To reckon too easy, not counting your host;
Or is it quite prudent to count on your boat
When saucy Jack Barry is up and afloat?
The Delaware waters come down with a sweep
Past Burlington town, snow-clad and asleep,
And there lay our “Effingham,” silent and stark,
A ghost of the sea, looming up thro’ the dark.
Then, sudden, four boats sweep out from her side,
With oars swift and muffled swing down in the tide;
The moon has gone black, the wind whistles high,