Part 1 — THE LAST OF THE "EURYDICE."
Reading edition
BY SIR NOEL PATON.
(Sunday, March 24, 1878.)
The training ship Eurydice— As tight a craft, I ween, As ever bore brave men who loved Their country and their queen— Built when a ship, sir, was a ship, And not a steam-machine.
Six months or more she had been out, Cruising the Indian Sea; And now, with all her canvas bent— A fresh breeze blowing free— Up Channel in her pride she came, The brave Eurydice.
On Saturday it was we saw The English cliffs appear, And fore and aft from man and boy Uprang one mighty cheer; While many a rough-and-ready hand Dashed off the gathering tear.
We saw the heads of Dorset rise Fair in the Sabbath sun. We marked each hamlet gleaming white, The church spires one by one. We thought we heard the church bells ring To hail our voyage done!
"Only an hour from Spithead, lads: Only an hour from home!" So sang the captain's cheery voice As we spurned the ebbing foam; And each young sea-dog's heart sang back, "Only an hour from home!"
No warning ripple crisped the wave, To tell of danger nigh; Nor looming rack, nor driving scud; From out a smiling sky, With sound as of the tramp of doom, The squall broke suddenly,
A hurricane of wind and snow From off the Shanklin shore. It caught us in its blinding whirl One instant, and no more;— For ere we dreamt of trouble near, All earthly hope was o'er.
No time to shorten sail—no time To change the vessel's course; The storm had caught her crowded masts With swift, resistless force. Only one shrill, despairing cry Rose o'er the tumult hoarse,
And broadside the great ship went down Amid the swirling foam; And with her nigh four hundred men Went down in sight of home (Fletcher and I alone were saved) Only an hour from home!