University of San Francisco - USF Don Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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pratr Fifty and two of a pirate crew, we had scoured the southern main; Fifty and two whose pennon flew wherever the breath of a trade wind blew. Whose sinister craft the galleons knew and the frigates chased in vain. And every shore our pathway turned. And every road we crost Could point our track in hamlets burned And stately vessels lost. We showed our mast to the cringing craft, a mile from Port of Spain ur guns made Portsmouth's turrets rock A frigate shrank from our battle shock When we fought through the line at Poston Dock And were oft to the seas again. nd from every raid a trip we made to the port of Sant Marie: The only spot where the pirate paid for wine or food or hostel shade. Where, rousing. pla ed the roving blade that had scourged the stretching sea Under their fortress guns we rode. Unharmed, though they knew our trade And the booty our courage won, they stowed In the coffers our hearts had made: Gaih we spent to the last red cent, our bounty full and free. Smiling, they won our blood-bought jack, Safe from the fear of storm and sack. That the stranger knew: and paid us back From the measure of treachery.

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M. F. Welch W. W. Jacka C. W. Haswell J. J. McEntee

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THE PIRATIi 29 Careless grown, from a safety known through many a drunken night, We stretched one eve in a spot alone where the swelling waves of the ocean shone And sang to sleep with its cadent moan and the tropic moon alight Then past the guns of the harbor stole A I British frigate with bristling tiers. That had bought with the price of a Judas' soul. The silence that lulled our fears. They muffled the beat of their marching feet where our beacon smouldered bright— Till I roused to see their muskets shine Around our camp in a deadly line And I read the doom of those lads of mine. W ith never a chance to fight. My pistol rang and up we sprang, our naked weapons drawn. And into our midst the hot lead sang as broke the Hash of their volleys clang To sting, like the hidden serpent's fang, and palsy the sailors’ brawn; I saw my brother's ghastly face Go down in a swath of falling men, The bullet’s path like a crimson trace From forehead to riven chin. nd the scattered few of our fifty-two on the blades of the soldiers gone. Save one round dozen that fought their way Down to the rim of the saving bay: That clambered aboard and sailed away. Into the good red dawn. hie round dozen that bared their blades, when frigate and fort were past; ()ne round dozen that bared their blades, and swore, by Whoever would be our aids.