She stood and she watched as the storm came in
With the wreck of the Unicorn,
Its forward cabins under the swell,
Its masts so high and forlorn,
Her sailors dashed on the wicked rocks
To colour the blood-red foam,
‘Oh where, oh where is my sister Kate,’
She cried with a blood-red moan.
I reached on out and I spread the shawl
To cover her auburn hair,
The wind and rain in our faces as
I stood by the wall, with Claire,
The wreck was merely a hundred yards,
Was foundering near the shore,
With not a single man on the spars
Where the sail had billowed before.
We heard the bowsprit grind on the rocks,
The rudder tear from the post,
And Claire gave out the cry of the lost
To call for the customs boat,
The waves came thundering onto the shore
Flung spindrift high in the air,
Its mist obscured what the waves had lured
To drift in a mute despair.
‘How may I save my sister Kate,’ she cried,
But I couldn’t tell,
The Unicorn was coming apart
Was bound on its trip to hell,
And Kate by locking her cabin door
To keep out the surging sea,
Had forged herself a coffin before
The schooner had ceased to be.
We found her there in the flooded room
With the wreck cast up on the shore,
The moment the storm had shed its gloom
And the sun shone bright once more,
With gentle currents making her sway
And seaweed caught in her hair,
She held a locket her sister gave
With the line, ‘Bon voyage, Claire.’
David Lewis Paget