Omniana/Volume 2/Capt. Thomas James, of Bristol
204. Cap. Thomas James, of Bristol.
I transcribe the following poems from the "Strange and dangerous Voyage" of this excellent old seaman, "in his intended discovery of the North-West passage into the South Sea, in the years 1631 and 1632." The circumstances under which they were written would alone render them curious, even to those persons who cannot pardon the mannerism of that age. But it is hoped there are many readers who are capable of understanding the strain of fine and manly feeling which is breathed in them.
"The 30th of this month of September, says he, we thought would have put an end to our miseries; for now we were driven amongst rocks, shoals, over-falls, and breaches round about us, that which way to turn we knew not, but there rid amongst them in extremity of distress. All these perils made a most hideous and terrible noise in the night season; and I hope it will not be accounted ridiculous, if I relate with what meditations I was affected, now and then, amongst my ordinary prayers; which I here afford the reader, as I there conceived them, in these few ragged and torn rhymes.
Oh my poor soul, why dost thou grieve to see
So many deaths muster to murder me?
Look to thyself, regard not me; for I
Must do (for what I came) perform or die.
So thou mayst free thyself from being in
A dunghill dungeon, a mere sink of sin;
And happily be freed, if thou believe,
Truly in God through Christ, and ever live.
Be therefore glad; yet e'er thou go from hence,
For our joint sins, let's do some penitence.
Unfeignedly together: . . When we part,
I'll wish the Angels joy, with all my heart.
We have with confidence relied upon
A rusty wire, touched with a little stone,
Incompassed round with paper, and alass,
To house it harmless, nothing but a glass;
And thought to shun a thousand dangers, by
The blind direction of the senseless flie;
When the fierce winds shattered black night asunder,
Whose pitchy clouds, spitting forth fire and thunder,
Hath shook the earth, and made the ocean roar,
And run to hide it in the broken shore.
Now thou must steer by faith, a better guide,
Twill bring thee safe to heaven against the tide
Of Satan's malice. Now let quiet gales
Of saving Grace inspire thy zealous sails.
The other and far finer poem was written upon his leaving the dismal island where he had wintered, and which he called Winter's Forest, but which now deservedly bears his own name. "And now the sun was set, and the boat came ashore for us; whereupon we assembled ourselves together, and went up to take the last view of our dead, and to look unto their tombs and other things. Here, leaning upon mine arm, on one of their tombs, I uttered these lines, which though perchance they may procure laughter in the wiser sort, (which I shall be glad of) . . . they yet moved my young and tender-hearted companions at that time, with some compassion. And these they were.
I were unkind, unless that I did shed.
Before I part, some tears upon our dead;
And when my eyes be dry, I will not cease,
In heart to pray their bones may rest in peace;
Their better parts (good souls) I know were given
With an intent they should return to heaven.
Their lives they spent, to the last drop of blood.
Seeking God's glory, and their country's good;
And as a valiant soldier, rather dies,
Than yields his courage to his enemies,
And stops their way with his hewed flesh, when death
Hath quite deprived him of his strength and breath,
So have they spent themselves, and here they lie
A famous mark of our discovery.
We that survive, perchance may end our days
In some employment meriting no praise,
And in a dunghil rot; when no man names
The memory of us but to our shames.
They have out-lived this fear, and their brave ends
Will ever be an honour to their friends.
Why drop you so, mine eyes? nay rather pour
My sad departure in a solemn shower!
The winter's cold, that lately froze our blood,
Now were it so extreme, might do this good,
As make these tears, bright pearls, which I would lay
Tomb'd safely with you, till doom's fatal day;
That in this solitary place, where none
Will ever come to breathe a sigh or groan,
Some remnant might be extant, of the true
And faithful love I ever tendered you.
Oh, rest in peace, dear friends! and, let it be
No pride to say, the sometime part of me.
What pain and anguish doth afflict the head,
The heart and stomach when the limbs are dead,
So grieved, I kiss your graves, and vow to die
A foster-father to your memory.