Islands where shell was in plenty lying in passage and bay,
Islands where divers could gather hundreds of shell in a day:
But the lumbering Dutch, with their gunboats, hunted the divers away.

Joe Nagasaki, the `tender', finding the profits grow small,
Said, `Let us go to the Islands, try for a number one haul!
If we get caught, go to prison -- let them take lugger and all!'

Kanzo Makame, the diver -- knowing full well what it meant --
Fatalist, gambler, and stoic, smiled a broad smile of content,
Flattened in mainsail and foresail, and off to the Islands they went.

Close to the headlands they drifted, picking up shell by the ton,
Piled up on deck were the oysters, opening wide in the sun,
When, from the lee of the headland, boomed the report of a gun.

Once that the diver was sighted pearl-shell and lugger must go.
Joe Nagasaki decided -- quick was the word and the blow --
Cut both the pipe and the life-line, leaving the diver below!

Kanzo Makame, the diver, failing to quite understand,
Pulled the `haul up' on the life-line, found it was slack in his hand;
Then, like a little brown stoic, lay down and died on the sand.

Joe Nagasaki, the `tender', smiling a sanctified smile,
Headed her straight for the gunboat -- throwing out shells all the while --
Then went aboard and reported, `No makee dive in three mile!

`Dress no have got and no helmet -- diver go shore on the spree;
Plenty wind come and break rudder -- lugger get blown out to sea: