Carolina Chansons: Legends of the Low Country — The Pirates

THE PIRATES[2]

I stood once where these rows of deep piazzas Frown on the harbor from their columned pride, And saw the gallant youngest of the cities Lift from the jealous many-fingered tide.

Flanked by the multi-colored sweeping marshes, Among the little hummocks choked with thorn, I saw the first, small, dauntless row of buildings Give back the rose and orange of the dawn.

Above them swayed the shining green palmettoes Vocal and plaintive at the winds' caress;

While, at the edge of sight, the fluent silver Of sea and bay framed the wide loneliness.

Out of the East came gaunt razees of commerce Troubling the dappled azure of the seas;

While sleeping marsh awoke, and vanished under The thrusting open fingers of the quays.

Ever, and more, came ships, while others followed.

Feeling their way among unsounded bars, Heaping their freights upon the groaning wharf-heads, Filling their holds with turpentines and tars, Until the little twisting streets all vanished Into a blur of interwoven spars.

II

One with the rest, I saw the commerce dwindle, High-bosomed, sturdy vessels take the main And leave us, with the morning in their faces, Never to come to any port again.

Slowly an ominous and pregnant silence Grew deep upon the wharves where ships had lain.

Laughter rang hollow in those days of waiting, And nameless fears came drifting down the night.

The tides swung in from sea, hung, and retreated, Bearing their secrets back beyond our sight;

Till, like the sudden rending of a curtain, The East reeled with the lightnings of a fight.

Never was a night so long with waiting.

Never was the dark more prone to stay.

And, in the whispering gloom, taut, listening faces Hung in a pallid line along the bay.

Slowly at last the mists dissolved, revealing A fearful silhouette against the day.

Blue on a saffron dawn, a frigate lifted Out of the fog that veiled her fold on fold, Taking the early sunlight on her cannon In running spurts and rings of molten gold;

No flag of any nation at her masthead.

Small wonder that our pulses fluttered cold.

Never a shot she fired on the city, But, when the night came blowing in from sea, And our ruddy windows warmed the darkness, Through the surrounding gloom we heard the free Strong sweep and clank of rowing in the harbor, And on the wharves raw jest and revelry.

She was the first, but many others followed;

Insolent, keen, and swift to come-about, I have seen them go smashing down the harbor, Loud with the boom of canvas and the shout Of lusty voices at the crowded bulwarks, Where tattooed hands were swinging long-boats out.

Up through the streets the roisterers would swagger, Filling the narrow ways from wall to wall, Scattering gold like ringing summer showers, Ready with song and jest and cheery call For those who passed; buying the little taverns At any cost; opening wine for all.

There were rare evenings when we used to gather Down in a coffee-house beside the square.

Morgan knew well our little favored corner;

Black Beard the sinister was often there;

And we have watched the night blur into morning While Bonnet, quiet-voiced and debonnaire, Would throw the glamor of the seas about us In archipelagoes of mad romance;

Pointing a story with a line from Shakespeare, Quoting a Latin proverb; while his glance, Flashing across the eager, listening circle, Fettered--blinded--held us in a trance.

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!"

But the ensign that had mocked us With its symbol of the dead Fluttered and dropped to the bloody deck, And a white square spoke instead.

Home from the kill we thundered On the tail of the equinox, To the thrum of straining canvas, And the whine and groan of blocks.

Leaping clear of the shallows, Chancing the creaming bars, We heard the first faint cheering As the late sun limned our spars.

Safe in the lee of the city We moored in the afterglow, The _Sea Nymph_ and the _Henry_ With the buccaneers in tow.

Glad we had been in the going, But God!

it was good to come Out of the sky-wide loneliness To the walls and lights of home.

V

Under these shouldering rows of stone That notch the quiet sky;

Under the asphalt's transient seal The same old mud-flats lie;

And I have felt them surge and lift At night as I passed by.

Yes, I have seen them sprawling nude While an Autumn moon hung chill, And the tide came shuddering in from sea, Lift by lift, until It held them under a silver mesh, Responsive to its will.

Then slowly out from the crowding walls I have seen the gibbets grow, And stand against the empty sky In a desolate, windblown row, While their dancers swayed, and turned, and spun, Tripping it heel and toe;

With a flash of gold where the peering moon Saw an earring as it swung, And a silver line that leapt and died Where the salt-white sea-boots hung, And the pitiful, nodding, silent heads, With half of their songs unsung.

D. H.

[2] See the note on the pirates.