The Inn of Jasper ShrineA Poem by David Lewis PagetThe
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? David
Lewis Paget © 2012 David Lewis PagetReviews
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