Fork Island

Bring in the tide

Til’ it be o’er my head,

Set sail back to New Hope,

And lay there instead.

I’d travel the whole seven seas,

How happy I’d be,

If I never stepped foot on-

Fork Island again.

The first thing I remember is the gentleness of the wind. It was calm and cool and not the ferocious fiend that it had been. The grinding sand that touched my lips and made my skin wear thin.

Then there was the ever present, pounding of the water. On my face as I wondered of my men’s recent slaughter. Of my ship’s regarded fate and whether it had got her.

The sea that is, that wretched witch. That swallows men without regard. Of all their deeds and qualities. Of their kin at home who watch the shore. For a brother, father, for a son. For a ship that shall appear no more.

I crawled until the sand was dry. My hands still tired from my plight. Then I turned over on my back and viewed the stars up in the night. A tear spent from my eye as I looked upon the familiar sight.

Give me a good wind

On a good sunny day,

Give me good fishin’

And I’ll savor my fate.

But don’t steer near that isle

No just turn around,

There’s nothing on Fork Island

But misery to be found.

The seven sisters cried their tears. While the North Star lit the way. Had I a ship worthy of the wretch, no threat of hell could make me stay. Or an angel who could grant one wish and remove me from this bay.

It was odd to see the sky so quiet. Not long ago a crowded frey. I wondered if this world was true and if I had survived the day. If I’d find a way back home and see my love again.

I never should have left her but the money was getting tight. We’d started to argue so I ended the fight. Three months out on the water and their worries set right.

Truth is I could never see myself working on dry land. Hauling people’s boxes up and down their stairs. At least the boat was freedom out in the open air.

Bring me the tide,

Let me be on my way,

I’ll return to my woman,

And there I will stay.

For she waits in New Hope,

With a flower in her hair,

But I’m here on Fork Island-

In the devil’s own lair.

Though the storm itself did abate. And the tired wind had soothed its temper. My thoughts wandered to my men. Their ends I would remember. So I searched the beach for every rock and brought them to the center.

There I built a memorial shrine for the fifty lives I’d lost. Those gritty men who sailed with me. Those princes who paid the cost. No one cried and no one begged, no— every last man fought.

Now with my morbid pulpit raised. My hands now burning from the task. I’d close my eyes and say a prayer but what for should I ask? For the sky it rarely returns what the sea has in its grasp.

After rest which did not satiate my aching bones or weary head. I looked upon my lonely isle, the place that would become my bed. A ghastly vision held my view and filled my battered heart with dread.

My girl waits for me

On the shores of the bay,

Will she have a body

Where I used to lay?

Will she wear black

For the rest of her life,

O’ why didn’t I stay home

And make her my wife.

Now the waves upon the beach did crest and I feared another storm would brew. So I headed to the stalking palms. To find some safety overdue. Some small brush of pain’s respite. To color my island milieux.

The entirety of my jungle home. On one large jutting mound of sand. No animal that I could find had made a nest in this strange land. As if the waves had opened up and spit it out on demand.

No sounds except the crashing waves around this forlorn strip of earth. No light except the celestial orbs to aid me in my search. For any shape of comfort here in my time of dearth.

But the visages of dying men were all that filled my eyes. When I came across a splitting path that neither route looked wise. The island itself did fork in two and made the choice arise.

All you’ll find on Fork Island

Is misery and pain,

You won’t find no whiskey

Or women or saints.

No, stay in Boston

Where at least there’s good pay,

Only sailors have mourning samplers

Instead of a grave.

Both ways were thick and dense upon the great divide. Neither path betrayed a glimpse of what they held inside. Forward only salty death. The same fate rests behind.

So I set out with a finger game to reckon with my choice. When I spot a lady to my port and I started to rejoice. Her eyes danced with embers as I listened to her voice.

“Won’t you come with me, lost sailor?” Then she beckoned me, make haste. I felt a pull inside me and the blood drain from my face. For her beauty was like no other. Certainly not of this place.

Her wispy form was milky white. Her hair was strands of rain. Her waist was the sea as it moved back and forth again. And I was now her subject and she was now my queen.

There’s always a lady

Who waits by the dock,

Either welcoming sailors

Or seeing them off.

The wretch of Fork Island

Only leads you away,

No preacher nor sinner

To be seen again.

I followed her through the thicket while the branches dug in my arms. Though the torturous woods impaled me, they did her no harm. All I could hear was the ocean. All I could see was her charm.

“Where will you take me, sweet lady?” I said as we roamed.

“I’ll take you under,” she said, “I’ll take you home. Where the waves never meet the shore. Beneath the churning foam.”

Her words were like ice, they left steam in the air. The hairs upon my neck stood up and told me to beware. But still my legs betrayed the rest and followed the lady there.

The way opened to a shallow bay, a grotto hidden well. On the rocks that lined the pool sat two figures clothed in veil. Their faces blurred by fabric. Their hands were ghostly pale.

When I’m back on New Hope

I’ll never complain,

I’ll go to church every Sunday

And always keep clean.

I’ll follow the scripture

Wherever it leads,

Just take me away from Fork Island

And rescue me please.

The lady stood among the two figures in repose. I felt my heart touch to my chest as a chill ran to my toes. Then the wretch spoke and added to my woes.

“You must choose only one,” she sang, “one to stay, one to leave.”

Then the specters each pulled an oil lamp from their sleeve. Then they spoke their names, in a sound I couldn’t perceive.

“She is Fate,” the lady said and pointed to her right. Then she pointed left and said, “This is Hope’s Delight. Each one has their charms. Neither is more erudite.”

I thought of my shipmates resting far below the waves. I wondered if I’d ever see my only love again. That one thought was the breaking crest that did me in.

I wish I were in Liverpool,

I wish I were in Spain,

But I’m stuck here on Fork Island,

To n’er be seen again.

A warning to young sailors

Out a riding on the foam,

Chart a course around this rock

And head right back home.

Fate stood still, a statue in the cool evening sand. Flanked by the amber glow of the lamplight in her hand. She made no attempt to woo me. She knew I’d understand.

That whether I liked it or not I’d be seeing her some day. So I turned my attention to Hope’s sweet embrace. Only she had the muscle to carry my weight.

She lowered her lamplight to show me her face. It was everything I’ve ever wanted to see. She beckoned me sweetly and motioned her way.

I took her hand and she led me to my home. Where I’ll never be hungry, where I’ll never be alone. I said a prayer for my love as the water filled my lungs.

Bring in the tide

Til’ it be o’er my head,

Set sail back to New Hope,

And lay there instead.

I’d travel the whole seven seas,

How happy I’d be,

If I never stepped foot on

Fork Island again.