The Inn of Jasper Shrine
The coast was rugged and storm-swept as
I battled it in the rain,
The cliffs reared up, then fell away
To a flat, deserted plain,
The sea beat up in a thunder on
The rocks that lined the shore,
When I saw the wreck of a wayside inn
And its open, swinging door.
It hadn't appeared on the map, I knew
As I'd studied the bleak terrain,
The thing that I'd come here looking for
Was a wreck from the Spanish Main,
It lay in fifteen fathoms there
With a load of gold moidores,
Chased inshore by a privateer
And sunk, so my uncle swore.
He'd come on some ancient manuscripts
And the log of the Brig ‘Despair',
Washed up a hundred years ago
On the coastline near Llan Fair,
It roamed the seas three hundred years
Without a crew or a sail,
The log said most of the crew were dead
Tipped out by a great white whale.
The bones of the Captain, Peverell,
Lay slumped, right over the log,
It told of the Spanish galleon
And where it went down in the fog,
It told how the whale had tipped the brig
And broken the mast in two,
While the rest of the men had died of thirst
As it drifted, with the crew.
I came to the shelter of the Inn
And could read the swinging sign,
It carried a skull and a bottle of rum
And a name, ‘The Jasper Shrine',
The door hung loose on its hinges and
Gave out a creak and a moan,
The wind howled in at the windows
As the timbers swayed and groaned.
The storm continued to rage outside
At least I was warm and dry,
I lay that night on the upper floor
And stared straight up at the sky,
The thatch had fallen in holes and rain
Came pouring down in a stream,
But I was tucked in a corner, dry,
And there I began to dream.
It must have been two o'clock or so
When I heard a ghostly tap,
Of someone shuffling with a crutch
Then a mighty thunderclap,
A lantern gave out a ghastly light
Threw shadows along the stair,
And then a woman, her voice rang out,
‘Oh what, and who is it there? '
I peered on down and could see the wench
Her bonnet trimmed with lace,
But the burly sailor standing there,
I couldn't quite see his face,
Their dress was that of another time
When pirates sailed the sea,
The sailor brought down his cane with a crash,
‘They call me Cap'n Teague.'
‘Some pottage girl, and a brace of rum
To warm this sailor's cheeks,
My ship's aground and my fate's undone
I'm stranded here for weeks! '
‘You'll need to show me the King's good coin
Before you bite or sup,
I've had you sailors before round here
And you're hard on paying up.'
‘I have a chest of dubloons, ' he said
Moidores, and Spanish lace,
My chest will be here in the morning, girl,
So lift your pretty face,
Shift and get me the vittals that
Will warm my aching bones…'
‘No rum, not even a little, '
Said the girl, and turned to go.
Teague had bellowed and crashed his cane
Across the wench's head,
She fell at the foot of the stairs, and groaned
As her bonnet turned blood red,
‘I'll serve myself you foolish wench
Do you dare to challenge me? '
But the girl had stirred, rolled over
And cried out, ‘By God, you'll see! '
She pulled from out the folds of her dress
An ancient matchlock gun,
Cocked the trigger then aimed and fired
As the Captain turned and spun,
He hit the floor with a cry of pain
And the lantern flew out wide,
The light went out, and all I could hear
Was the sound of the turning tide.
I hid for the rest of the night, afraid
To venture down the stair,
I was cautious still in the morning
Thinking I'd find them dead down there,
But nothing lay in the dawning light
But the sign of time's contempt,
The floor was littered in seaweed and
Some old rat excrement.
My friend came up in a trawler
As we'd planned in the weeks before,
I'd quit the Inn for the final time
Took off through the swinging door,
We never came on the Spanish ship
But the Inn played on my mind,
I wondered, was it a dream or a ghost
At the Inn of Jasper Shrine?
27 November 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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