The Captain was a cripple, patched o’er one o’ his black eyes,
But swaggered still and strutted as he spoke:
“We’re going after treasure, lads, — a worthy pirates’ prize!”
And gave his fearsome beard a hearty stroke.
His ship was strong and sturdy and he chose his First Mate well.
The Captain, to the crew, seemed wise and brave.
O, every heart was glad when all the sails began to swell
And pull the ship in leaps across the waves!
The Captain had no chart, no map, no course in ink and pen,
But followed one he somehow seemed to know —
Engraven on his mind by tales passed down by his own kin —
In seas where other ships refused to go.
Past glories of the Captain — heard in scores of port-side bars —
Encouraged his stout crew to meet the test;
They bent their backs upon the deck from fo’castle to the spars,
And strove to give to him their very best.
The days and weeks turned into months, and months into a year,
Yet still they seemed no closer to the prize;
And each day turned the Captain more into a man to fear,
The men into a crew he had to drive.
No man on board the ship had ever seen such savage seas
There in the course the Captain had them sail,
And fear shone in their eyes and each man raised his hands in pleas
And shouted out in cries and screams and wails.
Yet still he drove them on through waters white with boiling foam
As waves began to pound upon the deck.
The men grew certain that the craft would never see them home;
One word lodged in their minds — ‘twas this: “shipwreck!”
The Captain — blast his soul! — stood swaying at the spinning wheel
As smashing waves and wind tore down the mast!
The sail whipped loose and lashed the air like sheets of razored steel
To slice the sailors’ skins where e’re they cast.
The rain beat down in torrents, lightening split the blackened air
And thunder roared to join the howling wind;
A reef lunged upward, jagged fists to pound and rip and tear —
And every man prepared to meet his end.
Their eyes rolled in their sockets as they spilled into the sea,
They cursed their Captain with their dying breaths —
Then slid beneath the boiling surface from fore, aft and lee,
Or lay on bloodied rocks in grisly death.
The sea flowed red and beat upon a gray and foggy beach,
The wreckage left to drift as currents wish;
And of the ninety men on board, just one made safety’s reach —
While eighty-nine remained to feed the fish.
A tide not made by any man controlled each puking wave
And pulled to shore to sputter in the sand
The least of all the sailors; aye, it chose that day to save
The Captain — that cruel, heartless, insane man.
He staggered to his feet and peered out where the wreckage lay,
He shook his head in sorrow at his loss;
“I pray ye all forgi’e me, lads!” he whispered through the spray,
“I bear your lives, your deaths, as my own cross!”
In three more months another ship sailed under blackened skies;
The Captain — crippled, patched — stood up and spoke:
“We’re going after treasure, lads! A worthy pirates’ prize!”
And gave his fearsome beard another stroke.
