The Smuggler

We went to live in Smuggler’s Cove

Near a cave, right on the beach,

Where once they’d hidden ill-gotten gains

In the cave, and out of reach.

The locals said two hundred years

Since the smugglers came ashore,

Carrying casks of Spanish wine

And a chest of gold moidores.

Led by a man called One-Eye Red

For the only one he’d got,

He’d lost the other, the locals said,

To a random pistol shot,

He wore a patch on the missing eye

For the wind blew in at the hole,

And froze his brain till he went insane

When the winter winds were cold.

He hung with Sally, a thatcher’s wife

Who would meet him in the cove,

And he would sample her plain delights

Till the time came round to rove.

She kept lookout on the cliff top there

For a glimpse of Revenue Men,

And would fire her flintlock pistol where

She had thought she’d sighted them.

My wife, her name was Sally too

And I’d rib her there in jest,

‘You’d better not hug a smuggler, Sally,

Dressed only in your vest.’

We’d laugh back then in those early days

As we worked to settle in,

But sensed some dread foreboding there,

In the air from old past sin.

It came on strong in the winter time

When the cove was filled with mist,

The mouth of the cave was grim and dark

It would almost seem possessed,

Then Sally started to walk at night

As the waves crashed into the shore,

She said she needed to beat the fright

That she’d suffered from times before.

I’d watch her walk to the darkened cave

Then halt to stare in the mouth,

It opened onto the northern shore

Then she’d turn, and wander south,

She’d come back shivering, pale and wan

And would warm up by the fire,

Then come out with the strangest thing

That it filled her with desire.

She’d strip right off by the glowing hearth

And I’m not one to complain,

She’d not been so very down to earth

Since the Lord invented rain,

Then one night when the mist was thick

I could barely see the cave,

When a ghostly figure stepped from the sea

And walked all over my grave.

Then Sally turned and she spoke to him

As my stomach churned inside,

They walked together into the cave

Like a bridegroom and a bride,

I left the cottage, the door ajar

And I ran down to the beach,

But when I got to the mouth of the cave,

Sally was out of reach.

Sally was out of reach that day

And has been each day since,

The phantom that walked her into the cave

Was One-Eye Red at a pinch.

I called and called for her to come back,

I even tried to insist,

But all that I’ve seen on a winter’s night

Are their shadows, abroad in the mist.

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[A Soap Mess Stories]

Another awesome story, David. Well done!

[Coyote Poetry]

You are the finest story teller I know. You weaved another wonderful tale. Thank you David for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote

[KWP]

You always spin a good yarn David.

Seems like perfect timing and reminds me of days of old.