oking through the rift,
He saw
Twenty canoes, each with six warriors,
Paddling straight toward the rising sun,
Where the wind made a flaw--
He swore he saw
And counted twenty hulls,
Circled about by screaming gulls--
Then such a storm came down
That some prayed on that hellion ship,
But he did not--
He was not born to drown.

This was the tale
Told with much bluster,
Over ale
And oaths,
At Charles Town.
He _swore_ he saw the Indians in the dawn,
And _he'd be danged!_
_And by Christ's Mother--_
_Take his rings in pawn!_
But he was hanged
With poor Stede Bonnet, later on.

H.A.

[3] See the note at the back of the book.

LA FAYETTE LANDS[4]

That evening, gathered on the vessel's poop,
They saw the glimmering land,
And far lights moved there,
As once Columbus saw them, winking, strange;
Around the ship two darkies in a small canoe
Paddled and grinned, and held up silver fish.

Over the high ship's tumble-home
A pinnace slid,
Slow, lowered from the squealing davit-ropes,
And from a port a-square with lantern light,
The little, leather trunks were passed,
Ironbound and quaint; while down the vessel's side
With voluble advice, _bon voyage_ and _au revoir_,
The chatting Frenchmen came--
Click-clap of rapiers clipping on hard boots,
Cocked hats and merry eyes.

The great ship backs its yards,
With drooping sails, await,
A spider-web of spars and lantern-lights,
While like a pilot shark, the slim canoe,
A V-shaped ripple wrinkling from its jaws,
Slides noiselessly across the swells,
Leading the swinging boat's crew to the beach;
And all the world slides up--
And then the stars slide down--
As ocean breathes; while evening falls,
And destiny is being rowed ashore.

The twilight-muffled bells of town, the bark of dogs,
The distant shouts, and smell of burning wood,
Fall graciously upon their sea-tired sense.
Wide-trousered, barefoot sailors carry them to land,
Tho' snake-voiced waves flaunt frothing up the beach;
The horse-hide trunks are piled upon a dune;
And there a little Frenchman takes his stand,
Hawk-faced and ardent,
While his brown cloak droops about him
Like young falcon plumes.

Gray beach, gray twilight, and gray sea--
How strange the