The Crows Have Fed Enough

Low tide beneath Dunmere Wall. Seven cages over mud. Six men beneath them. Hold the longboat still. We came beneath the fortress when the tide exposed the piles, cold chisels wrapped in sailcloth, no lantern for three miles. Seven cages turned above us, seven coats of tar and salt, twenty years of warning on the seaward wall. I put my shoulder under each before the rivets broke. We laid them in our last black sail. No prayer was spoken. The seventh lock fell open. A watch drum answered twice. Beyond the mole, a cutter raised gunports in the night. The crows have fed enough. Bring our seven brothers down. No more iron over water. No more bones above the town. Lay them level in the longboat. Do not let them touch the mud. Take our dead beyond the gunline. The crows have fed enough. The first shot split the starboard oar. The second struck the quay. The cutter sealed the channel mouth and turned her guns to sea. Seven shrouds filled half the longboat. Six men brought the waterline close enough to touch the oarlocks. We were almost out of time. The coxswain said, "We leave three here, or none of us gets through." I looked upon the tarred black sail. "They hung once. They leave with us." Young Senn saw at my collar a silver pardon seal. He held it toward the cannon glow. "Tell us what you paid for this." The crows have fed enough. Every brother leaves this town. No more iron over water. No more bones the Crown can count. Lay them level in the longboat. Let the gun smoke cover us. Take our dead beyond the headland. The crows have fed enough. I gave the Crown our hidden cove. I gave the night and tide. Seven men were taken sleeping. I crossed the hills and hid. This seal bought me twenty years. I wore it under every shirt. Do not call this courage. It is debt, and it is late. Five can row the seven. Six will drown them at the chain. Give me both remaining pistols. Do not bless me for this trade. If they raise an eighth cage, turn it toward the cove I gave. Take the dead beyond the headland. Do not turn when cannons wake. The crows have fed enough. Seven shrouds went slowly down. No more iron over water. No more bones above the town. One man stayed beneath the gun smoke. Five men pulled through smoke and surf. We kept saying to the darkness, "The crows have fed enough." At sunrise, far behind us, we heard the iron ratchet climb. Seven shrouds beneath the longboat. Five men keeping time. No one faced the fortress. No one raised his head. One new chain drew taut above the wall. The drum stopped. The crows had not fed enough.