from Canto II

71

On the sixth day they fed upon his hide,
     And Juan, who had still refused, because
The creature was his father’s dog that died,
     Now feeling all the vulture in his jaws,
With some remorse received (though first denied)
     As a great favour one of the fore-paws,
Which he divided with Pedrillo, who
Devour’d it, longing for the other too.

72

The seventh day, and no wind—the burning sun
     Blister’d and scorch’d, and, stagnant on the sea,
They lay like carcasses; and hope was none,
     Save in the breeze that came not; savagely
They glared upon each other—all was done,
     Water, and wine, and food,—and you might see
The longings of the cannibal arise
(Although they spoke not) in their wolfish eyes.

73

At length one whisper’d his companion, who
     Whisper’d another, and thus it went round,
And then into a hoarser murmur grew,
     An ominous, and wild, and desperate sound,
And when his comrade’s thought each sufferer knew,
     ‘Twas but his own, suppress’d till now, he found:
And out they spoke of lots for flesh and blood,
And who should die to be his fellow’s food.

74

But ere they came to this, they that day shared
    Some leathern caps, and what remain’d of shoes;
And then they look’d around them, and despair’d,
     And none to be the sacrifice would choose;
At length the lots were torn up, and prepared,
     But of materials that much shock the Muse—
Having no paper, for the want of better,
They took by force from Juan Julia’s letter.

75

The lots were made, and mark’d, and mix’d, and handed,
     In silent horror, and their distribution
Lull’d even the savage hunger which demanded,
    Like the Promethean vulture, this pollution;
None in particular had sought or plann’d it,
     ‘Twas nature gnaw’d them to this resolution,
By which none were permitted to be neuter—
And the lot fell on Juan’s luckless tutor.

76

He but requested to be bled to death:
     The surgeon had his instruments, and bled
Pedrillo, and so gently ebb’d his breath,
     You hardly could perceive when he was dead.
He died as born, a Catholic in faith,
     Like most in the belief in which they’re bred,
And first a little crucifix he kiss’d,
And then held out his jugular and wrist.

77

The surgeon, as there was no other fee,
     Had his first choice of morsels for his pains;
But being thirstiest at the moment, he
     Preferr’d a draught from the fast-flowing veins:
Part was divided, part thrown in the sea,
     And such things as the entrails and the brains
Regaled two sharks, who follow’d o’er the billow—
The sailors ate the rest of poor Pedrillo.

78

The sailors ate him, all save three or four,
     Who were not quite so fond of animal food;
To these was added Juan, who, before
     Refusing his own spaniel, hardly could
Feel now his appetite increased much more;
     ‘Twas not to be expected that he should,
Even in extremity of their disaster,
Dine with them on his pastor and his master.

79

‘Twas better that he did not; for, in fact,
     The consequence was awful in the extreme:
For they, who were most ravenous in the act,
    Went raging mad—Lord! how they did blaspheme!
And foam and roll, with strange convulsions rack’d,
     Drinking salt-water like a mountain-stream,
Tearing, and grinning, howling, screeching, swearing,
And, with hyaena laughter, died despairing.

80

Their numbers were much thinn’d by this infliction,
     And all the rest were thin enough, heaven knows;
And some of them had lost their recollection,
     Happier than they who still perceived their woes;
But others ponder’d on a new dissection,
     As if not warn’d sufficiently by those
Who had already perish’d, suffering madly,
For having used their appetites so sadly.