Following the Connemara Retriever tragedy a few weeks earlier. "F.S." put their pen to paper to produce this poem "A Sea of Bitter Sorrow"
Frontier Sentinel 2nd December 1916
The winds let loose from AEolu's all bellowed around the shore,
As the "Connemara," that doomed ship, steamed out from fair Greenore;
A darkness spread with death-like gloom o'er the realms of land and sky,
And the billows rose to vent their wrath on the vessel reeling high.
She stoutly braved the turbulent swell of an angry rolling sea,
She heaved, she reeled, she weathered the squad, and the billows rising wantonly;
Despite all that blustering, bellowing blast, the vessel more daring grew,
And breasted the surf in the yawning gulfs of a sea of seething spew.
She ploughed the ocean's heaving field with almost swan-like pride,
With forceful speed she onward sped 'gainst th' angry rushing tide;
But another ship now prancing wild on the mighty mouthed flood,
Now reelied aloft, now struck this boat with a thund'rous crashing thud.
Their timbers flew like scattered spray around Haulbowline's Rock,-
The tempest laughed, the sea-mews screamed at such a thund'ring shock;
On all sides round was heard the wail - the bitter wail of woe -
For one hundred lives were doomed to th' ocean's depths below.
Then loud from all those hundred souls, one sheik rose wild and high,
But the billows rose, and burst and fell, hushing their gurgling cry.
And with a haughty moaning tone the tempest died away,
"And down, still chafing from their strife, th' indignant waters lay."
When, lo! the rosy-fingered morn flushed red the lighthouse tower,
The sea had lulled itself to sleep - stayed was its wrathful power;
And on the shore no breakers roar, but ev'rywhere is borne
Full many a mangled, bleeding corpse, disfigured, rent, and torn.
It was, forsooth, a ghastly scene for all who crowded there,
To see the bruised forms of babes - of babes once sweet and fair;
To see a fond loved mother's hand clasp'd round her infant's breast,
As they repaired to drown earth's cares in the waters of sweet rest.
Oh, Virgin! - Queen of the Heavenly Choirs! fair mistress of the skies!
Hear thou, with love and mercy, the plaintive, wailful cries,
Of those who came to mourn their dead in sorrow and in woe!
Smile down on them! be thon their hope in this exile here below!
Thou once in anguish deep did'st gaze on thy sweet Jesus' side;
Dids't see thy Son in torments hang, thy Son the Crucified!
Oh, Queen of Grief! for His sweet sake, take pity on their cry,
For they have lost fond ones most dear where the shattered vessels lie.