A crooked silhoette shyly fills the devised portal just beyond the Archangel crewe's huddle of contingent discourse and fraternal craic. With cared and aimed proceed, the stranger shuffles to a place in sight of all, eyes and face nothing more than an adumbrated and shapeless trace beyond tattered and brim. The ragged sack strewn about his askewed lineament is eased to the dim floor beside wrapped feet, and a crooked hand finds the crown of his ragged slouch to remove it. The trembled movement reveals the long and weathered face, curtained by the long auburn straw, crystal blue eyes raising with the the short bow. The accent curls some ears in the room, though others recognize the thick brogue of the west Ireland countryside.
"Do pardon ma' lack o' introduces," he grins. "But t'would seem tha' muse has pulled ma' ear an' led me to. Ma' name is Liam Craegen, from Galway way, as they say, an' I've come wit' humble off'rin' in tribute an' tha' best o' cess to tha' Cap'n an' crewe of tha' Archangel."*
The twitching hands find the sack's seam and thumb it open. A great sea turtle shell, necked and strewn, finds quick rest on the stranger's lap, then sharply put to a hummed right of tune. The open chord is struck, and he begins with a melodious lilt....
Wack fol la da dye da dye.....
All eyes are wide as tha' smoke begins ta' clear,
Tha' cannons roar puts tha' bravest heart to fear,
So strike that Union Jay an' tha 'divvel you will pay
Yo ho an' fire away;
So fear tha' breath of tha' divvel's salty grin
On a crimson deck, yo ho, all good dead men,
Hell's spite fills our sails an' dead men tell no tales
Yo ho and hear us well;
So bring me that far horizon
An' fill my tin with rum,
Hoist that skull an' bones, lads
From tha' Archangel we come,
From tha' Archangel we come.....
Whack fol la da dye da dye...
So a tale untold is hushed now in tha' blaze
Scuttle 'er boys, fair winds an' haul away,
Then raise a pyrate toast to tha' smugglers on tha' coast
Yo ho an' a dead man's gold;
So pyrates bold er privateers are we?
Sailin' tha' briny blue into history,
Against all flags ye sail ta' raid tha' cache of hell
Yo ho and hear us well;
Still bring me that far horizon
Do fill my cup with rum,
Raise that Joli Rouge, lads
From tha' Archangel we come,
From tha' Archangel we come....
Whack fol la da dye da dye,
Whack fol la da dye da dye........
Liam Craegen rises, a passing hat in hand. Once gathered, he bows and takes humble leave.
*To the Archangel crewe and her Captain:
My hat's off to you.
A very personal thank you for your unselfish, gracious nature and inimitable style.
Stay the course and keep up the good work.
Sleinte'!
