| |
| THERE was an old and quiet man, | |
| And by the fire sate he; | |
| “And now,” he said, “to you I’ll tell | |
| A dismal thing, which once befell | |
| Upon the Southern Sea. | 5 |
| |
| “’Tis five and fifty years gone by, | |
| Since, from the river Plate, | |
| A young man, in a home-bound ship, | |
| I sailed as second mate. | |
| |
| “She was a trim stout-timbered ship, | 10 |
| And built for stormy seas; | |
| A lovely thing on the wave was she, | |
| With her canvas set so gallantly | |
| Before a steady breeze. | |
| |
| “For forty days, like a wingèd thing, | 15 |
| She went before the gale; | |
| Nor all that time we slackened speed, | |
| Turned helm, or shifted sail. | |
| |
| “She was a laden argosy, | |
| With gold from the Spanish Main, | 20 |
| And the treasure-hoards of a Portuguese | |
| Returning home again. | |
| |
| “An old and silent man was he, | |
| His face was yellow and lean; | |
| In the golden lands of Mexico | 25 |
| A miner he had been. | |
| |
| “His body was wasted, bent, and bowed, | |
| And ’mid his gold he lay, | |
| ’Mid iron chests bound round with brass, | |
| And he watched them night and day. | 30 |
| |
| “No word he spoke to any on board, | |
| His step was heavy and slow; | |
| And all men deemed that an evil life | |
| He had led in Mexico. | |
| |
| “But list ye me! On the lone high seas | 35 |
| As we went smoothly on, | |
| It chanced, in the silent second watch, | |
| As I sate on the deck alone, | |
| That I heard from ’mong those iron chests | |
| A sound like a dying groan. | 40 |
| |
| “I started to my feet, and lo! | |
| The captain stood by me; | |
| He bore a body in his arms, | |
| And dropped it in the sea. | |
| |
| “I heard it drop into the sea, | 45 |
| With a heavy splashing sound; | |
| I saw the captain’s bloody hands | |
| As quickly he turned round. | |
| He drew in his breath when me he saw, | |
| Like one whom the sudden withering awe | 50 |
| Of a spectre doth astound: | |
| |
| “But I saw his white and palsied lips, | |
| And the stare of his wild eye, | |
| As he turned in hurried haste away, | |
| Yet had no power to fly; | 55 |
| He was chained to the deck by his heavy guilt, | |
| And the blood that was not dry. | |
| |
| “‘’Twas a cursèd thing,’ said I, ‘to kill | |
| That old man in his sleep. | |
| The curse of blood will come from him | 60 |
| Ten thousand fathoms deep. | |
| |
| “‘The plagues of the sea will follow us, | |
| For Heaven his groans hath heard.’ | |
| The captain’s white lips slowly moved, | |
| And yet he spoke no word, | 65 |
| |
| “And slowly he lifted his bloody hands, | |
| As if his eyes to shade; | |
| But the blood that was wet did freeze his soul, | |
| And he shrieked like one afraid. | |
| |
| “And even then, that very hour, | 70 |
| The wind dropped; and a spell | |
| Was on the ship, was on the sea; | |
| And we lay for weeks, how wearily! | |
| Where the old man’s body fell. | |
| |
| “I told no one within the ship | 75 |
| That horrid deed of sin; | |
| For I saw the hand of God at work, | |
| And punishment begin. | |
| |
| “And, when they spoke of the murdered man | |
| And the El-Dorado hoard, | 80 |
| They all surmised he had walked in dreams, | |
| And fallen overboard. | |
| |
| “But I alone, and the murderer, | |
| That dreadful thing did know, | |
| How he lay in his sin, a murdered man, | 85 |
| A thousand fathoms low. | |
| |
| “And many days, and many more, | |
| Came on, and lagging sped; | |
| And the heavy waves of the sleeping sea | |
| Were dark, like molten lead. | 90 |
| |
| “But not a breeze came east or west, | |
| And burning was the sky, | |
| And stifling was each breath we drew; | |
| The air was hot and dry. | |
| |
| “Oh me! a very smell of death | 95 |
| Hung round us night and day; | |
| Nor dared I look into the sea, | |
| Where the old man’s body lay. | |
| |
| “The captain in his cabin kept, | |
| And bolted fast the door; | 100 |
| The seamen, they walked up and down, | |
| And wished the calm was o’er. | |
| |
| “The captain’s son was on board with us, | |
| A fair child, seven years old, | |
| With a merry face that all men loved, | 105 |
| And a spirit kind and bold. | |
| |
| “I loved the child; and I took his hand | |
| And made him kneel, and pray | |
| That the crime for which the calm was sent | |
| Might clean be purged away. | 110 |
| |
| “For I thought that God would hear his prayer, | |
| And set the vessel free: | |
| ’Twas a dreadful curse, to lie becalmed | |
| Upon that charnel sea. | |
| |
| “Yet I told him not wherefore he prayed, | 115 |
| Nor why the calm was sent; | |
| I could not give that knowledge dark | |
| To a soul so innocent. | |
| |
| “At length I saw a little cloud | |
| Rise in that sky of flame, | 120 |
| A little cloud, that grew and grew, | |
| And blackened as it came. | |
| |
| “We saw the sea beneath its track | |
| Grow dark as was the sky; | |
| And waterspouts, with rushing sound, | 125 |
| Like giants passed us by. | |
| |
| “And all around, ’twixt sky and sea, | |
| A hollow wind did blow; | |
| The sullen waves swung heavily; | |
| The ship rocked to and fro. | 130 |
| |
| “I knew it was that fierce death-calm | |
| Its horrid hold undoing; | |
| I saw the plagues of wind and storm | |
| Their missioned work pursuing. | |
| |
| “There was a yell in the gathering winds | 135 |
| A groan in the heaving sea: | |
| The captain rushed from his place below, | |
| But durst not look on me. | |
| |
| “He seized each rope with a madman’s haste, | |
| And set the helm to go, | 140 |
| And every sail he crowded on | |
| As the furious winds did blow. | |
| |
| “Away they went, like autumn leaves | |
| Before the tempest’s rout; | |
| The naked masts came crashing down, | 145 |
| The wild ship plunged about. | |
| |
| “The men to spars and splintered boards | |
| Clung, till their strength was gone; | |
| And I saw them from their feeble hold | |
| Washed over, one by one; | 150 |
| |
| “And ’mid the creaking timber’s din, | |
| And the roaring of the sea, | |
| I heard the dismal, drowning cries | |
| Of their last agony. | |
| |
| “There was a curse in the wind that blew, | 155 |
| A curse in the boiling wave; | |
| And the captain knew that vengeance came | |
| From the old man’s ocean-grave. | |
| |
| “I heard him say, as he sate apart, | |
| In a hollow voice and low, | 160 |
| ’Tis a cry of blood doth follow us, | |
| And still doth plague us so!’ | |
| |
| “And then those heavy iron chests | |
| With desperate strength took he, | |
| And ten of the strongest mariners | 165 |
| Did cast them into the sea. | |
| |
| “And out from the bottom of the sea | |
| There came a hollow groan;— | |
| The captain by the gunwale stood, | |
| And looked like icy stone, | 170 |
| With a gasping sob he drew in his breath, | |
| And spasms of death came on. | |
| |
| “And a furious boiling wave rose up, | |
| With a rushing thundering roar; | |
| I saw him fall before its force, | 175 |
| But I never saw him more. | |
| |
| “Two days before, when the storm began, | |
| We were forty men and five, | |
| But ere the middle of that night | |
| There were but two alive— | 180 |
| |
| “The child and I: we were but two; | |
| And he clung to me in fear. | |
| Oh! it was pitiful to see | |
| That meek child in his misery, | |
| And his little prayers to hear. | 185 |
| |
| “At length, as if his prayers were heard, | |
| ’Twas calmer; and anon | |
| The clear sun shone; and, warm and low | |
| A steady wind from the west did blow, | |
| And drove us gently on. | 190 |
| |
| “And on we drove, and on we drove, | |
| That fair young child and I; | |
| His heart was as a man’s in strength, | |
| And he uttered not a cry. | |
| |
| “There was no bread within the wreck, | 195 |
| And water we had none, | |
| Yet he murmured not, and talked of hope, | |
| When my last hopes were gone. | |
| I saw him waste and waste away, | |
| And his rosy cheek grow wan. | 200 |
| |
| “Still on we drove, I know not where, | |
| For many nights and days, | |
| We were too weak to raise a sail, | |
| Had there been one to raise. | |
| |
| “Still on we went, as the west wind drove, | 205 |
| On, o’er the pathless tide; | |
| And I lay in sleep, ’twixt life and death, | |
| With the young child at my side. | |
| |
| “And, as we thus were drifting on | |
| Amid the Great South Sea, | 210 |
| An English vessel passed us by | |
| That was sailing cheerily. | |
| Unheard by me that vessel hailed, | |
| And asked what we might be. | |
| |
| “The young child at the cheer rose up, | 215 |
| And gave an answering word; | |
| And they drew him from the drifting wreck, | |
| As light as is a bird. | |
| |
| “They took him gently in their arms, | |
| And put again to sea:— | 220 |
| ‘Not yet! not yet!’ he feebly cried; | |
| ‘There was a man with me!’ | |
| |
| “Again unto the wreck they turned, | |
| Where, like one dead, I lay; | |
| And a ship-boy small had strength enough | 225 |
| To carry me away. | |
| |
| “Oh! joy it was, when sense returned, | |
| That fair warm ship to see, | |
| And to hear the child within his bed | |
| Speak pleasant words to me! | 230 |
| |
| “I thought at first that we had died; | |
| That all our pain was o’er, | |
| And in a blessed ship of Heaven | |
| We voyaged to its shore: | |
| |
| “But they were human forms that knelt | 235 |
| Beside our bed to pray, | |
| And men with hearts most merciful | |
| That watched us night and day. | |
| |
| “’Twas a dismal tale I had to tell | |
| Of wreck and wild distress; | 240 |
| But, even then, I told to none | |
| The captain’s wickedness. | |
| |
| “For I loved the boy, and could not cloud | |
| His soul with sense of shame; | |
| ’Twere an evil thing, thought I, to blast | 245 |
| A sinless orphan’s name! | |
| So he grew to be a man of wealth | |
| And honourable fame. | |
| |
| “And in after years, when he had ships, | |
| I sailed with him the sea, | 250 |
| And in all the sorrows of my life | |
| He was a friend to me; | |
| And God hath blessed him everywhere | |
| With a great prosperity.” | |
| |
