The Catharine was a gallant ship,

On which a wonder did befall

I'll tell the story as it happ'd,

If you will listen one and all.

The ship had ploughed the long, salt seas,

Until a year and day had gone.

Their stores of food were eaten out,

And beef and biscuit they had none.

They tried to soak a shoe to eat,

Its skin so hard they could not gnaw.

For who should serve his mates for food,

In turns the deadly lot they draw.

The shortest straw the captain drew.

I wot it caused him bitter pain:

"Little sailor, climb the top-mast,

And look for Portugal or Spain."

"The coast of Portugal or Spain

On either side I cannot see;

But seven swords drawn from their sheaths

Shine bright and bare to slaughter thee."

"Higher, higher, my little sailor,

On the top-gallant take your stand,

Try and see the coast of Portugal,

Or of Spain the shining strand."

"What reward, my gallant captain!

Both Spain and Portugal I see,

I also see three lovely maidens

Seated beneath an orange tree.

" The eldest of them sews a seam,

Another spins a shining thread,

The fairest sits between the two,

And hangs in tears her lovely head."

"My darling daughters are all the three,

I love them dearer than my life.

For your reward, my little sailor,

The loveliest shall be your wife."

"I do not wish your darling daughter;

The cost of love would be my bane."

"I 'll give you gold beyond your count."

"It cost you too much strife to gain."

"I 'll give to you my courier white,

A nobler never felt the rein."

"I do not want your courier white,

It cost you too much toil to train."

"I 'll give to you my gallant ship,

Upon the seas to sail at will."

"I do not want your gallant ship,

To navigate I have no skill."

"What reward then, little sailor,

Do you demand that I should pay?"

"I want your soul, my gallant captain,

Your soul with me to take away."

"Demon, your claim I do deny.

I will not yield my soul to thee.

My soul belongs to God above,

My body I 'll give to the sea."

An angel caught him in her arms,

And drew him from the boiling spray.

The demon flew; at eve the ship

Was anchored safe within the bay.

It is somewhat singular that with all the enterprise of the Portuguese upon the sea during their period of national glory, their perilous and adventurous navigations, and their many successful engagements in marine warfare, there should be so few ballads relating to the sea-faring exploits. There is one, however, Don Juan d'Armada, which seems to relate to some definite victory over the Turks, but the occasion and even the name of the hero are not recorded in authentic history. It has many features, however, which would indicate that it was the account of an actual event.