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 eask 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 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;
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Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown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 masked but to assail,
Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown

And grimly darkled o'er their 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.

LIL.'

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 aroun'd 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.

1

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 dead It costs three francs for every mass that's said.