Edmond Hallahan.
Jasper Collins.

My name is Edmond Callahan.
As you now understand.
I was born and raised in Waterford.
In Irin's happy land.
By a being young and in my prime.
And beauty on me smiled.
My parents dotted it on me.
Me being their only child.

My father bound me to a trade.
In Waterford's fair town.
He bound me to the Cooper there.
By the name of William Brown.
I served my master faithfully.
For 18 months or more.
Then checked on board the Ocean Queen.
Bound for Valpariso's shore.

And when I reached Valpariso's shore.
I met with Captain Moore.
He was Commander of the flying cloud.
That sailed from Baltimore.
He asked me to go o're with him.
On a slaving voyage to go.
To the burning shores of Africa.
Where the sugar cane does grow.

The flying cloud was a gallant ship.
Bearing 500 tons or more.
She could easily sail around any other ship.
Going out from Baltimore.
Her sails was white as any snow.
And on them were no specs.
And 18 brass nine pounder guns.
She carried on her decks.

(John Galusha, Adirondacks, upstate New York)
Now the flying cloud is as fine a ship.
As ever swam the seas.
Or ever spread a maintop sail.
Before a lively breeze.
I have off time seen her in a Gale.
Blown on her whether beam.
With her main royal flying aloft.
Running 18 off the reel.

In a few weeks after this.
We reached the Fugate shore.
500 of those Negro's.
From their native home we bore.
We marched them down a narrow plank.
And shoved them down below.
Just 18 inches to the man.
Was all we did allow.

And then we put to see again.
With our cargo of slaves.
When plague and fever came onboard.
Swept half of them away.
We hove their bodies up on deck.
And tossed them in the waves.
Oh It'd been better for all the rest.
If they'd have been in their graves.

And in just ten days after this.
We reached Bermuda's shore.
We sold them to the planters there.
To be slaves forever more.
The rye and cotton fields to sow.
Beneath the burning sun.
To live a hard and a retched life.
Until their career was done.

And when our money was all spent.
We put to see again.
When Captain Moore he came onboard.
Saying all of you my men.
There's gold and silver to be had.
It with me you'll remain.
We'll hoist a lofty pirate flag.
And scour the Spanish main.

We all agreed to but five young men.
We towed those lads to land.
Two of them was Boston boys.
And to from newfound land.
The other was an Irish boy.
Belonging to Trimore.
How I wish to my god I'd have joined those boys.
And went with them on land.

The robbed and plundered many a ship.
Out on the Spanish main.
And many a widow and orphan.
We left to grieve in pain.
We marched them down a narrow plank.
And tossed the them in the waves.
For the saying of our Captain Moore.
Was that dead men tell no tales.
(John Galusha, Adirondacks, upstate New York)
For a we were chased by many's the ship.
By liners and frigats too.
But all in vein a stern of us.
Their volleyed thunder flu.
Twas all in vain astern of us.
Their cannons raored so loud.
Yes, all in vein down on the main.
For to catch the flying cloud.

(John Galusha, Adirondacks, upstate New York)
until a Yankee ship, a man o war.
The dungeon, she hove in view.
And she fired a shot across our bows.
'Twas a signal to lay to.
Where answered not that signal shot.
But we flu before the wind.
When a chain shot cut our main mast off.
And we were forced to fall behind.

We cleared our decks for action.
As they came up alongside.
And clear across our quarterdecks.
There ran a crimson tide.
We fought till Captain Moore was shot.
And 80 of his men.
When a bomb shell set our ship on fire.
We were forced to surrender then.

Straight away to Newgate I was brought.
Bound down in iron chains.
For robbing and plundering many a ship.
Out on the Spanish main.
It was whiskey and bad company.
That made a wretch of me.
Beware of my sad fate boys.
And shun all piracy.

Oh fare you well you shady groves.
And the girl that I adore.
Her voice so clear like music sweet.
I'll never hear no more.
I'll never kissed those ruby lips.
Or press her little hand.
But live a hard and a wretched life.
All in a foreign land.