Chapter 30
"As I went home on Monday night," Peter's voice rang out in the darkness, singing loudly with a rather exaggerated Irish lilt, "as drunk as drunk could be. I saw a horse outside the door, where my old horse should be." Her bare feet stepped to the rhythm of the song as she made yet another slow circuit around her room, her left hand trailing along the wall. The chain that tethered her to the back wall was long enough for her to walk most of the way around the cell while maintaining contact with the wall, yet was short enough to make it impossible for her to reach the door latch no matter how much she stretched. Lying full length along the floor, chain and body stretched taut, it was to her eternal frustration that her fingers would barely slip through the crack beneath the door. Fiddling the lock was quite out of the question.
"I called my wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me, who owns that horse outside the door, where my old horse should be?" Liam had taught her this song and it was but one among many tunes he'd enjoyed bellowing (she couldn't quite call it singing, Liam couldn't carry a tune if it was strapped to his back). She barely noticed the slight resistance on the chain, her subconscious count of her steps informing her that she'd reached its limit. She pivoted on her heel, turning a neat corner to continue her circuit.
"Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, and still you cannot see. That's a lovely sow that my mother sent to me." Smee had liked her songs and had even joined her briefly in a rather entertaining tune (Was it two days ago? Three?), until Hook's angry yell from above had cut the bosun off and sent him scurrying from her room. "Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more, but a saddle on a sow, sure, I never saw before." When Starkey came the next day, he'd whispered that Smee had been punished for disobeying Hook's orders by speaking to her. No one had uttered a word to her since, and Peter had eventually given up trying to get them to talk.
She continued to sing and walk, forcing herself to remain active, to keep herself distracted at all costs. Eventually she would have to sit; she didn't have the energy to keep this up for long, and when she rested she would have to do something else to keep herself distracted, to keep herself from thinking. Thinking was something she hated with a passion. She'd done all the thinking she needed in her first day alone in the dark, and she was quite proud of herself for getting it out of the way early on. Waking that first morning, cold, hungry and distraught, she'd sat in the corner and brooded over every misery that plagued her: her memories, playing in her mind in grim detail, filling the dark silence with old faces and voices; her back, aching from the lash and her arm, throbbing and crusted with blood; her wounded Gift, still reaching for the island, still draining her life away; and her future, or the brief, miserable excuse for one she envisioned for herself as Hook's property. She'd cried herself to sleep once more, and when she awoke she'd vowed she'd not cry again. She wasn't going to let Hook win by just giving in and bawling like a baby until he saw fit to let her out.
"As I came home on Friday night, as drunk as drunk could be. I saw a head upon the bed, where my old head should be."
She'd started pacing after that vow, immersing herself in action to help distract herself from the pain. She'd always abhorred inactivity; her life was one of constant motion, of doing things and keeping herself entertained. While she'd paced she'd considered the things that had happened to her, firmly putting behind her the things that she couldn't change so she could decide how best to deal with those things she could. It hadn't taken her long to figure out what she had to do – her options were depressingly few – but the thought of actually doing it had made bile rise in her throat. She'd rather die, actually, but there was more than her own life at stake here. Neverland would die, and all the magical creatures that lived within it would also die. Her friends would be left homeless and Peter had no idea what would happen to them if the island disappeared around them. For all she knew, they would die too.
But she couldn't bring herself to follow through on her decision, too appalled and shamed by what she'd have to do. So she'd continued pacing, sometimes breaking the monotony by changing directions or even – and wasn't this just the pinnacle of excitement – hopping on one foot. She'd contemplated trying to circle the room while doing handstands, but her injured arm was swollen and hot, hurting too much to seriously consider using it to support her weight. She'd settled on merely pacing, spontaneously varying her routine in a desperate bid to alleviate her boredom. But that had been early in her confinement, and she was getting too weak to carry on with such antics. Recently she'd begun having dizzy spells, and she suspected she'd fainted at least once so far. It was hard to tell if she'd merely tripped or actually blacked out when she couldn't see anything and had no concept of time.
When she tired she'd sit and dream, immersing herself in the memories of her various adventures in all of the lives she'd led. With the memory spells gone, she could remember quite clearly the countless games she'd played and daring feats she'd performed during her time in Neverland, and it was sometimes a relief to sit in her favorite corner and lose herself in those fond recollections. It was a source of comfort for her that most of her recovered memories were pleasant, and the dark solitude helped her immerse herself in them so fully that it was like she was reliving them. She found herself slipping into those dreams with more and more frequency, and she wondered how much longer it would be before she stopped moving altogether and spent her days just sitting, lost within her own mind. She knew she needed to get out of here before that happened, but there was no telling how long Hook planned to keep her locked away in this small, dark cabin.
Upon waking this morning she'd faced the truth that she couldn't delay any longer, feeling that time was getting short, and so she had made a simple request when Starkey had made his rounds. The stubborn, willful child within her that was used to getting her way vowed that she'd not be the one to give in, that she was perfectly fine in here and could wait Hook out. He wouldn't truly let her die in here… would he? She couldn't answer that question. She didn't understand Hook's motives anymore, and her uncertainty worried her.
"I called my wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me, who owns that head upon the bed, where my old head should be." She didn't know how long it had been since she'd given her message to Starkey and she had no idea how long she'd have to wait until she received her answer. She wasn't expecting it anytime soon, though. Hook had apparently demanded a very strict routine for her, and no amount of begging could convince any of the pirates to violate the captain's orders.
Once a day the door to her cell opened, and no matter how much she screamed or called or cried it never opened more than just once. Two men would enter, one with his sword drawn, the other (usually Smee or Starkey) bearing an empty bucket and a jug of water. The water was for her to drink during the next twenty-four hours while the bucket was for her to relieve herself in. If she spilled her water or hurled it at the door in a fit of spite, she'd have to do without until that door opened the next day. She'd only done that once and after going thirsty she'd learned not to ever do it again. Her aches and pains and gnawing hunger made her miserable enough without adding thirst to the list. No food ever crossed her threshold and it wouldn't, not until she gave in to Hook's demands. You will have nothing – neither comfort nor necessity, he'd promised, and he'd obviously meant it. Peter guessed that Hook only provided her with water so that she could live long enough to truly regret crossing him. You can damned well rot down here, he'd told her, and she knew he meant it.
"Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, and still you cannot see. That's a baby boy that my mother sent to me. Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more, but a baby boy with his whiskers on, sure, I never saw before."
She'd not seen the captain since the night of her failed escape, though she'd heard his voice from time to time as he bellowed orders to his crew. Occasionally she'd discerned his heavy boots treading to her door and she'd drawn herself up in mingled fear and relief, waiting for him to come barging in to yell at her. But he'd always left again without entering or speaking, and even when she'd called to him he'd not replied. Peter didn't understand why, but she'd felt a distinct sense of hurt each time he'd left without even taking the time to gloat. Whether he hated her or not, Hook had only ignored her once before (though not for as long a time) and it upset her that he would do so again now. Surely I still matter to him. But what if I don't? What if he just leaves me down here forever? What if no one cares about me anymore, not even Hook?
"As I came home on a Saturday night, as drunk as drunk could be I spied two hands upon her breasts, where my old hands should be," she sang as loudly as she could, distracting herself from her bleak thoughts. She was getting out of here today, she just knew it. Hook wouldn't leave her here; he couldn't. She continued to sing, jingling the chains on her wrists to provide a discordant melody.
Peter paused in her singing at the sound of a key rattling in the door lock. She frowned, realizing she'd failed to hear the tale-tell tread that usually warned her that a visitor was approaching. Biting her lip with sudden apprehension, she ceased her circular pacing and crossed the room to her corner, sitting with her back to the door to shield her nakedness from the captain's eyes. There was no doubt in her mind that it was Hook – she'd requested his presence when Starkey had brought her water earlier today. She smiled briefly when she considered finishing her song when Hook came in, imagining the look on his face when he heard the final lyrics, but she quickly dismissed that notion as petty and dangerous. Now was not the time to antagonize Hook. The door swung open and Peter shielded her eyes, anticipating the sudden light that flooded the room.
Peter heard the man's heavy footfalls as he strode into the room, pausing just inside the doorway. She fixed her gaze upon the back wall, seeing the unmistakable shape of the captain's shadow, framed by the light from the corridor. He didn't say a word, but merely stood there in stony silence, waiting. Peter sighed, forcing away her anxiety as best she could. She wanted to turn to face him, to see his face, but she knew from experience that all she'd see if she looked him was shadows. The light was behind him, unbearably bright after so many days in the dark, and would not illuminate his features at all. At least by facing the wall she could even the scales a little: she couldn't see his face, and he couldn't see hers.
"I'm glad you came," she began, watching the shadow for any reaction. "I was afraid you wouldn't. I need to tell you something…" She swallowed, wondering if she was about to make a big mistake. Just spit it out, like I planned, she chided herself. Maybe telling him will keep him from doing this to me again. I'd rather have double the lashings than be locked away.
"You're a lot like my uncle," she told him, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. "He hated me too. And when I made him mad, he'd beat me and lock me up." A halfhearted chuckled escaped her lips and she shook her head. "It wasn't enough to just lock me up, though. He did it just like you: he'd strip me naked and throw me in a closet with no light and no food, for days. I nearly died the last time he locked me up. He was drunk, and he got so mad at me…" she trailed off as she remembered the circumstances leading up to that horrifying punishment. "He forgot he'd locked me up and was gone for a couple of days, drinking. At least you gave me water. I knew he was going to end up killing me, and I swore I wouldn't let him lock me up again. That's why I fought him in the memory you saw."
Peter bit her lip again, not in anxiety but in an effort to make herself stop speaking. She remembered Hook's accusations when he'd put her in here, the hurtful conclusions he'd drawn from what he'd seen of her past. I told him about Liam and he told me I had no reason to be ashamed, but later he called me a whore for it! She could feel herself getting angry and took a few deep breaths to calm herself down. If she let her anger at Hook get the better of her, she would alienate him further and then he'd never let her out of this prison.
"But I am sorry, Captain," she continued at last, making her voice as apologetic as she could. She was sorry, but not for the reasons she was about to give. "I'm sorry I ran away. You've done so much for me lately, and I really do appreciate it. You took me in because you wanted revenge, but you never hurt me and you were rarely cruel." She did mean that little part, and the truth gave her voice the sincerity she needed. After thinking about her time on this ship, she'd gained a new appreciation for just how considerate Hook had been towards her, especially given how much he'd wanted to kill her before. "I shouldn't have run, but I did and I'm sorry. I just needed to go home. The Gift hurts so much, and I can feel Neverland reaching for me, calling me. You said you'd let me rebond before it got too late. But it hurt so much and I got scared… I just couldn't wait. I should have come to you, though, and told you what was wrong so you could help me."
Peter turned in her corner then so that she faced Hook, squinting up at him and staring at his shadowed face, trying to make him believe just how sorry she was. Sorry I got caught, but sorry just the same. "I apologize for betraying your trust, Captain and I promise I'll be good. Please don't be mad at me anymore."
Even though she couldn't see Hook's eyes, she still felt the intensity of the man's glare as he stood there silent and unmoving. She tried to return his stare, to show her sincerity, but she became more and more anxious under his scrutiny and soon dropped her eyes to the floor. "I don't know what else you want me to say, Captain," she murmured softly. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do and I'll do it. I promise."
"I accept your apology," Hook spoke at last, his voice loud in the confines of the small room.
Peter couldn't help her smile of relief at his words as she looked up at her captor with new hope. Her smile faded somewhat when Hook abruptly turned around and began to leave without saying another word. "Captain?" she called. Hook paused in the doorway and looked back at her. "Are you going to let me out?"
"Out?" he repeated, his voice sharp. "Did you truly think that I would release you from your punishment merely because you apologized? Surely you know me better than that, Pan."
Peter stared at the man, her momentary surprise swiftly turning into disappointment. "No," she lied, "I just hoped… I thought perhaps…" her stammering stopped when she heard Hook's low chuckle, and she stared at him in disbelief. "Please, Hook, you have to let me out! I can't stand it in here anymore!"
"I have to do nothing, Pan," Hook chided in amusement. "You'll come out of this room when I'm ready for you to come out, and not a moment sooner." Before the girl could argue further, Hook shut the door, plunging the room once more into darkness.
Peter stared at the door blindly, hoping the man was merely playing a cruel joke. She heard the keys rattle in the lock, followed by the familiar sound of Hook's heavy footsteps as he walked away. "But I said I was sorry," she whispered, trying to come to grips with the captain's unexpected response.
She'd been so certain that Hook would be mollified by her apology. She'd known beyond a doubt that if she humbled herself to him, he would end her punishment. She hadn't wanted to do it, but the belief that she held the means to end her confinement had given her the strength to endure. Suddenly it dawned on her that Hook might intend to keep her locked in this room until Gloriana found a new Pan. Or even worse, if a new Pan wasn't found then she would die here, alone in the dark. I can't stay in here, I can't! I'm running out of time, and I can't save them if I'm locked in here! "LET ME OUT!" she screamed, desperate to convince the man to release her. "I'M SORRY CAPTAIN! PLEASE LET ME OUT!"
But Hook didn't answer her cries and no one opened her door. Bitter disappointment filled her mouth with bile, and an acute despondency settled over her as she began to realize that she was truly helpless. No one was going to save her and she had no way out. Hook was going to keep her locked away in here until it was too late to save herself or Neverland, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Peter curled into the corner and buried her face in her knees, her Gift flaring briefly.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again, closing her eyes with grief as she apologized to everyone she cared for and had let down. Tink, Wendy, my Lost Boys, Chief Panther, Neverland… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry.
Hook smiled benignly at the small pixy perched upon his tabletop and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Miss Hyacinth, but my answer has not changed. No, you may not examine Peter today." He saw that the Healer was about to retort with her usual scathing remarks and held up his hook to forestall her. "Yes, madam, I know. She's ill and you need to monitor her condition, but the fact remains that she is still being punished. However," he added, "her solitary confinement ends today. If you return tomorrow morning, I will allow you full access to her and let you examine the girl to your tiny heart's content."
"But tomorrow could be too late!" the Healer insisted. "The Gift could fail at any time! I haven't been able to assess her health for nearly a week, so there's no telling how much she's declined since then."
"You would do well to accept my gracious offer and examine her tomorrow," Hook purred, too used to the Healer's arguments to be much annoyed with her. She'd come every single day to ask to see Peter. Every single day he'd told her 'no' and every single day she'd left after spending copious amounts of time screaming at him to no avail. There was no way in perdition that Hook was going to allow her to see the conditions in which Pan was being kept. The bothersome fairy queen would have been back in a heartbeat, demanding the girl's release, and Hook didn't want to risk goading the pixies into doing something drastic to rescue their precious goddaughter.
Not that they'd seemed to care in the beginning, when they'd left her with him despite knowing he'd sworn to murder said godchild.
There was a knock at the door, and at Hook's barked command to enter, Smee stuck his head inside. "Beggin yer pardon, Cap'n Hook, sir, but th' water's hot."
"Thank you, Smee," Hook replied, giving the tired-looking bosun a nod. The old man wasn't well, not after Hook had had him lashed a few days ago for sleeping on watch and disobeying a direct order. The punishment had taken its toll on the old man, to the captain's dismay. Hook had relieved Smee of duty to recuperate, but after only a day of rest the bosun was back on his feet and going about his chores as if nothing had happened, despite the visible evidence that his back still troubled him. "Have Mason set up the tub in here while you see about the other arrangements I've ordered."
When Smee left once more, Hook returned his attention to the pixy. "Leave now and return tomorrow, madam, or else I'll forbid you from seeing Pan ever again."
The Healer nodded, accepting that the man would not be swayed. She argued with him only because her conscience wouldn't allow her to leave without at least trying to see Peter, but she also knew that pushing him too far would only make matters worse. "I will see you tomorrow then, Captain. Give Peter my best." With that the tiny fairy disappeared, returning to Tintagel to report to her Queen.
Hook grabbed a lantern and a blanket and made his way below deck to Peter's cabin, looking forward to seeing the girl again. He had plans for her and he couldn't wait to explain to her what those plans were. She'd apologized to him and while he was certain that she'd seen the error of her ways, he'd decided to leave her locked up for a few more hours to stew in her own uncertainty. It was imperative for the girl to learn that she would only get her way so long as she pleased her Captain, and that if she was disobedient then punishment would be swift and severe. He couldn't allow her to believe for an instant that she held any power over him. James Hook was the master of this ship and he was her warden. As such, his word was law. While Hook had left her to worry about his plans for her, the captain had been busy making arrangements for the end of her confinement. Now that all was ready, it was time for his Kitten to come out to play.
He opened entered the small cabin, taking a moment to hang the lantern on the wall beside the door. His gaze immediately fell on Peter, who sat curled up in the same corner he'd left her in. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her arms were cradled against her chest. Her head rested upon the wall, eyes closed, and by her soft breathing and lack of reaction to his presence he deduced that she was asleep. Smiling benevolently, Hook knelt beside the child and placed his hand upon her shoulder, shaking her gently to awaken her.
"Uncle!" Peter shouted, her arms flailing as she startled awake. She crammed herself further into the corner, wide eyes darting around the dimly lit room before settling on the dark bulk that loomed over her. "Don't hit me," she whispered, disoriented by the remnants of the dream that still clung to her, clouding her sense of the present.
"I'm not your uncle, Kitten," Hook soothed, rather put out at being confused with such a disreputable lout. He'd not liked Pan's earlier accusations that Hook and her uncle had something in common, and for her to actually confuse them now galled him deeply. As effective as this punishment had been, Hook vowed that he'd never let it go so far again. There was more than one way to skin this kitten without resorting to tactics used by lesser men. "I'm not going to hurt you either."
"Kitten?" Peter repeated, blinking owlishly at him as her frazzled mind tried to orient itself. She shook her head as the last vestiges of her dream faded from her mind and the pieces fell back into place. She recognized this voice, and only one man ever called her 'Kitten'. "Hook? I'm on the ship…" She flinched when a large hand settled on her forehead, lingering there for a moment before sliding down to cup her chin.
"No fever," Hook mused, his tone tinged with relief. For just a moment he'd feared that Peter was delirious, remembering that she'd been injured and that he'd never once seen to her health. He gave her chin a gentle squeeze, watching as the dazed look finally faded from her eyes. "Yes, my dear, you're still on my ship. Tell me, how would you like to come to my cabin and freshen up before dinner?"
"Your cabin?" Peter echoed, not believing what she was hearing. "You're going to let me out?" Her heart quickened with excited hope at the prospect of leaving her cell.
Hook chuckled as he pulled out his key and unlocked the chain that tethered her to the wall. He left the shackles on her ankles and wrists as a precaution. "Yes, child, I will – if you promise not to attempt to escape again and to obey me when I tell you to do something."
Peter nodded her agreement, not surprised in the least by his terms. She'd assumed he'd demand as much when she'd decided on her course of action. While the thought of obeying him had rankled her sensibilities just as much as the thought of apologizing when she wasn't sorry, she'd known doing both was a necessary sacrifice of her pride. The important thing was to get out of this cabin and set her real plans in motion, and she was prepared to meet most any of Hook's demands to do so. "I won't leave the ship without permission, Captain, and I'll follow your orders." She took the man's large hand and let him help her stand, turning away slightly once she was on her feet. Tinkerbell's long-standing rule of "clothes stay on" had instilled a deep modesty in her that even six days of nudity couldn't dispel.
"Wrap this about you," Hook told her, handing her the blanket he'd brought down for her. "Once you're cleaned up, I have a something more appropriate for you to wear." He waited for Peter to cover herself adequately and then offered her his arm. The girl let him escort her without hesitation, her elation at being allowed to walk though the door of her cabin overwhelming any stubborn pride she might still retain.
Her elation and pride disappeared in a nauseating wave of dizziness when Peter was halfway down the corridor. One moment she was walking next to Hook (awkwardly, since she was still in shackles and trying to keep pace), and the next moment she was standing only by the grace of Hook's arm about her waist, holding her up. "I'm okay," she murmured, "it'll pass in a second."
With a low growl of irritation, Hook slipped his other arm behind the girl's knees and lifted her up, cradling her in his arms. She weighed next to nothing. I shouldn't have starved her. She was barely eating before, and I've made things worse. He shushed her half-hearted protestations and scoffed when she insisted that she could walk. "It would serve you right if I made you walk and you fell on your face in front of the men, but I'd prefer we arrive at my cabin as quickly as possible, Kitten."
Peter sighed but didn't resist as Hook carried her to the hatch. This was just one of many indignities she'd suffered lately, and it was by far the least of them. Once they emerged from the hatchway into the late-afternoon sun and Peter found herself blinded by the sunlight, she was quite content to bury her face against Hook's chest and let him carry her.
Smee was waiting for them in Hook's cabin, and as soon as they entered the bosun closed and locked the door. It was quite a relief for the girl when Hook deposited her in a chair, knelt before her and began unlocking her restraints.
"Thank you," she said, meaning it with every fiber of her being as she rubbed her chafed wrists.
Hook looked up at her as he slipped the last shackle off her ankle. "You'll be chained again before you leave my quarters, Kitten. Until we leave Neverland, I will not trust you to go about the ship unfettered unless you're locked securely in a cabin."
"You're going to lock me in that cell again?" Peter asked in dismay.
"You'll be confined in your quarters at night, but during the day you'll be allowed to roam the ship. Unless of course you disobey me, in which case I'll have to punish you again." He liked the way her eyes widened in horror at the prospect. If she was properly afraid of what he would do to her, she would think twice before defying him. "Now then," he continued, turning the conversation to more immediate concerns. He pointed to a corner of the cabin that was walled away by curtains. "There is a hot bath over there for you to clean up in. Take as much time as you please. If you need anything, Smee will assist you. Dinner will be served when you've finished with your bath. Once you're clean and fed, we will discuss your place on my ship and the new rules you will abide by. It's past time for you to acknowledge my sovereignty over you."
Peter bit back the many remarks that sprung into her mind regarding cold days in warm places before she'd acknowledge anything of the sort. She deeply resented Hook for what he'd done to her (though not nearly as much as she resented her godfather), and if she were in any position to fight she'd not hesitate to take him on. But she couldn't fight, not presently, so she kept her goal firmly in mind and merely nodded to him in acquiescence. Playing penitent for Hook was going to be a trial, she could see that now, but she was determined to win what trust she could from him in the time she had left.
A few minutes later Peter was immersed in hot water, luxuriating in the heat. Before Hook had captured her she'd never had an appreciation for being clean, but she couldn't deny it was a pleasure to feel the last vestiges of sand and salt that she'd accrued during her escape finally being washed away. She tended to her wounded arm first, carefully cleaning away the dried blood and grit and taking the time to inspect the damage. It embarassed her to do so, but she did have to call for Smee to help her with her back. She knew it wasn't terribly damaged and had long since quit hurting, but she wanted someone else to look at it for her. It relieved her to no end when Smee informed her that she only had a few shallow scratches, and when the bosun took up the rag and began to gently wash her back she felt an overwhelming desire to hug him.
I wish the water would stay hot forever… Peter mused as she lay back in the tub, deciding to relax in the heat for as long as it lasted. She felt better already and slowly the hope began to bloom within her that perhaps things wouldn't be so bad after all.
That hope was dispelled a few hours later.
For anyone that cares, the song that Peter is singing is an Irish tune called "Seven Drunken Nights." There are a few versions of it apparently, but this is the version I used:
Seven Drunken Nights
As I went home on Monday night, as drunk as drunk could be.I saw a horse outside the door, where my old horse should be.
I called my wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me,
who owns that horse outside the door, where my old horse should be?
Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk
you silly old fool, and still you cannot see.
That's a lovely sow that my mother sent to me.
Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more,
but a saddle on a sow, sure, I never saw before.
As I went home on Tuesday night, as drunk as drunk could be.
I saw a coat behind the door, where my old coat should be.
I called my wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me,
who owns that coat behind the door, where my old coat should be?
Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk
you silly old fool, and still you cannot see.
That's a woolen blanket that my mother sent to me.
Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more,
but buttons on a blanket, sure, I never saw before.
As I went home on Wednesday night, as drunk as drunk could be.
I saw a pipe upon the chair, where my old pipe should be.
I called my wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me,
who owns that pipe upon the chair where my old pipe should be.
Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk
you silly old fool, and still you cannot see.
That's a lovely tin-whistle, that my mother sent to me.
Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more,
but tobacco in a tin-whistle, sure, I never saw before.
As I came home on Thursday night, as drunk as drunk could be.
I saw two boots beside the bed, where my old boots should be.
I called my wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me,
who owns them boots beside the bed where my old boots should be.
Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk
you silly old fool, and still you cannot see.
They're two lovely flower pots my mother sent to me.
Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more,
but laces in flower pots I never saw before.
As I came home on Friday night, as drunk as drunk could be.
I saw a head upon the bed, where my old head should be.
I called my wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me,
who owns that head upon the bed, where my old head should be.
Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk
you silly old fool, and still you cannot see.
That's a baby boy, that my mother sent to me.
Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more,
but a baby boy with his whiskers on, sure, I never saw before.
As I came home on a Saturday night, as drunk as drunk could be
I spied two hands upon her breasts, where my old hands should be.
I called to my wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me,
Who's hands are these upon your breasts, where my old hands should be?
Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk,
you silly old fool, and still you cannot see
'Tis nothing but a brassier my mother gave to me.
Well, it's many a day I've traveled a hundred miles or more,
but fingernails on a brassier, I never saw before.
Now when I came home on Sunday night, a little after three.
I saw a man running out the door with his pants about his knee.
So I called to my wife and I said to her: would you kindly tell to me,
who was that man running out the door with his pants about his knee?
Oh you're drunk, you're drunk,
you silly old fool, and still you cannot see,
T'was nothing but the tax collector the Queen sent to me.
Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more,
But an Englishman that could last 'till three I never saw before.