Ghost Ship Mary Celeste

A brigantine she was, Nova Scotia born
Of timber and tar and strong wooden beams.
Of the name, “Amazon” she’d soon be shorn,
Become Mary Celeste, transporter of dreams.
 

From wild north Atlantic her history she tore,
Over bounding seas she galloped on breeze,
Ethanol cargo in her belly she bore,
To Europe’s rich ports headed with ease.

For she had aboard this good ship and true ,
Deck hands, sail masters, seasons aplenty,
Captain Briggs, wife Sara, Sophia, years two,
Of live souls aboard, about twenty.

But another ship, the Dei Gratia, by name,
Would find Mary Celeste miles west of Spain,
Hatches open, state of naval shame,
No captain’s crew on spinnaker or main.

Half the Dei Gratia crew, no Briggs hands in sight,
Boarded Mary Celeste, to Gibraltar would sail,
To trade for salvage, not expecting a fight,
Were detained, officials questioned their tale.

Was this a conspiracy of murder and greed?
What of Captain Briggs and his family’s fate?
Crew had left New York with deliberate speed,
Bringing spirits for industrial grade acetate.

Or if Dei Gratia’s story be good and true ,
What list could monstrous deeds be among?
Did fiendish pirates slay captain and crew,
Cargo intact, clothes from pegs still hung?

What would prompt launching lifeboat to sea,
No provisions, no wet-weather gear taken?
Only a peak rope shredded to the lee,
Hanging in water, tether forsaken.

As Bermuda Triangle legends go,
Did monsters gorge in wanton ecstasy?
Rise from their seabed lair below,
Some dark unforgiven apostasy?

Or did leaking alcohol render them sick,
Force to abandon ship mid-meal,
Take to lifeboat, no thought but be quick,
And open hatches so wind could heal?

“Fast now, laddies, put peak rope to tow,
Draw away from fumes, to rope’s end,
We’ll stay nearby ‘til squall ends its blow,
Then return, broken keg racks to mend.”

 Where does the sweet love of God go,
When men tether lives to a spirit ship?
Didn’t the captain and his crew all know,
That rope rots and sea gales whip?

Captain Briggs’, Sara’s, and Sophia’s souls,
With deck hands, rope haulers, the best,
Were victims of spirits with no controls,
Blown away from good Mary Celeste.

© 2004 R. Leland Waldrip