“A Visit from the Dread Captain Nicholas”
A festive parody on Clement Clarke Moore’s
“A Visit from St. Nicholas” by Fishhook Cook
Twas the night before the Festival, when all across the seas
Not a wind was a blowing, in sails or through trees;
The ship was at anchor near Reapers Hideout,
In hopes that more gifts would be traded about;
The crew were all drunk, their heads dizzy with grog;
While all around them crept in a thick fog;
The Captain played banjo, and I played my drum,
Cursing our luck we didn't pick up more rum.
When out in the mist there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to the mast to see what was the matter.
Rising to the crowsnest I climbed up the ropes,
Pulled out my spyglass and peered through the scope.
The moon cast a shimmer on the still winter sea,
I saw a faint glow, thinking what could that be?
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a swift little Brig, red flag tattered and drear.
With a jolly old captain so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he be Dread Captain Nick.
More rapid than seagulls the crew followed orders,
he whistled, and shouted, and commanded "No Quarter!":
"Pull sails! Load cannons and draw your sharp swords!
Grab firebombs! Load flintlocks and make ready to board!
From the top of the mainsail! to the bottom of the hull!
Now fire away! Fire away! Fire away all!"
Just before they let the cannonballs fly,
I saw a merry twinkle, in his one good eye;
So up the side ladders came his fierce crew,
They came with blades drawn, and blunderbuss too—
And then, with a crash, I heard below decks,
The thudding of cannonballs, our ship in a wreck.
As I drew my cutlass, and was turning around,
Onto the deck Nick came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were smeared with gunpowder and soot;
A bundle of gifts he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a Goldhoarder just opening his sack.
His eyepatch—pure gold and so was his hook!
His cheeks had long scars adding to his fierce look!
His mouth was drawn up in a sly roughish grin,
And his beard was as white as the Shrouded Ghosts fin;
Our crew sobered up and they sprang to the fray,
That night many pirates were sent the ferryman's way.
The battle raged on, swords clashed while shots flew,
Cannons echoed and flashed, smoke rose, fire grew.
When back from the ferry I made my return,
I noticed the gifts lined up bow to stern.
A wink of his eye and a salute from his crew,
Let us all know, we had turning in to do!
They spoke not a word, but went to work fast,
They fixed up the ships, raised up broken masts,
And from Nick's pocket, he pulled pineapple out,
This gesture, enough to erase any doubt,
A thrilling battle with a capable crew,
was what he and his mateys we're aiming to do.
I took his gift and cronched the fruit whole
And a holiday feeling stirred deep in my soul,
He sprang to his Brig, with a lunge of his sword
And away to their ship his crew climbed back onboard.
But I heard him exclaim, ere they sailed out of sight—
“Happy Festival to all, and to all a good fight!”
