The deck was slippery with blood as the Captain of the boarders rushed
upon the prostrate corsair to put him forever out of his way. While he
aimed a blow a musket struck him in the temple, stretching him beside
the bleeding Lafitte, who, raising himself upon one elbow, thrust a
dagger at the throat of his assailant.

But the tide of his existence was ebbing like a torrent; his brain was
giddy; his aim faltered; the point of the weapon descended upon the
right thigh of the bleeding Englishman. Again the reeking steel was
upheld; again the weakened French sea-dog plunged a stroke at this
half-fainting assailant.

The dizziness of death spread over the sight of the Monarch of the
Gulf of Mexico. Down came the dagger into the left thigh of the
Captain; listlessly; helplessly; aimlessly; and Lafitte--the robber of
St. Malo--fell lifeless upon the rocking deck. His spirit went out
amidst the hoarse and hollow cheers of the victorious Jack-tars of the
clinging sloop-of-war.

"The palmetto leaves are whispering, while the gentle trade-winds blow,
And the soothing, Southern zephyrs, are sighing soft and low,
As a silvery moonlight glistens, and the droning fire-flies glow,
Comes a voice from out the Cypress,
'Lights out! Lafitte! Heave ho!'"

THE PIRATE'S LAMENT

I've been ploughin' down in Devonshire,
My folks would have me stay,
Where the wheat grows on th' dune side,
Where th' scamperin' rabbits play.
But th' smells come from th' ocean,
An' th' twitterin' swallows wheel,
As th' little sails bob landwards,
To th' scurryin' sea-gulls' squeal.

_Oh, it's gold, gold, gold,_
_That's temptin' me from here._
_An' it's rum, rum, rum,_
_That makes me know no fear._
_When th' man-o-war is growlin',_
_As her for'ard swivels roar,_
_As th' decks are black with wounded,_
_An' are runnin' red with gore._

I've been goin' to church o' Sundays,
An' th' Parson sure can talk,
He's been pleadin' for my soul, Sir,
In Paradise to walk.
An' I kind o' have th' shivers,
Come creepin' down my spine,
When th' choir breaks into music,
While th' organ beats th' time.

_But it's gold, gold, gold,_
_That glitters in my eye,_
_An' it's rum, rum, rum,_
_That makes me cheat an' lie,_
_When th' slaver's in th' doldrums,_
_Th' fleet is closin' round,_
_An' th' Captain calls out, furiou