CHAPTER XXVI.

[pg 290]CHAPTER XXVI.What Poets have Sung of the Sea, the Sailor, and the Ship.The Poet of the Sea still Wanting—Biblical Allusions—The Classical Writers—Want of True Sympathy with the Subject—Virgil’s“Æneid”—His Stage Storms—The Immortal Bard—His Intimate Acquaintance with the Sea and the Sailor—The Golden Days of Maritime Enterprise—TheTempest—Miranda’s Compassion—Pranks of the“Airy Spirit”—TheMerchant of Venice—Piracy in Shakespeare’s Days—A Birth at Sea—Cymbeline: the Queen’s Description of our Isle—Byron’s“Ocean”—Falconer’s“Shipwreck”—His Technical Knowledge—The“True Ring”—The Dibdins—“Tom Bowling”—“The Boatmen of the Downs”—Three Touching Poems—Mrs. Hemans, Longfellow, and Kingsley—Browning’s“Hervé Riel”—The True Breton Pilot—A New Departure—Hood’s“Demon Ship”—Popular Songs of the Day—Conclusion.“I love the sea; she is my fellow-creature,My careful purveyor—she provides me store;She walls me round, she makes my diet greater,She wafts me treasures from a foreign shore.”85The sea, the sailor, and the ship, have been fertile subjects for the poets, although countries and lands, and those who dwell therein, have occupied by far the larger part of their attention. Sooth to say, however, there has not yet arisen a singlegreatwriter whose name could fairly be identified with the ocean as its own particular poet. There may be reasons for this. The poet is usually of delicate organisation, and is more likely to be found studying Nature on the quiet shore than on the turbulent ocean. Maybe he is practically a recluse, accessible to a few only; and if of social nature, and not averse to companionship amid the busy haunts of men, he yet shrinks from the roughness usual to, though not inseparable from, the men of the sea. The modern facilities of travel, enabling the student to con Nature with comparative ease, may some day aid in producing a representative poet of the sea. At present the position is vacant.In days of old, however, the poet prophets, David the sweet singer of Israel, and one or two writers in the New Testament, gave glimpses of the ocean which indicated an acquaintance with the subject. Nothing can well be finer than the Psalmist’s conception of the mariner’s life and its dangers in the lines commencing:—“They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters;“These see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.”The prophet Jeremiah draws a beautiful though pathetic picture of the ocean’s unrest when he says:“There is sorrow on the sea, it cannot be quiet;”and the serious poets have followed his outlines. Milton describes one—“In a troubled sea of passion tossed.”Michelet defines its“many voices,”its murmur and its menace, its thunder and its roar, its wail, its sigh, its“sublime duets with the rocks.”The classical writers of antiquity had little sympathy with the sea. We have seen[pg 291]Horace’s opinion of that man’s boldness who first trusted himself in a frail vessel on the merciless ocean; and, as Dryden shows us, there was good reason for a general dread of the sea, at least on the part of landsmen—“Rude as their ships was navigation then,No useful compass or meridian known;Coasting, they kept the land within their ken,And knew no north but when the pole-star shone.”Virgil’s“Æneid”is essentially a sea-poem, yet a writer of critical acumen considers that“in literature the sea is all the worse for Virgil having dealt with it.... The poem, as nobody needs telling, begins its events with a tremendous sea-piece. In the very first sight we get of the hero and his companions they are dividing the foaming brine with their keels, and the initial incident is a shipwreck. The description assuredly has overwhelming vigour in it...; an impression of unusual turmoil is given, and that is what Virgil sought, but it is got by a jumble of violence of every kind. Winds, billows, lightning, thunder, reefs, shallows, eddies, are mixed together. The only detail of disaster left out is collision among the ships, which with a fleet so crowded is the one thing that would have occurred had this been a natural storm. Such a tempest now rages in a transpontine theatre, and in no other part of the world; it takes Neptune himself to still it in the‘Æneid.’”86And yet Virgil lived long by the glorious Bay of Naples; and the famous ode of Horace, praying that he might have fair weather, shows that he had made at least one voyage.If a poet has a genuine feeling for his subject, the lightest epithets he applies may tell a story. What terms does Virgil employ? They are somewhat commonplace. Boundless, mighty, swelling, windy, faithless, deep, dark, blue, azure, vast, foaming, salt, and so forth, are well enough, but they do not compare with many of Shakespeare’s, and later poets. Take three of Shakespeare’s: the“yeasty”waves, the“multitudinous”sea, and the“wasteful”ocean. These epithets are in themselves admirable descriptions.The works of our immortal bard are full of allusions to the sea, and show an intimate acquaintance therewith. Perhaps Shakespeare’s knowledge is in this instance less surprising than in some other directions, for although we have no proof that he ever left the shores of old England, and are quite certain that he never ventured far, his was a golden day in the history of maritime enterprise. The reign of the Virgin Queen, during the larger part of which he flourished, saw the defeat of the Armada, and many another repulse in the Spanish colonies. It was the day of such naval heroes as Howard of Effingham, Drake and Hawkins, Raleigh and Frobisher. It witnessed the first English voyage round the world, the discovery of Virginia—to say nothing of Virginia’s tobacco and potatoes—the establishment of the profitable whale fishery and the disgraceful slave-trade, the inauguration of that long-time monopoly the East India Company, and numerous lesser developments in commercial prosperity.Appropriately, then, the play of Shakespeare which more particularly than any other deals with the sea is that which is generally placed at the commencement of the series in the[pg 292]published editions. TheTempestopens with a storm“on a ship at sea.”The fury of the gale increases, and the vessel is nearly on the rocks.“We split! we split! we split!”sings out the honest old Neapolitan councillor, Gonzalo, adding—“Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground,Long heath, brown furze, anything. The wills above be done! but IWould fain die a dry death.”THE STORM.THE STORM.[pg 293]AFTER THE STORM.AFTER THE STORM.But neither he nor his master the king suffers death by shipwreck, for amiable and tender-hearted Miranda intercedes with her father. Prospero reassures her, though Ariel, it will be remembered, had been playing many a prank on the unsuspecting mariners, and with lightning and thunder-claps and“sulphurous roaring,”had fairly frightened them out of their wits. All but the mariners had“plunged in the foaming brine and quitted the vessel”:—[pg 294]“The king’s son have I landed by himself,Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs,In an odd angle of the isle,”Sings the“airy spirit,”adding, however—“Safely in harbourIs the king’s ship in the deep nook; where onceThou call’st me up at midnight, to fetch dewFrom the still vexed Bermoothes,87there she’s hid:The mariners all under hatches stowed.”And so with the kindly spirit and the rightful Duke we may leave the tempest-tossed mariners.In theMerchant of Venicewe have admirable illustrations of the troubles and anxieties of a merchant shipowner of the day. Antonio is sad.“Your mind,”says Salarino,“is tossing on the ocean.”Antonio’s friends continue:—“Salanio.Believe me, sir, had I such ventures forth,The better part of my affections wouldBe with my hopes abroad * * *Salarino.My wind, cooling my breath,Would blow me to an ague, when I thoughtWhat harm a wind too great might do at sea.I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,But I should think of shallows and of flats;And see my wealthy Andrew dock’d in sand,Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs,To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,And see the holy edifice of stone,And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,Which, touching but my gentle vessel’s side,Would scatter all the spices on the stream;Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks;And, in a word, but even now worth this,And now worth nothing?”So Shylock, though ready to advance the three thousand ducats to Bassanio on Antonio’s bond, doubts whether the ships bound to Tripolis, the Indies, Mexico, and England, may not come to grief. For“ships are but boards, sailors but men; there be land-rats and water-rats, land-thieves and water-thieves—I mean pirates; and then, there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks.”Soon after it was spread on the Rialto that Antonio had“a ship of rich lading wrecked on the narrow seas; the Goodwins, I think,”says his friend,“they call the place; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the carcases of many a tall ship lie buried;”and this was followed by the news that not one of his vessels had escaped“The dreadful touchOf merchant-marring rocks.”All, however, ends happily, and the argosies, richly laden, arrive in safety.[pg 295]Piracy on the high seas in Shakespeare’s days may be said to have been of two kinds: that which was practically legalised, for purposes of reprisal on foreign foes, and that which was for private and individual plunder. How prevalent it was may be gathered from the passages indicated below.88InMeasure for Measurewe find the freebooter’s calling satirised in the comparison:“like the sanctimonious pirate that went to sea with the Ten Commandments, but scraped one out of the table”—that one, of course, being,“Thou shalt not steal.”Their reckless life is literally described by Richard Plantagenet in the Second Part ofKing Henry VI., where he says—“Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage,And purchase friends, and give to courtezans,Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone”—while Suffolk dies by pirates later on. In the same historical play King Henry again describes his condition, harassed by the rebel Jack Cade and the troublesome Duke of York, as“Like to a ship, that having ’scaped a tempest,Is straightway calmed and boarded with a pirate.”Queen Margaret inRichard III.addresses three noble lords as“Ye wrangling pirates, that fall outIn sharing that which you have pill’d89from me.”InPericlesShakespeare introduces the not uncommon episode of a birth at sea, which occurs in a terrible gale, the mother apparently dying immediately afterwards, to be later cast into the sea in a chest, and revive when thrown upon the shore.And for our last Shakespearian quotation, inCymbelinewe have a fine description of our own little island and its impregnability.“Remember,”says the Queen—“The natural bravery of your isle, which standsAs Neptune’s park, ribbed and paled inWith rocks unscaleable and roaring waters;With sands that will not bear your enemies’ boats,But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquestCæsar made here; but made not here his bragOfcame, andsaw, andovercame: with shame(The first that ever touched him), he was carriedFrom off our coast twice beaten; and his shipping(Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas,Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crackedAs easily ’gainst our rocks; for joy whereof,The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point(O giglot90fortune!) to master Cæsar’s sword,Made Lud’s town with rejoicing fires bright,And Britons strut with courage.”[pg 296]Next to Shakespeare in intimate knowledge and power to portray, Byron must be placed. What can be grander than his well-known apostrophe to the Ocean?—“Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean—roll!Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;Man marks the earth with ruin—his controlStops with the shore;—upon the watery plain,The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remainA shadow of man’s ravage, save his own,When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,[pg 297]He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.* * * * *“Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee—Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?Thy waters washed them power while they were free,And many a tyrant since; their shores obeyThe stranger, slave, or savage; their decayHas dried up realms to deserts:—not so thou;—Unchangeable save to thy wild waves’ play—Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow—Such as creation’s dawn beheld, thou rollest now.”“HE SINKS INTO THY DEPTHS WITH BUBBLING GROAN, WITHOUT A GRAVE, UNKNELLED, UNCOFFINED, AND UNKNOWN.”“HE SINKS INTO THY DEPTHS WITH BUBBLING GROAN,WITHOUT A GRAVE, UNKNELLED, UNCOFFINED, AND UNKNOWN.”The poetpar excellenceof the sea, partly on account of the literary merits of his production, but more by reason of his technical correctness, was William Falconer, the author of“The Shipwreck,”on the title pages of all the older editions of which he is described simply as“a sailor.”His poem, which is in three cantos, was founded on actual incidents in a shipwreck from which himself and but two or three of the crew were saved. Again, in 1769 he embarked on board theAurorafrigate on a venture to the East Indies, but from the time the ship left the Cape of Good Hope no information was ever received of her, and she is believed to have foundered with all hands, including the poet. Falconer, although a disciple of the Muse, wrote a political satire, entitled,“The Demagogue;”while his Marine Dictionary is, in its revised form, a recognised authority to-day. The poem on which his fame rests is remarkable for the absolute correctness of its details. Take, for example, the following passage, which could not have been written by a landsman-poet:—[pg 298]“A squall, deep lowering, blots the southern sky,Before whose boisterous breath the waters fly.Its weight the topsails can no more sustain—Reef topsails, reef! the boatswain calls again!The haliards and top-bow-lines soon are gone;To clue-lines and reef-tackles next they run:The shivering sails descend; and now they squareThe yards, while ready sailors mount in air.* * * * *“Deep on her side the reeling vessel lies—‘Brail up the mizzen, quick!’ the master cries,’Man the clue-garnets! let the main-sheet fly!’The boisterous squall still presses from on high,And swift and fatal as the lightning’s courseThro’ the torn main-sail bursts with thundering force.”And so forth. The fact is, that most readers of Falconer’s poem require his“Dictionary of the Marine”at hand, or some old“salt”to explain the constantly recurring nautical terms.“DEEP ON HER SIDE THE REELING VESSEL LIES.”“DEEP ON HER SIDE THE REELING VESSEL LIES.”It is not wonderful that so many of our poets have written more or less concerning the sea, few passing over the grand subject entirely, when we consider England’s paramount position on and interests in it. A number of them have produced works in which we seem to sniff the briny ocean as we read them, while only a minority have written artificially and without a true feeling for their subject. Much that the Dibdins91indited for the concert-room, the theatre, and to an extent for the sailor himself, is of a trivial nature, dealing largely—too largely—with grog and sweethearts, and more than occasionally verging on the coarse and indelicate. But among their productions are songs with the true ring, ballads that will never die while our language lasts or Britain“rules the waves.”Among these may fairly be counted Charles Dibdin’s“Poor Jack,”“The Greenwich Pensioner”(“’Twas in the good shipRover”),“The Sailor’s Journal”(“’Twas post-meridian, half-past four”), and, above all, that noble picture of a true sailor,“Tom Bowling”—“Tom never from his word departed,His virtues were so rare;His friends were many and true-hearted,His Poll was kind and fair:And then he’d sing so blithe and jolly,Ah! many’s the time and oft;But mirth is turned to melancholy,For Tom is gone aloft.[pg 299]“Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weatherWhen He who all commandsShall give, to call life’s crew together,The word to pipe all hands.Thus death, who kings and tars despatches,In vain Tom’s life has doffed;For though his body’s under hatchesHis soul is gone aloft.”Eliza Cook92has followed the same vein in her“Gallant English Tar,”and has also paid a worthy tribute to those hardy sons of Neptune,“The Boatmen of the Downs.”“There’s fury in the tempest, and there’s madness in the waves,The lightning snake coils round the foam, the headlong thunder raves;Yet a boat is on the waters filled with Britain’s daring sons,Who pull like lions out to sea, and count the minute guns.’Tis mercy calls them to the work—a ship is in distress!Away they speed with timely help that many a heart shall bless;And braver deeds than ever turned the fate of kings and crownsAre done for England’s glory by her boatmen of the Downs!”Perhaps no modern verses are more popular with all lovers of true poetry than the“Casabianca”of Mrs. Hemans, Longfellow’s“Wreck of theHesperus,”and Kingsley’s“Three Fishers;”and no wonder, for they touch a chord in every heart, while vividly portraying the perils of a seafaring life. In the story of the“burning deck”we have the record of a true sailor boy, who would not desert his“lone post of death.”And—“The noblest thing that perished thereWas that young faithful heart!”In the second-named poem the skipper has taken his little daughter to“bear him company.”A hurricane rises, and it is the poor frightened child who alone hears the“fog-bell on a rock-bound coast.”She runs to her father:—“But the father answered never a word,A frozen corpse was he.”The ship drifts into the breakers and on the cruel rocks.“At daybreak, on the bleak sea beach,A fisherman stood aghast,To see the form of a maiden fairLashed close to a drifting mast.“The salt sea was frozen on her breast,The salt tears in her eyes;And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,On the billows fall and rise.“Such was the wreck of theHesperus,In the midnight and the snow;Christ save us all from a death like this,On the reef of Norman’s Woe!”[pg 300]“AT DAYBREAK, ON THE BLEAK SEA BEACH, A FISHERMAN STOOD AGHAST.”“AT DAYBREAK, ON THE BLEAK SEA BEACH,A FISHERMAN STOOD AGHAST.”In Kingsley’s poem,“three fishermen sailed away to the West,”thinking of their much-loved home;“three wives sat weeping in the lighthouse tower.”“Three corses lay out on the shining sandsIn the morning gleam as the tide went down,And the women are weeping and wringing their handsFor those who will never come home to the town;For men must work and women must weep,And the sooner it’s over the sooner to sleep;And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.”“THREE FISHERMEN SAILED AWAY TO THE WEST.”“THREE FISHERMEN SAILED AWAY TO THE WEST.”No more splendid tribute has ever been paid to a neglected hero than that which appeared in the pages of a popular monthly93some years since, over the honoured signature of Robert Browning.[pg 301]The year 1692 was specially disastrous to France, and a fleet of twenty-two vessels were hotly and closely pursued by the English. The squadron came helter-skelter,“like a crowd of frightened porpoises”with the sharks after them, to St. Malo on the Rance. The pilots who were on board laughed at the bare idea of their great ships entering the rocky passage; and Damfreville, the admiral of the fleet, was seriously thinking of blowing up or burning all his ships, when out stepped in front of all the assembled officers a poor coasting-pilot.“Are you mad, you Malouins? are you cowards, fools, or rogues?”said he, as he hurriedly and impetuously assured the admiral that he knew every rock and shoal, and could lead the fleet in safely.“‘Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there’s a way!And if one ship misbehave—Keel so much as grate the ground,Why, I’ve nothing but my life—here’s my head!’ cries Hervé Riel.[pg 302]“Not a minute more to wait,‘Steer us in, then, small and great!Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!’ cried its chief.‘Captains, give the sailor place!He is admiral, in brief.’Still the north wind, by God’s grace.See the noble fellow’s faceAs the big ship, with a bound,Clears the entry like a hound,Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide seas profound!See, safe through shoal and rock,How they follow in a flock.Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,Not a spar that comes to grief!The peril, see, is past,All are harboured to the last,And just as Hervé Riel hollas ‘Anchor!’—sure as fate,Up the English come, too late.”So all are saved, and the crews see longingly the green heights above Grève, all bursting out, with one accord—“‘Let France, let France’s KingThank the man that did the thing!’What a shout, and all one word,‘Hervé Riel,’As he stepped in front once more,Not a symptom of surpriseIn the frank blue Breton eyes,Just the same man as before.“Then said Damfreville, ‘My friend,I must speak out at the end,Though I find the speaking hard:Praise is deeper than the lips:You have saved the King his ships,You must name your own reward.’Faith, our sun was near eclipse!Demand whate’er you will,France remains your debtor still.Ask to heart’s content and have! or my name’s not Damfreville.’“Then a beam of fun outbrokeOn the bearded mouth that spoke,As the honest heart laughed throughThose frank eyes of Breton blue:‘Since I needs must say my say,Since on board the duty’s done—And from Malo Roads to Croisie Point what is it but a run?“‘Since ’tis ask and have, I may—Since the others go ashore—Come! a good whole holiday!Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!’That he asked and that he got—nothing more.”[pg 303]Turn we now to a“newdeparture”in sea poetry, one partially inaugurated by the Dibdins, carried on by Tom Hood the elder, and having of late years William Schwenck Gilbert for its principal exponent. It is often as full of nature as the serious productions of other poets, yet itself favours the ludicrous and satirical side. Hood’s“Demon Ship”is a fair example—“Down went my helm—close-reefed—the tack held freely in my hand—With ballast snug—I put about, and scudded for the land.Loud hissed the sea beneath her lee; my little boat flew fast,But faster still the rushing storm came borne upon the blast.Lord! what a roaring hurricane beset the straining sail!What furious sleet, with level drift, and fierce assaults of hail!What darksome caverns yawned before! what jagged steeps behind!Like battle steeds with foamy manes wild tossing in the wind.Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the chase,But where it sank another rose, and galloped in its place;As black as night—they turned to white, and cast against the cloudA snowy sheet, as if each surge upturned a sailor’s shroud:Still flew my boat; alas! alas! her course was nearly run.Behold yon fatal billow rise—ten billows heaped in one.With fearful speed the dreary mass came rolling, rolling fast,As if the scooping sea contained one only wave at last.Still on it came, with horrid roar, a swift pursuing grave;It seemed as though some cloud had turned its hugeness to a wave.Its briny sleet began to beat beforehand in my face—I felt the rearward keel begin to climb its swelling base!I saw its alpine hoary head impending over mine.Another pulse—and down it rushed, an avalanche of brine!Brief pause had I on God to cry, or think of wife and home;The waters closed, and when I shrieked, I shrieked below the foam!”After battling with the water, and half insensible, he finds himself at last safely on board a strange vessel; a terrible face haunts him—black, grimly black, all black, except the grinning teeth. The sooty crew were like their master.“Where am I? in what dreadful ship?”cried he, in terrified agony. The answer was a laugh that rang from stem to stern from the gloomy shapes that flitted round. They guffawed and grinned and choked to the top of their bent—“And then the chief made answer for the whole:—‘Our skins,’ said he ‘are black, because we carry coal.You’ll find your mother, sure enough, and see your native fields,For this here ship has picked you up—theMary Anneof Shields.’”The transition from the really powerful and dramatic description of the billows and surf to the ridiculousdénouementis irresistibly and artistically comic. Hood’s purely amusing pieces are more generally known than the above. Take as an example“Faithless Sally Brown;”the girl who so soon forgot her first Ben is modelled on Dibdinian lines, but the touches of humour are infinitely more delicate.The popularity of a class of sea-songs which can now be heard from the streets to[pg 304]the drawing-room, and from the fo’castle to the ward-room, is creditable to our age. Some of these productions, in which noble sentiments, expressed in simple and feeling words, are wedded to effective and artistic music, help to keep alive humanity, love, and honour in the rising generation.“The poor old slave is free”directly he climbs the British ship;“the sailor’s wife the sailor’s star should be,”and usually is; while the story of the poor little wounded“midshipmite”is as touching in its way as the boy who would not leave the burning deck.Our voyages are ended; and we may now peacefully peruse, by the cosy fireside, the record of the heroic deeds and the startling perils of the sailor’s career while he is engaged in bringing to our shores the necessaries and comforts of our daily life. While we stay at home in ease, let us not forget this noble army of“conscripts, fighting our battles for us;”and when the tempests howl and the lightnings flash, let us breathe our heartfelt earnest prayers“for those at sea.”“Eternal Father, strong to save,Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,Who bids’t the mighty ocean deep,Its own appointed limits keep;Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,For those in peril on thesea.”

The Poet of the Sea still Wanting—Biblical Allusions—The Classical Writers—Want of True Sympathy with the Subject—Virgil’s“Æneid”—His Stage Storms—The Immortal Bard—His Intimate Acquaintance with the Sea and the Sailor—The Golden Days of Maritime Enterprise—TheTempest—Miranda’s Compassion—Pranks of the“Airy Spirit”—TheMerchant of Venice—Piracy in Shakespeare’s Days—A Birth at Sea—Cymbeline: the Queen’s Description of our Isle—Byron’s“Ocean”—Falconer’s“Shipwreck”—His Technical Knowledge—The“True Ring”—The Dibdins—“Tom Bowling”—“The Boatmen of the Downs”—Three Touching Poems—Mrs. Hemans, Longfellow, and Kingsley—Browning’s“Hervé Riel”—The True Breton Pilot—A New Departure—Hood’s“Demon Ship”—Popular Songs of the Day—Conclusion.“I love the sea; she is my fellow-creature,My careful purveyor—she provides me store;She walls me round, she makes my diet greater,She wafts me treasures from a foreign shore.”85

“I love the sea; she is my fellow-creature,My careful purveyor—she provides me store;She walls me round, she makes my diet greater,She wafts me treasures from a foreign shore.”85

“I love the sea; she is my fellow-creature,

My careful purveyor—she provides me store;

She walls me round, she makes my diet greater,

She wafts me treasures from a foreign shore.”85

The sea, the sailor, and the ship, have been fertile subjects for the poets, although countries and lands, and those who dwell therein, have occupied by far the larger part of their attention. Sooth to say, however, there has not yet arisen a singlegreatwriter whose name could fairly be identified with the ocean as its own particular poet. There may be reasons for this. The poet is usually of delicate organisation, and is more likely to be found studying Nature on the quiet shore than on the turbulent ocean. Maybe he is practically a recluse, accessible to a few only; and if of social nature, and not averse to companionship amid the busy haunts of men, he yet shrinks from the roughness usual to, though not inseparable from, the men of the sea. The modern facilities of travel, enabling the student to con Nature with comparative ease, may some day aid in producing a representative poet of the sea. At present the position is vacant.

In days of old, however, the poet prophets, David the sweet singer of Israel, and one or two writers in the New Testament, gave glimpses of the ocean which indicated an acquaintance with the subject. Nothing can well be finer than the Psalmist’s conception of the mariner’s life and its dangers in the lines commencing:—

“They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters;

“These see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.”

The prophet Jeremiah draws a beautiful though pathetic picture of the ocean’s unrest when he says:“There is sorrow on the sea, it cannot be quiet;”and the serious poets have followed his outlines. Milton describes one—

“In a troubled sea of passion tossed.”

Michelet defines its“many voices,”its murmur and its menace, its thunder and its roar, its wail, its sigh, its“sublime duets with the rocks.”

The classical writers of antiquity had little sympathy with the sea. We have seen[pg 291]Horace’s opinion of that man’s boldness who first trusted himself in a frail vessel on the merciless ocean; and, as Dryden shows us, there was good reason for a general dread of the sea, at least on the part of landsmen—

“Rude as their ships was navigation then,No useful compass or meridian known;Coasting, they kept the land within their ken,And knew no north but when the pole-star shone.”

“Rude as their ships was navigation then,

No useful compass or meridian known;

Coasting, they kept the land within their ken,

And knew no north but when the pole-star shone.”

Virgil’s“Æneid”is essentially a sea-poem, yet a writer of critical acumen considers that“in literature the sea is all the worse for Virgil having dealt with it.... The poem, as nobody needs telling, begins its events with a tremendous sea-piece. In the very first sight we get of the hero and his companions they are dividing the foaming brine with their keels, and the initial incident is a shipwreck. The description assuredly has overwhelming vigour in it...; an impression of unusual turmoil is given, and that is what Virgil sought, but it is got by a jumble of violence of every kind. Winds, billows, lightning, thunder, reefs, shallows, eddies, are mixed together. The only detail of disaster left out is collision among the ships, which with a fleet so crowded is the one thing that would have occurred had this been a natural storm. Such a tempest now rages in a transpontine theatre, and in no other part of the world; it takes Neptune himself to still it in the‘Æneid.’”86And yet Virgil lived long by the glorious Bay of Naples; and the famous ode of Horace, praying that he might have fair weather, shows that he had made at least one voyage.

If a poet has a genuine feeling for his subject, the lightest epithets he applies may tell a story. What terms does Virgil employ? They are somewhat commonplace. Boundless, mighty, swelling, windy, faithless, deep, dark, blue, azure, vast, foaming, salt, and so forth, are well enough, but they do not compare with many of Shakespeare’s, and later poets. Take three of Shakespeare’s: the“yeasty”waves, the“multitudinous”sea, and the“wasteful”ocean. These epithets are in themselves admirable descriptions.

The works of our immortal bard are full of allusions to the sea, and show an intimate acquaintance therewith. Perhaps Shakespeare’s knowledge is in this instance less surprising than in some other directions, for although we have no proof that he ever left the shores of old England, and are quite certain that he never ventured far, his was a golden day in the history of maritime enterprise. The reign of the Virgin Queen, during the larger part of which he flourished, saw the defeat of the Armada, and many another repulse in the Spanish colonies. It was the day of such naval heroes as Howard of Effingham, Drake and Hawkins, Raleigh and Frobisher. It witnessed the first English voyage round the world, the discovery of Virginia—to say nothing of Virginia’s tobacco and potatoes—the establishment of the profitable whale fishery and the disgraceful slave-trade, the inauguration of that long-time monopoly the East India Company, and numerous lesser developments in commercial prosperity.

Appropriately, then, the play of Shakespeare which more particularly than any other deals with the sea is that which is generally placed at the commencement of the series in the[pg 292]published editions. TheTempestopens with a storm“on a ship at sea.”The fury of the gale increases, and the vessel is nearly on the rocks.“We split! we split! we split!”sings out the honest old Neapolitan councillor, Gonzalo, adding—

“Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground,Long heath, brown furze, anything. The wills above be done! but IWould fain die a dry death.”

“Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground,

Long heath, brown furze, anything. The wills above be done! but I

Would fain die a dry death.”

THE STORM.THE STORM.

THE STORM.

AFTER THE STORM.AFTER THE STORM.

AFTER THE STORM.

But neither he nor his master the king suffers death by shipwreck, for amiable and tender-hearted Miranda intercedes with her father. Prospero reassures her, though Ariel, it will be remembered, had been playing many a prank on the unsuspecting mariners, and with lightning and thunder-claps and“sulphurous roaring,”had fairly frightened them out of their wits. All but the mariners had“plunged in the foaming brine and quitted the vessel”:—

“The king’s son have I landed by himself,Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs,In an odd angle of the isle,”

“The king’s son have I landed by himself,

Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs,

In an odd angle of the isle,”

Sings the“airy spirit,”adding, however—

“Safely in harbourIs the king’s ship in the deep nook; where onceThou call’st me up at midnight, to fetch dewFrom the still vexed Bermoothes,87there she’s hid:The mariners all under hatches stowed.”

“Safely in harbour

Is the king’s ship in the deep nook; where once

Thou call’st me up at midnight, to fetch dew

From the still vexed Bermoothes,87there she’s hid:

The mariners all under hatches stowed.”

And so with the kindly spirit and the rightful Duke we may leave the tempest-tossed mariners.

In theMerchant of Venicewe have admirable illustrations of the troubles and anxieties of a merchant shipowner of the day. Antonio is sad.“Your mind,”says Salarino,“is tossing on the ocean.”Antonio’s friends continue:—

“Salanio.Believe me, sir, had I such ventures forth,The better part of my affections wouldBe with my hopes abroad * * *

“Salanio.Believe me, sir, had I such ventures forth,

The better part of my affections would

Be with my hopes abroad * * *

Salarino.My wind, cooling my breath,Would blow me to an ague, when I thoughtWhat harm a wind too great might do at sea.I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,But I should think of shallows and of flats;And see my wealthy Andrew dock’d in sand,Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs,To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,And see the holy edifice of stone,And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,Which, touching but my gentle vessel’s side,Would scatter all the spices on the stream;Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks;And, in a word, but even now worth this,And now worth nothing?”

Salarino.My wind, cooling my breath,

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought

What harm a wind too great might do at sea.

I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,

But I should think of shallows and of flats;

And see my wealthy Andrew dock’d in sand,

Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs,

To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,

And see the holy edifice of stone,

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,

Which, touching but my gentle vessel’s side,

Would scatter all the spices on the stream;

Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks;

And, in a word, but even now worth this,

And now worth nothing?”

So Shylock, though ready to advance the three thousand ducats to Bassanio on Antonio’s bond, doubts whether the ships bound to Tripolis, the Indies, Mexico, and England, may not come to grief. For“ships are but boards, sailors but men; there be land-rats and water-rats, land-thieves and water-thieves—I mean pirates; and then, there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks.”Soon after it was spread on the Rialto that Antonio had“a ship of rich lading wrecked on the narrow seas; the Goodwins, I think,”says his friend,“they call the place; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the carcases of many a tall ship lie buried;”and this was followed by the news that not one of his vessels had escaped

“The dreadful touchOf merchant-marring rocks.”

“The dreadful touch

Of merchant-marring rocks.”

All, however, ends happily, and the argosies, richly laden, arrive in safety.

Piracy on the high seas in Shakespeare’s days may be said to have been of two kinds: that which was practically legalised, for purposes of reprisal on foreign foes, and that which was for private and individual plunder. How prevalent it was may be gathered from the passages indicated below.88

InMeasure for Measurewe find the freebooter’s calling satirised in the comparison:“like the sanctimonious pirate that went to sea with the Ten Commandments, but scraped one out of the table”—that one, of course, being,“Thou shalt not steal.”Their reckless life is literally described by Richard Plantagenet in the Second Part ofKing Henry VI., where he says—

“Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage,And purchase friends, and give to courtezans,Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone”—

“Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage,

And purchase friends, and give to courtezans,

Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone”—

while Suffolk dies by pirates later on. In the same historical play King Henry again describes his condition, harassed by the rebel Jack Cade and the troublesome Duke of York, as

“Like to a ship, that having ’scaped a tempest,Is straightway calmed and boarded with a pirate.”

“Like to a ship, that having ’scaped a tempest,

Is straightway calmed and boarded with a pirate.”

Queen Margaret inRichard III.addresses three noble lords as

“Ye wrangling pirates, that fall outIn sharing that which you have pill’d89from me.”

“Ye wrangling pirates, that fall out

In sharing that which you have pill’d89from me.”

InPericlesShakespeare introduces the not uncommon episode of a birth at sea, which occurs in a terrible gale, the mother apparently dying immediately afterwards, to be later cast into the sea in a chest, and revive when thrown upon the shore.

And for our last Shakespearian quotation, inCymbelinewe have a fine description of our own little island and its impregnability.“Remember,”says the Queen—

“The natural bravery of your isle, which standsAs Neptune’s park, ribbed and paled inWith rocks unscaleable and roaring waters;With sands that will not bear your enemies’ boats,But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquestCæsar made here; but made not here his bragOfcame, andsaw, andovercame: with shame(The first that ever touched him), he was carriedFrom off our coast twice beaten; and his shipping(Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas,Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crackedAs easily ’gainst our rocks; for joy whereof,The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point(O giglot90fortune!) to master Cæsar’s sword,Made Lud’s town with rejoicing fires bright,And Britons strut with courage.”

“The natural bravery of your isle, which stands

As Neptune’s park, ribbed and paled in

With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters;

With sands that will not bear your enemies’ boats,

But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest

Cæsar made here; but made not here his brag

Ofcame, andsaw, andovercame: with shame

(The first that ever touched him), he was carried

From off our coast twice beaten; and his shipping

(Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas,

Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, cracked

As easily ’gainst our rocks; for joy whereof,

The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point

(O giglot90fortune!) to master Cæsar’s sword,

Made Lud’s town with rejoicing fires bright,

And Britons strut with courage.”

Next to Shakespeare in intimate knowledge and power to portray, Byron must be placed. What can be grander than his well-known apostrophe to the Ocean?—

“Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean—roll!Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;Man marks the earth with ruin—his controlStops with the shore;—upon the watery plain,The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remainA shadow of man’s ravage, save his own,When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,[pg 297]He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.* * * * *“Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee—Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?Thy waters washed them power while they were free,And many a tyrant since; their shores obeyThe stranger, slave, or savage; their decayHas dried up realms to deserts:—not so thou;—Unchangeable save to thy wild waves’ play—Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow—Such as creation’s dawn beheld, thou rollest now.”

“Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean—roll!

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;

Man marks the earth with ruin—his control

Stops with the shore;—upon the watery plain,

The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain

A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own,

When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,

Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

* * * * *

“Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee—

Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?

Thy waters washed them power while they were free,

And many a tyrant since; their shores obey

The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay

Has dried up realms to deserts:—not so thou;—

Unchangeable save to thy wild waves’ play—

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow—

Such as creation’s dawn beheld, thou rollest now.”

“HE SINKS INTO THY DEPTHS WITH BUBBLING GROAN, WITHOUT A GRAVE, UNKNELLED, UNCOFFINED, AND UNKNOWN.”“HE SINKS INTO THY DEPTHS WITH BUBBLING GROAN,WITHOUT A GRAVE, UNKNELLED, UNCOFFINED, AND UNKNOWN.”

“HE SINKS INTO THY DEPTHS WITH BUBBLING GROAN,WITHOUT A GRAVE, UNKNELLED, UNCOFFINED, AND UNKNOWN.”

The poetpar excellenceof the sea, partly on account of the literary merits of his production, but more by reason of his technical correctness, was William Falconer, the author of“The Shipwreck,”on the title pages of all the older editions of which he is described simply as“a sailor.”His poem, which is in three cantos, was founded on actual incidents in a shipwreck from which himself and but two or three of the crew were saved. Again, in 1769 he embarked on board theAurorafrigate on a venture to the East Indies, but from the time the ship left the Cape of Good Hope no information was ever received of her, and she is believed to have foundered with all hands, including the poet. Falconer, although a disciple of the Muse, wrote a political satire, entitled,“The Demagogue;”while his Marine Dictionary is, in its revised form, a recognised authority to-day. The poem on which his fame rests is remarkable for the absolute correctness of its details. Take, for example, the following passage, which could not have been written by a landsman-poet:—

“A squall, deep lowering, blots the southern sky,Before whose boisterous breath the waters fly.Its weight the topsails can no more sustain—Reef topsails, reef! the boatswain calls again!The haliards and top-bow-lines soon are gone;To clue-lines and reef-tackles next they run:The shivering sails descend; and now they squareThe yards, while ready sailors mount in air.* * * * *“Deep on her side the reeling vessel lies—‘Brail up the mizzen, quick!’ the master cries,’Man the clue-garnets! let the main-sheet fly!’The boisterous squall still presses from on high,And swift and fatal as the lightning’s courseThro’ the torn main-sail bursts with thundering force.”

“A squall, deep lowering, blots the southern sky,

Before whose boisterous breath the waters fly.

Its weight the topsails can no more sustain—

Reef topsails, reef! the boatswain calls again!

The haliards and top-bow-lines soon are gone;

To clue-lines and reef-tackles next they run:

The shivering sails descend; and now they square

The yards, while ready sailors mount in air.

* * * * *

“Deep on her side the reeling vessel lies—

‘Brail up the mizzen, quick!’ the master cries,

’Man the clue-garnets! let the main-sheet fly!’

The boisterous squall still presses from on high,

And swift and fatal as the lightning’s course

Thro’ the torn main-sail bursts with thundering force.”

And so forth. The fact is, that most readers of Falconer’s poem require his“Dictionary of the Marine”at hand, or some old“salt”to explain the constantly recurring nautical terms.

“DEEP ON HER SIDE THE REELING VESSEL LIES.”“DEEP ON HER SIDE THE REELING VESSEL LIES.”

“DEEP ON HER SIDE THE REELING VESSEL LIES.”

It is not wonderful that so many of our poets have written more or less concerning the sea, few passing over the grand subject entirely, when we consider England’s paramount position on and interests in it. A number of them have produced works in which we seem to sniff the briny ocean as we read them, while only a minority have written artificially and without a true feeling for their subject. Much that the Dibdins91indited for the concert-room, the theatre, and to an extent for the sailor himself, is of a trivial nature, dealing largely—too largely—with grog and sweethearts, and more than occasionally verging on the coarse and indelicate. But among their productions are songs with the true ring, ballads that will never die while our language lasts or Britain“rules the waves.”Among these may fairly be counted Charles Dibdin’s“Poor Jack,”“The Greenwich Pensioner”(“’Twas in the good shipRover”),“The Sailor’s Journal”(“’Twas post-meridian, half-past four”), and, above all, that noble picture of a true sailor,“Tom Bowling”—

“Tom never from his word departed,His virtues were so rare;His friends were many and true-hearted,His Poll was kind and fair:And then he’d sing so blithe and jolly,Ah! many’s the time and oft;But mirth is turned to melancholy,For Tom is gone aloft.

“Tom never from his word departed,

His virtues were so rare;

His friends were many and true-hearted,

His Poll was kind and fair:

And then he’d sing so blithe and jolly,

Ah! many’s the time and oft;

But mirth is turned to melancholy,

For Tom is gone aloft.

[pg 299]“Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weatherWhen He who all commandsShall give, to call life’s crew together,The word to pipe all hands.Thus death, who kings and tars despatches,In vain Tom’s life has doffed;For though his body’s under hatchesHis soul is gone aloft.”

“Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather

When He who all commands

Shall give, to call life’s crew together,

The word to pipe all hands.

Thus death, who kings and tars despatches,

In vain Tom’s life has doffed;

For though his body’s under hatches

His soul is gone aloft.”

Eliza Cook92has followed the same vein in her“Gallant English Tar,”and has also paid a worthy tribute to those hardy sons of Neptune,“The Boatmen of the Downs.”

“There’s fury in the tempest, and there’s madness in the waves,The lightning snake coils round the foam, the headlong thunder raves;Yet a boat is on the waters filled with Britain’s daring sons,Who pull like lions out to sea, and count the minute guns.’Tis mercy calls them to the work—a ship is in distress!Away they speed with timely help that many a heart shall bless;And braver deeds than ever turned the fate of kings and crownsAre done for England’s glory by her boatmen of the Downs!”

“There’s fury in the tempest, and there’s madness in the waves,

The lightning snake coils round the foam, the headlong thunder raves;

Yet a boat is on the waters filled with Britain’s daring sons,

Who pull like lions out to sea, and count the minute guns.

’Tis mercy calls them to the work—a ship is in distress!

Away they speed with timely help that many a heart shall bless;

And braver deeds than ever turned the fate of kings and crowns

Are done for England’s glory by her boatmen of the Downs!”

Perhaps no modern verses are more popular with all lovers of true poetry than the“Casabianca”of Mrs. Hemans, Longfellow’s“Wreck of theHesperus,”and Kingsley’s“Three Fishers;”and no wonder, for they touch a chord in every heart, while vividly portraying the perils of a seafaring life. In the story of the“burning deck”we have the record of a true sailor boy, who would not desert his“lone post of death.”And—

“The noblest thing that perished thereWas that young faithful heart!”

“The noblest thing that perished there

Was that young faithful heart!”

In the second-named poem the skipper has taken his little daughter to“bear him company.”A hurricane rises, and it is the poor frightened child who alone hears the“fog-bell on a rock-bound coast.”She runs to her father:—

“But the father answered never a word,A frozen corpse was he.”

“But the father answered never a word,

A frozen corpse was he.”

The ship drifts into the breakers and on the cruel rocks.

“At daybreak, on the bleak sea beach,A fisherman stood aghast,To see the form of a maiden fairLashed close to a drifting mast.

“At daybreak, on the bleak sea beach,

A fisherman stood aghast,

To see the form of a maiden fair

Lashed close to a drifting mast.

“The salt sea was frozen on her breast,The salt tears in her eyes;And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,On the billows fall and rise.

“The salt sea was frozen on her breast,

The salt tears in her eyes;

And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,

On the billows fall and rise.

“Such was the wreck of theHesperus,In the midnight and the snow;Christ save us all from a death like this,On the reef of Norman’s Woe!”

“Such was the wreck of theHesperus,

In the midnight and the snow;

Christ save us all from a death like this,

On the reef of Norman’s Woe!”

“AT DAYBREAK, ON THE BLEAK SEA BEACH, A FISHERMAN STOOD AGHAST.”“AT DAYBREAK, ON THE BLEAK SEA BEACH,A FISHERMAN STOOD AGHAST.”

“AT DAYBREAK, ON THE BLEAK SEA BEACH,A FISHERMAN STOOD AGHAST.”

In Kingsley’s poem,“three fishermen sailed away to the West,”thinking of their much-loved home;“three wives sat weeping in the lighthouse tower.”

“Three corses lay out on the shining sandsIn the morning gleam as the tide went down,And the women are weeping and wringing their handsFor those who will never come home to the town;For men must work and women must weep,And the sooner it’s over the sooner to sleep;And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.”

“Three corses lay out on the shining sands

In the morning gleam as the tide went down,

And the women are weeping and wringing their hands

For those who will never come home to the town;

For men must work and women must weep,

And the sooner it’s over the sooner to sleep;

And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.”

“THREE FISHERMEN SAILED AWAY TO THE WEST.”“THREE FISHERMEN SAILED AWAY TO THE WEST.”

“THREE FISHERMEN SAILED AWAY TO THE WEST.”

No more splendid tribute has ever been paid to a neglected hero than that which appeared in the pages of a popular monthly93some years since, over the honoured signature of Robert Browning.

The year 1692 was specially disastrous to France, and a fleet of twenty-two vessels were hotly and closely pursued by the English. The squadron came helter-skelter,“like a crowd of frightened porpoises”with the sharks after them, to St. Malo on the Rance. The pilots who were on board laughed at the bare idea of their great ships entering the rocky passage; and Damfreville, the admiral of the fleet, was seriously thinking of blowing up or burning all his ships, when out stepped in front of all the assembled officers a poor coasting-pilot.

“Are you mad, you Malouins? are you cowards, fools, or rogues?”said he, as he hurriedly and impetuously assured the admiral that he knew every rock and shoal, and could lead the fleet in safely.

“‘Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there’s a way!And if one ship misbehave—Keel so much as grate the ground,Why, I’ve nothing but my life—here’s my head!’ cries Hervé Riel.

“‘Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there’s a way!

And if one ship misbehave—

Keel so much as grate the ground,

Why, I’ve nothing but my life—here’s my head!’ cries Hervé Riel.

[pg 302]“Not a minute more to wait,‘Steer us in, then, small and great!Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!’ cried its chief.‘Captains, give the sailor place!He is admiral, in brief.’Still the north wind, by God’s grace.See the noble fellow’s faceAs the big ship, with a bound,Clears the entry like a hound,Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide seas profound!See, safe through shoal and rock,How they follow in a flock.Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,Not a spar that comes to grief!The peril, see, is past,All are harboured to the last,And just as Hervé Riel hollas ‘Anchor!’—sure as fate,Up the English come, too late.”

“Not a minute more to wait,

‘Steer us in, then, small and great!

Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!’ cried its chief.

‘Captains, give the sailor place!

He is admiral, in brief.’

Still the north wind, by God’s grace.

See the noble fellow’s face

As the big ship, with a bound,

Clears the entry like a hound,

Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide seas profound!

See, safe through shoal and rock,

How they follow in a flock.

Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,

Not a spar that comes to grief!

The peril, see, is past,

All are harboured to the last,

And just as Hervé Riel hollas ‘Anchor!’—sure as fate,

Up the English come, too late.”

So all are saved, and the crews see longingly the green heights above Grève, all bursting out, with one accord—

“‘Let France, let France’s KingThank the man that did the thing!’What a shout, and all one word,‘Hervé Riel,’As he stepped in front once more,Not a symptom of surpriseIn the frank blue Breton eyes,Just the same man as before.

“‘Let France, let France’s King

Thank the man that did the thing!’

What a shout, and all one word,

‘Hervé Riel,’

As he stepped in front once more,

Not a symptom of surprise

In the frank blue Breton eyes,

Just the same man as before.

“Then said Damfreville, ‘My friend,I must speak out at the end,Though I find the speaking hard:Praise is deeper than the lips:You have saved the King his ships,You must name your own reward.’Faith, our sun was near eclipse!Demand whate’er you will,France remains your debtor still.Ask to heart’s content and have! or my name’s not Damfreville.’

“Then said Damfreville, ‘My friend,

I must speak out at the end,

Though I find the speaking hard:

Praise is deeper than the lips:

You have saved the King his ships,

You must name your own reward.

’Faith, our sun was near eclipse!

Demand whate’er you will,

France remains your debtor still.

Ask to heart’s content and have! or my name’s not Damfreville.’

“Then a beam of fun outbrokeOn the bearded mouth that spoke,As the honest heart laughed throughThose frank eyes of Breton blue:‘Since I needs must say my say,Since on board the duty’s done—And from Malo Roads to Croisie Point what is it but a run?

“Then a beam of fun outbroke

On the bearded mouth that spoke,

As the honest heart laughed through

Those frank eyes of Breton blue:

‘Since I needs must say my say,

Since on board the duty’s done—

And from Malo Roads to Croisie Point what is it but a run?

“‘Since ’tis ask and have, I may—Since the others go ashore—Come! a good whole holiday!Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!’That he asked and that he got—nothing more.”

“‘Since ’tis ask and have, I may—

Since the others go ashore—

Come! a good whole holiday!

Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!’

That he asked and that he got—nothing more.”

Turn we now to a“newdeparture”in sea poetry, one partially inaugurated by the Dibdins, carried on by Tom Hood the elder, and having of late years William Schwenck Gilbert for its principal exponent. It is often as full of nature as the serious productions of other poets, yet itself favours the ludicrous and satirical side. Hood’s“Demon Ship”is a fair example—

“Down went my helm—close-reefed—the tack held freely in my hand—With ballast snug—I put about, and scudded for the land.Loud hissed the sea beneath her lee; my little boat flew fast,But faster still the rushing storm came borne upon the blast.Lord! what a roaring hurricane beset the straining sail!What furious sleet, with level drift, and fierce assaults of hail!What darksome caverns yawned before! what jagged steeps behind!Like battle steeds with foamy manes wild tossing in the wind.Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the chase,But where it sank another rose, and galloped in its place;As black as night—they turned to white, and cast against the cloudA snowy sheet, as if each surge upturned a sailor’s shroud:Still flew my boat; alas! alas! her course was nearly run.Behold yon fatal billow rise—ten billows heaped in one.With fearful speed the dreary mass came rolling, rolling fast,As if the scooping sea contained one only wave at last.Still on it came, with horrid roar, a swift pursuing grave;It seemed as though some cloud had turned its hugeness to a wave.Its briny sleet began to beat beforehand in my face—I felt the rearward keel begin to climb its swelling base!I saw its alpine hoary head impending over mine.Another pulse—and down it rushed, an avalanche of brine!Brief pause had I on God to cry, or think of wife and home;The waters closed, and when I shrieked, I shrieked below the foam!”

“Down went my helm—close-reefed—the tack held freely in my hand—

With ballast snug—I put about, and scudded for the land.

Loud hissed the sea beneath her lee; my little boat flew fast,

But faster still the rushing storm came borne upon the blast.

Lord! what a roaring hurricane beset the straining sail!

What furious sleet, with level drift, and fierce assaults of hail!

What darksome caverns yawned before! what jagged steeps behind!

Like battle steeds with foamy manes wild tossing in the wind.

Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the chase,

But where it sank another rose, and galloped in its place;

As black as night—they turned to white, and cast against the cloud

A snowy sheet, as if each surge upturned a sailor’s shroud:

Still flew my boat; alas! alas! her course was nearly run.

Behold yon fatal billow rise—ten billows heaped in one.

With fearful speed the dreary mass came rolling, rolling fast,

As if the scooping sea contained one only wave at last.

Still on it came, with horrid roar, a swift pursuing grave;

It seemed as though some cloud had turned its hugeness to a wave.

Its briny sleet began to beat beforehand in my face—

I felt the rearward keel begin to climb its swelling base!

I saw its alpine hoary head impending over mine.

Another pulse—and down it rushed, an avalanche of brine!

Brief pause had I on God to cry, or think of wife and home;

The waters closed, and when I shrieked, I shrieked below the foam!”

After battling with the water, and half insensible, he finds himself at last safely on board a strange vessel; a terrible face haunts him—black, grimly black, all black, except the grinning teeth. The sooty crew were like their master.“Where am I? in what dreadful ship?”cried he, in terrified agony. The answer was a laugh that rang from stem to stern from the gloomy shapes that flitted round. They guffawed and grinned and choked to the top of their bent—

“And then the chief made answer for the whole:—‘Our skins,’ said he ‘are black, because we carry coal.You’ll find your mother, sure enough, and see your native fields,For this here ship has picked you up—theMary Anneof Shields.’”

“And then the chief made answer for the whole:—

‘Our skins,’ said he ‘are black, because we carry coal.

You’ll find your mother, sure enough, and see your native fields,

For this here ship has picked you up—theMary Anneof Shields.’”

The transition from the really powerful and dramatic description of the billows and surf to the ridiculousdénouementis irresistibly and artistically comic. Hood’s purely amusing pieces are more generally known than the above. Take as an example“Faithless Sally Brown;”the girl who so soon forgot her first Ben is modelled on Dibdinian lines, but the touches of humour are infinitely more delicate.

The popularity of a class of sea-songs which can now be heard from the streets to[pg 304]the drawing-room, and from the fo’castle to the ward-room, is creditable to our age. Some of these productions, in which noble sentiments, expressed in simple and feeling words, are wedded to effective and artistic music, help to keep alive humanity, love, and honour in the rising generation.“The poor old slave is free”directly he climbs the British ship;“the sailor’s wife the sailor’s star should be,”and usually is; while the story of the poor little wounded“midshipmite”is as touching in its way as the boy who would not leave the burning deck.

Our voyages are ended; and we may now peacefully peruse, by the cosy fireside, the record of the heroic deeds and the startling perils of the sailor’s career while he is engaged in bringing to our shores the necessaries and comforts of our daily life. While we stay at home in ease, let us not forget this noble army of“conscripts, fighting our battles for us;”and when the tempests howl and the lightnings flash, let us breathe our heartfelt earnest prayers“for those at sea.”

“Eternal Father, strong to save,Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,Who bids’t the mighty ocean deep,Its own appointed limits keep;Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,For those in peril on thesea.”

“Eternal Father, strong to save,

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,

Who bids’t the mighty ocean deep,

Its own appointed limits keep;

Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,

For those in peril on thesea.”

Back to Index Next