Fiddler's Green









Author's Note Fiddler's Green is a collection of short stories by Jeremiah A. Garland. They are written completely in the style of traditional verse, and share a theme relating to the everyday lives and harships endured by the sailors and seamen who populated the oceans in the 18th and 19th centuries. According to legend, "Fiddler's Green" is a mythical paradise where all good-willed sailors go after death, and can therefore be viewed as a heavenly location.

The Tale of Captain Barrow
'Twas a foggy night

When The Nightingale came 'round.

Their days numbered two and twenty

For open port she was a'bound.

At her helm stood a proudly man

With a beard as white as snow.

Any of 'er crew could tell ye

'Twas the good ol' Captain Barrow.

He was a man of many years

As rough and merry as could be.

But he always kept b'low his arm

A fine bottle of Napoleon brandy.

He was not a wicked man

And he loved his crewmen so.

He ran his ship with a pleasant hand

That good ol' Captain Barrow.

Now the men you see were jolly

For Bermuda lie a'head.

Less than a month's journey to toil

'For they'd reach St. George's Head.

The Nightingale sailed a'long

The calm and open seas.

Not a soul within a fortnight

Could break the Norther's breeze.

But then on the nine-teenth day

A horrid gale gave an awful blow.

The men aboard The Nightingale ran a'midst

Save that good ol' Captain Barrow.

'You men need not fear,"

The old captain did cry.

'I shall see this ship to safety

even if I die'.

All the men stood agog

All the men stood a'dead.

'Surely you cannot see us

Safely to St. George's Head?'

Well the old cap'n chuckled

And tipped his head so low.

He was bound to see them through

That good ol' Captain Barrow.

And now the squall drew near

And The Nightingale gave a shake.

The captain shouted orders

For his own men's sake.

They worked like hell to save her

All heedless of the gale.

But their labour had gone in vain

And the wind had torn her sail.

The once calm blue sea

Had now been painted grey.

The men on board The Nightingale

Ran about in disarray.

With one light gesture

The old captain rose his hand.

'Do as I say, my good men,

And you shall see the green of land'.

Like a group of schoolboys

The men stood at arm's length.

Not a moment did they doubt

The old captain's brilliant strength.

Crying above the harsh dark winds

Like the valiant flight of a restless sparrow.

The old captain did his duty

That good ol' Captain Barrow.

And so with the order about

The men did man the gigs.

All but the old captain

Who saw to the rigs.

Captain Barrow you must be mad!

Cried a lad from the rail.

'You musn't stay on board,

She is doomed, this wretched Nightingale!'

But the captain paid no heed

He knew he must stay.

For the gigs could hold twenty

And twenty-one men were they.

But cries the captain 'do not delay!

Nor do you spare a thought for me.

My duty is now to save ye all

And see ye return as quick as can be.'

With these final words the gigs shoved off

And The Nightingale ravaged by the sea.

But tied among her mizzens was her captain

Clutching a bottle of fine Napoleon brandy.

And so the gigs reached Bermuda

In the early hours of the morn.

There did not rest amongst them

Their captain of the ship untorn.

Heartbroken with weep

The men held with spirits low.

For though they had lived

They had lost their dear Captain Barrow.

But in the days to follow

A corporal of the guard heard this tale.

With a mate of the crew and a light platoon

He would explore the wreck of The Nightingale.

As they reach'd the dreadful ruins

What an awful sight was plain.

The old captain had vanished

No longer lying beneath the mizzen chain.

Now the lad of the crew stood aghast

His face had turned white.

'Where could he have gone!?

Our captain has vanished from sight!'

The corporal knew at once

Where the late captain had gone

So he explained to the mate

like a knight to his pawn.

Your captain is where all men go

The corporal did say to the fellow.

'He is in Fiddler's Green,

That good ol' Captain Barrow.'

And sure enough he was

That old captain so jolly and free.

In Fiddler's Green he'd live on

Always clutching his Napoleon brandy.