Our Slave ship floundered on the rocks
in the teeth of a mighty storm.
We were cast out on a nameless Isle.
Half our cargo drowned.

Morning came and the seas becalmed
And we salvaged what we could.
The Captain was a broken man
The first mate did what he should.

We fashioned shelters of rock and mud.
And found a water source.
We had no doubts, then, we’d be saved
from this Isle off the African Coast.

The Isle was plentiful with game
And we had guns and swords.
The slaves would serve our wants and needs
So we were in accord

We rigged a lifeboat with a sail
And the first mate and three more
Cast their fortunes on the winds
for Madagascar’s shores.

They promised us that they’d return,
Their word they swore they’d keep.
But either the World ignored their pleas
or they sleep in the deep.

We learned, in time, acceptance,
of our lonely likely fate.
We taught the slaves to speak our French.
took their women as our mates.

Decimation was inevitable
Even in that tropic clime.
Many just lost hope and died.
Others lost their mind.

My best friend lost his life at sea
on a flimsy makeshift raft.
Of all the French who landed here
I, Jacques, am the last.

I hope my journal will be found
when I too, am dead and gone.
Please rescue what remains of me
And bear my body home.

Or else commit me to the sea
with prayers and honor due.
My woman and my child yet live
May God preserve those two.