from The Bijou Literary Annual, 1828
author: By N.T. Carrington, Author of "Dartmoor"
source date: 1828
edition published: 20170606
availability: Freely available via a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

The Bijou;
or Annual of Literature and the Arts

compiled by William Fraser
William Pickering London
1828
pp. 93-97

The Hellweathers

By N.T. Carrington, Author of "Dartmoor"

[Sir Cloudesley Shovel's ship, the Association, struck upon the Gilstone, off Sicilly, with so much violence, that in about two minutes the vessel went down, and every soul on board, but one, perished. This man saved himself on a piece of timber, which floated to a rock called the Hellweathers, where he was compelled to remain some days before he could receive any assistance. Besides the Association, the Eagle, of 70, and the Romney, of 50 guns, perished, with all their crews. The Firebrand, fireship, was also lost, but most of her men were saved. Many persons of rank, and about 2000 seamen perished on this occasion. DREW'S HISTORY OF CORNWALL .]

THE blue wave roll'd away before the breeze
Of evening, and that gallant fleet was seen
Darting across the waters; ship on ship
Following in eager rivalry, for home
Lay on the welcome lee. The sun went down
Amid a thousand glorious hues that liv'd
But in his presence; and the giant clouds
Mov'd on in beauty and in power before
The day- god's burning throne. But soon was o'er
The pomp celestial, and the gold-fring'd cloud
Grew dark and darker, and the Elysian tints
Evanish'd swift; the clear, bright azure chang'd
To blackness, and with twilight came the shriek
Of the pursuing winds. Anon on high,
Seen dimly through the shadowy eve, the Chief
Threw out the wary signal, and they paus'd
Awhile upon the deep [[Note to "The Hellweathers":] A few hours before the ships struck, Sir Cloudesley Shovel hove out the signal to lie to, in order to ascertain the situation of the fleet. [Author, N.T. Carrington.]]. Again they gave
Their sails to the fresh gale — again the surge
Swept foaming by, and every daring prow
Pointed to England; — England! that should greet
With her green hills, and long- lost vales, their eyes
On the sweet morrow. Beautiful is morn,
But, oh, how beautiful the morn that breaks
On the returning wanderer, doom'd no more
To live on fancy's visions of that spot
Beyond all others lov'd; — that very spot
Now rising from the broad, blue waters, dear
To him as Heav'n.
With fatal speed they flew
Through the wide- parting foam. Again the deck
Slop'd to the billow, and the groaning mast
Bent to the rising gale; yet on that night
The voice of the loud ocean rose to them
In music, for the winds that hurry'd by
So fierce and swift, but heralded the way
To the lov'd island- strand. The jaws of death
Were round them, and they knew it not, until
Chilling the life- blood of the bravest, burst
The everlasting cry of waves and rocks
From stern Cornubia's isles. Alas, to them —
The lost, there blaz'd no friendly Pharos' fire,
No star gleam'd from the heav'n. The sailor heard
The roar of the huge cliff, and on his brow
Fell the cold dew of horror. On they came —
Those gallant barks, fate driv'n — on they came —
Borne on the wings of the wild wind, to rush
In darkness on the black and bellowing reef
Where human help avails not. There they struck
And sank; — the hopes, the fears, the wishes all
Of myriads o'er, at once. Each fated ship
One moment sat in all her pride, and pomp,
And beauty, on the main; — the next, she plung'd
Into the "hell" of waves, and from her deck
Thrill'd the loud death scream — stifled as it rose
By the dark sea; — one blow — one shriek — the grave!

And all was silent — save the startling voice
Of the Atlantic, rising from that shore
In anger ever! Terribly its surge
Clos'd o'er them, and they perish'd in that gulf
Where the dead lie innumerous, and the depths
Are rife with monstrous shapes, and rest is none
Amid the infuriate war of waters hurl'd
In endless, horrible commotion. Heard
Alone, between the pausings of the gale,
Was one faint, human wail. Where thousands sank
One rode the vengeful wave, preserv'd to be,
As seem'd, the sport of the mad billows: now
Upflung upon the mountain ridges — now
Swift sinking in abysses vast that yawn'd
Almost to Ocean's bed. Yet life fled not,
Nor hope, though in the tempest's giant coil
He gasp'd for breath, and often writhed beneath
The suffocating waters!
Morning came
In vain, though on the island rock the sea
Had flung the hapless mariner. Around
Howl'd the remorseless surge; — above, the cloud
Swept, terror- wing'd; — the lightening o'er the day
Shed an unnatural glare, and near him broke
The thunder with its peal of doom. No aid
Came through the long, long day, yet on the cliffs
Floated the cheering signal; — from the strand
Came voices animating; — men were there
Impatient as the bounding greyhound held
Within the straining leash — a gallant band
Nurs'd in the western storm, familiar long
With danger, and with — death, but might not brave
The monster, now. And thus the victim hung
Upon eternity's dread verge, and gaz'd
Appall'd upon its gulf; — then backwards shrunk
Convulsively to life, and hope renew'd
Unfroze his blood, and o'er his features threw
A light that could not last. For evening came,
And the great sun descended to the main,
While oft the beautiful, beloved orb
The seaman watch'd, and sigh'd to see it sink
Beneath the wave; but as the twilight grew
Deeper and deeper, and the darkness clos'd
Upon him, and the hungry, howling surge
Was heard below, loud clamouring for its prey,
He wept — the lone man wept!
Again it came,
The unchang'd, unchanging morning, rising wild
Upon a joyless world; yet did his eye
Glisten to see the dawn, though it awoke
In tempest; and that day flew by, and night
Once more fell on him, and another morn
Broke, and the sufferer liv'd! The hand of death
Was on him, yet delay'd the fatal grasp;
And round the agonized victim look'd,
But succour came not! On the rugged rock
Crash'd the torn wreck in thunder, and the sea
Disgorg'd the dead — within the black recoil
Of waters dash'd the dead; and on the brave,
The lov'd, he gaz'd, and at his Despair
Now sat, and pointed on the abyss!

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A shout
Comes from the cliffs — a shout of joy! Awake,
Thou lonely one from death's fast- coming sleep! —
Arise, the strand is thronging with brave men —
A thousand eyes are on thee, and a bark
Bursts o'er the breaching foam! The shifting cloud
Flies westward, and away the storm, repell'd
Relunctant sails: the winds have backward flung
The billows of the Atlantic! See, — they come, —
They come — a dauntless island- band — and now
A cheer is heard— and hark the dash of oars
Among the reefs! His eye with instant hope
Brightens, and all the ebbing tides of life
Rush with returning vigour! Now the spray
Flies o'er the advancing pinnace, for the wave
Though half subdued is mighty; yet her prow
Victorious parts the surges, — nearer roll
The cheers of that bold crew — the welcome sounds
Thrill on his ear — the deep'ning plunge of oars
Foams round the desert rock — 'tis won! 'tis won!
And — he is sav'd!