CAPTAIN FOLGER’S APPARITION 29 September, 1789
Our cargo of rum and gin at Hobart Town unloaded, Our lust spent on the portholes of palliasses, we Sallied nor’easterly across great southern seas Quick and light as a swallow under the bowsprit, Where blinding azure dabbed turquoise in soundings shallow; Peacock plumes in a palette of azul. Yet the boomboom of distant rollers crashing bleached cays Echoed battery cannonades across Boston Harbour And flashes of parrots ‘mid feathery palms raised Cain. To procure seal skins for the China trade our intent, A flight of forked frigates acting escort. One evening, despairing of water and fresh bellycheer, Stunned we were to observe in that longitude A lateral smudge, a littoral of horizon haze, Where no ribband of land was laid down. Mirage? we wondered. Hunger of a June crow? Or the mockery of the Devil? We bent our course toward a floating table afaroff Split atwain on the horizontal by a paler mantle above, For such it seemed to our fancy. But before the day was dead and done, imagine Our joy to make out the figure and extent of an island, a Bosky, ridgebacked plateau with lofty mount its extremity. But in lightman’s fading embers our joy was snuffed. Durst we bell the cat? Rugged cliffs, giant breakers Ruffling sheer black rocks, the lack of safe haven . . . We stood a full league out through darkmans, When Captain Folger, who kept lookout at the masthead, Pointed to a ledge at an elevation of some hundred feet: Blinks aglow like a scattering of silkworms in a hedge! We might pitch upon the natives for water on the morrow.