End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
to blow, whistling among the shrowds, dashing the sails this way and
that, and rending them with horrid split, and such whir as may have
visited the dreams of Milton, when he imagined the winnowing of the
arch-fiend’s van-like wings, which encreased the uproar of wild chaos.
These sounds were mingled with the roaring of the sea, the splash of
the chafed billows round the vessel’s sides, and the gurgling up of the
water in the hold. The crew, many of whom had never seen the sea
before, felt indeed as if heaven and earth came ruining together, as
the vessel dipped her bows in the waves, or rose high upon them. Their
yells were drowned in the clamour of elements, and the thunder rivings
of their unwieldy habitation—they discovered at last that the water
gained on them, and they betook themselves to their pumps; they might
as well have laboured to empty the ocean by bucketfuls. As the sun went
down, the gale encreased; the ship seemed to feel her danger, she was
now completely water-logged, and presented other indications of
settling before she went down. The bay was crowded with vessels, whose
crews, for the most part, were observing the uncouth sportings of this
huge unwieldy machine—they saw her gradually sink; the waters now
rising above her lower decks—they could hardly wink before she had
utterly disappeared, nor could the place where the sea had closed over
her be at all discerned. Some few of her crew were saved, but the
greater part clinging to her cordage and masts went down with her, to
rise only when death loosened their hold.
This event caused many of those who were about to sail, to put foot
again on firm land, ready to encounter any evil rather than to rush
into the yawning jaws of the pitiless ocean. But these were few, in
comparison to the numbers who actually crossed. Many went up as high as
Belfast to ensure a shorter passage, and then journeying south through
Scotland, they were joined by the poorer natives of that country, and
all poured with one consent into England.
Such incursions struck the English with affright, in all those towns
where there was still sufficient population to feel the change. There
was room enough indeed in our hapless country for twice the number of
invaders; but their lawless spirit instigated them to violence; they
took a delight in thrusting the possessors from their houses; in
seizing on some mansion of luxury, where the noble dwellers secluded
themselves in fear of the plague; in forcing these of either sex to
become their servants and purveyors; till, the ruin complete in one
place, they removed their locust visitation to another. When unopposed
they spread their ravages wide; in cases of danger they clustered, and
by dint of numbers overthrew their weak and despairing foes. They came
from the east and the north, and directed their course without apparent
motive, but unanimously towards our unhappy metropolis.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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