Ten years it’s been, or so they say,
Since Damos to his storefront came,
His fishing trade had seen its day,
Naught left now but the Sockeye name.
The Captain saw within his face,
The spirit of a loyal man,
And all the fish, though few, in place,
Prepared as only craftsmen can.
In search of hands to man his ship,
Young Damos found in him his goal,
And offered Sockeye sponsorship,
To work as second in control.
Thus Sockeye formed the Captain’s crew,
And by the Captain since he’s stayed,
Him owing his profession new,
From fisherman to captain’s aide.
Not long thereafter Lawrence joined,
Found lost in liquor at a bar,
Once working as a sailor coined,
His better days did seem so far.
Old age had drowned his soldier’s might,
The Captain thus replied his plea,
His skills as sailor still alight,
As helmsman he returned to sea.
The Captain’s Hands, called Left and Right,
Were next in line as I am told,
They’d caught the helmsman’s hawkish sight,
Adrift on planks in waters cold.
The Right Hand, stronger of the two,
Had clung to life lest life let go;
Aboard the Phoebe both we drew,
And bade them rest in cots below.
Their real names relics of their past,
Sad lives in jails and hoodlum bands,
Them having fled their cells at last,
He christened them as his own Hands.
So through their work they could atone,
For crimes that they had once begot,
And though their freedom now their own,
The Captain’s aid they ne’er forgot.
The other men, most unemployed,
Found hope when Damos gave it them,
And as his crew they filled that void,
In finding merchants to condemn.
A child as well had joined our ranks,
Named Morgan, orphaned circus maid,
The Captain’s chance she took with thanks,
For seas she shed the circus trade.
And me? Well, Martin I am called,
As lookout I have built my trade:
The crow’s nest is my lair bald,
The spyglass is to me my blade.
The seaborne folk had seemed my kin,
But Navy life soon had me bored,
So Damos let them take me in,
Their bold adventures to record.