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,

And none liked to anticipate the blow;

And even Pedrillo, his most reverend tutor,
Was for some rum a disappointed suitor.

XXXVII.

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 classic Salamanca,

To follow Juan's wake like Sancho Panca.

XXXVIII.

But now there came a flash of hope once more; Day broke, and the wind lull'd: the masts were

gone,

The leak increased; shoals round her, but no shore
The vessel swam, yet still she held her own.
They tried the pumps again, and though before
Their desperate efforts seem'd all useless grown,
A glimpse of sunshine set some hands to bale
The stronger pump'd, the weaker thrumm'd a sail.

XXXIX.

Under the vessel's keel the sail was past,
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 '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, 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 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.

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 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-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