The Wreck of the Rohilla
(The Undefeated)
Onward came the hospital ship “Rohilla”, sent to pick
up allied survivors who had suffered foreign bayonet stab;
This night Whitby’s treacherous shores would become
her mortuary slab.
Off her bearings, off her course,
Driven by a devil’s force.
For no light to be seen, no light from headland shore,
For once again foolish man was at his foolish war.
Down upon the shale she bore,
Like an eagle’s talons into her metal flesh, the rocks
and coral did’st rent and tore;
For so majestically through the waves “Rohilla did once
plough,
But now she lay with broken back, guillotined from stern
to prow.
Her signal gun broke the silence of the night,
As she cried out for deliverance from her so pitiful
plight;
From their humble cottage dwellings, into the cobbled
streets they poured,
Once more to face the raging sea, came the Whitby hoard.
For had not the destruction of the “Rohilla”, the sea
so cunningly plotted,
Ah but was not Whitby, guardian of all seafarers appointed
by God, allotted.
Through the cold night air they came,
And gazed upon that senseless sea’s night of shame.
As the waves that did surround her,
On, how the sea did beat and pound her,
As seemingly helpless faces looked out from “Rohilla
contorted with their anguish,
Prayed to the heavens above that soon this storm would
languish;
But in Whitby’s hearts they knew, futile for them to
wait,
For fifty tortuous hours, this storm would not abate.
For distressed mariners aboard “Rohilla’s” sea washed
decks there seemed little chance,
But like the noblest of England’s knights, Whitby drew
her lifeboat lance;
Twice into the sea’s pulsating skin that lifeboat lance
she did bury,
Whitby, the protector, the sea her adversary.
Twice the fury of the sea that little Yorkshire town
did spurn,
And laden with survivors to Whitby, that little gallant
sanctuary did return.
Now as the rain pelted down, the tempest had reached
its height,
Whitby was unmercifully beaten back, though she never
once gave up the fight;
For each attempt to secure lifeline, by the wind was
thwarted;
Still Whitby stood firm-a-foot, still she was undaunted.
By a myriad giant white soldiers of the deep, out manoeuvred
and outflanked,
Still not one waver upon these heroic Yorkshire ranks.
Now comes the saddest part of all
Thirty clustered round “Rohilla’s” poop deck, into that
swirling maelstrom did fall;
As Whitby eyes burned helpless, with the flame of beacon
fire,
As they watched a score and ten slip beneath the waves
there to expire.
Some sailors in desperation leapt into that turbulence
to make that agonising swim;
A few made it to the shore, some did not, lifeless of
the limb.
All through the night Whitby struggled, into the proceeding
day,
Not until the early hours of the morning was help dispatched
upon its way.
Into that spouting spray, Whitby’s people ran post haste,
Aggravated water up to the neck and down to waist.
As the wind wailed her sirens of death,
Whitby gave her all into her last breath;
Pulling exhausted wretches from the encircling foam;
Half drowned, half frozen to the bone.
The “Henry Vernon” came at last, lifeboat that was motorised;
Did’st not this bring relief to those tired, fatigued
Whitby eyes,
As she came into port, burning orange flares;
Had Whitby not received an answer to her seemingly endless
prayers?
From the leeward side the “Henry Vernon” towards the
“Rohilla” did approach,
Into the devil’s domain once more they did encroach;
Through the rocks and reefs the second coxswain of Whitby
lifeboat there safely enrooted;
And finally gave salvation to fifty sailors and one
black cat that had for so long been the persecuted.
Will forever the warring factions of the world always
there resent,
While they destroy the flesh of humanity, Whitby fought
the elements;
The Sea, the Wind, the Cold, the Rain-
Let no man ever decry Whitby’s name, lest his own character
he would stain.
During the time that had elapsed had not the Whitby
banner proudly flew;
Emblazed with three white ammonites, background of royal
blue.
For now as the wind ceased her mournful drone,
Will the world ever forget when Whitby stood alone;
For nay, not once upon that night had Whitby ‘ere retreated;
For the sea threw down the gauntlet challenge, and Whitby
fought the UNDEFEATED
Copyright © Neil White 1988
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