Shanty Of The Running Bride
(Chorus)
Heave away, lads, the Bride takes the tide,
White sails a-flyin’, no need for a guide!
Four wins she’s taken, and one she has cried,
But curse on the day o’ the Gambler’s Blood’s pride!
(Verse 1)
Oh, the land’s got a groom with his gold and his keep,
But the Bride loves the regatta, the salt, and the deep.
Her veil is the canvas, her gown is the foam,
She weds the wide waters and makes ‘em her home!
(Chorus)
Heave away, lads, the Bride takes the tide,
White sails a-flyin’, no need for a guide!
Four wins she’s taken, and one she has cried,
But curse on the day o’ the Gambler’s Blood’s pride!
(Verse 2)
The Gambler he wagered, with dice and with lies,
He stole her one crown ‘neath the storm-darkened skies.
But the Bride came a-runnin’, swift vengeance she swore,
And she’s left that red scoundrel to gamble ashore!
(Chorus)
Heave away, lads, the Bride takes the tide,
White sails a-flyin’, no need for a guide!
Four wins she’s taken, and one she has cried,
But curse on the day o’ the Gambler’s Blood’s pride!
(Verse 3)
She flies like a maiden all dressed in her white,
Her laughter’s the rigging that sings through the night.
The sea is her chapel, the tide is her groom,
She’ll wed him forever till storms spell her doom!
(Chorus)
Heave away, lads, the Bride takes the tide,
White sails a-flyin’, no need for a guide!
Four wins she’s taken, and one she has cried,
But curse on the day o’ the Gambler’s Blood’s pride!
(Verse 4)
Her prow cuts the sea like a kiss cut with steel,
Her keel hums a song every sailor can feel.
With her crew roaring loud and the taverns ashout,
No storm nor no rival can put her about!
(Chorus)
Heave away, lads, the Bride takes the tide,
White sails a-flyin’, no need for a guide!
Four wins she’s taken, and one she has cried,
But curse on the day o’ the Gambler’s Blood’s pride!
(Verse 5)
Her rivals all curse her, they spit and they fume,
But she leaves ‘em behind like a bride leaves the groom.
Her wake is a ribbon, her sails are her crown,
And she’ll dance with the regatta ‘til all ships go down!
(Chorus)
Heave away, lads, the Bride takes the tide,
White sails a-flyin’, no need for a guide!
Four wins she’s taken, and one she has cried,
But curse on the day o’ the Gambler’s Blood’s pride!
(Verse 6)
So raise up your tankards and roar out her name,
The Bride of the waters, the queen of the game.
Let Gambler’s Blood sulk with his luck turned to rust,
For the Bride holds the crown and the crowd holds the trust!
(Final Chorus – rowdiest of all)
Heave away, lads, the Bride takes the tide,
White sails a-flyin’, no need for a guide!
Raise up your tankards, let Sailwater roar.
The Bride rules the regatta forevermore!
The Tale Of The Running Bride
Old salts in
Sailwater say the ship was christened on the eve of a wedding. A young noblewoman, fair and gilded, was promised to a wealthy landbound lord who hated the sea. She slipped her bonds on the night before vows, casting aside lace and jewels, and fled down to the harbor where a sleek new racing ship was being readied.
When she set foot upon the deck, the vessel’s timbers groaned like they knew her heart. The sails caught a midnight wind, white as her bridal veil, and the ship leapt from the docks as if it too had no love for land. From that night forward, sailors swore the vessel carried the soul of the runaway bride, married not to groom nor coin, but to the regatta and the restless sea.
She took her first race like a storm with silk wings, leaving half the harbor choking on her wake. Then again, and again, until four crowns of victory adorned her name. Only once was she undone, by a black-hulled devil christened
The Gambler’s Blood.
The Gambler’s Blood belonged to
Captain Chance Bludd, a cutthroat with dice etched in bone for teeth and luck darker than any man deserved. He wagered all and won that single year, snatching the crown from the
Bride. But his victory was short lived. The next season, the
Bride came thundering back, her sails snapping like wedding linens in a storm, and she tore his pride to splinters.
Now, every race,
Sailwater’s taverns echo with toasts and curses. Some raise mugs to the
Bride’s white sails, others to the
Gambler’s blood-red prow and sails, but all agree, no regatta is worth the name without their rivalry. Sailors on shore-leave say that they’ve seen the
Gambler’s Blood just on the edge of the horizon and that it’s back for revenge.
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