THE STORM - Unabridged. Даниэль Дефо
nothing can be said sufficient to describe it.
Another unhappy circumstance with which this disaster was joined, was a prodigious tide, which happened the next day but one, and was occasioned by the fury of the winds; which is also a demonstration, that the winds veered for part of the time to the northward: and as it is observable, and known by all that understand our sea affairs, that a north-west wind makes the highest tide, so this blowing to the northward, and that with such unusual violence, brought up the sea raging in such a manner, that in some parts of England it was incredible, the water rising six or eight feet higher than it was ever known to do in the memory of man; by which ships were fleeted up upon the firm land several rods off from the banks, and an incredible number of cattle and people drowned; as in the pursuit of this story will appear.
Abatement of the Storm.
It was a special providence that so directed the waters, that in the river Thames, the tide, though it rose higher than usual, yet it did not so prodigiously exceed; but the height of them as it was, proved very prejudicial to abundance of people whose cellars and warehouses were near the river; and had the water risen a foot higher, all the marshes and levels on both sides the river had been overflowed, and a great part of the cattle drowned.
Though the storm abated with the rising of the sun, it still blew exceeding hard; so hard, that no boats durst stir out on the river, but on extraordinary occasions; and about three o’clock in the afternoon, the next day, being Saturday, it increased again, and we were in a fresh consternation, lest it should return with the same violence. At four it blew an extreme storm, with sudden gusts as violent as any time of the night; but as it came with a great black cloud, and some thunder, it brought a hasty shower of rain which allayed the storm; so that in a quarter of an hour it went off, and only continued blowing as before.
This sort of weather held all Sabbath-day and Monday, till on Tuesday afternoon it increased again; and all night it blew with such fury, that many families were afraid to go to bed; and had not the former terrible night hardened the people to all things less than itself, this night would have passed for a storm fit to have been noted in our almanacks. Several stacks of chimnies that stood out the great storm, were blown down in this; several ships which escaped in the great storm, perished this night; and several people who repaired their houses, had them untiled again. Not but that I may allow those chimnies that fell now might have been disabled before.
At this rate it held blowing till Wednesday, about one o’clock in the afternoon, which was that day seven-night on which it began; so that it might be called one continued storm from Wednesday noon to Wednesday noon: in all which time, there was not one interval of time in which a sailor would not have acknowledged it blew a storm; and in that time two such terrible nights as I have described.
And this I particularly noted as to time, Wednesday, November 24th, was a calm fine day as at that time of year shall be seen; till above four o’clock, when it began to be cloudy, and the wind rose of a sudden, and in an half-an-hour’s time it blew a storm. Wednesday, December the 2nd, it was very tempestuous all the morning; at one o’clock, the wind abated, the sky cleared, and by four o’clock, there was not a breath of wind.
Thus ended the greatest and the longest storm that ever the world saw. The effects of this terrible providence are the subject of the ensuing chapter; and I close this with a pastoral poem sent us among the accounts of the storm from a very ingenious author, and desired to be published in this account
A Pastoral,
Occasioned by the Late Violent Storm.
Damon. Walking alone by pleasant Isis side.
Where the two streams their wanton course divide,
And gently forward in soft murmurs glide;
Pensive and sad I Melibaeus meet.
And thus the melancholy shepherd greet.
Kind swain, what cloud dares overcast your brow,
Bright as the skies o’re happy Nile till now!
Does Chloe prove unkind, or some new fair?
Melibaeus. No Damon, mine’s a public, nobler care;
Such in which you and all the world must share.
One friend may mollify another’s grief,
But public loss admits of no relief.
Dam. I guess your cause; O you that used to sing
Of Beauty’s charms and the delights of Spring;
Now change your note, and let your lute rehearse
The dismal tale in melancholy verse.
Mel. Prepare then, lovely swain: prepare to hear
The worst report that ever reached your ear.
My bower you know, hard by yon shady grove,
A fit recess for Damon’s pensive love:
As there dissolved I in sweet slumbers lay.
Tired with the toils of the precedent day,
The blustering winds disturb my kind repose,
Till frightened with the threatening blast, I rose.
But O, what havoc did the day disclose?
Those charming willows which on Cherwel’s banks
Flourished, and thrived, and grew in evener ranks
Than those which followed the divine command
Of Orpheus lyre, or sweet Amphion’s hand.
By hundreds fall, while hardly twenty stand.
The stately oaks which reached the azure sky,
And kissed the very clouds, now prostrate lie.
Long a huge pine did with the winds contend;
This way, and that, his reeling trunk they bend,
Till forced at last to yield, with hideous sound
He falls, and all the country feels the wound.
Nor was the God of winds content with these;
Such humble victims can’t his wrath appease:
The rivers swell, not like the happy Nile,
To fatten, dew, and fructify our Isle:
But like the deluge, by great Jove designed
To drown the universe, and scourge mankind.
In vain the frighted cattle climb so high,
In vain for refuge to the hills they fly;
The waters Know no limits but the sky.
So now the bleating flock exchange in vain,
For barren clifts, their dewy fertile plain:
In vain, their fatal destiny to shun,
From Severn’s banks to higher grounds they run.
Nor has the navy better quarter found;
There we’ ve received our worst, our deepest wound.
The billows swell, and haughty Neptune raves.
The winds insulting o’er the impetuous waves.
Thetis incensed, rises with angry frown,
And once more threatens all the world to drown.
And owns no Power, but England’s and her own.
Yet the AEolian God dares vent his rage;
And ev’n the Sovereign of the seas engage.
What tho’ the mighty Charles of Spain ‘s on board.
The winds obey none but their blustering Lord.
Some ships were stranded, some by surges rent,
Down with their cargo to the bottom went.