He thought of home at the Lion’s Gate
In fair vancouver’s harbor.
He thought of home and children dear
and his father’s grape hung arbor.
He knew he’d see them never more
For the wind and the tide were swelling
He knew he’d heard old Davy’s crew
In a hundred Fathoms yelling.
The ice wind came from chilkat bay
and roared when the tide had turned
The shipman must have seen his fate
as his heart within him burned
Her passengers they never knew
Of the death in the rising storm
They thought her decks were firm as steel
to keep them safe from harm.
The ship tore loose when the tide went out
in fathoms twenty-five
They went down deep to an icy grave
Not one was left alive.
The light still burns on sentinel isle
and the ice and the storm winds come
And crewmen watch for a blinking light
held on a tossing drum
It marks the spot in an icy sea
And the grave of her hundreds dead
For many who sank are buried there
and the sea is their shroud and spread.
