Their bags of Spanish gold bribed our juries, Bought dignified officials of the Crown; Money and wine were ours for the asking; The Orient flamed out in shawl and gown, Until a sudden and unholy splendor Irradiated all the quiet town. Those were the days when there was open gaming, And roaring song in tongue of every race. Evil, as colorful as poison weeds, Bloomed in the market place. And those who should have known, shared in the revels, And passed their neighbors with averted face. Until one day a frigate entered harbor, And passed the city, with a Spanish prize, Then insolently came-about, despoiled her, And fired her before our very eyes, While the vagrant breezes left the streaming vapor Like red rust on the clean steel of the skies. III All in the sullied hours, While the pirates stood away Out of the murk and horror In a sheer white burst of spray, Leaving the wreck to settle Under its winding sheet, I felt the city shudder And stir beneath my feet. Thrilling against the morning, As audible as song, I heard the city waken Out of her night of wrong. That was a day to cherish When Rhett and a gallant few Summoned the best among us; Called for a daring crew. New and raw at the business, To the smithy's roar and clang, We drove our aching muscles And as we worked we sang, Until one blowing morning With summer on the sea, The _Henry_ to the windward, The _Sea Nymph_ down alee, Flecking the wide Atlantic With a flaring, lacy track, We went, as glad as the winds are glad, To buy our honor back. IV Over the wooded shore-line, Where the hidden rivers stray Down to the sea like timid girls, I saw in the first faint gray A burst of cloudy topsails Go blowing swiftly by, With the stars aswirl behind them Like bright dust down the sky. Gone were the days of waiting, And the long, blind search was gone; With a cheer we swung to meet them On the forefoot of the dawn. Out of the screening woodland Into the open sound The frigate crashed, then staggered Careening, fast aground. White water tugged behind us, We felt the _Henry_ reel And spin as the hard impartial sand Closed on her vibrant keel. All through the high white morning, While the lagging tide crawled out, Fate held us bound and waiting, While, turn and turn about, We manned the fuming cannon And bartered hell for hell, While the scuppers sang with coursing life Where the dead and dying fell. Till, like the break of fever When life thrills up through pain, We felt the current stirring Under the keel again. Then it was hand to cutlass, And pistols in the sash. "All hands stand by for boarding,-- Now, close abeam and lash!"