Abimelech the Sailor

WHEN I was a young lad
And thought I’d live forever,
I knew an ancient sailorman —
His face was brown as leather.

He ’d take a puff, then wave his pipe,
His head held slanty-wise;
He called himself Abimelech —
He told the grandest lies!

(Like this one)

‘My grandsire were a Pirate
And did ’ee know that, lad?
The bravest of all pirates . . .
More brave were he than bad! . . .

‘His crew were swarthy villyuns
With teeth a dazzling white;
And when they smiled ’t was daytime
But when they frowned ’t was night.

‘His ship wore emeralds and rubies
For port and starboard lights
And beaten gold from India
As bitts for cable bights.

‘They’d scuttled three rich galleons
Bound east from high Peru,
And just as the last man walked the plank
Two frigates hove in view.

‘Then swift she fled before the wind
Seeking the ancient fort
That overlooked the hidden bay
Of their secret Pirate Port —

‘When roaring up like thunder,
Due east from Port-o’-Spain,
It struck her full amidships —
An Indies hurricane!

‘It swept her clear of rigging,
And with her splintered stumps
Three days she wallowed in the trough
With all hands at the pumps.

‘One by one the fever seized
While day by day she drifted
With not a sail and not a sound
But groans and prayers uplifted!’

Abimelech the Sailor
Relit his pipe and puffed;
He rose and stretched and then he says:
‘Well, lad, the wind has luffed!’

But I with eyes still staring wide,
And mouth still wide agape,
Question him with bated breath:
‘How did they all escape?’

‘My grandsire, he as told the yarn —
And he were full of tales —
Said nigh as he could recollect
They was towed ashore by whales!’