The End of the Fight

The fight is fought, the foe is sunk, The tale is told for the golden junk, And the Skipper sleeps in his final bunk,— Ho! for Davy Jones! We sighted her twenty below the Horn, On a restless day in the wakeful morn, Well for her had she ne’er been born, Born for Davy Jones. Her crew was many and stout and brave, No quarter wanted and none we gave, And we left the sick for the shark to save, Save from Davy Jones. We that were cool when the fight begun Were red and grey by the nooning sun Ere ever the stubborn goal was won,— Meat for Davy Jones. With a score of gashes her captain died, But he heaved the booty over the side Into the Locker that beckoned wide, The Locker of Davy Jones. The foe is sunk where the wave is blue, And Davy laughs as he gets his due, Our Skipper and half his swarthy crew,— Ho for Davy Jones!