The mate was fixed by the bos'n's pike, By fingers ten; And there they lay, All good dead men, Like break-o'-day in a boozing-ken Fifteen men of a whole ship's list — Dead and be-damned and the rest gone whist!- The skipper lay with his nob in gore Where the scullion's axe his cheek had shoreAnd the scullion he was stabbed times four. And there they lay And the soggy skies Dripped all day long In up-staring eyes At murk sunset and at foul sunrise Fifteen men of 'em stiff and stark - Ten of the crew had the Murder mark — 'Twas a cutlass swipe, or an ounce of lead, Or a yawing hole in a battered head And the scuppers glut with a rotting red. Aye, damn my eyes! All lookouts clapped On paradise All souls bound just contrariwise Fifteen men of 'em good and true Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! Every man jack could ha' sailed with Old Pew There was chest on chest full of Spanish gold, And they lay there That had took the plum, With sightless glare And their lips struck dumb, While we shared all by the rule of thumb — More was seen through the sternlight screen- Chartings ondoubt where a woman had been! A flimsy shift on a bunker cot, With a thin dirk slot through the bosom spot Or was she wench Or some shuddering maid That dared the knife And that took the blade! By God! she was stuff for a plucky jade! Fifteen men on the dead man's chest Drink and the devil had done for the rest- We wrapped 'em all in a mains'l tight, And a fare-you-well! And a sullen plunge In the sullen swell Ten fathoms deep on the road to hell! Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! Young E. Allison THE LAST BUCCANEER Oh England is a pleasant place for them that's rich and high, There were forty craft in Avès that were both swift and stout, Thence we sailed against the Spaniard with his hoards of plate and gold, Which he wrung with cruel tortures from Indian folk of old; Likewise the merchant captains, with hearts as hard as stone, Who flog men and keelhaul them, and starve them to the bone. Oh, the palms grew high in Avès, and fruits that shone like gold, And the colibris and parrots they were gorgeous to behold; And the negro maids to Avès from bondage fast did flee, To welcome gallant sailors, a-sweeping in from sea. Oh, sweet it was in Avès to hear the landward breeze, But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be; So the King's ships sailed on Avès, and quite put down were we. All day we fought like bull-dogs, but they burst the booms at night; And I fled in a piragua, sore wounded, from the fight. Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside, And brought me home to England here, to beg until I die. And now I'm old and going - I'm sure I can't tell where; One comfort is, this world's so hard, I can't be worse off there: If I might but be a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main, BOATS AT NIGHT How lovely is the sound of oars at night To those piled rocks that make on the dark wave That droop towards the land in swooning flight - Edward Shanks SEA-GULLS Where the dark green hollows lift Wheeling, flashing, floating by, White against the stormy sky, With exultant call and cry Swift the sea-gulls go. |