| lyric | You landsmen all on you I call and gallant seamen too
Till I relate the hardships great that lately we went through;
From Limerick in the breeze to St. John’s we set sail,
On the twenty seventh of November in a sweet and pleasant gale.
It happened many miles from land, on her beam end she lay,
Our fore and main mast instantly we had to cut away;
When her masts went overboard, to rights she came again,
Three foot of water in her hold till daylight did remain.
Early the next morning we viewed our awful state:
Ben Cusack he was drowned and Griffin, our first mate.
Down below we could not go where our fresh water lay,
And as for meat we’d none to eat, for all was washed away.
All we got safe from out the wreck was three bottles of Port Wine,
And every time that we got weak, we took a drop each time.
We had not water for to drink but what fell from the sky,
And no dry spot then could be got to either sit or lie.
On the third day of December, it being on the ninth day,
Without tasting any kind of food; the hunger upon us did prey
Our captain cried: ‘Cheer up my boys; let those four boys cast lots
They have no wives: to save our lives one of these four must die.’
While lots they were preparing, these poor unfortunate boys
Stood gazing at each other with salt tears in their eyes
A bandage o’er O’Brien’s eyes they quickly then did tie
For the second lot that was pulled up said O’Brien was to die.
He said unto his comrade boys: ‘Now let my mother know
The cruel death I did sustain, when you to Limerick go.’
Then john O’Gorman he was called to bleed him in the vein
Twice he tried to take his blood, but it was all in vain.
Our captain cries: ‘Cheer up. my boys, this work will never do; I
O’Gorman you must cut his throat, or else you will die too.’
The trembling cook, he took the knife, which sore did him confound.
He cut his throat and drank his blood as it flowed from the wound. |