The Storm & the Tall-Ship Pier

They call it the Tall-Ship Pier, because

It hasn’t been used since then,

Its timbers rotted and barnacled,

And black since I don’t know when.

The storms it’s weathered have taken some,

You can’t reach it from the beach,

A hundred yards of its length have gone

The rest is stark at the breach.

 

But nobody goes there anymore

There’s not much left of the town,

Just a couple of old stone walls

The rest is tumbling down,

It sits forever beyond the Point

Where the sailing ships came in,

A crumbling wreck of years gone by

With a hint of forgotten sin.

 

The winter storms were a testing time,

The seas flooded over the pier,

The ships sat out in the bay, in line

Rode out, this time of the year,

Til when a black-hulled barquentine

Came in with a Dutch command,

The Captain, Herman van der Brouw

In charge of the ‘Amsterdam’.

 

They tied her up to the bollards, just

As a storm was coming in,

A woman stood on the quarter-deck

And the lines in her face were grim:

‘You said we’d head to Jakarta,

Not to this god-forsaken place!’

‘I told you, stay in your cabin,’

Was the reply, with little grace.

 

The Captain turned to the bosun,

‘Make her secure, but down below,

She’s not to come on the deck again

While still in the port, you know!’

The woman struggled, was taken down

But she flung a curse at his head,

‘Your time is limited, van der Brouw,

When Dirk finds out, you’re dead!’

 

The wind blew up and the storm came in

And the sea began to swell,

The sky was black and the ‘Amsterdam’

Would grind as it rose and fell,

It tore the bollard away from the pier

At the stern end of the barque,

Then slowly swung from the prow out wide

Side-on to the waves, an arc.

 

It kept on swinging around until

It crashed right into the pier,

Taking a section out with all

The cabins, back at the rear,

The wind was howling around the bow

As the barque sank low at the stern,

A voice screamed, ‘Get me the hell from here,

Or van der Brouw, you’ll burn!’

 

The crew were swept off the quarter deck

Were drowned right there to a man,

While van der Brouw had leapt to the pier,

The part that continued to stand,

The woman rose to the surface for

One moment more in the storm,

And screamed from the top of a breaking wave,

‘You’ll wish you’d never been born!’

 

They found him lashed to the planking

After a day or so of dread,

His eyes were staring, his face was white

He was just as surely dead,

But something curious came to pass

As they took his corpse ashore

The flesh on his hands was burned and black

With his fingers shaped like a claw.

 

And she, her body was swept on out

For she’s not been found ‘til now,

And all that’s left of the sailing ship

Is the figure, set on the prow,

A woman, carved as a figurehead

That creaks and groans in a storm,

And seems to mutter against the pier,

‘You’ll wish you’d never been born!’

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

O! This is just fantastic. The story itself is riveting. For you to then make her the figurehead, the spirt of the sunket ship, is genius! I know that large figureheads would adversely affect the sailing qualities of a ship so this story could have well been a result of the figurehead itself causing the demise of the ship. You have all the elements of mythology in this wondrous tale.

You might want to check out the figurehead collection at the Marinmuseum in Sweden:

http://www.marinmuseum.se/en/

[TL Boehm]

I've always thought that ships had a soul of sorts. love the mix of storm and tragedy and the bard like quality of this piece.

[Patricia B. Hepler]

The tension grows thickly until the storm passes and it's obvious - the curse was most successful ~
pat~

[Marie]

This mystery woman seems to hve had great powers...perhaps she was a sea witch taken from her element...

[Adam Lebzo -RonninWarri..]

OMG! If there is one thing I love in this world, it is the amazing sensation I get when i read your poems, David. I truly picture every words and feeling. God, it's better than watching movies. PERFECT closing as usual.

Hats up, my master.