The Celina Democrat. (Celina, O. [Ohio]) 1895-1921, 1911-08-11

The captains bride was fair to seei
Swing hard! bend low!
She Knocked at him; she smiled at me-
Swing hard bend low!
"Oh, to hell wild that sorter love-sick
stuff" cried a protesting voice, hoarse-
ly. That's no good sailor song, Bill.
Give us somethin to start our pipes"
The giant in the chair scowled.
"Ye're a lot O. dubs, an not fit sail
or-men," he retorted, savagely, drain
ing his glass; but I've got a chorus
yen sing or fight me, an dam If |
care much which Now take grip at
this:
A mighty man was Pat McCann,
Who sailed upon the sea;
Within his hold he hid the gold,
He stole in Barbaree.
In Barbaree. in Barbaree
The men lie mute,
He has the loot.
He found in Barbaree.
They were still at it, the motley,
mongrel crew. their hoarse, drink
thickened voices roaring out lines full
of the fierce swing of the deep sea-
their glasses pounding in unison on
the tables, as / pushed my way
through them up to the sloppy bar
and faced the fellow standing behind
'Ts there a Yankee whaleman here
by the name of Tuttle?" | asked.
He stared at me, his eyes squirting,
while the wild chorus began to die
away like a clock run down.
bill, whar's Cap Tut'?" he called
out finally. Here's cove wants
him"
The red-headed giant, perched aloft
on the chair, flung one hand indiffer-
entity across his shoulder toward the
rear of the room.
Come on again, mates" he roared.
another drink, and another song,
Spit it out this time-'Swing hard!
Bend low!'"
He's yonder in the back room;
through that door, mate" said the
bartender, shortly Better not tread
on any of the lads feet goin' in, unless
maybe ye're here tonight huntin'
trouble They're just bout drunk
enough now to be ready to start
row"
/ picked my way with caution, the
fierce Tilt of that devils chorus stun
ming my ears, the hairy faces con-
fronting me scowlingly suggestive of
any crime. Saint Andrew! l thought
soberly, if this was still the day of
pirates here was a brood ready for
Matching. With a feeling of positive
relief l pressed open the heavy wood
en- door, stepped within and closed it
carefully behind me. So tightly fitting
and solid the wood it in-tantly shut
out completely the mad riot of the
barroom. 1t was like coming into
new world. Two men sat alone at
small, round table smoking, between
them a short-necked black bottle with
glasses and scattered deck of greasy
cards. The one nearest where | stood,
tall, long-limbed, angular, his face thin
and made to appear more so from a
sandy chin-whisker, had his knees
swung over the arm of his chair, a
bald spot on the top of his head shin
ing conspicuously beneath the rays of
The lamp. His companion was consid-
erably younger, somewhat trim Of
build, with black, curling hair, and
small mustaches curled upward at
the tips, He was Of complexion to
make me think him either creole or
quadroon, but with smiling lips and a
light in his merry eyes bespeaking a
temperament Of good humor.
Capt Eli Tuttle?' 1 questioned,
doubtfully.
The older man slowly deposited his
feet on the floor and stood up. He
was a tribe round-shouldered, attired
in black frock coat which dangled
to the knees, and his eyes Of cold gray
narrowed into mere Sits as he in
spected me with undisguised sus-
picion.
''The spirit which for 70 years hath