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Updated: May 6, 2025
Blow high, blow low! What care we! 'But I am a jolly pirate and I'm sailing for my fee, Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e." he sang. "We'll land in Valparaiso and we'll go every man his way; and we'll sink the old Laughing Lass so deep the mermaids can't find her." Thrackles piled on more wood and the fire leaped high. "Let's get after 'em, said he.
'Til the jolly man-o'-war shot the pirate's mast away, Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e." I saw near me a live coal dislodged from the fire when Thrackles had thrown on the armful of wood. An idea came to me. I hitched myself to the spark, and laid across it the rope with which my wrists were tied.
Their evil passions were all awake, and the plan, so long indefinite, developed like a photographer's plate. "That's one," said Thrackles. "One gone to hell." "And now the diamonds," muttered Pulz. "There's a ship upon the windward, a wreck upon the lee, Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e," roared Handy Solomon. "Damn it all, boys, it's the best night's work we ever did. The stuff's ours.
The evening was warm; I half closed my eyes. Handy Solomon was coming in last. Instead of dropping to his place, he straddled the fire, stretching his arms over his head. He let them fall with a sharp exhalation. "'Lay aloft, lay aloft, the jolly bos'n cried. Blow high, blow low, what care we! 'Look ahead, look astern, look a-windward, look a-lee. Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e."
I stood watching him, choked with rage and indecision. The humming broke into words. "'Oh, quarter, oh, quarter! the jolly pirates cried. Blow high, blow low! What care we? But the quarter that we gave them was to sink them in the sea, Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e." "Here, you swab," he cried to Thrackles, "and you, Pancho! get some wood, lively! And Pulz, bring us a pail of water.
Someone below was singing in a voice singularly rich in quality. The words and the quaintness of the minor air struck me immensely and have clung to my memory like a burr ever since. "'Are you a man-o'-war or a privateer, said he. Blow high, blow low, what care we! 'Oh, I am a jolly pirate, and I'm sailing for my fee. Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e." I stepped to the companion.
He shifted his quid and began to hum: "The bos'n laid aloft, aloft laid he, Blow high, blow low! What care we? 'There's a ship upon the wind'ard, a wreck upon the lee, Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e." We had entered the trades and were making good time. I was content to stay on deck, even in my watch below. The wind was strong, the waves dashing, the sky very blue.
The others joined in, frightfully off the key; or punctuated the performance by wild staccato yells. "Their coffin was their ship and their grave it was the sea, Blow high, blow low! What care we? And the quarter that we gave them was to sink them in the sea, Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e," bellowed Handy Solomon. I turned and plunged into the cool darkness of the cañon.
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