Classic Poem

Benjamin Crocker in sixteen-three
(Here's to the Devil in flaming rum!)
Made his fifth voyage to West Carribee
(Drink to the Devil, man, and don't look glum!)
Fierce was his scowl, and his skin tanned red,
And a knotted silk kerchief covered his head
That was scarred with ivory, steel and lead:
He wore three knives, and a cutlass, too,
To slit the gullets of men of thew:
Or his thumbs could strangle a whole ship's crew:
—Here's to the Devil and his jolly chum!

Benjamin Crocker touched Brazil
(Drink to his health in ancient rum!)
To victual his ship on dried guatil
(Drink to the Devil till your tongue's burnt dumb!)
And melons, and capec, and Roger-ho,
And Sapagoril from Madago,
And grey-green porpoises dried in a row:
All about on the beach lay his crew, every one
Drinking neat rum in the scorching sun
Till the sky turned black and the sea turned dun:
(Come, my poppet, a noggin of rum!)

For the folk that voyaged with Bloody Ben
(Drink to the Devil in golden rum!)
Were none of them squeamish sort of men:
(Drink till your toes begin to hum!)
So the skipper started him off alone,
To seek strange toys for his sweetheart, Joan,
—Butterflies, gew-gaws of gold or bone:
At his fierce approach the Carribs fled,
And flung small darts at his gawdy head:
But he winged a few, and then kicked them dead,
And swigged a pull at his flask of rum.

Old Gal-gar-ul sat and basked in the heat
(Fill your brain with Jamaica rum)
And mummled strips of tough dried meat:
(Drink, man, drink till the Grey Rats come!)
In her small shadow the bright eyes shone
Of a black beast hobbling, one leg gone,
And never a paw to stand upon:
She babbled a speech of ancient men,
Without wit or strength to run from Ben:
He snapped her bones like a dry quill pen:
—Here, sweet chuck, with another of rum!

He burnt the place, and he took away
(Warm your guts with a soak of rum!)
A small green flute for his child to play
(Drink, till the New Jerusalum!)
And a scented idol of smooth hard wood,
And knotted strings, and a feather hood
—Things he hardly understood.
And horny knives, of a strange device,
And things ill-gotten, above all price:
Ear-rings, nose rings: gone in a trice:
And slaked his thirst with a draught of rum.

Then he sought his mates and ship so trim:
—Praised be old Nick for the gift of rum!
But a black beast hobbled after him,
And he knew it not, being well in rum:
He reached his ship as the sun went down:
His men lay awash from toe to crown
In the cooling tide: for you cannot drown
If you are full to the gills inside:
You sleep it off: so he let them bide,
Snoring like porpoises, drunk to the wide,
And went below for a tot of rum.

There, below, on a pile of kegs
(Brandy, Canary, and a Cyprus drum)
A black thing swiffled upon three legs:
He shrieked, and felt his knees go numb,
And fell, and cracked his burning head,
And cursed and clutched in his reeling dread. . . .
Next day they found the Captain dead
In thick green bilge, without nose or lip,
His entrails plastered across his hip,
In a mess of blood where a foot might slip,
And an oozy track where the Thing had come.

They trussed him, and slung him, and made much revel,
Boozing away till kingdom come,
With pirate chaunties, hymns to the Devil,
Well washed down with a draught of rum:
They slung him over to Davy Jones
Who now has charge of his gawky bones;
And they weighed him down with round white stones,
For fear that the spirit he had in his head
Should cause him to rise too soon from the dead,
And gibber, and float, and foul the lead
—So here's to the Devil, lad, in good old Rum!