Soon as the Moor in artless mien appear'd,
The merry mariners his presence cheer'd;
He comes, and as he stalks amidst the throng,
Waves his proud knighthood's badge, his triple
prong."
Then brandishing his spear, with brow elate, 2240
The shark he threatens with approaching fate:
Wert thou a simple rover of the main,
This hostile arm its fury should restrain,
For I, long goaded on by cruel care,
In persecution's school have learn'd to spare. 2245
But thou no charter for thy deeds canst show,
No privateer's-man, but a pirate thou:
A bold corsair, who, cruizing hop'd to prey
On our good crew with unrelenting sway-
To make an arm, a leg, a head thy food,
And the clear crystal purple with their blood.
Well may'st thou flinch, and flirt, and rue the bait,
Stretch thy long gills, and deprecate thy fate,
For soon thy jaws my caboose-doort shall claim,
And proudly wave the trophy of my fame,
Yarrow was the cook on board, and came on deck armed with his "tormentors," or beef prong, with which he took the meat out of the ship's coppers.
+ The caboose in a ship is the culinary apartment.
Thy pepper'd flesh the epicure regale,
And now thou dy'st, unless this weapon fail.
Then, drawing nigh, "Avast!" the sailors cried,
And bade him give the shark a birth full wide,
Warn'd him to keep in mind the fish's strength, 2260
And not approach within a boat hook's length,
A formidable monster to assail,
That measur'd half a topsail in the tail.
Vain was the counsel of the gallant crew,
The moor strides on the monster to subdue,
Bold as Alcides, when he slew the snake
That cover'd with his form the flagged lake-
But less successful from the fight came out,
For the shark hurl'd his hideous tail about,
And, as the knight to couch his javelin stood, 2270
Down on the deck he reel'd in gory mood,
Loud braying with a beastly yelling sound,
As his bent body struck the seamy ground,
Now wringing both his wretched hands in one,
Now beating his hard head with lamentable groan.
Then from the circling, saturnalian croud,
Rise unextinguish'd bursts of laughter loud,
And all press on in wicked haste to trace
His ruffled turban, and his blubber'd face.
Waving his skirted robe, great Neptune flies, 2280 And soft the moor addresses as he lies:
Youth of the turban'd head, and dusky brow,
Speak, fall'n hero, of what land art thou?
His voice has ceas'd-he scarcely fetches breath,
But rolls convulsive in the pangs of death.
When I incline and view the victim near,
I marvel what ill wind has blown him here—
He looks a slave, who flies the cruel shore
To seek a refuge on the billow hoar.
If so, we heard not in his deepest groan
The echo of the anguish of his moan,
When (under an ill-fated planet born)
He bore in chains man's obloquy and scorn!
Rais'd on his feet, again poor Yarrow reels,
Again reverberate the bursting peals
Of the gay crew: when thus the captain spoke:
A dying mortal is a tragic joke!
See the sad wretch, he bleeds at every pore,
And the plank purples with his clotted gore.
Hither, Tom Tug! his body bear below-
All other tasks, I charge you, now forego;
Down to the cockpit in your arms convey
The vagabond, far from the noisome fray.
In the ship's hold, with awful horror wide,
Yawns a deep cavern, underneath the tide,
Where silent and submerg'd, with study grey,
Sat Caustic reading by nocturnal day,
Close by a candle, to assist his sight,
That in the socket counterfeited light.
A hat triangular, with fierce cockade,
Was on the table at his elbow laid,
Which, o'er his brow, was wont the boys to scare, As on the deck he walk'd with martial air.
Bent on their seats, dispos'd to doze or sleep,
His mates recline, three hermits of the deep; 2315
Wrapt in that gravity the dull maintain,
The true criterion of a dearth of brain.*
In the dark confines of their dungeon pent,
Seldom above great Rush's pupils went,
Every body remembers Rochefoucault's definition of gravity.
But daily ask'd some of the naval band
How many leagues the ship was still from land?
The wights not yet their firm sea-legs had found,*
And on the deck could not make good their ground,
Where, haply should the frigate go about,
From the lee-scuppers they were all pick'd out.
Four unmade hammocks from the carlings hung,
Beneath was seen a keg without a bung,
Barlow's Columbiad, the Seaman's Guide,
A half eat biscuit, Cullen and Macbride.
Strewn on the floor, hand-saws and tools to slay,
With lint and liniment promiscuous lay,
And phials and bottles labell'd at the throat-
(A mere apothecary's shop afloat!)
While a lank skeleton, with grisly face,
Made up the frightful horror of the place.
Viewing the ghastly spectre with a stare,
The sailors ask'd what business he had there?
With hanging lip beheld a man transform'd
To fleshless bones, no more by marrow warm'd;
And they, who rush'd undaunted to the fight,
Dreaded the haunted cockpit in the night.
When a sailor walks the deck at sea he swings his body like a pendulum, and by opposing the ship's roll with a vibratory motion of his own, maintains himself on his feet. But the uninitiated, when they venture up the hatchway, are, by the first lee-lurch thrown down on their beam ends, and precipitated into the scuppers; amidst the smiles of the captain and lieutenants, the broad grins of the midshipmen, and the laughter of the crew.
|