Three or four miles farther on is the actual border-line, and here one must turn, although, looking south towards Widemouth Bay, it is irresistibly tempting to quote a few verses of rank doggerel, written on a shipwreck which happened there on November 23, 1824. The verses were probably inspired by terrible stress of emotion, and suggest the idea that they were written with a spar rather than with a pen; but no doubt they were for ever the joy and pride of their author.
'Come all you British seamen,
That plough the raging main,
Who fight for King and Country,
And your merchants do maintain.
I'll sing you of a shipwreck
That was here the other day,
At a place that's called Widemouth,
Near Bude, and in that bay.
Chorus.
'So my British tars be steady,
And maintain your glorious name;
Till you're drowned, killed, or wounded,
You must put to sea again.
'The twenty-third of November,
That was the very time,
A fine and lofty schooner brig,
The Happy Return, of Lyme,
The bold and noble Captain
Escaped from the deep,
And died with cold that very night
Near to a flock of sheep.
Chorus.
'So my British tars, etc.
'The mate, as fine a seaman
As could stand on a deck,
Had with his noble Captain
Escaped from the wreck;
No refuge could be found on shore.
No good could there be done;
He returned on board the deck and died:
The poor man lost his son.
Chorus.