The following epic poem was written in the 1980's by a guy who sailed with Military Sealift Command; the same quasi-military organization I was with at the time. The poem was posted by
Edward Nanartowich the other night. I immediately remembered seeing it before and have asked for permission to re-post it here.
"Some of you old timers were around when Gilbert wrote this
poem I am sure, but it is a tongue in cheek, gallows humor kind of story back
in the days of wooden ships and iron stomachs (to coin a phrase). Enjoy it if
you have the patience to read."
The Yarn of the 'Nancy Bell' by W.S.
Gilbert
'Twas on the
shores that round our coast
From Deal to
Ramsgate span,
That I found alone
on a piece of stone
An elderly naval
man.
His hair was
weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long
was he,
And I heard this
wight on the shore recite,
In a singular
minor key:
"Oh, I am a
cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of
the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun
tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of
the captain's gig."
And he shook his
fists and he tore his hair,
Till I really felt
afraid,
For I couldn't
help thinking the man had been drinking,
And so I simply
said:
"O, elderly
man, it's little I know
Of the duties of
men of the sea,
But I'll eat my
hand if I understand
How you can
possibly be
"At once a
cook, and a captain bold,
And the mate of
the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun
tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of
the captain's gig."
Then he gave a
hitch to his trousers, which
Is a trick all
seamen larn,
And having got rid
of a thumping quid,
He spun this
painful yarn:
"'Twas in the
good ship Nancy Bell
That we sailed to
the Indian sea,
And there on a
reef we come to grief,
Which has often
occurred to me.
"And pretty
nigh all o' the crew was drowned
(There was
seventy-seven o' soul),
And only ten of
the Nancy's men
Said 'Here!' to
the muster-roll.
"There was me
and the cook and the captain bold,
And the mate of
the Nancy brig
And the bo'sun
tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of
the captain's gig.
"For a month
we'd neither wittles nor drink,
Till a-hungry we
did feel,
So we drawed a
lot, and accordin' shot
The captain for
our meal.
"The next lot
fell to the Nancy's mate,
And a delicate
dish he made;
Then our appetite
with the midshipmite
We seven survivors
stayed.
"And then we
murdered the bo'sun tight,
And he much
resembled pig,
Then we wittled
free, did the cook and me,
On the crew of the
captain's gig.
"Then only
the cook and me was left,
And the delicate
question, 'Which
Of us two goes to
the kettle?' arose
And we argued it
out as sich.
"For I loved
that cook as a brother, I did,
And the cook he
worshipped me;
But we'd both be
blowed if we'd either be stowed
In the other
chap's hold, you see.
"'I'll be eat
if you dines off me,' says Tom,
'Yes, that,' says
I, 'you'll be,' --
'I'm boiled if I
die, my friend,' quoth I,
And 'Exactly so,'
quoth he.
"Says he,
'Dear James, to murder me
Were a foolish
thing to do,
For don't you see
that you can't cook me,
While I can -- and
will -- cook you!'
"So he boils
the water, and takes the salt
And the pepper in
portions true
(Which he never
forgot) and some chopped shalot,
And some sage and
parsley too.
"'Come here,'
says he, with a proper pride,
Which his smiling
features tell,
' 'Twill soothing
be if I let you see,
How extremely nice
you'll smell.'
"And he
stirred it round and round and round,
And he sniffed at
the foaming froth;
When I ups with
his heels, and smothers his squeals
In the scum of the
boiling broth.
"And I eat
that cook in a week or less,
And -- as I eating
be
The last of his
chops, why, I almost drops,
For a wessel in
sight I see!
"And I never
grin, and I never smile,
And I never larf
nor play,
But I sit and
croak, and a single joke
I have -- which is
to say:
"Oh, I am a
cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of
the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun
tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of
the captain's gig!"
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