XLII. Again the weather threaten'd,-again blew All this, the most were patient, and some bold, XLIII. Then came the carpenter, at last, with tears And long had voyaged through many a stormy sea, But he, poor fellow, had a wife and children, The ship was evidently settling now Fast by the head; and, all distinction gone, Το pay Who told him to be damn'd-in his confusion. XLV. Some lash'd them in their hammocks, some put on Some cursed the day on which they saw the sun, And others went on as they had begun, The worst of all was, that in their condition, 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 Six flasks of wine; and they contrived to get And with a piece of pork, moreover, met, But scarce enough to serve them for a luncheonThen there was rum, eight gallons in a puncheon. XLVIII. The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, had Threw in by good luck over the ship's rail; XLIX. 'Twas twilight, for the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters; like a yeil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one who hates us, so the night was shown, And grimly darkled o'er their faces pale, And hopeless eyes, which o'er the deep alone Gazed dim and desolate; twelve days had Fear Been their familiar, and now Death was here. L. Some trial had been making at a raft, Half epileptical, and half hysterical — 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. LII. Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell, And the sea yawn'd around 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. LIII. And first one universal shriek there rush'd, 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 fewNine 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 They must wait several weeks before a mass 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. LVI. Juan got into the long-boat, and there 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. LVII. Pedro, his valet, too, he tried to save, LVIII. 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, He also stuff'd his money where he could |