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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required It was a sight that I could not forsee Ambushed by my own men at morning hour Hands tight with cord and naked from the waist A mean air on the Bounty blew unkind It was the troubled wind of mutiny My men, whose morals all have been erased Once officers, now Pirates inward-out Reached for the Bounty as a gang of thieves Abused and overturned by thine own dogs If only that thy men were proud Marines His Majesties Ship was all but a voyage To Tahiti where the breadfruit lay Our mission was to gather in abundance Thy fruit as diet for the English slaves Yet as for fruit, my men did taste the women How beautiful the native women were In all compare, the beauty of a Goddess From skin to tone one also could compare Her beauty to her Island, a paradise 'Twas something in the air of that fine land That made savages of my poor pale men With every fruit aboard the ship to sea But of themselves, themselves rather not leave Yet off we sailed, and carelesness carressed Uncomfort in the head and shoulders of men Which are ye stubborn fools, cowards or clowns? Yes from my tongue my words did lash a whip Upon scoundrels of little self-esteem Art thy mind but a pyramid of mold? Again, to officers I raised the question Are ye capable of morality? What ounce of Navy blood dost ye concur? Must curiosity outweigh thy wit? Where art thou mothers breast, you babe of fools? Ye brains, the size of grapes and tasteless wine It seems to me thou intellect is ill Not once did I not discipline untruth To say my words of truth, an sharp-edged sword Did strike my men again, again, and again Without truth we are fools and prisoners Compared to other Captains, I was mild For these men did not realize in themselves Their duties, yet beguiled by their desires 'Twas like a clockwork orange of secrecy A little rum and brand of mutiny That caused this plan of treason to incur And in my cabin did my rascals storm Seizing that I may not utter a sound Forcing me on to deck, my mutineers This officer Pirate scorn, Fletcher Christian Whose own words..."I'm in hell, I am in hell" Now forcing me onto the Bounties launch A twenty-three foot boat, in seconds 'twas Overloaded with eighteen loyal men Against the waves that wanted us to drown And many storms whose plans were our demise Against all odds, an underprovisioned boat Beyond the verge of probability Unsound skiff through such dangerous a sea A subsequent quest three thousand miles and more Did I return unto the English shores To thine Judges, is court martial the question? Do pardon me for thine loss of the Bounty
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