The Shipman's Tale

The Sisters' Tragedy

by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Listen, my masters! I speak naught but truth.
From dawn to
dawn they drifted on and on,
Not knowing whither nor to what dark
end.
Now the North froze them, now the hot South scorched.

Some called to God, and found great comfort so;
Some gnashed
their teeth with curses, and some laughed
An empty laughter,
seeing they yet lived,
So sweet was breath between their foolish
lips.
Day after day the same relentless sun,
Night after
night the same unpitying stars.
At intervals fierce lightnings
tore the clouds,
Showing vast hollow spaces, and the sleet

Hissed, and the torrents of the sky were loosed.
From time to
time a hand relaxed its grip,
And some pale wretch slid down into
the dark
With stifled moan, and transient horror seized
The
rest who waited, knowing what must be.
At every turn strange
shapes reached up and clutched
The whirling wreck, held on
awhile, and then
Slipt back into that blackness whence they
came.
Ah, hapless folk, to be so tost and torn,
So racked by
hunger, fever, fire, and wave,
And swept at last into the
nameless void--
Frail girls, strong men, and mothers with their
babes!

And was none saved?

My masters, not a soul!

O shipman, woful, woful is thy tale!
Our hearts are heavy
and our eyes are dimmed.
What ship is this that suffered such ill
fate?

What ship, my masters? Know ye not?--The World!