| |
| “HO, there! Fisherman, hold your hand! | |
| Tell me, what is that far away,— | |
| There, where over the isle of sand | |
| Hangs the mist-cloud sullen and gray? | |
| See! it rocks with a ghastly life, | 5 |
| Rising and rolling through clouds of spray, | |
| Right in the midst of the breakers’ strife,— | |
| Tell me what is it, Fisherman, pray?” | |
| |
| “That, good sir, was a steamer stout | |
| As ever paddled around Cape Race; | 10 |
| And many ’s the wild and stormy bout | |
| She had with the winds, in that self-same place; | |
| But her time was come; and at ten o’clock | |
| Last night she struck on that lonesome shore; | |
| And her sides were gnawed by the hidden rock, | 15 |
| And at dawn this morning she was no more.” | |
| |
| “Come, as you seem to know, good man, | |
| The terrible fate of this gallant ship, | |
| Tell me about her all that you can; | |
| And here ’s my flask to moisten your lip. | 20 |
| Tell me how many she had aboard,— | |
| Wives, and husbands, and lovers true,— | |
| How did it fare with her human hoard? | |
| Lost she many, or lost she few?” | |
| |
| “Master, I may not drink of your flask, | 25 |
| Already too moist I feel my lip; | |
| But I ’m ready to do what else you ask, | |
| And spin you my yarn about the ship. | |
| ’T was ten o’clock, as I said, last night, | |
| When she struck the breakers and went ashore; | 30 |
| And scarce had broken the morning’s light | |
| When she sank in twelve feet of water or more. | |
| |
| “But long ere this they knew her doom, | |
| And the captain called all hands to prayer; | |
| And solemnly over the ocean’s boom | 35 |
| Their orisons wailed on the troublous air. | |
| And round about the vessel there rose | |
| Tall plumes of spray as white as snow, | |
| Like angels in their ascension clothes, | |
| Waiting for those who prayed below. | 40 |
| |
| “So these three hundred people clung | |
| As well as they could, to spar and rope; | |
| With a word of prayer upon every tongue, | |
| Nor on any face a glimmer of hope. | |
| But there was no blubbering weak and wild,— | 45 |
| Of tearful faces I saw but one, | |
| A rough old salt, who cried like a child, | |
| And not for himself, but the captain’s son. | |
| |
| “The captain stood on the quarter-deck, | |
| Firm but pale with trumpet in hand; | 50 |
| Sometimes he looked at the breaking wreck, | |
| Sometimes he sadly looked to land; | |
| And often he smiled to cheer the crew— | |
| But, Lord! the smile was terrible grim— | |
| Till over the quarter a huge sea flew; | 55 |
| And that was the last they saw of him. | |
| |
| “I saw one young fellow with his bride, | |
| Standing amidships upon the wreck; | |
| His face was white as the boiling tide, | |
| And she was clinging about his neck. | 60 |
| And I saw them try to say good-bye, | |
| But neither could hear the other speak; | |
| So they floated away through the sea to die— | |
| Shoulder to shoulder and cheek to cheek. | |
| |
| “And there was a child, but eight at best, | 65 |
| Who went his way in a sea she shipped, | |
| All the while holding upon his breast | |
| A little pet parrot whose wings were clipped. | |
| And, as the boy and the bird went by, | |
| Swinging away on a tall wave’s crest, | 70 |
| They were gripped by a man, with a drowning cry, | |
| And together the three went down to rest. | |
| |
| “And so the crew went one by one, | |
| Some with gladness, and few with fear,— | |
| Cold and hardship such work had done | 75 |
| That few seemed frightened when death was near. | |
| Thus every soul on board went down,— | |
| Sailor and passenger, little and great; | |
| The last that sank was a man of my town, | |
| A capital swimmer,—the second mate.” | 80 |
| |
| “Now, lonely fisherman, who are you | |
| That say you saw this terrible wreck? | |
| How do I know what you say is true, | |
| When every mortal was swept from the deck? | |
| Where were you in that hour of death? | 85 |
| How did you learn what you relate?” | |
| His answer came in an under-breath | |
| “Master, I was the second mate!” | |
| |
