Brave Captain Bill redeems himself after the affair of the sailor's toes |
Captain Billy’s Terrible Secret He was eating steak in Sammy's When the crier cried the news Napoleon had broken out And War was on the loose. And all the room was roaring How they'd do those Frenchmen hurt But Captain Billy walked away As teardrops stained his shirt He's a leather-hearted hero And he loves the grapeshot's wail The very type of man you’d want To turn those Frenchmen pale But as the fleet assembled, As the gallant tars set sail Captain Billy sat at home Just waiting on the mail No he'll never get a frigate, Nor a tender or fourth-rate 'Cause the last time Captain Billy sailed His men was what he ate. They were stranded in the Doldrums There was not a speck to eat When Captain Bill discovered how He relished sailor's feet. "Oh there's nothing like a bunion When it's salted down with brine, Or blackened callus, sliced quite thin, With just a touch of lime. You can say that ale and beefsteak Is the apple of your eye, But a foretop man with feet of tan Will make a jolly pie." There were some that lived to tell it, There were stories — some were true, There were nasty fingers pointed and they fingered— You-know-who. "He's a valiant salt, and all of that, But he'll never keep a crew," And word went round the Admiralty That mighty Bill was through. Then the French fleet took Gibraltar England needed every man They wrote Bill most politely Would he care to lend a hand? The press gang was assembled And dispatched to scour the land And the battleship Redemption Was placed at Bill's command. "They should call her Resurrection." Was the thought of not a few As they eyed her cancerous caulking And her rigging, all askew. Then paraded on the gangway Were the pressmen's sorry stew Of poachers, thieves, three pirates And a lunatic or two. So the mildewed old Redemption Set forth to save the realm With four and twenty goal-birds and a madman at the helm. Now your British salt is stalwart Though their Captains can be rude But the starboard watch deserted When Bill mentioned 'finger food.' And no man was ever braver When the cannons roared and quaked But the gunner's mate departed When he heard Bill whisper 'Baked." They were cruising off the Azores It was just the break of day, A maintop ghosted through the mist Not half a mile away "Pray you double shot the cannon While we smoke out who they be This lovely fog will hide us 'Til we have them on our lee." But the fog, though much admired, Soon parted on a breeze And there revealed a sight which caused The stoutest heart to freeze. The giant French Goliath With cannon by the score A true first-rate, whose crew could boast 600 men and more. Her sails rose like a mountain Her guns ranged tier on tier Her brightwork was the brightest and She seemed to wear a sneer. Raw terror gripped the foc’sel The gunners were benumbed Captain Billy tapped the glass, He smiled a bit; he hummed. "It's early yet," said Billy, With wonderful sang-froid "The mist will drift our way again, We shant be much annoyed." And as he spoke, that hellish ship Fast faded from their view Mayhaps they’d passed unnoticed They began to breath anew. The French, Old Billy told them, was enjoying their croissants, a-kissing at their finger-tips, trading epigrams and taunts. But the French had not been napping And they’d heard those tales of Bill They sent a volley cross his bow —One yellow espadrille. That single shoe was all it took, To make their feeling plain That ugly piece of flotsam Brought back all of Billy’s pain “If we de-construct their premise, Sir,” An old salt spoke at last, “They’ve put the Bogy on us Coz of how you broke your fast. But it’s something rather relative The things folks like to eat, The French eat snails, and tiny birds The Krauts eat piggy’s feet.” “‘Tis closely reasoned,” said the mate, “And philosophic too, When all is said and done, good Sir, We’re still your faithful crew.” “Brave words” cried Captain Billy But there’s one thing true as true I’ve got to sink those Frenchies, lads, They’ve given me the shoe.” The town was dark The moon was down Redemption ghosted in Bill put his sullen crew ashore And grinned an evil grin. “You’ll oblige me if you’ll light along Those hogsheads full of gin Those kegs of tar Those bales of straw Those casks of parafin” “Don’t dare a light,” Moaned from below As sailors stowed the hold “This Barky’s dry as Satan’s match She won’t take nought to blow.” Then as the crew assembled Four deep in Milly’s bar, Redemption slipped away to sea Bill steering for his star. Goliath lay with guns all primed Beyond the curve of sea, Her situation well in hand The British on her lee. But as the lookout scanned the scene Of lovely shipwright’s art Old Bill came scudding down the wind With fire in his heart. The decks were stuffed with tinder The stove was ruby red Bill knocked the ashes from his pipe And kicked them ‘neath the bed. The match went down the ladder The smoke began to rise Bill coiled down his grappling hooks Preparing his surprise The tar began to bubble The French began to scream And flames broke through the decking with Redemption dead abeam. And hard aboard the Frenchman Came a flying yellow shoe— The Captain gasped in horror— And then the powder blew. At Dover’s finest eatery An old man wandered in. His salt-encrusted skin was flayed And blackened ‘round the chin. He was singed about the elbows He was crispy at the knees He was burnt in painful places That one hardly ever sees “I’m Captain Bill, ye lubbers and… I’ll have the salad. —Please.” * * * * |