SIRIUS AND SUPPLY
look spry! foul weather forces us to ply down Sydney Bay to unload the provender me, i’d rather run sly on Norfolk suppose you use the spyglass, saucereyes! that Jack Sauce is a surly slyboots serve ‘ere ‘cos i sweated sinkers
us tars sup on sippersauce, them nobs on sack lubber, you lie as fast as a dog can lick a dish Phillip’s flagship, Sirius, is she tight as a piper? sure as a louse in yer bosom
‘tis Sirius with stores lies on the knuckle, the sloop Supply lies offshore longboats! prepare to unload! watch, the wind’s turned about reef sails! stack those stores on the gun deck! look sharp! reef neath the surf yonder! low lying! avast! she’s turning
make sail! my eyes and limbs!
stern’s struck, sir! strike sails! use Sir Sydney, sirrah, to chiv the rigging!
chop masts
over the side! sink me, if ‘taint bloody serious! Sirius is foundering a swell o’ surf off Point Ross she’s labouring nay, she cranks Lord ‘elp us! dive into the drink and swim for’t! us reefers can’t swim! strike our shackles, for God’s sake! dear Lord, save our wretched souls, our sorry selves! the devil be damned! salt water be our settlers them salts at cinques and sices, poor devils look, they be hauling them jacks through surf ashore Cap’n Hunter, pair o’ us chums be willin’ to kick our paddles save the livestock, like and the grog, i’ll lay
s’death, she’s heeling! you two waterrugs, make haste with hawser and lines!
crosses the bloody Herring Pond and gets rocked by Old Davy’s rough bed pooped like our prospects down the sinkhole o’ Slaughter Bay us tars’ll be marooned for many a long moon on this empty isle savin’ tall spars o’ pine
plenty o’ pitch, tar, turpentine aye, to gall yer naval lumbered and limbered in limbo o Lord!
such a sorry loss for us starvelings such bitter sorrow sears us settlers to the marrow
Michael Small
December 31, 2007January 4, 2008