps more mischief had been done, but for[bc]

Our Juan, who, with sense beyond his years, Got to the spirit-room, and stood before It with a pair of pistols;[104] and their fears, As if Death were more dreadful by his door 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.

x.x.xVI.

"Give us more grog," they cried, "for it will be All one an hour hence." Juan answered, "No!

'T is 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, And none liked to antic.i.p.ate the blow; And even Pedrillo, his most reverend tutor, Was for some rum a disappointed suitor.

x.x.xVII.

The good old gentleman was quite aghast, And made a loud and pious lamentation; Repented all his sins, and made a last Irrevocable vow of reformation; Nothing should tempt him more (this peril past) To quit his academic occupation, In cloisters of the cla.s.sic Salamanca, To follow Juan's wake, like Sancho Panca.

x.x.xVIII.

But now there came a flash of hope once more; Day broke, and the wind lulled: the masts were gone The leak increased; shoals round her, but no sh.o.r.e, The vessel swam, yet still she held her own.[105]

They tried the pumps again, and though before Their desperate efforts seemed all useless grown, A glimpse of sunshine set some hands to bale-- The stronger pumped, the weaker thrummed a sail.

x.x.xIX.

Under the vessel's keel the sail was pa.s.sed, And for the moment it had some effect; But with a leak, and not a stick of mast, Nor rag of canvas, what could they expect?

But still 't is best to struggle to the last, 'T is never too late to be wholly wrecked: And though 't is true that man can only die once, 'T is not so pleasant in the Gulf of Lyons.[bd]

XL.

There winds and waves had hurled them, and from thence, Without their will, they carried them away; For they were forced with steering to dispense, And never had as yet a quiet day 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 laboured 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 sh.o.r.e appeared in sight, Nought but the heavy sea, and coming night.

XLII.

Again the weather threatened,--again blew A gale, and in the fore and after hold Water appeared; 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 rolled, 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 bewildering.

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[106]--but there were none To pay them with; and some looked o'er the bow; Some hoisted out the boats; and there was one That begged Pedrillo for an absolution, Who told him to be d.a.m.ned--in his confusion.[107]

XLV.

Some lashed 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 gnashed 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.[108]

XLVI.

The worst of all was, that in their condition, Having been several days in great distress, 'T was difficult to get out such provision As now might render their long suffering less: Men, even when dying, dislike inanition;[be]

Their stock was damaged by the weather's stress: Two casks of biscuit, and a keg of b.u.t.ter, 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,[109]

And with a piece of pork, moreover, met, But scarce enough to serve them for a luncheon-- Then 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;[110]

And the long-boat's condition was but bad, As there were but two blankets for a sail,[111]

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.