The Crew of the Wolverine

My name is Wesley Zedock.

I am Captain of the Wolverine.

I have spent my days in noxious fumes 

And looking out for monsters from the deep.


My ship has long out-served its purpose,

Rusting, falling apart, decrepit.

The engine is worn out,

Hissing steam from every seam and split.


She used to be a fine ship,

The newest and best in the fleet.

Steaming regally to the Orient,

To the Amazon, to Greece


Our noble mission has been forgot,

Left behind by the members of "society".

They forget the things we do

To bring them goods and luxury.


My crew is all robust men,

Strong and hearty and scarred.

The world has forgotten them too,

Preferring their monocles, their top-hats, their caviar.


Just under a moon ago,

We became increasingly aware

Of a humming from over the horizon

And a few smudges hovering there.


The days dragged on,

The spots remained.

Drawing nearer, nearer

Through calm, rough and rain.


One morning we awoke

To the sound of buzzing engines.

Shadows were cast across the sea

By four swiftly approaching zeppelins.


They were a mottled blue,

So as to match both sea and sky.

Skull and bones were painted on.

"Pirates!" went up my crew's raucous cry.


We tried to outmanoeuvre them,

But they matched us twist for turn.

Our weary engines shuddered to a stop.

"Get ready boys! We'll make those scums burn!"


We hauled the steam-guns to the deck,

Great works of green-tinged brass.

We greased the rotators and gears and chains.

That powered their spinning blasts.


When the zeppelins flew near enough

My men and I let fly:

Letting loose a fiery rain,

Screaming through the sky.


We tore up one ship,

Plunging it into the sea.

The rest carried on



The three overtook us, harpooned us,

Dropping lines to our deck.

Pirates rappelled down from their ships,

Commencing their renewed attack.


We drew our swords, we drew our pistols

Each man stood fast; steeled himself.

The pirates swarmed over our ship.

Scouring for plunder and wealth


Slowly, tediously, gruesomely we pushed them back,

Slashing, shooting, punching.

Much blood was spilt that day;

Our deck with red was shining.


They returned to their zeppelins,

We to our still-hot guns.

Our bullets scored their sides deep

Before they took off and were gone


We surveyed the damage,

We hoped to repair the ship.

The news was grim:

We are powerless, we are adrift.


The engine's burnt out,

Thrashed beyond repair.

The pistons are locked up,

Metallic smoke fills the air.


Out on the horizon,

More blots can be seen.

There appear to be six this time

And we can hear their propellers keen.


If we must be overcome,

It shan't be without a fight.

We are the crew of the Wolverine.

Our guns are loaded, our swords are clasped tight!


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