The Marystown Expedition

Upon St Crispin’s Day we made for a distant shore
From the harbor mouth of Montego
We were packed to the deck with a rash of Nelson’s Blood
On a northern course where the trade winds blow
Forty nights on the deck of an old West Indiaman
Shed little light on what I know
One day this will be over
This I know.

I remember you as the girl I loved so well
And the lady of my hearth and home
So I must be the man with a horde of tales to tell
And a bigger horde of silks and gold
Do you resent me for my roving ways?
Are you still the lady that I know?
One day this will be over
This I know.

N’ere a sabre have I drawn in anger
Nor a flintlock have I fired at all
Though the midnight watch has tried to wear me down
I grow weary of the heaven’s thrall
I vowed to return one day a different man
Not the green and witless boy you know
One day this will be over
This I know

Relief, praise the gods for the still and moment of respite
The thrill of sleeping through the night is lost on a drone such as I.

The taste of victory calls yet a shadow of a feeling lingers on
The blow of whores and devil spawn didn’t break my confidence at all.

I think these things too loud
I’m nothing if not proud
I seek the means to thrive
Not scourings to merely survive

Did you find your fate and make your mark on the seas, imbecile?
Someone waits at home for you to come over the horizon.

She’ll be waiting for a long time.