A Description of a Great Sea-Storm, That happened to some Ships in the
Gulph of
FLORIDA, in
September last; Drawn up by one of the Company, and sent to his Friend at
London.
THE STORME.
THE PREFACE.
THe blustring Winds are husht into a Calme;
No Air stirs now, but what my Muse Embalm'd,
Breaths forth to thee, dear Friend; Heaven smiles upon
My Paper, and the Sea turnes Helicon;
The Mermaids
Muses all, the Sea-Nymphs,
bring
Aid to my Genius,
whilst to thee I Sing
Of Storms, Gusts, Tempests, if compar'd to these,
Bermoodus
Winds are but a Gentle Breez;
And to express them fully, I am faine
To raise in Verse
a kind of Hurrycane.
NOthing but Air and Water is in sight;
(I am no Poet here, since Truth I wright.)
When
Eolus with his Iron whistle Rouzes
The blustring breathings from their Airy houses,
Which like to
Libertines let loose, will know
No Law to guide them, but begin to blow
The Sea to swell her teaming Womb, brings forth
Wave after wave, and each of greater birth:
Waves grow to Surges, Surges Billowes turn;
The Ocean is all
Timpany, the
Ʋrn
Of water is a brimmer;
Neptune drinks
So full a Cup it over-runs the brinks.
To
Amphetrites Health, the proud waves dash
At Heaven as though its Cloudy Face t'would wash:
Or sure the lower Water now was bent
To mix with that above the Firmament;
Or the cold Element did go about
To put the Element of Fire out.
Our Ship now under water seems to sayle
Like to a drowned Tost in
John Cook's Ale.
The Sea rould up in Mountains: O! 'tis such
Your
Cottsall-Hill's a Wart, if't be so much,
Which fall again into such hollow Vales
I thought I'de crost the Sea by
Land ore
Wales;
And then to add Confusion to the Seas,
The Saylers speak such
Babel words as these:
Hale in maine Bowlin, Mizen tack aboard;
A Language, like a Storm, to be abhorr'd:
I know not which was loudest, their rude Tongues,
Or the Bigg Winds with her whole Cards of
Lungs.
So hideous was the Noise, that one might well
Fancy himself to be with Souls in Hell;
But that the Torments differ, those Souls are
With Fire punisht, we with Water here.
Our Helme that should our
Swimming-Colledge sway,
We lash't it up, lest it should run away.
Have you a Hedge seen hung with Beggars Fleeces?
So hung our tattered
Mainsaile down in pieces.
Our
Tackling crack't as if it had been made
To string some
Fiddle, not the
Sea-mans Trade.
Whilst her own
Knell the Sea-sick
Vessel Rings,
In breaking of her
Ropes, the Ships Heart-string
As to repent, but never to amend;
So we pumpt th'Ship, even to as little end;
For all the water we pumpt out with pain,
The Sea returns with scorne, and more again.
The Guns we carry'd to be our Defence,
Heaven thunder'd so, it almost scar'd them then
[...]
And yet to Heaven for this give thanks we may,
But for it's Lightning we had had no Day.
The dropy Clouds drinking Salt-water sick,
Did spew it down upon our Heads so thick;
That twixt the low'r and upper Seas that fell,
Our Ship a
Vessel seem'd, and we
Mackrell.
Pickl'd in Brine, and in our Cabines lye
Soust up for Lasting Immortality.
The Fear of being drowned, made us wish
Our selves transpeciated into
Fish.
Indeed this Fear did so possess each one,
All look't like
Shotten-Herring, or
Poor-John:
Nay of our Saving, there was so much doubt,
The Masters
Faith begun to tack about;
And had he perish't in this doubtful Fit,
His Conscience sure (with his own Ship) had
For which way into Heaven could his Soul Steer,
Starboard or
Larbord that still cries,
No neer?
But we were in great Danger, you will say,
If
Sea-men once begin to
Kneele, and
Pray;
What
Holy Church ne're could, Rough Seas hav
[...]
Made
Sea-men buckle to
Devotion,
And force from them their
Letany, whilst thus
They whimper out,
Good Lord deliver us!
So pray I too, good Lord deliver thee,
Dear Friend, from being taught to Pray at
[...]
Be wise, and keep the
Shoar then, since you m
[...]
Go in by
Land to your
VIRGINIA.
Licensed, August the 5th. 1671. Roger L'Estrange.
[...] Armes in the Poultry, 1671.