The Wreck of the Annie Jane

by Cindy Stevens

I lie on wet sand unable to move,
sea-soaked, exhausted, ice-cold.
Wind howls about me, waves drag at my feet.
There is no light, no moon, no stars
and now no wife.
    
We sailed from Liverpool en route for Quebec
with high hopes for a prosperous future.

I lie on wet sand unable to move,
head throbbing, mind confused.
I try to think clearly what happened,
remember only rough seas, then panic
and my wife gone.

We sailed from Liverpool en route for Quebec
with such hopes for our future together.

I feel a soft touch as I lie on the sand,
hear strange foreign words as hands lift me up,
carry me to shelter and a warm fire
where I lie down.  At last I sleep
without my wife.

We sailed from Liverpool en route for Quebec
but our hopes for the future were drowned.

Come dawn, we gather up the bodies,
adults, children, emigrants and crew,
three hundred and fifty dead.
And in a mass grave in the sand dunes
I lay my wife.

We sailed from Liverpool en route for Quebec
but our hopes were crushed on Vatersay.