(Sunday, March 24, 1878.)
The training ship _Eurydicé_--
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 _Eurydicé_.
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!