widows and families of the Hastings fishermen who were drowned. Some lines on this melancholy event were written at the time by H. R. Kent, 12 years of age, and son of Robert Kent, of Hastings, and are here reproduced, with apologies for slight verbal alterations by the eiditor(sic) of Brett’s Gazette:-
“’Twas summer’s eve, in month of June,
Not far from Beachy Head.
A fishing-boat, with hardy crew,
Was sailed by Uncle Ned.
He’d toiled the seas for many a year;
Had many dangers passed;
And little thought as thus he sailed,
This voy’ge would be his last.
He’d sailed the coast, from north to south,
Full many a season oe’r;
Nor thought he as that day he sailed
He’d Beachy round no more.
The sun was sinking in the west,
Just at the close of day;
When Pomphrey’s boat, Endeavour named,
Was speeding on her way.
The day had been both clear and bright,
But now was overcast;
With backing wind to sou’-sou’-west
And merc’ry falling fast.
And soon huge clouds began to rise
In dark and threat’ning form;
Which those who sailed the seas well knew
Betokened coming storm.
“My lads,” said Ned, “you see those clouds
In yonder western sky;
I like them not – They mischief show -
I fear the storm is nigh.
See all our gear secure and close,
Our hatchway snug and tight;
The wind now freshens, and I see
A coming dirty night.”
“See how”, said Ned, “the sea-birds fly,”
(Whilst anxiously looked he);
“So shorten sail – prepare for gale,
And steer for open sea.”
“Why steer for open sea”, said one,
“When there’s a harbour near?”
“I’ve weathered many a storm ,” said Ned,
And think we need not fear.
“Our craft is sound from stem to stern,
Before and aft the mast;
And if that Providence so wills
We’ll still live-out the blast.”
The wind with fearful force increased,
The clouds flew quickly by;
The sea became one sheet of foam,
The waves ran mountains high.
For many an hour the lugger braved
Her combat with the storm
Whilst all the time the sea-waves rolled
In grandly awful form.
But came there soon one mighty sea
Which struck the boat amain[1]
And sank her in the ocean’s trough,
Never to rise again.
Yes! Sank the boat with her brave crew,
Into the storm-tossed deep,
Where billows roar they’ll hear no more,
But ‘neath the waters sleep.
Yea! sleep, that “long, cold sleep of death”
Which hear we good men say
From which none wake until is heard
The call of Judgement Day.
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- ↑ Amain = with full force, at full speed, suddenly, hastily exceedingly - Transcriber
