Come, tell me whither I must sail,
What peril there may be,
Before I take my life in hand
And venture out to sea!

_We may not tell thee where to sail,_
_Nor what the dangers are;_
_Each sailor soundeth for himself,_
_Each hath a separate star;_
_Each sailor soundeth for himself,_
_And on the awful sea,_
_What we have learned is ours alone;_
_We may not tell it thee._

Come back, O ghostly mariners,
Ye who have gone before!
I dread the dark, tempestuous tides;
I dread the farthest shore.
Tell me the secret of the waves;
Say what my fate shall be,--
Quick! for the mighty winds are up,
And will not wait for me.

_Hail and farewell, O voyager!_
_Thyself must read the waves;_
_What we have learned of sun and storm_
_Lies with us in our graves;_
_What we have learned of sun and storm_
_Is ours alone to know._
_The winds are blowing out to sea,_
_Take up thy life and go!_

LAFITTE

PRIVATEER, PIRATE, AND TERROR OF THE GULF OF MEXICO

(1780-1826)

"For it's fourteen men on a dead man's chest,
Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum."

--STEVENSON.

LAFITTE

PRIVATEER, PIRATE, AND TERROR OF THE GULF OF MEXICO

(1780-1826)

"He was the mildest mannered man,
That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat;
With such true breeding of a gentleman,
That you could ne'er discern his proper thought.
Pity he loved an adventurous life's variety,
He was _so_ great a loss to good society."

--_Old Ballad._--1810.

"Captain, we can't live much longer unless we have food. We've got
enough to last us for two weeks' time, and then--if we do not get
fresh provisions--we'll have to eat the sails."

The fellow who spoke was a rough-looking sea-dog, with a yellow
face--parched and wrinkled by many years of exposure--a square figure;
a red handkerchief tied about his black hair; a sash about his waist
in which was stuck a brace of evil-barrelled pistols. He looked grimly
at the big-boned man before him.

"Yes. You are right, as usual, Gascon. We've got to strike a foreign
sail before the week is out, and capture her. And I, Lafitte, must
turn from privateer to pirate. May my good mother at St. Malo have
mercy on my soul."

And, so saying, he turned to pace restlessly upon the sloping deck of
the two-hundred-ton barque which boiled al