The Ballad of Fisher's Boarding-House by Rudyard Kipling

That night, when through the mooring-chainsThe wide-eyed corpse rolled free,To blunder down by Garden ReachAnd rot at Kedgeree,The tale the Hughli told the shoalThe lean shoal told to me.

'T was Fultah Fisher's boarding-house,Where sailor-men reside,And there were men of all the portsFrom Mississip to Clyde,And regally they spat and smoked,And fearsomely they lied.

They lied about the purple SeaThat gave them scanty bread,They lied about the Earth beneath,The Heavens overhead,For they had looked too often onBlack rum when that was red.

They told their tales of wreck and wrong,Of shame and lust and fraud,They backed their toughest statements withThe Brimstone of the Lord,And crackling oaths went to and froAcross the fist-banged board.

And there was Hans the blue-eyed Dane,Bull-throated, bare of arm,Who carried on his hairy chestThe maid Ultruda's charm⁠—The little silver crucifixThat keeps a man from harm.

And there was Jake Without-the-Ears,And Pamba the Malay,And Carboy Gin the Guinea cook,And Luz from Vigo Bay,And Honest Jack who sold them slopsAnd harvested their pay.

And there was Salem Hardieker,A lean Bostonian he⁠—Russ, German, English, Halfbreed, Finn,Yank, Dane, and Portuguee,At Fultah Fisher's boarding-houseThey rested from the sea.

Now Anne of Austria shared their drinks,Collinga knew her fame,From Tarnau in GaliciaTo Juan Bazaar she came,To eat the bread of infamyAnd take the wage of shame.

She held a dozen men to heel⁠—Rich spoil of war was hers,In hose and gown and ring and chain,From twenty mariners,And, by Port Law, that week, men calledher Salem Hardieker's.

But seamen learnt⁠—what landsmen know⁠—That neither gifts nor gainCan hold a winking Light o' LoveOr Fancy's flight restrain,When Anne of Austria rolled her eyesOn Hans the blue-eyed Dane.

Since Life is strife, and strife means knife,From Howrah to the Bay,And he may die before the dawnWho liquored out the day,In Fultah Fisher's boarding-houseWe woo while yet we may.

But cold was Hans the blue-eyed Dane,Bull-throated, bare of arm,And laughter shook the chest beneathThe maid Ultruda's charm⁠—The little silver crucifixThat keeps a man from harm.

“You speak to Salem Hardieker;“You was his girl, I know.

“I ship mineselfs tomorrow, see,“Und round the Skaw we go,“South, down the Cattegat, by Hjelm,“To Besser in Saro.”

When love rejected turns to hate,All ill betide the man.

“You speak to Salem Hardieker”⁠—She spoke as woman can.A scream⁠—a sob⁠—“He called me⁠—names!”And then the fray began.

An oath from Salem Hardieker,A shriek upon the stairs,A dance of shadows on the wall,A knife-thrust unawares⁠—And Hans came down, as cattle drop,Across the broken chairs.* * * * * *

In Anne of Austria's trembling handsThe weary head fell low:⁠—“I ship mineselfs tomorrow, straight“For Besser in Saro;“Und there Ultruda comes to me“At Easter, und I go⁠—

“South, down the Cattegat⁠—What's here?“There⁠—are⁠—no⁠—lights⁠—to guide!”The mutter ceased, the spirit passed,And Anne of Austria criedIn Fultah Fisher's boarding-houseWhen Hans the mighty died.

Thus slew they Hans the blue-eyed Dane,Bull-throated, bare of arm,But Anne of Austria looted firstThe maid Ultruda's charm⁠—The little silver crucifixThat keeps a man from harm.