Non quia vexari quemquam est jucunda voluptas
Sed quibus ipse malis careas quia cernere suave est.
And the poor ship, though not scientifically built for sailing, was
admirably constructed for going ashore, with her extravagant poop that
caught the wind, and her lines like a cocked hat reversed. To those
on the beach that battered labouring frame of wood seemed alive, and
struggling against death with a panting heart. But could they have been
transferred to her deck they would have seen she had not one beating
heart but many, and not one nature but a score were coming out clear in
that fearful hour.
The mariners stumbled wildly about the deck, handling the ropes as each
thought fit, and cursing and praying alternately.
The passengers were huddled together round the mast, some sitting, some
kneeling, some lying prostrate, and grasping the bulwarks as the vessel
rolled and pitched in the mighty waves. One comely young man, whose ashy
cheek, but compressed lips, showed how hard terror was battling in him
with self-respect, stood a little apart, holding tight by a shroud, and
wincing at each sea. It was the ill-fated Gerard. Meantime prayers and
vows rose from the trembling throng amid-ships, and to hear them,
it seemed there were almost as many gods about as men and women. The
sailors, indeed, relied on a single goddess.
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