Carrington, N. T. (Noel Thomas), "The Hellweathers." in The Bijou; (London: William Pickering , 1828) 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 93 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 94 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 95 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 96 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! *************** *************** 97 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!