Potiphar's Wife and Other Poems | ||
THE FRIGATE ENDYMION.
(“Towards the close of the war with France, Captain the Hon. Sir Charles Paget, while cruising in the Endymion frigate on the coast of Spain, descried a French ship of the line in imminent danger, embayed among rocks on a lee shore: bowsprit and foremast gone, and riding by a stream cable, her only remaining one.
Though it was blowing a gale, Sir Charles bore down to the assistance of his enemy, dropped his sheet-anchor on the Frenchman's bow, buoyed the cable, and veered it across his hawser. This the disabled ship succeeded in getting in, and thus seven hundred lives were saved from destruction.
After performing this chivalrous action the Endymion, being herself in great peril, hauled to the wind, let go her bower-anchor, club-hauled, and stood off shore on the other tack.” Vide“Catalogue Royal Naval Exhibition, 1891.”)
Blossomed a brighter pink, for pride,
As, through the glories of the place
Wistful, we wandered, side by side.
Done to the life, in steel and gold,
Howard and Drake—a stately band—
Sir Walter, Anson, Hawkins bold:
Of Blake's great battles, and the roar
Of Jervis, thundering through the sea:
With Rodney, Hood, and fifty more:
Duty's dear Hero, Britain's star—
The chieftain of the dauntless breast,
Nelson, our Thunderbolt of War!
On conquered decks from Don and Dane,
We saw him Victory's laurelled Lord
Rend the French battle-line a-twain:
In thick of dread Trafalgar's day:
The blood-stains, and the ball which tore
Shoulder-gold, lace, and life away.
The green seas foamed with gallant blood:
The skies blazed high with flame and fear,
The tall masts toppled to the flood.
Of each tremendous Ocean fight,
Safe, by the strength of those below
The flag of England floated bright!
To be a British girl and claim
Some drops, too, of such splendid blood,
Some distant share of deathless fame!”
From tender French and Spanish eyes
For all those glorious days we gained.
Oh! the hard price of victories!”
With triumph crowned, which cost no tear:
Waged gallant 'gainst the tempest's might.”
Then turned we to a canvas near.
The coast is Spain! Cruising to spy
An enemy, she finds him so,
Caught in a death-trap, piteously!”
Wild breakers on the black rocks foam
Will drown the ship's whole company
When that one Anchor's fluke comes home.
Head-sails to cast her off the land:
Those poor souls have to draw breath, yet
As long as while a warp will stand.
Only to keep off, therefore,—tack,
Mark from afar ‘Jean Crapaud's’ fate,
And lightly to “my Lords” bear back
To splinters, and some thirty score
Of ‘Mounseers’ perished! Not a gun
To fire! Just stand by—no more!
Eyes open—where this Gaul is driven,
Would steer straight into Hell's mid woe
Out of the easy peace of Heaven.
Not lion-hearted Paget! No!
The war's forgot! He'll make us see
Seamanship at its topmost. Blow
Forward and aft, all hands on deck!
Let my sails draw, range hawsers clear!
Paget from Fate his foe will pluck!”
Hoisted—full friendly—at the main!
Her guns run in: twice to a rag
The stormsail torn: but set again.
Into their rigging, and they dip
The tricolor, with hearts made warm
By hope and love. Look now! his ship
How, between life and death, he keeps
His Frigate like a pleasure-boat
Clean full and by: and, while he sweeps
His big sheet-anchor: buoys it, cast
Clear o'er the rail. They know, they know!
Here's help! here's hope! here's chance at last!
The English hawser o'er her side,
All fear is fled of yon black strand:
Safely the huge Three-decker rides.
With Jean and Jacques, and Paul and Pierre;
And float to fight King George's men
Thanks to the goodly British gear.
Never was darker plight for craft;
Laid-to—all save one anchor gone,
And those black fateful rocks abaft!
A sailor's highest lesson shown;
They view by skill that Frigate snatched
From peril direr than their own.
Round to the starboard tack: but drives
Full on the rocks in staying: try
To wear her, the same fate arrives.
Her cable to the bitts: makes fast;
Drops anchor: by the starboard swings:
And, when a-lee her stern is cast,
Sheets home her foresail: fills, and swerves
A ship's length forth. Subtle and swift
Her aim the tempest's wrath now serves.
Foot by foot steals she space to live:
Self-stripped of hope, except she win
The offing. None can succour give!
And then ‘helm down!’ Then, something free
Comes the fierce blast! That leeward shore
Slides slow astern! That raging sea
She weathers! 'tis a saviour saved!—
Seamanship conquers! Past belief
She rounds! The peril hath been braved!
Rings in her wake the Frenchmen's cheer,
Bidding the good ship glad farewell
While our staunch Frigate draws out clear.
Never a smarter sea-deed done!”
“This fight of the Endymion.”
Potiphar's Wife and Other Poems | ||