 | Poems, Ballads and Bucolics |  |
THE BALLAD OF THE “CLEOPATRA.”
For by suffering men grow great—
In the foam of Atlantic waves, the fiercest of wars—
Rage of waters and hate
Of wind—did a noble deed
Whereof the eternal seed,
When this our little world
Into thousand atoms is hurled,
And there is no more sea,
Shall still bear fruit and be.
And out into the bay,
And many a lass who lost her love
Was sad of heart that day,
Each sailor loves some maid the best;
Our ship went east, our thoughts went west.
And cheerly sang the foam,
But backward still some hearts must run
To that last eve at home,
When in the mellow harvest corn
They named the far-off marriage morn.
Scarce heaved, so smooth of keel
We flew, our topsail canvas spread,
Our skipper at the wheel,
Sixteen aboard, a crew as sound
As ever sought a fishing ground.
Jack Pendleton—a man you say,
Our skipper—ay, not one to throw
Much breath or many words away,
But just and brave, a man who won
All hearts of men, was Pendleton.
In human shape and common kind,
A simple crew of varied mind
To teach men in a cross-sea trip
The mystery of fellowship.
Our skipper's spell was over all,
His word was law in love, no crew
Came merrier to a “bosun's” call,
And in the love to him we bore
Each came to love his brother more.
Like Jesus, as I read one day,
Our skipper walked a stormy sea;
I saw his face burn through the spray,
And I remember that he said,
“With Me is life—be not afraid.”
But moved as in another world,
And ever one day out of seven
The kedge was cast, the sails were furled,
And told us of a Father's care.
When nets are foul and winds are wild,
But when in calm the nets are shot
And decks with silver store are piled,
And lines come laden home with spoil,
The fisher's heart forgets the toil.
A golden east and rosy west,
But still our thoughts like swallows flew
To that dear harbour loved the best.
“To-morrow,” cried the skipper, “come
What will to-day, we'll steer for home.”
Of some far iceberg fill the sail,
And with a hand as cold as death
The storm wrack burst in sleet and hail,
And all the sea writhed mad with pain
Beneath the thundering hurricane.
The blocks flew out, the schooner heeled,
We saw the white sea overhead,
We cut the sheets and back she reeled,
Then all a-board a billow leapt,
And stem to staggering stern it swept.
My own son's son, it crashed the mast,
It smote us all upon our knee,
And when the whelming flood was past
Three were not: one upon the deck
Lay dying, and our craft a wreck!
The groaning vessel rose and sank,
We envied him with face so white
Beside the shattered water tank,
He seemed so calm, his tempest past,
We could not die, we fought the blast.
Dear God! the dead man was forgot.
Brave land to bear so brave a Scot—
Our stars and stripes remember still
Your bold sea captain's generous will!
And hope is harder to forego,
Each saw the port he loved the best
Once more upon the weather bow;
But without word our skipper seemed
As one who prayed or one who dreamed.
Rose up, but ever as it fell
We caught between us and the grave
That huge red hull, and we could tell
How men as brave as lions there
For brother men would do and dare.
Lord help them! out the davits swing!
What! shall they pull for such a goal
And launch on Death from death to bring
God asks, not man, such sacrifice.
Thrashed into dust the waters screamed,
From height to hell we back were hurled,
But still our skipper prayed or dreamed,
And still above our battered crew
The stars and stripes in pity flew.
And there was that about his word
That pierced our very beings through
As if it were a spirit's sword,
And there was that about his face
Made each forget the storm a space.
Is that old Gloucester dock so dear,
That we would purchase life and breath,
Albeit the succour come so near,
At risk of such a hungry grave
For yonder friends who haste to save?
Shall we like cowards stand to see
Men, brothers, dare to rescue lives,
—Our lives so poor—at such a fee?”
And as he spoke his eyes were bright
With something of an angel light.
My wife's dear call came through the wind;
But with the skipper there were ten
Of self-forgetful hero mind.
Amen! Amen! and with that cry
They swore for them no man should die.
Did e'er doomed hulk so well pretend
Her pumps were sound, no leak, no scars,
Nor any need of succouring friend?
And with the dead man at our side
We felt that we indeed had died.
'Tis sad to haul the Peter down,
And every other hope is flown,
To haul those colours down and feel
Hope dead, it tries a heart of steel!
O'erhead a billow seemed to boom;
When next I heard the skipper speak
I lay in some strange cabin room—
He smiled and said, “God crossed us, mate,
That day we dared to choose our fate.”
The facts on which the ballad has been founded appeared in an
English paper shortly after the occurrence. The writer was
fortunately able to have them verified by an American friend,
Mr. Yarnall, of Philadelphia, who wrote direct to the Shipping
Agency for him and obtained the following reply:—
“Peter Wright and Sons, Philadelphia, Sept. 25, 1886.
“Ellis Yarnall, Esq.
“Dear Sir,—Annexed please find information required by you.
“Very truly,
“Frank D. P. Weall.
“Capt. Geo. W. Pendleton, American fishing schooner ‘Cleopatra,’
of Gloucester, Mass.
“Capt. Edmund Miller Hughes, American line steamer ‘Lord
Gough.’ Date of rescue, December 27th, 1885.”
The “Lord Gough,” though of the American line of steamers (Liverpool to Philadelphia), is a British vessel; her captain is, I think, a Scotchman. On the 27th December the “Lord Gough,” on her way to Philadelphia, saw the flag of distress on the mast of the “Cleopatra.” The wind was blowing a gale, making it a matter of serious risk for the “Lord Gough” to send a boat to the rescue. But Captain Hughes thought it his duty to do this, and he called for volunteers. The second officer (I think) and a crew volunteered, and a boat was lowered. Suddenly, however, the signal of distress was lowered from the mast of the “Cleopatra.” Captain Hughes was much perplexed; it seemed almost certain that the vessel was in extremity. On the whole he thought it his duty to send the boat. The brave fellows made their way over the perilous waters, and the schooner was reached. There they found the master and eleven men, but for the “Lord Gough,” utterly without hope. Three others of the crew had been washed away, and the body of a fourth lay on the deck. In two trips the survivors were conveyed to the “Lord Gough.” The master of the schooner went in the second trip of the boat, but before doing so, he read with such solemnity as he could in the awful storm, the burial service over the remains of his comrade, and then the body was committed to the deep. Of course, the first inquiry made by Captain Hughes of the American captain was, Why did he haul down his signal? The reply was:—“Sir, we saw that you were preparing to make an effort to save us, but we saw, also, that it was a sea in which it was very doubtful whether a boat would live. I said, then, to my men, ‘Shall we let those brave fellows risk their lives to save ours?’ and they said ‘No!’ Then I hauled down the flag.”
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