Devil's Island

I'll tell you a tale of our own Devil's Island and the demonic crash of the waves in the swell. The smell and the taste of the ball breaking weather; the ghosts that deliver poor sailors to Hell. We were out in the water in the Magdalens the wind plucked the ropes of our rigging at sea. We looked for a port and saw many lights flashing "That's old Devil's Island," said the skipper to me. Tongues began hurling their fierce imprecations "to come to the island safe landfall to thee." But the skipper turned round the ship with a vengeance, "That old Devil's Island will never get me." I thought he was mad to be scared of a legend it was my first time in a storm on the sea and two men washed over to Davey Jones locker "God bless 'em, they'll rest now," the skip said to me. Protesting the treatment of two forlorn sailors I said to the skipper, "It's not very well." "It's better," he said, "that they're resting in Heaven than entering into the portals of Hell." The wind lasted the night then the voices did falter the lights blinkered out and I saw very well so many rocks, jagged just waiting to smash us the Devil's Isle gateways await in the swell. If you're on a ship and the voices of demons come tell you it's safe in their harbor a lee remember the shoreline at old Devil's Island then turn the ship seaward and gracelessly flee.