The Ballad of The Wrecker and the Death Ship

Let me tell you about the Wrecker and the Death Ship
A story from the Wild, Wild West
The story of the Wrecker and the Death Ship
For the wicked there shall be no rest.

Some say he’d been ship-wrecked; he’d floundered in a storm,
Half drowned - his body washed ashore one misty morn.
Others say he was a pirate and when taken to be hanged,
He’d jumped ship and swam, until swept upon the strand.

He’d found himself a tumbledown, down by the quay,
Nobody dared question him, everybody let him be.
He lived on rats and mackerel; he stole and begged for beer,
Never went to church though the congregation offered up their prayers.

They say he put a spell on Demelza Tremayne,
A widow of a fisherman, who’d drowned off the Land’s End.
They were married in the winter with the holly berries red,
He buried her in the summer with the flies buzzing round his head.

So now he lived alone, in the house up on the cliff,
Below the sea would rage and crash within the cove as if
Trying to reach the stranger and drag him from the land,
But however much the sea did hove, this man he did withstand.

At night, he’d walk his hobbled horse along the cliff, the lantern burning bright,
Hanging from the poor nag’s neck, bobbing like a ship’s stern light.
Crews at sea would follow, expecting a safe route,
But they found too late, they’d been deceived, by a devilish brute.

Vessel upon vessel, was wrecked along the coast,
As the sailors struggled to the shore they soon gave up the ghost.
Standing above them swinging axe and club,
Stood the Wrecker coshing and a chopping, the sea boiled with their blood.

As the men sank to their watery graves, he pulled booty from the sea,
Silks, baccy, brandy; such fine goods of luxury.
He grew rich from his plunder, for none of it he shared.
The constable did not cross him, the smugglers didn’t dare.

He lived a long and prosperous life ’til finally the day came
When the Fiend came, for his own to claim.
Lying on his death bed, the Wrecker wailed, “Oh, Jesus
Save me from the Devil’s sailors who’ll tear me to pieces.”


Men bringing in the harvest, saw the clouds go dark
and a hollow voice filled the sky proclaiming, “Hark!
The hour is come but the man is not yet come
The hour is come but the man is not yet come.”

Inside the house the parson was battling for the soul,
Reading from the bible, but exorcisms take their toll.
A black goat barged around the bed, then a black dog with red eyes
‘ parson passed out, bats reeling round his head, did fly.

Then out at sea was seen a black, heavy square - rigged ship,
Coming in against wind and tide without a soul on it.
A big black cloud above, it came right up on the shore,
The mast towered above the rooftop- lightning, thunder roared.

As one last wail was heard, from the Wrecker’s voice inside,
The shroud cloud descended, and the poor wretch died.
The dwelling shook and trembled, the house burst into flames,
Then the ship sailed out to sea, back to the place from whence it came.

But still the sky was dark, and thunder rumbled still SFX Thunderclap
And a hollow voice, the heavens filled.
“The hour is come and the man is come.
The hour is come and the man is come.”

So there you have it,
That was the story of the Wrecker and the Death Ship
A story from the Wild, Wild West
The story of the Wrecker and the Death Ship
For the wicked there shall be no rest.

© Clive PiG